‘Yellow-bellied son of a goat!’ muttered John. ‘Afraid to face me, the bloody coward. But he has to come back — unfortunately — then I’ll get him!’
Frustrated on this front, he walked back down to his house, knowing that he now had to face Matilda, who would undoubtedly want to know why he had been away for two nights. He was in no mood for conciliatory excuses and walked into the hall prepared for a blazing row. To his surprise, he found her silent and subdued. She sat in her usual chair, staring at the pile of unlit logs in the cold hearth. Given her strong views on the biblical treatment of witches, he doubted that her depression was due to the hangings that morning. He had not seen her since she left the house two evening ago, after he had told her bluntly about her brother’s latest misdemeanour, so he had no means of knowing how she had reacted to the further fall of her idol.
‘I hear Richard has gone to Revelstoke for a few days,’ he muttered gruffly, for something to say to break the silence.
‘Gone to escape your persecution, no doubt,’ she answered in a dull voice.
This was too much for her husband, who had been prepared to be conciliatory when he saw her low spirits. ‘My persecution, by God!’ he exploded. ‘What do you call his strangling of those two pathetic women this morning? No wonder he’s fled the city, he’s not man enough to face me, after doing that the moment my back is turned!’
Matilda made no reply for a moment. Usually well dressed, with hair stiffly primped by Lucille, today she looked limp and bedraggled, her hair straying untidily from beneath her cover-chief. At forty-four, this evening she looked a decade older, but when she finally turned her head and looked up at her husband hovering over her, there was still fire in her eyes. ‘I cannot decide who I hate most, my brother for his determination to fall from grace — or you, who hound him at every turn!’
De Wolfe jabbed his fists on his hips and bent lower to put his face closer to hers. ‘It was not I who dipped my hand into that treasure chest, woman! Nor did I plot against the king who appointed me to office. And who was it who paid his whore’s sister to give false testimony? And whose name has become a byword in this county for underhand dealings and embezzlement?’
He paused to draw breath and pulled himself upright. ‘And it will not be me who sits in judgement on him, Matilda. As before, when he was removed from office in ’93, it will be the King’s ministers who decide his fate. So don’t say that I hound him. In fact, I should be ashamed of myself for avoiding my legal duty by not exposing him in the past — which I did at your pleading, may I remind you!’
He stalked to the door, full of righteous indignation, but as he reached the screens he heard a stifled sob and, turning round, saw that her head had fallen forward on to her hands. Her back was heaving with suppressed grief and the sight of such a broken woman suddenly changed his simmering anger to guilty compassion. Walking softly back to the fireplace, he bent and placed his arm around her bowed shoulders.
‘Easy, wife, easy! You know that Richard can’t continue to act in this way. If it stops now, then he will probably be allowed to go back to his manors and live a quiet life. If he does not, then sooner or later he will surely hang. This is for the best, you will see!’
The sobbing faded and for a brief moment one of her hands reached out to squeeze his wrist. ‘Leave me now, John. You should not see me in this state.’
She said no more and, confused and embarrassed as he always was by strong emotion, he went slowly out into the lane. For the next hour he sat alone in the nearest tavern, the Golden Hind, and meditated deeply over a quart of cider.
De Wolfe, tired after his previous day’s riding, rose well after dawn the next day. He left the solar quietly, not to awaken Matilda, who was snoring. He had heard her whimpering in the night as they lay back to back with the width of the wide mattress between them and now she slept the sleep of the exhausted.
After breaking his fast in Mary’s kitchen, he had his customary Saturday wash in a bucket of lukewarm water and shaved with the little knife of Saracen steel that he kept specially honed for the purpose. Then he walked down to the cathedral and went into the huge, dim nave, which was completely empty, although a service was taking place in the choir beyond the screen. He stood waiting, listening both to the distant chanting and prayers and to the chirping of birds that flew in and out through the unglazed windows high up near the beamed roof.
He could see figures indistinctly behind the carved woodwork, dressed in white surplices covered with long back cloaks, even in the summertime warmth.
Soon, prime, the first of the daytime offices, was over, and John saw the participants begin to stream out through the passages on either side of the screen. There were few of the twenty-four canons there, their place being taken by their vicars and John was relieved to see no sign of Gilbert de Bosco, as he would not trust his temper to let him pass unchallenged. The precentor, treasurer and succentor were followed by a couple of punctators, who kept a record of those present, as those absent without good cause were disciplined — and missing canons forfeited their daily ration of bread from the bread-house near the West Front. Behind them came a group of younger vicars, eager to get something to eat before the next service, followed by the even more youthful secondaries and the jostling, restless choirboys. Finally, with a slow gravity befitting their seniority, came a trio of archdeacons. One was an older man, Anselm Crassus, Archdeacon of Barnstaple, another John FitzJohn, Archdeacon of Totnes, and the third John de Alençon, for whom de Wolfe was waiting. When he saw the coroner standing in the nave, he made his apologies to his companions and came across, his ascetic face even more grave than usual. ‘You have undoubtedly heard what happened — I’m sorry, I did what I could, but to no avail.’
‘I’m sure you did, friend. I only wish I had been here myself, but you know what happened down at the Bush?’
The archdeacon nodded sadly. ‘Everyone in Exeter knows of that murderous scandal — including the Lord Bishop, who seems to have taken fright at what he too readily condoned.’
‘Thank God some good has come of it, though it needed a martyr in that poor old hag to bring it about. Do you think this will see the end of this madness now?’
The two men started to walk towards the brightness of the door in the West Front. ‘I sincerely hope so — I doubt that Henry Marshal will pursue this crusade as actively now, if at all. And the town seethes with rumours that Richard de Revelle is on the slippery slope, though no one yet seems to know why.’
John explained to his friend what had happened, confident that his words would be as safe as if they were uttered in the confessional.
‘But what of this crazy colleague of yours, Gilbert de Bosco?’ he asked the priest. ‘If I read his nature right, he’ll stubbornly dig in his heels and try to carry on with his ill-conceived campaign.’
De Alençon reluctantly agreed. ‘You may well be right, but he’ll have precious little support now. I have made it my business to go around the parishes in the city and make it clear to the priests that they have more important pastoral duties than inflaming people against a few cunning women.’
Out in the early sunlight, they paced the few yards to Canons’ Row, where their ways parted. As they walked, de Wolfe told him of the uncompromising message he had dispatched that morning to Winchester.
‘That should see the matter of the sheriff settled,’ observed the archdeacon. ‘But as for our bishop, he is a powerful man with powerful friends, notably Prince John himself. It will take a lot to shake his foundations, especially as our king, God bless him, seems to have an unfortunate soft spot for his rebellious brother.’
De Wolfe knew this to be true, as the Lionheart had repeatedly forgiven John’s treachery and even restored many of his forfeited possessions.