‘And what of the other, the ale-wife known as Nesta?’ interjected the marshal.
‘Sir Richard had already directed a woman to me. The one with the deformed neck, who had been a victim of that tavern-keeper. She told me of the hellish practices that she suffered when she visited her for some simple remedy.’
‘And you believed her?’ snapped de Ralegh, incredulously.
‘Today, she admitted that everything was a tissue of lies, you gullible fool,’ shouted William.
John, again excluded for the moment, steered the questions back on to the original path. ‘So how was it that a rabble appeared in Idle Lane, with you virtually at their head, some carrying flaming torches?’
Some of the old defiance flowed back into Gilbert de Bosco. With an effort, he stumbled to his feet and his head rose, despite the pain in his inflamed neck. ‘Yes, I walked the streets that day and preached a crusade against them, calling on good men to help cleanse the stables of God. I sent two proctors’ men to proclaim that witches lurked in the lower town and when enough good folk had assembled we marched there, intending to seize and arrest them and put that house of shame to the torch. It was not intended that anyone should be burned alive.’
‘No, you wished to save them for your own court, so that you could hand them on to your fellow-conspirator, the sheriff and have them hanged. Dead either way, the fire or the rope!’ boomed de Ralegh, his face as hard as a Dartmoor rock.
The canon remained silent, but his face bore a sullen defiance, almost a martyred resignation that these heathen would never understand his dedication to the protection of the Holy Church.
De Wolfe waved him away in disgust and his helpers led him away to the side again, while the coroner addressed the jury. ‘You have heard the evidence and indeed a confession from this priest. There is no doubt that both on the matter of arson and of the death of Lucy of Exe Island, the cause was a riotous assembly, whipped up by Gilbert de Bosco in an insane, misplaced campaign of hate against harmless women who use their gifts in traditional practices.’ He glared along the line of jurors. ‘The verdict you must return is clear — malicious fire-setting and manslaughter, for we must accept that the immediate object was not to cause death by burning.’
He paused and looked sideways at the two justices. ‘As to who is responsible, I am in a difficult position at an inquest, which is not a trial. One of the obvious culprits is a priest, over whom I have no jurisdiction when it comes to attachment on a criminal charge — that is a matter for the bishop. Similarly, it is unique for another suspect — for he declined to admit any guilt — to be the county sheriff. I therefore defer any action on him to my seniors present here today. I have attached the woman Heloise Giffard to the next visit of the royal justices and if her sister ever shows her face, she will go the same way.’
After this long speech, he directed the jury to return the verdicts he had set out, giving them a ferocious glare that defied them to contest or even question his decision. They all hurriedly assented and the Shire Hall broke out into a hubbub of excited gossip, as the men on the platform filed out and went to the castle keep for well-deserved refreshment in the sultry heat.
The next act in that day’s drama was held not in the public eye, like the inquest, but in the privacy of the sheriff’s chamber. This time, Gabriel and two soldiers guarded the door and others formed a line some yards away, to keep those using the hall well out of eavesdropping range. Inside the large room that was the sheriff’s office were assembled those who were to decide his future. The Earl of Pembroke, Lord of Striguil, sat behind de Revelle’s table with Sir Walter de Ralegh. At one end was one of the clerks who had come with the Marshal, ready with his pen, ink and parchments to record the deliberations.
An empty chair stood on the other side of the trestle, facing the august pair. At the back of the room, against the shuttered window-slits, sat Constable Morin, John de Wolfe and a large, elderly, florid man with a flowing white moustache. This was Henry de Furnellis, who had occupied this room as sheriff for a short time two years earlier. He had bristly white hair and bags under his pale eyes big enough to accommodate hen’s eggs.
‘Get him in here,’ ordered William Marshal and the constable went to an inner door that led to the sheriff’s private quarters, a pair of rooms behind his office. He knocked, went in and returned with Richard de Revelle, followed by Roscelin de Sucote. They were dressed as they had been in the Shire Hall, but de Revelle’s colour was different, in that he had rosy patches on his narrow cheeks and he seemed slightly unsteady on his feet, evidence of the brandy-wine that he had been drinking in the back room. He dropped heavily into the chair set for him, with his acolyte near by.
‘Get on with this charade, then!’ he said thickly. ‘I still deny the right you have to invade my privacy and subject me to this discourtesy. Prince John will hear of this, as soon as a messenger can reach Normandy.’
William Marshal regarded him coldly. ‘If the Count of Mortain objects, he can petition the King about it. But as long as the Lionheart is in France, the administration of England is in the hands of the Chief Justiciar, the Chancellor and the Royal Council.’
Walter de Ralegh glared at the smooth-faced lawyer standing stiffly behind the sheriff’s chair. ‘Why does this fellow have to be here? This is a confidential matter.’
‘Sir Richard has requested that I advise him as to his legal rights and to report what transpires to Prince John, the future King.’
De Ralegh recognised the veiled threat in Roscelin’s words and responded harshly. ‘The sheriff is an officer of the present King, not a future king, though even that is not a foregone conclusion! With God’s grace, Richard will be on the throne for very many years to come.’
William Marshal flapped his hand at the cleric from Gloucester. ‘Oh, let him stay. Though it does go to confirm with whom the true sympathies of de Revelle lie.’
He shuffled some parchments before him, though this was mere habit, as, in spite of being one of the most powerful men in the Plantagenet domains, he had never learnt to read either French or Latin.
‘We will keep this short and to the point. Your fidelity and allegiance to the king have long been suspect. The Chief Justiciar himself, when he visited this city some months ago, was apprised of various matters which gave him great concern and which have been discussed in the Curia since then. Only the reluctance of your brother-in-law to press the matter left you in a state of probation, rather than suspension — possibly by the neck!’
De Revelle opened his mouth to deny this, then found he had nothing useful to say, so shut it again.
‘This time, you have been caught out once more in shameful activities. You recently brought treasure trove to the exchequer and claimed it was as intact as when discovered, yet it has been proven that you removed a substantial portion for your own purposes.’
He pushed some documents across to Walter, who could read, although he had already been through these inventories of the cache found at Cadbury.
‘Those documents were falsified. It was part of de Wolfe’s scheming to bring about my ruin!’ cried the sheriff.
‘We challenge the authenticity of those lists and the trustworthiness of those who wrote them,’ brayed de Sucote.
William slapped the table with a large hand. ‘Be silent! We have made all necessary enquiries to show that they are genuine and were made in good faith. We interrogated not only the treasury clerks in Winchester, but stopped at Cadbury on the journey here to confirm with the manor-lord and his priest the amount of coin originally found. Here we have checked with the constable’s steward that he accurately confirmed the contents of that chest, before you made off with it, in defiance of the coroner’s legitimate ruling that the decision upon its disposal be left to the next Eyre of Assize.’ De Ralegh jabbed a forefinger at the discomfited Richard. ‘And not only did you pilfer the hoard, but you attempted to put the blame on an honest coroner’s officer and even had him arrested on a felonious charge, to cover up your own crime!’