The Noble Outlaw

by Bernard Knight

  De Furnellis glared at the dandified Richard. There was no love lost between the two men who had both been sheriff twice over.

  'I would have thought you would have welcomed the chance to fight a wounded man, de Revelle. It's the only way you have a chance of winning.'

  The fact that de Revelle had already considered this and weighed it against the chances of having the whole affair postponed or even abandoned, blunted the curtness of the answer that came to his lips - but Nicholas de Arundell broke in with a loud cry.

  'No, sheriff, there's no need for an hour's delay! I have suffered nothing but a mere scratch and the disturbance has allowed me to get my breath back. Let us get on with the battle and settle it once and for all?

  Again, de Furnellis went into a huddle with the king's justices, and John saw de Bohun shrug indifferently, while Walter seemed quite happy with de Arundell's proposal.

  This time without the aid of the trumpeter, the sheriffs strident voice announced that the bout would continue at once, and all but the leading figures began to drift back to the ropes. Looking as if he was walking directly to the gallows, Richard de Revelle plodded back to his end, where his steward-squire, Geoffrey de Cottemore, and another servant took away his fine cloak and strapped him into his boiled leather jerkin and helmet.

  The small shield and the sword were handed to him and he stood immobile for a moment, ashen-faced and numb of mind.

  An educated man who loved learning and politics, he had never espoused the normal pursuits of most lords, fighting, gaming and hunting - though he was fond of womanising and embezzlement. Now to be thrust into an arena with a hardened Crusader who had spent years surviving on Dartmoor was the most frightening experience of his life, for he knew he had wronged the man and fully expected Nicholas to kill him. He felt frozen to the spot and it took a push in the back from his squire to get him advancing like an automaton towards the middle of the square.

  'You have already taken your oath against sorcery,' said the sheriff. 'So after the priest has invoked the wisdom of God, you will begin to fight - if needs be, to the death.'

  Brother Rufus came to repeat his call for the Almighty to see justice done, then he and the sheriff retreated, leaving the two men alone in the centre of the lonely field. De Arundell's arm was not nearly as good as he alleged, the lacerated tissues throbbing painfully under the tight bandage that the apothecary had applied. At least he had not lost much blood, so he was not weakened or shocked, and for now he was able to hold his sword in his right hand, though he was prepared to change and fight with the other if needs be.

  As the two men circled each other, Gwyn and John de Wolfe watched anxiously from the side. 'Without that wound, there'd be no doubt, Crowner,' growled the Cornishman. 'I'd wager my last ha'penny on Nicholas. But he's tired after that run-around that Pomeroy gave him, apart from that strike on his sword arm.'

  John had his eyes fixed on his brother-in-law. 'He's terrified, but all he's going to do is defend himself and hope that our man flags from exhaustion. I wonder if Nicholas intends to kill him?'

  As he spoke, de Arundell - tired of slowly wheeling round his adversary - made a sudden lunge towards de Revelle, who jerked up his shield to take a swinging blow that almost knocked it from his arm. John saw a spasm of pain cross Nicholas's face as the impact radiated up his damaged arm and he was not surprised to see him back off and change his sword and shield to the opposite sides.

  Richard de Revelle saw it also and attempting to seize his chance, ran in and struck several blows, all parried by Nicholas's shield. De Revelle tried again, then gave a squeal as the tip of de Arundell's sword slid beneath his guard and jabbed him on the wrist that held the buckler. Nicholas followed up without hesitation and kicked out at Richard's leg as he slammed his own shield against that of the other man. De Revelle staggered backwards and only just regained his balance, before his opponent was on him again, hacking left-handed against the shield, shredding the leather and splintering the underlying wood.

  Abruptly, it was all over.

  De Revelle suddenly dropped to his knees and sent his sword spinning across the dried mud of the bailey.

  Throwing up his arms, one still inside the thong of his shield, he shrieked out the fateful word 'Craven!' Hovering over him, blood now oozing afresh from under his bandage, Nicholas stood with sword upraised.

  For a long second, de Wolfe wondered if he was going to bring it down to cleave Richard's skull in half. Then he slowly lowered it and, with a contemptuous shove, put his foot against de Revelle's shoulder and rolled him over on to the cold earth.

  In the Bush that night, the trial by battle was the talk at every table, not only at the landlady's place near the hearth. To have one defendant felled by a seizure and the other to make the most abject surrender at the hands of a wounded adversary was unique in everyone's memory.

  'What I can't get over is Matilda's behaviour,' confessed de Wolfe, about to attack a trencher carrying a slab of fatty fried pork, with onions and beans around the sides.

  'She marched on to the field amid the confusion and went up to her brother and slapped his face! Called him a spineless coward and said she never wanted to see him again.'

  The tender-hearted Nesta sighed. 'Oh mercy, that's sad! She was always so proud of her brother when he was sheriff, though he was an evil fellow, as we all know to our cost. But I'm sorry she has been so disillusioned.'

  'It will do me no good, though,' said John bitterly. 'The fact that she's fallen out with Richard will inevitably be laid at my door, as it always was in the past. Eventually she'll take delight in accusing me of being the one who got a pardon for Nicholas from the Justiciar and so led her brother into this situation with the royal judges.'

  'I thought she was big friends with his wife and had broken with Richard for stealing his manor?' objected Gwyn, sitting opposite with a pig's knuckle and his third quart of ale.

  'That won't stop her blaming me for his downfall. Women's minds aren't like ours, Gwyn, they can twist logic any way that suits them!' For that he suffered a sharp kick under the table from Nesta.

  'If the world was run by women, it would be a much better and more peaceful place,' she announced tartly. 'All you beasts think of is war and killing and making life intolerable for ordinary folk.'

  'That's not always so, though I admit there's some truth in it,' conceded John. 'Take today, Nicholas was magnanimous over his success. He could have spitted Richard on his sword or, being the victor, demanded that he be hanged - but he let him off.'

  Thomas, who was hunched at the end of the table, eager to hear all the gossip, shook his head. 'That's not strictly true, Crowner, according to the traditions of 'wager of battle'.'

  'Go on then, tell me, fount of all legal knowledge,' challenged John, the events of the day making him good-natured this evening.

  'Yes, he could legitimately have slain him any time during the battle, but once he shouted 'craven', his life should be spared, but he would be declared outlaw.'

  'Ha! There's natural justice for you,' jeered Gwyn.

  'Let the punishment fit the crime. I wonder how he would fare, alone on Dartmoor?'

  'But it didn't, did it?' pointed out Nesta. 'He walked away free, without hardly a scratch upon him.'

  'The bastard's got a charmed life,' complained Gwyn. 'How many times is it now that he's been caught out in treason, embezzlement and theft, yet manages to slither back to his comfortable manor and a life of ease?'

  John had to agree that his officer's analysis was very near the mark. 'But it will cost him dear this time, and I feel he'll keep his head well down for a very long while to come.'

  'How will it cost him?' demanded Nesta, and waited for John to explain what had happened that morning.

  'When de Revelle submitted, the sheriff and the two justices hurried over to see what should be done.

  Nicholas at once announced that he wanted no retribution against either of his adversaries, other than full restitution o
f himself, his family and his men in Hempston Arundell and a sworn promise that they would never again interfere in his manor. But as part of this settlement, he wanted full compensation for all that had been taken from there during the time that de la Pomeroy and de Revelle had annexed it - all the freeholders' rents, the sales of crops, animals and wool that would have been earned by him had he been in occupancy during that period.'

  Thomas's little eyes opened wide. 'That would come to a hefty sum. Can they calculate what is owed to him?'

  'All the manor accounts and tallies are there, it seems. The justices, when they agreed to de Arundell's suggestion, gave the sheriff orders to have all the records seized and pored over by clerks familiar with such things - at the expense of Pomeroy and de Revelle. They have two months in which to pay up or they will be hauled back before the court, assuming Henry lives through this.'

  'The shock of paying all that money may well give him another seizure,' said Gwyn with some glee.

  They continued the gossiping until there was nothing left to be said about the day's excitement. Thomas slid out of the tavern, bent on visiting the cathedral for some silent prayer, and Gwyn rolled off to the castle to play dice with Sergeant Gabriel and his soldiery, diplomatically leaving his master alone with his mistress. They soon found themselves up in her little chamber in the loft and John discovered that the tensions and stresses of the day had done nothing to dampen his ardour when they made love on the wide feather mattress on the floor.

  Afterwards, in the dreamy relaxation that followed, the coroner lay on his back staring up at the dark recesses of the spider-haunted roof trusses, just visible in the light from a single candle. With his arm around Nesta's shoulders, he became contemplative about the events of past weeks.

  'Most of my problems have gone, thank God,' he reflected with satisfaction. 'I had begun to despair of even finding a common thread between those guildsmen killings, let alone finding the identity of the actual killer.

  And now my campaign to get justice for the Arundells has at last succeeded, though it was a finely run thing at the end.'

  The auburn-haired landlady nestled closer to his body as they lay under the heavy sheepskins. She could see their breath steaming in the cold air, but even naked as they were, it was warm beneath the covers.

  'So what remains to disturb your peace of mind, Sir Crowner?' she asked teasingly.

  'Very little - there are hardly any inquests outstanding and Thomas's rolls are up to date for presentation to the next Eyre.' He suddenly scowled up into the gloom.

  'Except of course, we have not yet found Geoffrey Trove, and that bastard who assaulted my wife may already have left Devon or even England itself.'

  Some time later, afraid that her lover was falling asleep, Nesta prodded him with her elbow.

  'Up you get, my man. You can't stay here all night, your dear wife will need your company after such a distressing day.'

  He was not sure whether Nesta was being sarcastic, but knowing of her sympathetic nature, he decided she probably meant what she said. In any event, he grumbled his way out of bed and pulled on his clothes, before collecting Brutus from his knuckle bone downstairs and setting off in the freezing evening for home.

  Next day, Matilda dragged her husband off to Raden Lane to say farewell to the de Arundells, who were on the eve of leaving for Hempston. They were to meet up next day with all the men who had lived with Nicholas on the moor and were to ride en masse along the River Hems to their manor, which would be their home once again.

  Nicholas, his arm in a linen sling, was effusive in his thanks to John de Wolfe and pledged his help in anything that the coroner might need in the future. Lady Joan was tearful in her thanks and, with Matilda watching benignly, even ventured to give him a parting kiss on his bristly black cheek. John wryly wondered what his wife would have said and done if any other woman had done the same in public, especially Nesta - or Hilda of Dawlish. A little cynically, he decided that it took other people's misfortunes to temper their own conflicts, then chided himself for such unkind thoughts when his wife was silently suffering from yet another humiliation caused by her brother.

  They left the loving couple and returned to Martin's Lane, where after their noontide dinner Matilda pleaded exhaustion. Indeed, she looked pale and wan, so her usual climb up to her solar was earlier than usual, not even delayed by a cup of wine. John had no duties that afternoon and wandered out into the back yard to seek Mary's company in her kitchen-hut. Flurries of snow were twisting about in the east wind, but there were not enough for snow to settle on the ground. He sat on a stool next to Mary's cooking fire with Brutus at his feet and contentedly sipped from a jar of mulled ale which she had made for him. After talking for a while about the remarkable events in Rougemont the previous day, Mary asked him what would happen to Richard de Revelle now.

  'A cat has nothing on my brother-in-law when it comes to nine lives,' he replied cynically. 'He seems to weather every storm, even when they are all of his own making. But after this humiliation, I hope to God he just goes back to his manor and keeps very quiet for a very long time.'

  'But he's not long bought a dwelling up on North Gate Street,' objected the raven-haired maid. 'I wonder if he and Lady Eleanor intend to live there some of the time?'

  'I doubt he'll want to walk the streets of Exeter for a while, after his shameful exhibition up in Rougemont,' said John with ill-concealed satisfaction. 'If he's any sense of honour, which I doubt, he'll go back to Revelstoke, which is his manor furthest away from this city. If I never see him again, it will be too soon.'

  But this uncharitable sentiment was shortly to be confounded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In which a hound proves his worth

  It might have been Denise's ointment or simply the healing power of nature, but Geoffrey Trove's arm had improved over the past two days. Although it was still throbbing and painful, his fever had subsided - and, best of all, his mistress's constant nagging for him to attend an apothecary had faded with the infection.

  The journeyman was still afraid to go out in the daytime, for fear of being recognised, but in the old black cloak with a deep hood - the one he had worn to attack the sister of that swine de Revelle - he had ventured out to a low alehouse the previous evening to eavesdrop on the city gossip.

  He heard about the battle up at the castle and gloated that the two objects of his hate had both come to grief in different ways. He sincerely hoped that Pomeroy's seizure would prove fatal, but the news that Nicholas de Arundell had contemptuously spared the life of Richard de Revelle annoyed him greatly. If he had killed him and Pomeroy had also died, then Geoffrey, who was basically very religious in spite of his disregard for some of the Commandments, would have considered that God had smitten the evil-doers on his behalf.

  Now that de Revelle was not only unharmed but a free man, Geoffrey decided that it was up to him to complete the task that the Almighty seemed to have overlooked. Denise was out, buying some food at the stalls in High Street. Now that she had given up whoring and he had left his job, he had to support them both from the meagre savings he had accumulated from his pay as a journeyman - another reason for seeking violent revenge against those who had prevented him becoming a rich man with his own business.

  He went to his small chest in the corner, one of the few things he had brought from his shack on Exe Island, and took out a duplicate of his master-work. It was the prototype of the one he had left behind in his hut, as he was afraid that some poison on the springs of that one might again contaminate him. This other device was slightly smaller, but equally efficient in firing a bolt.

  He had made the second one with greater care and better metal, finishing it off meticulously to display his skill - yet still those hidebound bastards of guild masters had rejected it. He placed it on the table, checked the mechanism, then fired a bolt against the opposite wall, where it stuck quivering in the whitewashed cob, two inches deep into the plaster. Satisfied, he pulled
it out and cleaned it, then wrapped the miniature crossbow in a cloth and put it back into the chest before the nosy Denise returned.

  Lady Eleanor de Revelle had been quite satisfied with her new town house in Exeter. When her husband was sheriff, she had firmly refused to spend any time in his official residence in the keep of Rougemont, which she considered a bleak, draughty place unfitting for a woman of her station in life. Eleanor was an even greater snob than Matilda - who she despised - and when Richard was living in Exeter castle, she had insisted on living either at their manor in Tiverton or at Revelstoke. She endured his frequent falls from grace with apparent indifference, keeping his professional life at arm's length. However, his dismissal as sheriff and now his ignominious defeat at the hands of Nicholas de Arundell were hard to bear, but she dealt with this latest embarrassment by keeping herself aloof from any of her husband's activities, and often his very company.

  A tall, angular woman with an icy personality, she had long regretted her marriage to Richard de Revelle, as she considered that she had married well beneath her.

  She was the third daughter of an earl with estates in Somerset and Gloucestershire and, like Matilda, had been married off as one of the least saleable assets of the family to a moderately acceptable young knight. After twenty years of marriage, she had accepted her fate stoically, settling for extravagant creature comforts bought both by Richard's money and, a generous allowance from her own family. It was Eleanor who had prodded her husband into purchasing the house in North Gate Street, partly with the excuse that if he was entering into this respectable venture to establish a college in Smythen Street, then he needed to be much nearer to it than either of their manors at opposite ends of the large county. The house gave her an opportunity to spend as much time as she wished in a city where there were greater market facilities and frequent fairs and festivals, a welcome change from the boring isolation of their manors.