Arnulf shrugged. ‘Depends which part of the forest we were in. It was rare for him to go a week without wanting to ride some doxy. And as for an inn, the Bell was his usual haunt, for he had some arrangement with the landlord. Walter took me there once to help him take a deer we’d killed.’
John tried the man with a few more questions, but there was nothing useful that he could squeeze from him. On the way out of the undercroft, he grabbed Stigand by the throat and threatened him with violence if he failed to clean up the prisoner’s cell and treat him more humanely. Thrusting a few pence at him, he promised to send Gwyn in regularly to check that Arnulf received some edible food at least once a day.
As he walked across the muddy inner ward, he wondered why he had suddenly been struck by this attack of compassion for a murderous outlaw, when he had seen scores of other men die in equally foul circumstances. Perhaps age was turning him soft, but then he decided it was just an honest bargain, exchanging a favour for information, scanty though it was.
In the guardroom of the gatehouse, he found Gwyn at his usual game of dice and after waiting to see him win a ha’penny from Sergeant Gabriel, told them of his visit to Stigand’s captive.
‘Are you thinking of laying an ambush for this Walter fellow?’ asked Gabriel. ‘He must be a pretty slippery chap to come and go into Crediton as he pleases.’
‘Half these towns turn a blind eye to outlaws,’ declared Gwyn, as he dropped his winnings into his scrip. ‘They buy illegal game from them and then sell them food and drink to keep them happy in the forest. It all helps to keep the wheels of trade turning — and why should the townsfolk put themselves out to get them arrested?’
Gabriel nodded his agreement. ‘I have heard tell of outlaws slipping back to live full-time in towns well away from where they came from. Some have started businesses and even become respectable burgesses!’
‘Well this bastard isn’t respectable and I’m going to do my damnedest to catch him!’ declared de Wolfe. ‘We need to get some idea of his habits up around Crediton. I’m too well known to go snooping, so I think it’s a job for you, Gwyn. Investigating alehouses should suit you well!’
His henchman agreed, as the prospect of legitimately drinking a great deal appealed to him, especially as John gave him four pence to fund the investigation, enough to buy sufficient ale to float a rowing boat.
The Cornishman went to collect his mare from the castle stables and, within the hour, had set off on the few miles to Crediton.
‘That rogue in the cells was right. Walter Hamelin does patronize the Bell quite often.’ Late that evening, Gwyn was reporting to John on his spying mission, as they sat in the Bush enjoying mutton pasties and a jug of Nesta’s best ale.
‘How did you come to discover that?’ asked de Wolfe, wondering if his friend had threatened some hapless patron of the alehouse in Crediton.
Gwyn grinned through his ginger moustache. ‘Easy! I claimed that I was looking to buy some illegal venison for my master and had heard that Walter Hamelin sometimes had a haunch or two for sale.’
‘Who told you? The landlord himself?’
‘Indeed it was! It looks as if he acts as a middleman for Walter. A risky business, poaching deer from the forest — a capital offence, but I suppose if you’re already an outlaw, you can’t be hanged twice.’
John was distracted for a moment, as Nesta came across from talking to other customers and slid on to the bench alongside him. He told her what Gwyn had been up to that day and she was intrigued to know what they were going to do next.
Gwyn swallowed almost a pint of ale before answering her. ‘I’ve already done it,’ he said. ‘The landlord told me that Hamelin was due in on Friday with two brace of pheasants and a couple of hares that another customer had ordered. If I wanted to talk to him about venison, he said I should come and bargain a price with him.’
Nesta’s arched eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘They seem very casual about outlawry in Crediton. Have they no fear of the law there?’
John scowled, his bushy black brows meeting in the middle. ‘That’s the problem, there is no law worth speaking of! That scab in the castle gaol said that the local officers can easily be bought off, with no proper sheriff to police the county.’
‘So what are you going to do about this Hamelin fellow?’ persisted Nesta.
Gwyn looked at de Wolfe for approval. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go and talk to him on Friday, see if I can lure him outside where we can seize him?’
John ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the thick dark locks back towards the nape of his neck. ‘He’ll be wary, meeting a complete stranger. You told the landlord that you wanted the venison for your master — did he ask who that was?’
Gwyn nodded. ‘He did, but I told him my master wanted to keep his name well away from any illegal dealings, which seemed to satisfy him.’
John pondered this for a moment. ‘We need to ambush him, but no doubt he’ll be cautious, for all that Crediton seems a safe haven for rogues. If we gallop into the town with a posse, he’ll vanish through the back door, that’s for sure.’
Gwyn nodded, as he slurped some more ale. ‘We don’t even know what he looks like, so I’ll have to keep that meeting, just to clap eyes on the man. I’ll make a date to collect the haunch of meat, then somehow we can nab him when he leaves, for he has to go back into the forest afterwards.’
But Nesta, always mindful of their safety, had thought of a danger they had not mentioned. ‘What if he recognizes you, Gwyn? He was the leader of that gang that attacked the nuns. You were there too and you’re not exactly inconspicuous!’
The Cornishman was unconcerned. ‘They vanished into the trees like greased lightning as soon as they saw us coming. Only Arnulf was left in the road, fending off one of the escort — and he’s locked in the cells.’
Nesta was not totally convinced, but the two men seemed set on this escapade and John partly mollified her by promising to take Gabriel and a few men-at-arms with them.
When Friday afternoon came, six men set off on the eight miles to Crediton, which they reached at twilight. All except Gwyn took cover in a wood just outside the town, the others tethering their horses there and waiting for half an hour to allow Gwyn to reach the Bell tavern. They had brought an extra horse from the castle stables, in the hope of having a captive to take back with them.
Leaving the youngest soldier to look after their mounts, the remaining four set off separately to follow Gwyn into the town. All wore nondescript clothing, John covering his long black hair under a pilgrim’s hat, the wide brim shadowing his face in the approaching dusk. Though he was well known in Exeter, having been abroad for three years made it unlikely that he would be easily recognized in Crediton, but to add to the image of a pilgrim, he had a long cloak to conceal his sword and carried a staff in his hand. Pilgrims were often seen in the town, as its main claim to fame was as the birthplace of the great St Boniface, who centuries earlier had taken Christianity to Germany and become its patron saint.
There were several small alehouses in the town, apart from the Bell, and John sent the two men-at-arms into one with a penny for their ale. They could hardly linger in the street for any length of time and there was no way of telling when Walter Hamelin would appear, if at all.
John walked on up the High Street with Gabriel, who had entered into the spirit of the adventure and disguised himself as a tanner, even to the extent of borrowing a leather apron from a friend in Exeter, which stank of the noxious animal substances that were used in treating hides. They passed the Bell on the other side of the main street, but there was no sign of the Cornishman outside the low thatched building.
‘We’d best go into the churchyard and wait,’ muttered John, as they came level with the large parish church. Slipping through the lychgate, the two men lurked behind the stone wall, trying to look unobtrusive, while still keeping an eye on the door of the Bell. John was afraid that they might waste a whole evening waiting for Walter, the deepening darkness making it more difficult to see who was coming and going.