But almost immediately, Gabriel hissed a warning. ‘There’s Gwyn on the doorstep, looking up and down the street. There’s no one with him.’
Going back into the roadway, they waved at him and he came across.
‘He’s been and gone again,’ he reported. ‘The landlord says he’ll be back later, but God alone knows when.’
‘Does he know where the bloody man has gone?’ demanded de Wolfe.
‘He’s gone to visit a doxy, so it depends on his stamina as to when he’ll be back,’ replied Gwyn, with a broad grin.
‘Maybe a good time to nab him, with his breeches down — if we knew where he was,’ suggested Gabriel.
‘He’s gone to see his regular whore, according to the landlord,’ said Gwyn. ‘A hussy called Alys, who plies her trade from a cottage next to the slaughterhouse at the end of the road.’ He pointed in the opposite direction to that which they had come and immediately, John began striding off, already loosening his cloak so that he could get at his sword.
The High Street soon petered out and beyond the last straggle of cottages the position of the slaughterhouse was easily apparent by the stench of rotten entrails piled outside. Beyond it, a dim light flickered behind the shutters of a solitary window in a cob-and-thatch hovel, too small to be called a cottage.
‘That must be the place,’ growled Gabriel. ‘It’s got a lighted candle, perhaps he likes to see what he’s doing!’
There was no gate or fence around the hut and John stepped quietly up to the window and put an eye to a crack in the ill-fitting shutter. Then backing away, he went back to the other two and spoke in a whisper. ‘It’s him all right — unless someone else is enjoying the delights of Alys.’
‘Shall I go back and fetch the other two lads?’ suggested Gabriel.
‘No, if three of us old warriors can’t grab one man, we ought to go home and sit by the fire for the rest of our days!’
Gwyn nodded in the gloom. ‘Yes, let’s jump him now, but we’ll need the others to drag him safely back to Exeter.’
They moved quietly up to the door, a rickety collection of planks with leather hinges, but no handle or latch. John opened it by simply raising his foot and smashing it against the flimsy barrier, which flew back with a crash. With his sword drawn, he charged inside, closely followed by his two companions. The light from the candle was dim, but he had no difficulty in seeing a man straddling a woman on a grubby mattress placed on the floor in one corner. His roar of challenge was matched by a strident bellow from the man, who leapt up dressed only in an undershirt, the pandemonium being added to by piercing shrieks from the woman who lay naked on the palliasse. She had good reason to be frightened, as three large men appeared around her bed, all brandishing large swords.
‘Who the hell are you?’ yelled the man, staring wildly at these apparitions, as he pulled his shirt down to cover his pubes. He was a tall, well-built man, fair-haired with coarsely handsome features.
‘Are you Walter Hamelin?’ roared de Wolfe. ‘If you are, then we’re arresting you!’
‘Arresting me? God’s teeth, what are you talking about, damn you?’ He sounded indignant, as well as shocked.
‘We are king’s officers!’ shouted John, stretching the truth a little. At least Gabriel was part of Exeter’s royal garrison and John’s warrant from the Justiciar effectively made him a king’s agent. ‘We are seizing you as an outlaw and also as a murderer,’ he added.
Walter virtually danced on the bed in desperation as he looked wildly around to see if he could reach his clothes piled on the floor, where his long dagger sat on his belt. It was a futile gesture, with three long sword-blades pointing steadily at him. Alys had given up screaming and had grabbed a woollen blanket and pulled it over herself, covering her head.
‘We are entitled to kill you now!’ boomed John. ‘But we’re taking you back to Exeter to question you, so get your breeches on. This is the last time you’ll ever soil a woman, whore though she may be!’
Gabriel bent to remove the dagger from Walter’s clothing and threw the serge trousers at him.
Still standing on the bed, the outlaw sullenly pulled them on as he snarled at John. ‘Who are you and how did you find me?’
‘I’m Sir John de Wolfe, a knight and a servant of King Richard. These men are my squire and the sergeant of the garrison at Rougemont. We were the ones who broke up your murderous attack on a priest and those nuns on the road to Honiton. That’s all you need to know, so get these on!’ He kicked a pair of boots towards the mattress, where the harlot still cowered under her blanket.
As soon as Walter had dragged them on, Gabriel sheathed his sword and stepped forward with a length of thin rope, which he had brought wrapped around his waist. As his two companions held their swords at the ready, he lashed Hamelin’s wrists together behind his back. With the outlaw’s own dagger in his hand, he used it to prod the captive in the back and urge him towards the door, keeping hold of the loose end of the rope.
As they left the miserable shack, Gwyn cackled at Walter. ‘At least you didn’t have to pay her this time, you’ve had your fun for free!’
In return, the outlaw spat a string of foul blasphemies at the Cornishman and received a clout across the ear for his trouble.
Hamelin continued to curse as they marched him back down the High Street, the moon giving them light enough from a clear sky.
Before they reached the alehouse where they had left the other soldiers, Walter ran out of abuse and managed to speak rationally again. ‘What are these bloody questions you want to ask me? You’re not sheriff’s men. Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?’
De Wolfe stopped their progress in the middle of the street and held the tip of his sword to the man’s throat. ‘Maybe I will, just as you callously slashed the throat of Roger Smale and threw him into the river!’ he growled.
Walter shrugged, causing the tip of the blade to scratch his neck. ‘So that’s what this is all about!’ he sneered. ‘I usually slay people for free, but that time I got paid for it!’
‘And who was it who paid you?’ demanded John, angry at the man’s offhanded admission of murder.
‘Some dandy of a squire from Berry Pomeroy. I seemed to recollect he called himself Justin something-or-other.’
John dropped his sword from the man’s throat, but kept it ready at his side as they began to walk on again. ‘And how did he know how to find you?’ persisted de Wolfe.
Walter leered at him in the pale moonlight. ‘You’d be surprised at some of the folk who depend on me, some of them high and mighty.’
‘Depend? What do you mean — “depend”?’ growled Gwyn, who obviously detested this brigand.
‘A burgess wants a nice bit of venison or a vicar fancies a couple of brace of pheasant,’ boasted Walter. ‘And sometimes, an upright man wants his wife or his mistress done away with, while he’s conveniently miles away in Dorchester!’
They reached the other alehouse and stopped in the road outside. While Gabriel went in to fetch the two men-at-arms, John continued his questioning. ‘So this Justin wanted a particular man dead, is that it?’
‘Yes, but he mainly wanted some parchments he was carrying. He paid me ten shillings for the deed, half in advance, the rest when I handed over the stuff from the man’s pouch.’
‘You did better than Judas Iscariot, then!’ growled Gwyn. ‘He only got thirty pieces of silver, you managed a hundred and twenty.’
‘Did this Justin say who had ordered him to employ you?’ snapped de Wolfe.
‘He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. It was none of my concern. We met both times in the Bell. It was arranged as usual by the landlord.’