Bending down, he looked inside, and with a roar tore off one of the branches that straddled the stone walls.
‘Look what we’ve got here, Crowner!’ he yelled exultantly, waving his blade dangerously back and forth in the entrance of the shelter.
The others dashed over and Gabriel helped Gwyn drag off more of the crude roofing. Cowering inside the tunnel-like bivouac were four men, crouched against the end wall in a desperate effort to remain hidden.
‘Get out, blast you! Come out of there!’ yelled Gwyn, stabbing down with his sword to encourage the quartet to stumble out into the open.
De Wolfe stared in amazement when he saw who they had found.
‘God’s bowels! It’s the bloody foresters and their tame monkeys!’
With expressions of mixed fear and defiance, William Lupus and Michael Crespin came out of the shelter, followed by the ugly Henry Smok and another burly man, who John assumed was Crespin’s page.
Guy Ferrars was beside himself with rage, waving his fists in the air as he yelled at the foresters.
‘You’ll hang for this, you bastards! Consorting with outlaws, caught red handed in their very camp!’
Crespin looked desperately at his colleague, hoping for some deliverance. William Lupus glowered around at the leaders of the posse, racking his brains for an excuse.
‘We were taken prisoner by Winter and his men,’ he proclaimed. ‘Thank God you’ve come. They would have killed us.’
De Courcy gave Lupus a hard shove in the chest. ‘You bloody liar! If you were prisoners, how is it that you’ve still got your daggers in your belt and that lout there even has his mace?’
Lupus continued to bluster in an effort to regain the initiative.
‘What right have you to be here? This is Royal Forest, you have no power here! Where’s the sheriff? I want to talk to him.’
John stood right in front of the arrogant forester, his hooked nose almost touching his.
‘You can forget all that nonsense about Royal Forests! I’ve just returned from Winchester with a King’s Commission to clear up this anarchy and the sheriff is no part of it. We know about your dealings with Robert Winter — and Cruch the horse-dealer has confessed everything, including his priestly master.’
The surly forester seemed to slump with dismay at the coroner’s revelations, but de Wolfe had not finished.
‘Finding you skulking in Winter’s camp is the final touch. But I also want you in connection with several previous deaths and for refusing to attend my inquests.’
He stepped back and motioned to Gabriel and Gwyn.
‘Bind these men’s wrists and rope them together — and take those weapons from them. They’re coming back to Exeter with us, for a spell in Stigand’s jail in Rougemont.’
‘But only until we hang them!’ added Ferrars viciously.
Getting back to Exeter was a complicated operation, as John’s party had to return to the carts to shed their armour, collect the horses, then go on to Moretonhampstead to meet up with Ferrars’ group. By now it was too late to start out for the city, so the men camped overnight in the field where the sheep market was held. The town was scoured for enough food to last fifty men until morning, though at least Gwyn’s huge appetite was missing, as he had gone with Morin and some soldiers down to the southern campsite and would meet them in Exeter on the morrow.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
By noon the following day they had all assembled back in Rougemont. John had travelled so much in the past week that he had to work out that it was now Tuesday. The borrowed men-at-arms went to their billets in the outer ward, to rest until they began the long tramp back to Portsmouth the next day, while the local leaders adjourned to the hall of the keep for refreshment and discussion about the whole forest affair. John, Ralph Morin, de Courcy and Guy Ferrars and his son sat at a trestle table, with Gwyn, Thomas, Gabriel and the ubiquitous Brother Roger sitting at the end, eager to hear what was decided. While castle servants scurried to fetch them ale and cider to wash down cold meats, bread and cheese, the coroner began the proceedings.
‘What about the damned sheriff? He must know we’re back, but he’s conspicuous by his absence.’ John looked across at the door to Richard’s chamber, which was firmly closed.
‘To hell with him,’ growled the baron. ‘I have a feeling his days are numbered as the King’s man in this county. I’ll be in London in a week or two, when I’m going to have a few strong words with some friends on the Curia — and be damned to de Revelle’s powerful patrons.’
Between the steady champing of jaws and slurping of ale, the discussion went on.
‘We’ve broken the back of the main outlaw band, though there’s scores more of the bastards in the forest,’ said Ralph.
‘But they’re a disorganised ragtag, with no object other than stealing chickens and holding up travellers for their purses,’ said Reginald de Courcy.
‘A pity we didn’t get that Winter fellow,’ said Hugh Ferrars, in one of his rare utterances. ‘Where is he now? I wonder.’
‘Without his second-in-command, that Martin Angot, and with most of his men slain, he’s lost all his power,’ replied John. ‘Unless he can rebuild a gang out of the remaining villains that lurk in those woods, he’s no longer of any consequence.’
‘I suspect that Winter’s already fled from these parts, either up to Exmoor or across into Cornwall,’ grunted Guy Ferrars. ‘Without the support of Prince John’s mob, we can forget him.’
The portly castle chaplain leaned forward to speak to de Wolfe, a quart of ale in one hand. ‘Crowner, yesterday, while you we all away, I met John de Alençon after a service in the cathedral. He asked me to tell you something interesting.’
John suppressed some mild irritation. This priest, amiable as he was, seemed to have his nose into everything. ‘What was that?’ he grunted.
‘The archdeacon said that John of Exeter, our revered cathedral Treasurer, had told him privately that in the last few months, some considerable sums of money had come into the bishop’s palace. The purses were dealt with by Henry Marshal’s clerks, but had never appeared on any diocesan accounts and seemed to vanish equally mysteriously.’
There were raised eyebrows and meaningful looks around the table. John of Exeter, unlike some of the senior canons, was a staunch supporter of the King and sided with the archdeacon and coroner when it came to opposing the Prince John faction.
‘Had the Treasurer no explanation of this?’ asked Lord Ferrars.
‘It seems not. He had no dealings himself with the money, but came across the matter by chance. It would appear that the funds were merely passing through the bishop’s custody, destined for somewhere else.’
‘Perhaps they were collected by a Cistercian monk?’ suggested Reginald de Courcy, with heavy sarcasm.
‘I wonder what’s happened to that fellow?’ queried Ralph. ‘Is it worth rattling the abbey at Buckfast to see if we could shake him out?’
‘Ah, I can also tell you something of that,’ said Brother Roger, beaming at his own erudition. De Wolfe groaned under his breath — this priest was a one-man spy ring. ‘A vicar-choral of my acquaintance told me that Father Edmund Treipas spent one night last week in the guest house in the palace.’
Thomas de Peyne plucked up the nerve to butt into the discussion.
‘I heard the same tale from a secondary in my lodgings. The father had a large pack behind his saddle and apparently was on his way back to Coventry, where he came from in the first place.’
De Wolfe slapped the bench in delight. ‘We’ve scared the fellow off! He must have heard of Stephen Cruch’s arrest and the bishop and his abbot have sent him packing, to save themselves any awkward questions.’