There was no other evidence and all the coroner could do, after the jury had satisfied their morbid curiosity by peering at the wounds as they filed past the bodies, was to declare that the two victims had been murdered by persons unknown and that the inquest would be adjourned sine die when hopefully further evidence would be available.
Thomas recorded the proceedings, but these were so sparse that they hardly covered half a leaf of parchment, a palimpsest made by erasing previous writing by scraping and chalking. By then, evening was upon them and, with instructions to the bailiff to send messages to Axminster to convey the sad tidings to the relatives and arrange for the bodies to be collected, the coroner and his officer and clerk set off on the five mile journey back to Honiton, where they could find a tavern that would provide a meal and a pallet in the loft for the night:
After they had supped the thin potage and eaten a mutton pie with boiled leeks and cabbage, the three investigators sat around a small glowing firepit in the middle of the taproom for a survey of the day's events. As darkness fell outside, Gwyn drank cider, John had a quart of ale and Thomas sipped a cup of indifferent wine with an expression that suggested it was a cough linctus from the village apothecary.
'This has been a sad day for the king's peace in this county,' said de Wolfe in a mournful voice that held an undertone of anger. 'The man was a fool in some respects, but his loyalties were in the right place.'
Gwyn sucked his moustache dry, then replied. 'It galls me to think that there are bastards at large in this area who seem to act as they think fit, then crush anyone who gets in their way! '
Thomas took another cautious sip of his red wine. 'I've not been privy to all that you have seen in Axmouth. Are we thinking all these deaths — the ship's boy, the pedlar and now the Keeper and his clerk — are all part of the same conspiracy — whatever that might be?'
The coroner glowered into the fire and nodded. 'I am convinced they are, Thomas. The lad was eliminated because his conscience was driving him towards betraying the wanton savagery of pirates. But as to who did it, we have no idea yet.'
'What about the pedlar and the Keeper?' asked Gwyn. 'A knight and one very little above a beggar — why should their deaths be linked?'
'Because they both showed too much interest in what was being carted about the countryside,' replied de Wolfe. 'A pity there are so many damned carters about these days, otherwise we could lean on a few of them and see what they have to say.'
Gwyn grunted dismissively. 'If their mouths are as tight as these folk in Axmouth, we'd learn nothing at all!' he growled.
The coroner's trio left Honiton early in the morning, but not so early that they missed breaking their fast. At the inn, they were given oatmeal gruel sweetened with honey, one of Thomas's favourites. Gwyn had already eaten enough for a horse before they were given a couple of eggs and slices of salt bacon fried in pork dripping. A loaf of fresh rye bread with butter and cheese was washed down with weak ale, the whole meal being sufficient to get the Cornishman to Exeter before he needed refuelling again.
They set off along the high road and rode in silence for a while. Though de Wolfe had found the Keeper an irritating person, he was saddened by his violent death and felt a glowering anger that a royal law officer had been so mistreated when he was doing his duty, however unwisely he went about it.
Typically for April, the weather was changeable and today there was a brisk wind pushing heavy grey clouds rapidly across the sky from the west. Occasional spats of rain came down, not enough to dampen them significantly, though Thomas pulled his black mantle closer about him as he trotted along in the wake of the two bigger horses. He was thinking holy thoughts, mainly about when he could save enough from his small stipend to afford a new copy of the Vulgate of St Jerome, his old one being so used that the pages were frayed and the binding falling apart.
A couple of miles out of Honiton, the road went through an arm of the forest, dense trees, now breaking into leaf, crowding close on either side of the track. As it curved to the left, Gwyn's keen hearing picked out some distant commotion ahead of them.
'Some trouble brewing, by the sounds of it,' he grunted and touched his mare's flanks with his heels to speed her up. John' followed suit, leaving Thomas behind but soon able to hear shouts and yells in the distance. As they rounded the bend they saw a mélée in front of them, and both coroner and his officer kicked their mounts into a canter, hoisting out their swords as they went. As they approached, de Wolfe saw that three men were trying to fight off half a dozen ruffians but were losing the battle. Two other persons were lying on the ground, and a pair of mules and several horses were loose, nervously trying to escape into the trees. One of the defenders had a sword but seemed to be using it clumsily left-handed, his other arm hanging at his side. The other two had staves and were swinging them at assailants armed with clubs and a short pike.
With loud roars, the coroner and his officer thundered down at the tumult, and suddenly the attackers became aware of two large horses bearing down on them, one of them a massive destrier. Each carried a large man waving a wicked-looking broadsword, screaming imprecations that suggested that they were only too happy to use their blades to sever heads from bodies!
The half-dozen outlaws abruptly abandoned their attack and ran for the shelter of the forest, three to each side of the track. Gwyn galloped after one trio and caught the laggard such a blow with his sword that he virtually severed his arm at the shoulder, the other two melting into the trees. On the opposite side, John ran down one man, who vanished under the huge hairy feet of Odin, but again the other two disappeared into the dense forest, where de Wolfe felt disinclined to follow.
The two law officers wheeled back to the road and slid from their mounts to see what damage had been done to the travellers, just as Thomas clopped up on his palfrey. He went straight to the man with the sword, who had sunk to the ground, groaning and clasping his injured right arm. Blood was trickling from the cuff of his leather jerkin, dripping off his fingers on to the earth. As Gwyn and de Wolfe went to look at the two other inert figures lying in the road, the little priest supported the injured man and tried to see what damage had been done.
'One of the swine cut me with a pike,' muttered the victim, a dark-haired man of about thirty. He was pale and sweating with shock, as one of the two other defenders came to his side, the other one limping across to where the coroner and Gwyn were attending to the fallen pair. This new arrival had a livid bruise across his face and forehead where he had been struck by some blunt weapon, but seemed otherwise unhurt.
'Owain, how are you faring?' he asked solicitously, dropping on one knee alongside Thomas.
'We had best get his arm out of that sleeve and see what needs to be done,' suggested Thomas, and with the bruised man giving a running commentary of thanks for their timely rescue they gently pulled Owain's jerkin half-off, to expose a long but seemingly shallow cut running down the forearm.
As Thomas squeezed the upper arm to stanch the flow, the older man produced a relatively clean linen cloth from his pouch and wrapped it tightly around the slashed arm. 'That's better, friends. I feel halfway to being recovered already!' said Owain. 'Thank God the cut looks less serious than I feared. I need that arm to make my living!'
His colour had certainly improved, and Thomas had a chance to look around to see what was happening to the other victims. For the first time he realised that the two fallen men were priests, rather corpulent men in black cassocks and cloaks. Presumably, they were the ones who had been riding the mules, which were now being rounded up by the second defender. The three horses, reassured by the presence of the impassive Odin and Gwyn's brown mare, were unconcernedly cropping the new grass of the verge.