This large village was about ten miles from Exeter in the direction of Honiton but was not on the main Roman road that led eastwards.
'Where is he now?' demanded de Wolfe.
'Gone for some bread and ale after his ride, but he'll come back here soon,' said the Cornishman. When the reeve arrived at the guardroom below the coroner's stark chamber, John went down to speak to him. Walter Spere, a thin man with a mournful face, wore a serge jerkin and canvas breeches, with a thin cloak thrown over his shoulders. On his head was a pointed woollen cap, the end flopped over to one side.
'The cadaver was found by a cowman early today, sir, though he was stone cold and probably died last night,' he began in a quavering voice.
'Where was this?' demanded John.
'On the verge of the road, about a mile this side of the church.'
Thomas, who was lurking behind, could not resist airing his knowledge. 'The church and manor of Ottery St Mary have long belonged to Rouen Cathedral, being a gift from Edward the Confessor, of blessed memory.' He crossed himself devoutly, but de Wolfe was more interested in murder than history.
'And he has been deliberately slain, you claim?'
Walter nodded vigorously. 'Covered in blood, he was! Stabbed in the back, by the looks of it.'
'Any idea who he is?'
'No, sir, but he's not from the village, that's, for sure. He has good clothes and boots and a fine sword, so he's probably a merchant. or even a knight.'
De Wolfe cleared his throat noisily as he came to a quick decision. 'We'd better ride back with you and see what this is about. Gwyn, go and organise the horses — but Thomas, you may as well stay here and attend to your other duties, as I want to get back as soon as I can.'
Thankful to be spared, the clerk took no offence at this implied hint about his poor performance on a horse and before long he watched the three men ride off down Castle Hill. They left through the South Gate and turned up Magdalen Street to ride into the countryside past the gallows, which was bare of customers that day. The coroner and his officer rode their larger horses side by side, followed by Walter Spere on a rounsey. They rode in silence, as no one had anything to say.
An hour and a half later they were well on their way to Ottery and entering a strip of forest-lined track that John remembered as stretching for at least a couple of furlongs, the tall trees reaching right to the edge of the road. Suddenly, they realised that the regular rhythm of the three horses had changed and, looking around, were mystified to see the reeve cantering off to the left and vanishing down a narrow path between the trees. In seconds, he had completely disappeared and even his hoof-beats were silenced on the soft ground of the forest floor.
'Where the hell has that bloody man gone?' demanded Gwyn in surprise. 'Shall I follow him?'
'No, stay where you are!' snapped de Wolfe, drawing his sword from its sheath at the side of his saddle. 'I don't like the feel of this.'
They sat and listened to the silence of the deep woodland, broken only by the croak of a magpie. Gwyn reached for the ball mace that hung from his saddlebow. This had a short handle with a chain carrying a wicked-looking iron ball studded with spikes. 'Is this another ambush like the one that injured the stonemason?' he grunted, looking around suspiciously.
'But why be set up by a manor-reeve?' growled John. 'If indeed he is a reeve. And why try to rob us? We are not rich merchants or priests with fat purses.'
'Do we go on or turn back?' asked his officer.
The coroner glowered around, seeing only an empty road in front and behind them. 'We may as well carry on, now that we've come this far.'
They kicked their horses into motion and began trotting down the centre of the track, their heads swinging from side to side as they scanned the green wall of forest. Suddenly, Gwyn caught something out of the corner of his eye, a shadowy movement just within the tree-line on his left. Automatically, he gave a warning shout and swung his big brown mare around to face the possible threat. Almost simultaneously, he heard the unmistakable 'twang' of a released crossbow and half-expected to feel the impact of a bolt in his chest. But he was not the target, for alongside him there was a 'clang' as the missile struck something metallic.
John had heard the sound of the crossbow discharge at the same second as Gwyn and had instinctively ducked, as well as digging his spurs into Odin's flanks. But before the great stallion had been able to accelerate, the bolt had crossed the short distance from the trees and struck the upraised blade of John's sword, just above the cross-guard. It jerked his hand sideways and skittered away to land on the road.
The two seasoned warriors automatically took evasive action, bending low over their saddles and diverging from each other as they prodded their horses into maximum effort. As they pounded up the road, another bolt from the opposite side of the road flew harmlessly past Odin's rump, then they were well out of range, given the time needed to crank back a crossbow for reloading. However, they did not stop until they had emerged from the wooded stretch and were safely alongside open strip-fields,
'The bastards!' fumed Gwyn. 'Are we going to go in and flush them out?'
John examined the dimple and scratch on his sword-blade, which had probably saved his life, as he had been holding the weapon upright in front of his chest. 'No, I'm not mixing with bowmen hiding behind trees! Anyway, they'll have long gone now, having failed. '
'That sod of a reeve or whoever he was led us nicely into a trap!' snarled Gwyn, his usual good temper evaporated by the churlish trick that had been played upon them. 'But what was it all about?'
De Wolfe, although as experienced in battle as any man, was shaken by the unexpected ambush. 'There's a pattern to this, Gwyn! Murdering a Keeper and now trying to assassinate a coroner, both of them king's officers! And in this same part of the county, too.'
'You think it's connected with Axmouth?' asked the Cornishman dubiously.
'What else? We went and shook up the bailiff and portreeve a few days ago and then went and caused trouble at Loders. They are getting worried and want to get rid of me.'
'Maybe it's just as well we are leaving for London!' jested Gwyn, his good nature recovering. 'Otherwise we'll be looking over our shoulders all the time.'
'Not if our plan with the non-existent silver works,' said John grimly. 'I'll see those swine dancing by their necks before we quit Devon!'
Later that day de Wolfe related to the sheriff what had happened, but decided not to tell Nesta that he had probably escaped death by only an inch. Henry de Furnellis was outraged at this second attack on a royal law officer and seemed as frustrated as John that they had no proof of who might be responsible. De Wolfe had ridden with Gwyn the remaining distance to Ottery St Mary and discovered that they knew nothing about any corpse. The real manor-reeve turned out to be an amiable, fat fellow, utterly unlike the silent man who had impersonated him. No one in the village recognised John's description of such an unremarkable man, and it was obvious that he could have come from anywhere in the east of the county. The two archers hidden in the woods could have been anyone, as they remained hidden from view.
Tired from a day in the saddle and the stress of the sudden attack, John decided not to visit the Bush that evening, though part of him welcomed the excuse to escape Nesta's emotional mood, as women in tears frightened him more than facing a troop of cavalry. Next day he had to attend the fortnightly county court in the bleak Shire Hall in the inner ward of Rougemont. With Thomas prompting him from his parchments, he made several declarations of 'exigent', outlawing men who had failed to answer to their bail on four previous occasions. There were two confessions to read out from men who had turned 'approvers', trying to save their necks by denouncing their accomplices in cases of robbery, and he successfully persuaded an indignant leather merchant to take his 'appeal' against a fraudulent supplier of hides to the next Eyre, rather than challenge the man to trial by combat, which he was almost certain to lose.