Wasteper whispered to de Wolfe that the ginger-headed man was Rupert Penyll, who owned a fulling mill on the river and was well known for expressing outspoken opinions at every guild meeting. Now Benedict de Buttelscumbe invited John de Wolfe to address the gathering, having already determined that Henry de Furnellis declined to speak, typically claiming that he had delegated his authority on this matter to the coroner.
John rose to his feet and hunched over the table, his fists resting on the edge as he glowered around at the assembly. 'I have little to say, as I came here to listen, not to speak,' he proclaimed. 'But you will have heard that my own wife was sorely assaulted the night before last. The swine who attacked her claimed that he had perpetrated these three killings.'
There was an excited buzz of voices around the room as John explained in detail what had happened. He held up his hand for quiet.
'I am not entirely satisfied that this is the whole truth, as I fail to see why guildsmen should have been chosen for this maniac's victims. Anyone would suffice for a corpse, if the only object was to discomfit Sir Richard de Revelle or Sir Henry de la Pomeroy. But I have to make all proper investigations to get to the bottom of the matter.'
The coroner slapped his hand upon the table to emphasise his words. 'You guildsmen are a tight community, you all know your leaders and each other. The three dead men were prominent amongst you, so does that have any significance? They were not journeymen or apprentices, but masters or officials.' He paused to glare around the men whose faces showed that they were listening attentively to this knight with the strong personality and respected reputation.
'So far, there seems nothing in their business affairs or family matters which marks out any of the victims as being targets for hate or even dislike. Yet there must be something that drove a killer to use such vicious means to bring about their deaths. Surely someone amongst you might hazard a guess as to what that might be?' He sat down in a silence that was almost palpable, but then murmurs grew into animated voices until they rose to fervent discussion. De Buttelscumbe, intent on showing his own importance, waved his arms and yelled above the tumult. 'Quiet, all of you! Let us have some useful suggestions for the king's coroner, for it is he who has to take the responsibility for accounting to the royal justices for these deaths.' Several voices were conflicting with outspoken advice, but Buttelscumbe managed to get their owners to speak one at a time.
'Surely it must be the work of a madman, Crowner,' called out the red-haired mill owner. 'I knew all three of these dead men and I can vouch for their goodness and honesty. Only a crazed person would want to kill them.'
'That's damned nonsense,' yelled the journeyman Trove. 'From what I hear of these murders, they were well planned — and the proof that whoever did them is sane and clever is that our coroner here has not been able to get so much as a whiff of his identity. Why else would he be here today to ask for our help?'
De Wolfe was not overpleased with this criticism of his effectiveness, but as it was largely true, he held his tongue.
The last speaker was one of the wardens, Ranulph de Cerne, who managed to avoid smelling of fish, being now too elevated in his craft actually to handle the produce.
'What I wish to know is whether more of us may be at risk?' he demanded. 'I suggest that we all take more care of ourselves and not wander dark lanes at night, especially the officers of the guilds. We have seen what happened to the unfortunate wife of our coroner here.'
John half rose at this and declined to give any assurances about their safety. 'Certainly the second victim was not in dark lanes, he was attacked in open country, so no one is secure at any time or at any place. I suggest that senior guildsmen try not to be abroad alone, but take a servant with a good sword or a club with them as a bodyguard, until we can lay our hands on this assailant.'
He paused and again scowled around the circle of faces.
'But does anyone know of any common thread that could join these men to Hempston Arundell? Or indeed, to our former sheriff or the lord of Berry Pomeroy?' No one offered any answer to this last plea, men looking at each other and shrugging. There was a further half-hour of discussion, which was heated at times, but nothing constructive came of it and as de Wolfe had expected, he gained no new information about any of the dead men that was of any use to him.
Eventually, he went back home, anxious to confirm that his wife's improvement was continuing. He was experiencing a nagging mental conflict, for though his conscience was clear in that nothing he had done had brought this calamity upon her — and he was safely asleep in their bed when it happened — his long-lasting infidelity and his endless disgruntlement with their hopeless marriage preyed upon him, as if these sins might have called down misfortune upon Matilda.
He found her still sitting by the hearth, a good fire blazing beneath the stone canopy that took the fumes out through the roof. She was swaddled in a heavy serge mantle, with a bearskin draped across her knees.
Lucille squatted on a cushion to one side and a cup of his best Anjou red stood on a stool on the other.
The French maid, who seemed perpetually afraid of this tall, dark man, scuttled out of the room as he came in and took the other chair, pushing Brutus gently aside to get his feet on the stone surround of the firepit.
'I have had several callers, John,' announced Matilda with some satisfaction in her voice. 'Four of my friends from St Olave's came to enquire after my condition and pray for my speedy recovery. And Lady Joan de Whiteford also called, she was most anxious about me, bless her.' John made appropriate rumbles in his throat and made his own enquiries about her progress.
'My throat is almost recovered, but this pain in my side troubles, me, especially when I breathe,' she complained. 'But I shall be up and about as usual very soon. I do not wish to miss the Feast of Holy Innocents in the cathedral.'
She was referring to the light-hearted — even raucous — celebrations which began on the feast of St John, the third day of Christmas, when the choristers took over the cathedral for a day one of them being chosen as the 'boy-bishop, complete with mitre and staff.
Sometimes the jollity, in which most of the clergy took part, got out of hand: more than once the archdeacons had had to send in the cathedral proctors with their staffs to curb the excesses, which on occasion even spilled over into the city streets.
John listened patiently as at great length she recounted the conversation of her recent visitors, especially those of Joan de Whiteford. Despite the frightening experience Matilda must have suffered, he suspected that she welcomed this episode, and especially the fawning attention of her matronly friends, as a break in the dull routine of her life. When she had exhausted her account, he turned to more serious matters.
'The guild masters and their members could throw no light upon this attack — or upon the deaths of three of their fellows,' he said grimly. 'There seems to be no connection between Hempston and the killing of the guildsmen. I will have to travel to that manor as soon as I am able, to begin my enquiries.'
He hesitated and then continued in a more subdued voice. 'It may be that your brother's conduct in the way that he and Henry de la Pomeroy acquired Hempston Arundell may give rise to some problems, but I will not judge the issue until I have learned a great deal more. It was before my time as coroner when that occurred.' Not wishing to upset his wife any more, he left it at that. Matilda was silent when he finished speaking. She had come to realise that her brother seemed incapable of keeping out of trouble, most of which he brought upon himself by his greed and his search for advancement.