The Noble Outlaw

'Where is that deed now?'

The noble outlaw's face darkened. 'If I know de Revelle and Henry de la Pomeroy, the parchment is ash scattered to the winds by now. It was in my chest at Hempston, but when I had to run for my life, I had no chance to recover such things.'

John looked over the horn spoon that he was dipping into his stew. 'Such a deed of transfer for such a significant item as a manor would have a copy lodged in the Chancery in Winchester or London. But carry on with your tale, sir.'

'When my father died some eight years ago, I inherited the manor as his only son. I married Joan and all was well for a few years until I decided to take the Cross and go off to Palestine.'

He paused and rubbed his forehead in some anguish.

'If I had stayed at home, none of this would have happened. I sometimes wonder why God called me to the Holy Land, then stabbed me in the back after I went.'

De Wolfe gave one of his throat clearings, this time intended to convey sympathy. 'Why indeed? Why did any of us go, for there was little booty to be gained, unless it was for our souls?'

'My father was always keen on my supporting the Pope when he declared a Crusade. He had been on the ill-fated one in the forties. Anyway, go I did and was away almost three years. When I got back, that bastard de Revelle and his crony at Berry Pomeroy had annexed Hempston, claiming that I had been assumed dead and that the land had reverted to the original freeholders.'

'Why should they consider you dead?' demanded the coroner.

'Because it suited their purpose,' snapped Nicholas, banging the table and making the ale pots rattle. 'I had twice sent messages home to my wife, written by our chaplain, as I have no skill with letters. But I later learnt that one certainly never arrived, as the friend to whom I had entrusted it was shipwrecked off Italy. God knows what happened to the other; I have never heard since of the knight who promised to deliver it.'

'Then what?' prompted John, as his host seemed to go into a gloomy reverie at these evil memories.

'Almost three years ago, having arrived by ship at Dartmouth, I arrived unannounced at my manor. I found the house occupied by strangers, my wife gone, and my steward and reeve replaced by men from Berry.' He looked across at the dour Robert Hereward. 'He can tell you better what had happened, Crowner.'

The older man nodded and leaned forwards across the table. 'Three months before my lord came home, a group of horsemen rode up to the manor house one day and confronted Lady Joan and myself. They were led by Henry de la Pomeroy, Lord of Berry, and Richard de Revelle, who at that time was not yet the sheriff.' He stopped and shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory. 'They said that Sir Nicholas was dead, so that the manor now escheated to the tenant-in-chief — John, Count of Mortain — who had decreed that Hempston would in future be held by the former freeholders, the Pomeroys.'

There was a murmur of anger from the men around; though they knew the sad tale backwards, it never failed to stir their emotions.

'So how did de Revelle come into this?' asked Gwyn.

'No one mentioned it at the time, but later it seems that Henry de la Pomeroy and Richard de Revelle made some deal with each other, to divide up the revenues of Hempston between them. Anyway, I was thrown out and a bailiff from Revelstoke, Richard's main manor near Plympton, was installed for a time — then Pomeroy's man Ogerus Coffin arrived, and he remains there to this day, God curse his guts!'

'And my wife was also turned out,' snarled Nicholas, returning to the story. 'Those two swine declared her a widow, though she had no proof of it except my absence in Outremer and my silence. They even had the bloody gall to offer her some damned Pomeroy cousin as a husband, the bait being that she could then stay on in Hempston as the new lady of the manor.'

'So what did she do?' asked de Wolfe, impressed by the sincerity of the outlaw's complaints.

'Joan is a spirited woman, right enough. It seems she told them to go to hell and take their miserable cousin with them.'

'The lady actually spat in Pomeroy's face,' said Hereward with some relish. 'She screamed and raved at them and tried to get us servants to attack them, but it was hopeless. They had men-at-arms and a whole crowd of retainers to manhandle us out of the hall. I ended up living with Martin there, in the reeve's cottage though he wasn't the reeve any longer. They imported their own from de Revelle's place near Tiverton and built him a new house.'

Gunilda came around with her jug to refill their pots.

'I lived in Totnes at the time,' she said indignantly. 'Not a word of the real truth reached there, all that was said was that Sir Nicholas had died on Crusade and that Lady Joan had sold up the manor and gone back to Cornwall.'

De Arundell took a deep drink and moodily continued his saga. 'They were right in that she went back to Cornwall, for she had nowhere else to go. She threw herself on the mercy of her second cousin, Humphrey de Arundell of Trefry, who has been good enough to support her.'

John de Wolfe scratched at his bristly face and scowled at his host. 'But we have not come to an explanation of why you are now outlawed,' he said bluntly.

'I arrived at Hempston with only a few attendants, my squire Philip Girard there and a couple of men.' He waved at the lean, wiry fellow with the horn at his belt.

'Philip had been the chief huntsman at the manor and came with me to Palestine. Like your man Gwyn here, he has been a constant and faithful companion to me.'

'That was a terrible day, it still haunts me in my dreams,' contributed Girard. 'We expected a rapturous welcome — and all we got was black disaster.' Nicholas nodded in agreement. 'In my hall, I looked for my wife and her tire-women — and was met by a total stranger, this bailiff, who claimed we were impostors and threatened to have us whipped out of the village. Some of the old servants were hanging back behind him, too afraid to come forward and greet us.'

'We tried to throw him out' said Philip Girard. 'But he hollered for help and half a dozen strangers ran in and forcibly pushed us out of the house and into the road outside the stockade, threatening to cut our throats if we tried to come in again.'

'I saw a horseman ride out as if the devil was after him,' added Nicholas. 'I later learned that he had been sent to Berry Castle, to warn the Pomeroys of our return.

By now, some of our villagers had come around the gate, attracted by the noise. Robert Hereward was one and he told us what had happened, so we went back to the reeve's house to recover our wits.'

The rest of the story came out, a catalogue of deceit and violence. While the shaken Crusaders sat taking some food and ale in Martin's cottage, a force arrived from Berry. Henry de la Pomeroy was the leader, and brought with him not only his steward, castellan and a score of men, but also Richard de Revelle, who had been staying with him at Berry.

De Wolfe, working out the time-scale, strongly suspected that this must have happened during the very period when the two malcontents were plotting to join the rebellion of Prince John against the captured king languishing in Germany. But Nicholas and his men were still describing what had happened at Hempston.

'We confronted them in the compound surrounding my manor house,' he went on. 'I admit I was in a towering rage — and who could blame me? We shouted and abused each other roundly, each becoming more angry with every passing moment. My own men, good Hereward here and Martin and Philip, joined in the shouting, for they had suffered almost as much as me, with the loss of their positions in the manor.'

The haggard steward fervently agreed with his lord.

'This was the first time we had the opportunity to vent our feelings, Crowner,' he said. 'It seemed that at last Sir Nicholas had returned to rid us of these interlopers, so we stood together and trusted that our righteous cause would prevail.'