'Who then conveniently passed it over to his favourites,' completed John. 'Pomeroy claimed that he was to get the actual land in fee simple and that de Revelle would share the rents and income with him equally.'
'All based on the basic lie that the manor lord was dead,' grunted de Ralegh.
'Did the wife accept this tale?' asked Reginald de Bohun.
John shrugged. 'It seems so, though her steward told me that she was so distraught by the reports of his death that she was in no fit state to fight back, other than to deny the claim and look to her servants to help her.'
De Bohun looked across at his judicial colleague. 'I think for the sake of fairness, we should not try this case behind closed doors like this,' he said firmly. 'Let us wait and hear what the various parties have to say about it on Wednesday.'
The enquiry into the annexation of Hempston Arundell was not a trial in the same sense as the Eyre of Assize or the Commissioner's hearings, for there was no jury, as the two royal justices would be the sole arbiters of the matter. The proceedings were heard in public in the same Shire Hall that saw so many other legal events, such as the county courts, the burgess courts, inquests and the Eyres and Gaol Delivery themselves. Even though the matter was serious and, given the rank of the disputants, might even have political significance, it attracted little public interest. However, a few spectators assembled on the hard-packed earth of the floor to listen to what was being said on the low platform at the end of the hail.
The sheriff's messengers had previously warned Richard de Revelle and Henry de la Pomeroy of the date of the judge's arrival, and had commanded them in the king's name to present themselves on pain of heavy amercements if they failed to show up. The two defiant defendants duly appeared with a retinue of supporters, including their bailiffs, stewards and reeves.
In deference to their rank, these main players were not obliged to stand in the body of the court with the common witnesses, but were provided with a couple of tables and some benches, set on one side of the dais.
On the other side, a similar trestle was placed for Nicholas de Arundell and his wife Joan, with her cousin Gillian le Bret as a chaperone. There were further tables at the back for the clerks, who were drawn from the sheriff's staff and the pair who had accompanied the judges. For once, there was no need for Thomas de Peyne to be sitting up there with quill and ink, but he stood with Gwyn and the coroner behind the clerks, listening to the proceedings.
In the centre, seats had been brought for the two judges. These were high-backed chairs, borrowed from the sheriffs quarters in the keep, and they were flanked by a more modest pair for the sheriff and a priest, who sat one on each side of the justices. As always, the Church insisted on being present, especially as this case might concern a wrong done to a man on Crusade.
Partly at de Wolfe's instigation, the priest was John de Alencon, Archdeacon of Exeter. Though he would play no role in the judgement, he was a firm supporter of the king and a covert antagonist of the Count of Mortain.
At the eighth hour of the morning, the cast of this impending drama assembled, with all of Nicholas's former outlaws standing uneasily below the dais, a row of men-at-arms behind them to separate them from the onlookers. Sergeant Gabriel patrolled the hall, loping around to make sure there was no disturbance, and he in turn was watched from the wide doorway by the massive figure of the castle constable, Ralph Morin, his forked beard jutting out like the prow of a ship.
On the platform, Richard de Revelle, dandified in a bright blue tunic covered with a fur-lined pelisse of red wool, nervously settled himself behind the table, with a more soberly dressed Henry de la Pomeroy scowling on his right hand. Between them was a stranger, a man of about thirty with a smooth, olive face. He was dressed in a plain black tunic and had a clerk's tonsure and a small silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck, suggesting that he was a priest of some kind. Lying before him was a roll of parchment and a large book.
Behind them stood bailiff Coffin of Berry Pomeroy and the steward from de Revelle's manor, together with two of their reeves. Nicholas was similarly supported by his steward Robert Hereward, and the reeve Martin Wimund.
At a signal from the constable, there was a discordant blast on a trumpet wielded by one of Rougemont's soldiers. Gabriel marched towards the platform ahead of the Archdeacon, who had entered the hall followed by the two royal judges, with the sheriff bringing up the rear. As everyone stood in deference, the royal judge climbed the step to the dais and stood before their chairs while John de Alencon delivered a short prayer, calling down the wisdom of God to help them arrive at a just verdict that day.
As soon as everyone had sat down and shuffled themselves into place, Sir Walter de Ralegh lost no time in getting down to business.
'Let this issue be put before us without delay!' He leaned forward and spoke in a loud, authoritative voice in a tone that indicated that he was in time no mood for prevarication. 'The king's officer in this county of Devon, Sir Henry de Furnellis, will state the nature of the dispute and call witnesses as to the facts.' The grey-haired sheriff climbed to his feet, but before he could open his mouth, the sleek cleric who sat next to Richard de Revelle also rose.
'My lords, I wish to submit that these proceedings cannot proceed, as it would be unlawful so to do.' Walter de Ralegh turned to glare at the interruption.
His eyesight not being what it was, he peered aggressively at the defendants' table.
'Who the hell are you, sir?' he demanded.
'I am Joscelin de Sucote, my lord. A clerk and lawyer, presently chaplain to Prince John, Count of Mortain, at his court in Gloucester.'
Walter squinted again to get the man into sharper focus. 'Oh, it's you again, is it? What the devil do you want here?' He turned to his fellow judge and muttered audibly, 'It's that damned lawyer of John's, who tried to interfere when I kicked de Revelle out of office.' Joscelin was unperturbed by the jibe. 'I have been assigned by the Count to assist his tenants-in-chief, as the prince himself has a considerable interest in the ownership of the disputed lands.'
Walter scowled at the self-assured man whose manner verged on the patronising. 'I'm not sure that I need to hear anything from you. You have no official standing in this court.'
De Sucote waved a hand airily. 'On the contrary, my lord, at their specific request, I am the legal representative of both Sir Richard de Revelle and Sir Henry de la Pomeroy and thus am fully entitled to speak on their behalf.'
De Ralegh glowered at Joscelin, whose Levantine appearance suggested that in spite of his French name, he came from the southern part of France and possibly had Moorish ancestry. 'Have they suddenly lost the power of speech, that they need you to try to explain their actions?' he bellowed.
Reginald de Bohun discreetly touched his arm. 'It would be best to let him have his say. He is entitled, if he really is acting for these men.'
The senior justice muttered under his breath, but waved a hand reluctantly at Joscelin. 'Say your piece then and get it over with.'
The lawyer leaned on his table with one hand and waved the other towards the group of men standing below him in the hall.
'These are outlaws, as is their leader over there!' He pointed a finger at Nicholas de Arundell sitting opposite.
'They were properly declared exigent by a previous sheriff, and as such have no rights whatsoever to bring a legal suit. In the eyes of the law, they do not even exist and by rights should be executed forthwith, as my clients here recently attempted to do on behalf of the people of this county.'