John slide from his horse and looked about him with affection and pride. ‘This is where I was born – the house was wooden in those days.’ Though his brother William lived here and ran the manor, John had a part share of it under his father’s will, as did his younger sister Evelyn, who looked after the domestic side with their active mother, who had a life-interest in the manor. But unfortunately, this was not the right day or time for reminiscing about his inheritance. Sad work had to be done.
The manor bailiff bustled up, a cheerful fat Saxon named Alsi, and conducted them to the house, their horses being spirited away for food and water. ‘The ladies have gone with Lord William to market in King’s Teignton, Sir John, but they will be home before long.’
The coroner was glad of a breathing space before his family arrived, so that he could get the bad news over with.
They climbed to the solar on the upper floor, reached by an outside wooden staircase, which could be thrown down in time of attack for the better defence of the upper storey. Thankfully, this had never been needed since Simon de Wolfe, John’s soldier father, had built the new house.
They sat near the smouldering logs in the arched fireplace and Alsi poured wine for the three men. Then he hurried away to organise a meal to be served downstairs in the hall.
Joseph was as perceptive as his wise, patriarchal appearance suggested. He turned immediately to the coroner, whom he had known in the way of business for a number of years. ‘Well, John, out with it! You didn’t bring us miles off the beaten track just to drink wine and show us your home.’
The coroner looked from father to son and back to the father. Edgar had said hardly a word since they met at the river and looked rather bored. Being dragged from his beloved herbs and poultices to ride for half a day to view drowned corpses did not amuse him, especially as it seemed they had now to ride back to Torre. But the next few minutes were to be the worst so far in his twenty-two years of life.
De Wolfe took a deep breath. ‘This is not to do with the loss of your ship nor the death of your men, Joseph,’ he began. Slowly and dispassionately, he recounted the events of last night in Exeter, knowing of no easier way to tell them.
Their reactions passed through stunned silence into incredulity, then horror and, finally, unbridled anger. Even John was surprised to see how the languid apothecary’s apprentice became almost demented with rage. Though he wore no sword, Edgar whipped his dagger from its sheath and waved it about wildly as he paced the room with jerky, directionless steps. ‘I’ll kill him, damn him! Whoever it is, I’ll kill him! I’ll not rest until he’s slain!’ His rage gradually became mixed with tears. John was not sure whether they were all for Christina or whether some stemmed from self-pity.
His father, red-faced with anger above his grey beard, was less distressed but equally vindictive. After a few futile minutes of rage, Joseph pulled his son to him and threw an arm around his shoulders to console him. He looked past Edgar’s head to the coroner. ‘What is to be done, John?’ he asked, his son’s jerking body against his breast. ‘How can we return to Torre now? We are needed in Exeter.’
John explained that Dame Madge, Matilda and the other beldames were unanimous in advising that Christina be left in peace without the company of men for a time. ‘We have to settle this matter of the boat and its crew, come what may. If we go to Torre now, then that is an end of it as far as you are concerned. Otherwise, the journey will be hanging over you in the days ahead, when you will be most needed in Exeter.’
Joseph nodded, his rage subsiding. ‘Edgar and I will walk quietly together outside in the bailey and talk about this. Tell us when you are ready to leave.’
Refusing all offers of food, they went down to the ward around the house and, from an embrasure, John saw them walking slowly and sadly together, talking in low voices.
They were still there some time later, when the de Wolfe family returned from market. In a covered ox-cart, fitted with seats, sat his mother and sister, while alongside them rode his brother William and several manor servants. Though he saw them fairly often, there was always a warm welcome for him at Stoke-in-Teignhead. His mother Enyd was a lady of sixty-three, with red still mixed in her greying hair. She was small, sprightly and pure Celt, her mother being Cornish and her father a small landowner from Gwynllwg[2] in Wales, the same area as Nesta’s home. Her daughter Evelyn was ten years younger than John, a spinster who had wanted to be a nun. Her mother had discouraged her as she wanted a companion at home, with her husband and second son always away at the wars. Enyd’s main support was William, the elder son, a couple of years older than John. Though tall and dark like his brother – they both took after their father – William was a much milder character, preferring the farm and the manors to campaigning.
After embracing his mother and sister, and grasping William’s arm, John brought them up to date on events in Torre and Exeter. The pair from Topsham were still brooding outside and John advised leaving them alone with their sorrow and anger for the time being. Now Alsi had the other servants running around with food and drink, all smiling and bobbing their knees at John – many of them had known him since he was a child.
While they were eating, Enyd de Wolfe clucked her dismay over the ravishment and her sympathy for those involved. Her eyebrows lifted a little when John told her of Matilda’s Good Samaritan efforts the previous night. She had never shared her late husband’s enthusiasm for joining John to the de Revelle family, and her relations with Matilda were as distant as the twenty miles that lay between them.
As usual, William was characteristically intent on practicalities. ‘So what happens now, brother? About the ship and the poor young lady?’
John, now warm, well fed and at ease among his own folk, stretched his legs before the fire. ‘The dead seamen are the easiest matter – we have a couple of the sheriff’s men-at-arms down in the Church House, to help us arrest these thieving murderers. If I can prevent de Revelle from hanging them, they will stand trial when the King’s justices next come for the Assize of Gaol Delivery.’
‘And the rape?’ asked Evelyn, whose long nose marred an otherwise good-looking face.
The coroner shrugged. ‘Where can we start? There are many hundreds of men in the city of Exeter. Christina was acknowledged to be one of the most desirable young women in Devon, so many a lecherous eye must have turned upon the poor girl every day. Unless we have some unexpected good luck, I fail to see how we can find the culprit.’
His mother bobbed her head towards the window opening. ‘How is the girl’s betrothed taking it?’ she asked.
‘He is fit to burst every blood vessel in his body. Though he’s no fighter, he wants to challenge to the death every possible suspect between here and Winchester, poor fellow.’ He rose to his feet. ‘We must get on to Torre. There is an inquest to arrange for the morning and the day’s passing quickly.’ He bent to kiss his mother’s brow. ‘If I spend much more time on a horse, I swear my backside will fuse to the saddle!’
Soon after it was light the next morning, John and the others were assembled on an open space within sight of the sea near the hamlet of Torre. They had spent the night at one of the manors of William de Brewere, the influential lord of these parts. Though he was absent in London, his seneschal readily prepared food and sleeping space for the King’s coroner and his party.
The six bodies dug from the sand had had to be kept for viewing at the inquest and the most seemly place for that purpose was the rough buildings that the White Canons had set up on a flat area at the southerly end of the neck of the Tor peninsula, not far from where the wreck and the looting had taken place.