He turned back to glare at de Bonneville. ‘As far as the Church is concerned, you have the set period of sanctuary allotted to you, without fear of violation. I will ensure that this is held sacrosanct. Whatever else you may arrange within that period is between you and the law officers.’
Gervaise, still on his knees, nodded vigorously.
Henry Marshall turned again to the coroner and the constable, who had moved to stand alongside de Revelle. ‘No one may dare take him from this place against his will. He must be given food and water – but that is the responsibility of the city, not of the cathedral.’
The sheriff nodded. ‘I will inform the portreeves, your grace. They have that duty. In fact, they have also the duty to guard the fugitive against escape. These are burdens for the city. But in this case I will detail a sergeant and men-at-arms from the garrison. The constable will see to that.’
It seems that Richard is trying to run with both the hare and the hounds, thought John.
The mitre turned slightly to face Ralph Morin. ‘On the subject of such guards, I would remind you that the cathedral Close is not part of the city of Exeter. It is subject only to the rule of canon law and the King’s officers and the burgesses have no jurisdiction within these precincts.’
The constable stared stonily at the Bishop. It was obvious that he was going to be made the scapegoat in this, to avoid Henry levelling his criticisms directly at de Revelle.
‘Well, what have you to say? Your men are trampling all over my Close, in places where they have no right to be.’ He made it sound as if the soldiers’ boots were ruining exquisite lawns and gardens rather than a quaguire of grave-pits and rubbish.
For a moment, Gervaise’s face lightened with a flicker of hope; he wondered if the Bishop was trying to get the guards called off. This might give him a chance to escape.
But John entered the fray. His deep voice boomed from the back, ‘It is true, Bishop, that the ground of the cathedral Close is outwith the responsibility of the town but I would remind you that the roads and paths through it remain the property of the borough. Men-at-arms are fully entitled to stand upon these roads, even if they should not venture on to the soil between them.’
Marshall swung round to identify the speaker and his face darkened when he saw that it was the coroner. But John was secure in his facts and they could not be denied.
‘Very well, it may be so,’ the prelate conceded. ‘But I am still concerned that some heavy-footed, sword-happy man-at-arms might be tempted to violate the sanctuary I bestow upon this unfortunate soul.’
He decided to take the plunge and leaned forward to lay a hand on de Bonneville’s head muttering an almost inaudible blessing as he did so. Then, having decided that he had become far enough involved in this messy business, he rose from his chair and turned away from Gervaise without another word, leaving the man on his knees.
He moved at a dignified, slow pace towards the doorway, preceded by his cross-bearer and followed by most of his entourage.
Only de Revelle and the Archdeacon stayed behind with the constable, and the coroner and his men.
In spite of the Bishop’s assurances, the fugitive got to his feet and backed away again into his corner, pushing himself into the gap between the altar and the angle of the wall.
The sheriff advanced on his brother-in-law, his face twisted with rage. ‘See what troubles you’ve unleashed now, John!’ he snarled. ‘Why couldn’t you leave well alone? A couple of men dead – what’s that when we lose thousands each year in wars and pestilence?’
The coroner, two hands’ breadths taller than the other, glowered down into his face as they stood but a few inches apart.
De Revelle, as uneasy as the Bishop over the whole affair, advanced on de Bonneville, who, well aware of the previous partiality the sheriff had shown him, looked at him with tremulous hope.
‘I have to ask you this straight away, Gervaise. Will you surrender to me and face trial on these allegations?’
The heir to Peter Tavy shook his head. ‘I am innocent, Sir Richard. It must have been Baldwyn, acting without my knowledge.’
The sheriff looked even more unhappy that before. ‘Such matter will be explored at the trial. If you have false accusers, this will become apparent when you face your judges.’
‘How can I defend myself against false witnesses?’ asked Gervaise wildly.
De Revelle tugged at his pointed beard in agitation. He wanted himself out of this place and this situation as soon as possible. ‘I have said, the court will discover the truth,’ he claimed with pious vagueness.
‘Will it be your county court or the burgess court? Or will it be before the royal justices?’ persisted de Bonneville, with panic in his eyes.
This was a thorny problem and de Revelle was not going to commit himself with so many onlookers present. ‘That will have to be decided,’ he said stiffly. ‘The matter in hand is whether you will give yourself up to me now.’
Gervaise looked from one face to another. He saw frank hostility in Gwyn of Polruan and the coroner, distaste from the constable and evasive duplicity in the sheriff.
He backed away, hands out in front of him, as if fending off attack. Stumbling back to the altar, he shook his head vigorously. ‘No! I’ll not surrender to you! You’ll chain me – imprison me – torture me, then hang me, whatever I say.’ His voice rose to a shriek of fear that reverberated around the bare stone chamber.
De Revelle turned on his elegant heel and caught John by the arm. His face was white, but the coroner couldn’t decide whether it was from anger or anxiety. ‘Come out of earshot, through into the nave,’ he hissed, pulling John by the elbow.
They passed back through the arch and stood around the corner against the high, cold stone.
‘You are poised on a knife-edge, brother-in-law,’ snarled the sheriff. ‘The man Baldwyn was evil and treacherous – I admit I was wrong about him – but Gervaise de Bonneville! If it turns out, as I hope and expect, that he was merely an innocent trying to be faithful to his own retainer, then you are in deep trouble, Master Coroner!’
John’s long, saturnine face showed no trace of anxiety and he failed to tremble at the sheriff’s threats. ‘What are you going to do about it, dear Richard?’ he answered. ‘Perhaps you can ask your good friend Prince John to bring his influence to bear on Hubert Walter – or even our royal king himself, eh?’
The sheriff’s pallor was flushed with a mottled ruddiness of true rage. ‘You’ve always got some cheap answer to divert truly serious advice, sir! Watch your back on dark nights in lonely streets, John. I’ll not want to see my sister a widow before her time.’
The coroner grinned, infuriating the sheriff even more. ‘I think last night showed that I can more than hold my own in lonely alleys at dead of night! I can still shove a broadsword through a murderous heart – and I’d have saved you a hanging if the other knave hadn’t thrown down his weapon and run off like a jack-rabbit!’
Frustrated beyond endurance, de Revelle swung back into the archway and called, in a voice quivering with spite, ‘You have had your chance, de Bonneville! Now settle the matter with the coroner here.’
He vanished, abdicating any further responsibility to his brother-in-law.
Chapter Twenty-One
In which Crowner John takes confession
Crowner John dragged the chair used by the Bishop nearer to the altar of the Holy Cross and sat down to parley with the fugitive. He had been up virtually all night and was feeling the strain of dodging chain-maces and indulging in sword fights.