Fear in the Forest by Bernard Knight Read Free Book Online

occupied by the constable of Rougemont, as well as housing the cramped living quarters of numerous servants and clerks. De Wolfe was making straight for the door of his brother-in-law’s quarters, set at the side of the hall, when a voice hailed him from one of the trestle tables that were set out in the large, high chamber.
    ‘He’s not there, John. Gone to visit his wife, so he says!’
    The coroner turned and saw a large, grey-bearded man wearing a mailed hauberk, sitting with Gabriel, the sergeant-at-arms. He was also in armour, his round metal helmet on the table near by. The senior man was Ralph Morin, the castle constable and a good friend of de Wolfe, who walked across and dropped on to the bench alongside them.
    ‘What’s all this chainmail, then? Are we expecting the French to invade us?’
    Ralph grinned and waved to a passing servant to bring some ale across to them. He was living proof that the Normans were recent descendants of the Norsemen, as with his fair hair and forked beard he looked as if he had just stepped off a Viking longship.
    ‘Just got back from drilling some idle soldiers on Bull Mead,’ he grunted. ‘These days, most of the youngsters have never seen a sword lifted in anger – nor even a drop of blood spilt! We need a war to knock them into shape.’
    ‘Too damned hot for running around in a hauberk,’ added Gabriel, as a pitcher of ale and some pots were put on the table. The sergeant was a grizzled old warrior, nearing retirement age, who had seen plenty of service in the Irish and French wars. The three professional soldiers spent a few moments bemoaning the soft recruits and easy time that the military had these days, until Ralph Morin returned to the subject of the sheriff. Although de Revelle was nominally the constable’s superior, Rougemont was a royal castle, rather than the fief of a baron, so Ralph was responsible directly to the King for its security.
    ‘He went up to Tiverton on Sunday, supposed to return tomorrow. Perhaps his lady feels in need of some service!’
    The sheriff’s wife, the frigid Lady Eleanor, refused to live with her husband in Exeter in the cold and draughty keep and spent her days either at their manor near Tiverton or at the family home at Revelstoke, near Plymouth. The arrangement seemed to suit Richard, who never lacked for illicit female company in his bedchamber, but every week or two he made short duty visits to his haughty spouse.
    ‘Then he can’t yet know that the forest has lost one of its verderers?’ observed de Wolfe. He related the story of the curious death of Humphrey le Bonde, and Morin’s craggy face showed his surprise.
    ‘I knew le Bonde well – I was at the siege of Le Mans with him. He was a good fellow, a dependable fighter. I’m sorry he’s dead.’
    ‘Who the hell would want to plant an arrow in the back of a verderer?’ growled Gabriel. ‘If it was a forester or even a woodward, I could understand it. Many of those bastards deserve to be slain, but a verderer just holds the forty-day courts.’
    ‘Could it be an aggrieved forest dweller, who was dealt with harshly at one of those courts?’ hazarded the constable.
    De Wolfe shook his head. ‘Those woodmotes can only fine folk a trivial amount for offences against the vert worth less than four pence. Who’s going to commit murder in revenge for a few marks?’
    Morin gulped some ale and wiped his luxuriant beard with his hand.
    ‘Then you’re driven back on outlaws – but if he wasn’t robbed, then why should they fire a shaft through his lights? A verderer would have no particular fight with those human wolves in the forest.’
    ‘There’s something more sinister going on,’ grunted John. ‘The Warden’s been threatened and someone wants to squeeze him out of his job.’
    They kicked the problem back and forth until the ale was finished, then de Wolfe rose from the table. ‘If our dear sheriff isn’t here, then I’d better get back home and face his