Fear in the Forest by Bernard Knight Read Free Book Online Page A

sister. She’ll be wanting her supper after a hard bout of talking to God at St Olave’s!’
    He left the two soldiers looking for some food to be washed down with more ale. The sun was now low over the great twin towers of the cathedral, but the streets were still bustling with people. Many citizens were still haggling with traders at booths or at shopfronts, whose hinged shutters were dropped down to make a counter to display their goods. Porters struggled by with great woolpacks on their shoulders or heaving at laden handcarts. Drinkers staggered in and out of the many ale shops on the high street and sumpter horses and pack mules squeezed through the crowds, with their drivers dragging on the bridles, blaspheming every step of the way. The evening air was redolent with the smells of cooking, sewage and horse manure.
    Oblivious to the turmoil, the coroner barged his way towards Martin’s Lane, a head taller than most of those around him. He turned into the alleyway, shadowed by contrast with the brighter expanse of the cathedral Close at the far end. With a sigh of resignation, he pushed open his front door and turned right to go straight into the hall. His big hound Brutus rose from under the table and came towards him, head down and tail wagging in welcome. A less cordial greeting came from behind the wooden cowl of one of the monk’s chairs near the hearth.
    ‘And where have you been gallivanting since just after dawn?’
    ‘Getting my arse sore in the saddle, riding around the county on the duties that you were so keen to shoulder me with last autumn,’ he replied sourly, slumping down on to the other settle opposite his wife.
    ‘Your speech is becoming as crude as your habits, John,’ snapped Matilda.
    ‘D’you want to hear what I’ve been doing or not?’
    ‘No doubt you’ll tell me only what you want me to know – and leave out the details of your usual drinking and wenching.’
    For once, John experienced the indignation of a clear conscience as far as today was concerned, but he checked an angry response, for Matilda usually came off best in a shouting match. He sat glowering at her, bemoaning the day sixteen years ago when his father had arranged his marriage into the wealthy de Revelle family. To be fair, neither had the bride been too keen on the union and had many times since bitterly expressed her preference for the religious life over wedlock.
    John looked at her now, as they squared up to each other across the hearth like a pair of bull terriers. He saw a stocky woman four years older than his forty years, with a square, pugnacious face on a short neck. Her features were regular, and when younger she had been almost handsome in a grim kind of way, but now puffy lids narrowed her blue eyes and her lips were set in a thin, hard line. Her pale hair was confined in a tight coif of cream linen, tied under her aggressive chin, and the rest of her burly body was clothed in a green kirtle which, in spite of the warm weather, was of heavy brocade. John mused that in spite of her devotion to religious observance and her professed yearning to become a nun, she was inordinately fond of fine clothes and had an appetite for food and wine that challenged Gwyn’s.
    ‘Well, are you going to tell me or not?’ she snapped, interrupting his sullen reverie.
    Too weary to argue, he swallowed his exasperation and related the story of the dead verderer.
    ‘Your brother has gone to Tiverton, so I presume that he’s not yet aware of the loss of one of his appointees,’ he concluded, sensing that she was only mildly interested in his story, as the dead man was merely a minor knight and not one of the county aristocracy. Matilda was an avid follower of the notabilities of Devon and was always angling for ways to ascend the social hierarchy of the county. Being sister to the King’s sheriff and wife to the King’s coroner was a good start, but she closely followed the activities and intrigues of the barons, richer