The Poisoned Chalice, page 7
part #2 of Crowner John Mystery Series
John looked across at the bed, then shut the door firmly on the sheriff, who was trying to eavesdrop. ‘We will have to ask her what happened, and if she knows who did this dreadful thing – but I must also have proof that she has indeed been ravished, by confirming a flow of blood from her private parts. That is the law.’
The nun, in her black Benedictine robe topped by a flowing white veil, nodded gravely. ‘She will hate all men within sight for some time – perhaps even her father – so it is best if you stay outside and leave her to her aunt and myself. I will inform you of what I find.’
John knew that Dame Madge had forgotten more about female conditions than he was ever likely to know, but he pleaded, ‘I must have some material proof of defilement, such as torn and bloodstained clothing.’
‘I will see what there is to see,’ said the nun, gently pushed him out and closed the door.
In the hall, Henry Rifford’s sense of hospitality overcame even his seething anger and distress, and he motioned that coroner and the sheriff to the great fireplace, where they stood and warmed their backs while he fetched some wine and Italian glasses for them. In a stilted imitation of normality, the three men sipped silently for a few moments, until Christina’s father suddenly slumped on to a bench and began to sob quietly, his head in his hands. John and Richard de Revelle stood in embarrassment, not knowing what to do or say, until the coroner went across and laid a hand on the leather merchant’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.
Rifford raised his haggard face. ‘If only her mother had lived – she needs a mother at a time like this. My sister is well meaning, but she is a silly old fool. Letting the girl go out alone at night, damn her!’
‘Shall I ask my wife to come to sit with her?’ asked John, confident that Matilda, for all her many faults, would not hesitate to come to the aid of a family in distress.
Richard felt obliged to match his brother-in-law’s offer. ‘My lady, Eleanor, too, would undoubtedly be happy to help, Henry, but she is at our manor at Revelstoke, many miles away.’
The portreeve wiped his eyes and gulped his thanks, agreeing that another mature woman might be helpful, after the nun had left. A servant was called and dispatched to Martin’s Lane with a message for Matilda.
As he left, two more men appeared on the doorstep, meeting there by chance. One was Ralph Morin, the constable of Rougemont, appointed by the king, for Exeter Castle was held directly by the Crown. Ralph, a large Viking-like man with grey hair and a massive forked beard, was in charge of the garrison and nominally the sheriffs second-in-command as far as the defence of the city was concerned. The other was Hugh de Relaga, the other portreeve, a fat, normally jolly man with a peacock taste for extravagant clothes. Like the Archdeacon, he was a good friend to John de Wolfe, another of the faction faithful to King Richard, grimly opposed to the renegades who had supported his brother. They were the two men elected by the burgesses of Exeter jointly to lead the administration of the city, though now there was talk of adopting the office of mayor, recently introduced in London and Winchester.
De Relaga made straight for his fellow portreeve and grasped his arms, pouring out sympathy and futile offers of help, while the constable reported to the sheriff and coroner. ‘The town’s sealed as tight as a drum, soldiers on every gate to reinforce the keepers. No one can get out until dawn, so he’s bound to be in here somewhere.’
Richard was impatient. ‘It’s obvious, Ralph, that he must be in the city! But which of the five thousand inhabitants are we seeking?’
John restrained himself from saying that they could discount three thousand women and children. Instead he asked Morin if anything had been found in the cathedral Close. The grey head swung towards him. ‘I haven’t been told yet exactly where this foul attack took place, other than that it was in the Close. The sergeant took a couple of men through there but saw nothing untoward, only the usual beggars and late stall-holders. They had no news for him.’
Though it was hallowed ground, belonging to the Cathedral and immune from the jurisdiction of the town, the Close was an unlovely and unsavoury area. Everyone in Exeter had to be buried there, like it or not, and was charged for the privilege. The place was a shambles of grave-pits, heaps of earth, old bones and refuse. Hawkers sold their wares, apprentices played ball games and raucous children used it as a playground. Criss-crossed by paths and sewage ditches, the only large open space in Exeter was a place to be avoided by anyone with aesthetic sensibilities. However, although the Close saw frequent fights and hooligan squabbles, John could not recall that it had been the scene of a rape.
‘What can we do next, Sheriff?’ asked the constable.
‘The damned fellow has gone to ground, back to the hole he crawled from. At dawn, search the inns, see if any strangers have blood on them or have anything about them that is suspicious. Keep the guards at the gates and examine every man who leaves town.’
Again John held his tongue at these futile orders, but silently questioned them. ‘As yet,’ he said, ‘we don’t know if there was any blood to be smeared on the attacker. I am waiting for Dame Madge to finish her examination.’
The two portreeves came over to them and the next few minutes were occupied with outrage, recrimination and Rifford’s fears for his daughter’s health, physical and mental – and the almost unthinkable possibility of a bastard pregnancy.
They were interrupted by Dame Madge, appearing again at the inner door. The coroner went to her, and Richard de Revelle came close behind him. John could think of no reason to deny him being involved, as the chief enforcer of the law in Devon.
‘She is easier now, poor girl,’ began the nun, in her deep masculine voice. ‘Christina is strong and sensible, though it will take her a long time to recover from this experience. She never will get over it completely, I fear.’
Henry Rifford came to stand with them, leaving the constable and Hugh de Relaga to remain discreetly in the background.
‘What of her injuries?’ asked John directly.
‘You had better see some of them yourself, Crowner – those on her neck, arms and face. I think she has been gripped and restrained, rather than beaten. But I fear that she has also been roughly deflowered.’
Her father groaned and pushed past the other three to go to his daughter in the bed beyond.
Dame Madge’s cadaverous face turned to John again. ‘Her kirtle was soiled with mud and was torn up from the hem, as was the neck of her bodice. But her chemise showed this.’ She took a hand from behind her back and held out a rolled-up garment to the coroner. It was of fine linen, thin and supple, the only undergarment that ladies wore under their kirtle, showing only at the neckline and reaching down to the ankles. This one was slightly stained with patches of brown mud and some speckling of blood, with one area of heavier bleeding an inch or so across.
‘You said you must have evidence,’ said the nun gravely, ‘so you had better keep this. The blood came from her womb passage. She was forcibly taken from behind.’
John took the chemise and folded it again so that the soiling would be hidden from her father. ‘You said I should see her other injuries?’
The Benedictine nodded and turned back into the room. ‘You can talk to her now, the good girl is back to her senses.’
They went to her bedside and Aunt Bernice, still sniffing and snivelling a little, moved back to let John get closer.
He saw some scratches on the girl’s cheeks and blue bruises at each side of her throat. The nun slid up Christina’s wide sleeves and showed half a dozen purple bruises, the size of coins, on her upper arms.
‘You know me, Christina?’ John asked gently.
Her face ashen beneath her dark hair, Henry’s daughter nodded. ‘Sir John, I’ve seen you in the town. And I’ve met your wife at the cathedral and at St Olave’s.’
‘She will be coming in a moment, to keep you company for a while. We have to find out what happened, to bring your attacker to justice.’
‘Did you see who is was, Christina?’ asked Richard. She knew the sheriff well: he was a frequent visitor to the Rifford house, as her father was one of his cronies.
‘No, he came from behind, sir. All the time he was behind – I could see nothing.’
‘Tell us what happened, from the beginning,’ John prompted.
The young woman, a little colour now returning to her cheeks, put a hand up to her eyes to wipe the moisture that welled from beneath her lids. ‘I collected my bracelet from Master Godfrey, at the house next to yours. Then, as I was so near, I thought I would go into the cathedral to make a prayer at the shrine of St Mary, which was my dear mother’s name.’
Even in her distress, she was economical with the truth, not mentioning the reason for her sudden need for devotion, but Dame Madge clucked her appreciation of the girl’s sanctity.
‘I visited the cathedral and made my prayer – there were a few other people and priests in there but it was dark apart from the altar candles. Then I left for home.’
John was puzzled. ‘But how came you to be on the north side of the Close? That’s a long way from the cathedral doors?’
Christina grimaced for her bruised neck ached. ‘I used the little door in the base of the North Tower. I know it well, I visit the cathedral often. I prefer it to the small churches of the town.’
John looked at the sheriff, who scowled. They both had good reason to know of that door in the tower, as only a few weeks ago, John had scored heavily over his brother-in-law in the matter of a murderer who had reached sanctuary through it.
‘There were great blocks of new stone outside, which I had not seen before. I was picking my way among them when suddenly I was seized from behind. Someone jumped on my back and threw me to the ground.’
The tears began to flow freely for the first time and John wished that Matilda would hurry.
‘He grasped my throat, hands coming round my neck from the back. My face was in the mire, I could not scream, for fright and being choked. And it was dark – so dark!’ Christina sobbed at the memory indelibly stamped on her mind for the rest of her life.
‘Do you need to question her so tonight?’ asked the nun sternly.
‘One last thing, Christina, it’s so important. Did you see or hear anything that might suggest who this attacker was?’
She replied, an abject misery, ‘Not a word, not a sound did he make – only heavy breathing. But he was so strong! He tore at my clothing, lifted my kirtle and pulled at my legs. Then … the pain …’
She dissolved into loud weeping and Dame Madge, using her brawny arms, pushed both the coroner and sheriff towards the door. ‘Outside!’ she said peremptorily.
When the door was closed on the bedroom, she turned to the law officers. ‘She was more bruises on her bosom, where she has been roughly fondled, and others on her thighs, where her legs have been forced apart. And she has bruises elsewhere, where you might imagine, though thankfully, no rips.’
‘The blood?’ asked the sheriff, insensitively.
‘She has lost her maidenhead, of course,’ snapped the nun gruffly. ‘That is all you will get from her tonight.’
John walked across to the portreeves and gave them an edited version of what he had been told. As he finished, he was glad to see the street door opened by a porter, who ushered in Matilda. Somewhat mystified at the cryptic message she had received, she soon grasped the situation and revelled in the importance of her role, with both the city portreeves and the sheriff involved, even if the latter was her own brother.
Matilda was a stocky, short-necked woman of forty-four, several years older than her husband. Unlike her elegant brother, she had a square face and slightly puffy eyes, though she had had a certain handsomeness in her youth.
A champion snob, she affected French fashions and Lucille did her hair in what John thought was outlandish frizziness, compared to the usual modestly covered hair of Exeter women. But tonight he was glad to see her and piloted her across to Dame Madge, who took her into Christina’s room. As she went in, Matilda turned to him and said, ‘I’ll stay the whole night, John. You must look after yourself at home.’
Cynically, he thought that he would be looked after just the same whether she was at home or not: if it were not for Mary, he’d starve to death. Her promised absence overnight led to another train of thought and, after arranging to meet the sheriff and constable at the castle soon after dawn, he made his way to the lower end of the town, to where the Bush Inn stood in Idle Lane.
CHAPTER FIVE
In which Crowner John holds an inquest at Torbay
Early next morning John called at the Rifford house on his way up the castle, partly to enquire after Christina and partly to make sure that his wife was still there. Mary would not let on that he had not slept at home that night – and even if Lucille betrayed him, he had weathered worse storms before.
After a rumbustious night in Nesta’s bed, he had slept like a log and finally filled up on a great breakfast of eggs, ham, horse-bread and ale. He walked back through the town, his tall, spare figure loping past stall-holders and their customers. He ploughed heedlessly through a herd of goats on their way to slaughter and dodged handcarts filled with vegetables fresh from the countryside – the five town gates were now open. He wondered wryly if the extra guards on duty had been anything but a waste of time: most of them would miss a suspect even if he was shouting, ‘Ravisher’, at the top of his voice. Ox-carts trundled their huge wheels through the muddy slush as he crossed Southgate Street and the cries of vendors of everything from fresh river-fish to live ducks and bread hot from the over, rang in his oblivious ears.
On the way to the Riffords, he diverted slightly to have a look in daylight at the scene of last night’s crime. He entered the cathedral Close through the Bear Gate and walked around the great west façade to the north side. Here, he found large new blocks of stone, some partly fashioned, others plain cubes, waiting to be hoisted up to the masons on their scaffolding. The building, begun as long ago as 1114 by Bishop Warelwast, was only now in the last stages of construction – indeed, some of the soft stone used eighty years ago already needed replacement.
John found the small door in the base of the North Tower and traced a short route from there to the main path, which ran parallel with the row of canons’ houses. He poked about the new masonry, some piled up high above his head. There were several empty spaces, both between each stack and between them and the cathedral wall – plenty of hiding places for a girl to be dragged into and assaulted.
Bending down, he studied the ground but saw nothing except churned mud. He had not expected anything dramatic and the absence of blood was not surprising, given the small quantity shed and the state of the ground.
He soon abandoned the search and strode briskly away, passing his own street door without a glance. He stopped at Godfrey Fitzosbern’s house, but decided to leave him until later. Soon he was at Henry Rifford’s and was met by Matilda in the main hall. ‘The girl is sleeping, thank God,’ she informed him. ‘I sat with her all night. Her cousin Mary is with her now, and the old aunt has gone to her own bed, so I can leave for a while.’
‘Did she say anything more of what happened?’
Matilda clucked her tongue and scowled at him. ‘Still the crowner, John? Will you not let it rest for a moment? No, she said nothing, and I did not bring the matter up. She needs peace and forgetfulness for a time, not inquisition.’
As he helped her on with her heavy serge cloak, she commented, ‘Where on earth can this Edgar be? You’d think her betrothed would have been around here at the gallop – he lodges only down at Fore Street with the leech Nicholas.’
John had forgotten the fiancé, but now realised that Edgar must have gone with his father, Joseph, down to Torre to identify the wreck and the dead sailors.
When he told Matilda, she exploded. ‘You sent word to them yesterday! They must have ridden out before dusk and stayed on the way. The boy will still not know that his fiancée has been deflowered.’ In spite of the tragedy, she was excited at all this drama unfolding before her very eyes. ‘You must ride and tell him before he returns home, to prepare him for the shock,’ she ranted. ‘Maybe he will not be so keen on a wedding when he hears this.’
John rubbed the dark stubble on his lean jaw. How was he best to fit together all these tasks? He felt like a juggler at the Martinmas fair, with six balls in the air at once.
He had to have the Topsham people to identify the sailors’ bodies, and he had to hold an inquest with them present. In the circumstances, it was a lot to ask them to ride back to Torbay again tomorrow, especially after they learned of the assault on Christina. It would take them the better part of a day’s ride, especially with the short hours of December daylight. ‘You’re right, madam. I must ride down and meet them, to take them back to Torre. I will have to hold the inquest tonight or first thing in the morning, while they are still there – then hurry home to see what has developed with this ravishment.’
John had a few words with the anguished portreeve, then escorted his wife back to Martin’s Lane, as she was stridently declaiming that things had come to a pretty pass in Exeter if a good woman couldn’t walk the streets in safety. In the busy daylight, she was hardly at any risk – and, John thought bitterly, it would be a brave man who tried anything with Matilda.
After delivering his wife safely to their doorstep he went straight back to Rougemont. Gwyn and his clerk were there, eating and drinking as was usual at that time. Gwyn lived outside the town wall, in a hut at St Sidwell’s beyond the East Gate, so had heard nothing of the commotion until he had come into town that morning.
