Free The Witch Hunter by Bernard Knight Page B

imprisoned in Germany. Gilbert de Bosco had no political leanings either way, but being associated with anything that confounded or discredited the coroner might improve his own standing with the bishop, which could do his hopes of advancement no harm at all. All this passed rapidly through the mind of the devious priest as he waited for his cousin to enlarge on de Wolfe’s failings.
    ‘He refused to investigate the death or even hold an inquest,’ complained Cecilia. ‘He treated my accusations with contempt, even in the face of the evidence!’
    ‘And what was that, cousin?’ Gilbert was now attentive and solicitous, the oil of self-interest lubricating his manner.
    ‘You will have heard of the feud between my poor Robert and Henry de Hocforde, over Henry’s desire to acquire our mill?’
    The priest had heard no such thing, but he nodded sagely. He could soon catch up on the gossip, if needs be.
    ‘Well, failing to persuade Robert to sell by legal means, he arranged for his assassination! But that fool coroner will have none of it.’
    Gilbert’s interest began to waver. If this silly woman had some obsession about a murder conspiracy that would lead nowhere, he wanted to keep well clear of it. But her next words reclaimed his attention immediately.
    ‘He was done to death by witchcraft. An effigy was hidden under his saddle, with a spike through its heart!’
    Ecclestiastical politics apart, Gilbert de Bosco had a deep, unshakeable devotion to Christianity and the doctrines of Rome, free from some of the doubts and crises of faith that were admitted to by some of his colleagues. One manifestation of this dedication to the Church was a fierce hatred of any competitor to Holy Writ. This included the manifold remnants of paganism and pantheism which pervaded the countryside, in spite of many centuries of Christian influence in the islands of Britain. In the years when he had been a village priest, his sermons had often contained vehement condemnations of the everyday practice of superstition and rural magic, with demands to his flock to abandon the ancient customs of folk medicine, spell-casting and sooth-saying. The fact that his exhortations fell on the deaf ears of folk who had no alternative but to turn to their cunning men and women, did little to dampen his crusading efforts. Since he had moved to the city with its slightly more sophisticated community, his ardour had subsided, but now Cecilia’s words ignited the slumbering embers into sudden flame.
    ‘Witchcraft! Tell me more of this,’ he commanded.
    His cousin had little more to tell, but she repeated and embellished the few facts, then called her daughter and the abashed Roger forward to confirm her story, especially the discovery of the corn-dolly under her husband’s saddlebag.
    ‘Leave this with me, cousin,’ he snapped, after some very quick thinking. ‘I will look into this matter at once. The archdeacon should be told and perhaps even the bishop himself. When is the funeral to be held?’
    Cecilia, gratified that her relative was taking this seriously, told him that Julian Fulk, the priest of St Olave’s, was holding a service the next morning and after that, the burial would take place in the afternoon, following a Mass in the cathedral. As the family was relatively rich, they had bought the right to bury Robert under the flagstones at the back of the nave, rather than out in the chaos of the Close outside, where most of Exeter’s dead had to be deposited. In spite of the multitude of churches in the city, none had the right to bury their parishioners; this was jealously guarded by the cathedral, which collected all the fees for the funeral formalities.
    Gilbert de Bosco noded sagely. ‘As this is a family matter, I will deliver an oration at the requiem – and I will make sure that your concerns are voiced in the strongest terms.’
    As well as his own genuine crusade against necromancy, he saw an opportunity to bring himself to