Free Fear in the Forest by Bernard Knight

his face to look up at the coroner. ‘Were you looking for me for some particular reason?’
    Shafts of sunlight poured through the small unglazed windows high in the wall, causing dust motes to dance in the beams. Pools of light fell upon the stone ledges that ran down both walls of the little nave, the only place where the older or more infirm of the congregation could sit. John lowered himself to the cold slabs, but the sheriff remained standing, his gloved hands jabbed impatiently into his waist as John spoke.
    ‘I came to tell you that one of the verderers has been murdered – Humphrey le Bonde. As he was a King’s officer like us, I thought you should be told as soon as possible.’
    John was puzzled to see a look of relief pass over Richard’s face – he seemed to relax suddenly, almost as if the air had escaped from a punctured bladder.
    ‘Thank you, John, but I already knew that. In fact, I have already appointed his successor – that was the fellow who just left through the other door. A messenger came to my manor last night, to tell me of the death.’
    The coroner sighed – de Revelle so often seemed one step ahead of him, thanks to the legion of informers that he had scattered around the county.
    ‘You were quick off the mark filling his shoes! Who is it?’
    Richard stroked his small beard with his fingertips, a mannerism that annoyed de Wolfe – though almost everything about the sheriff annoyed him.
    ‘Philip de Strete – I offered to nominate him to the County Court just now and he quite naturally accepted,’ he said smugly.
    John shrugged. ‘Never heard of him. Who is he and where’s he from?’
    ‘A knight from Plympton, not far from my other manor at Revelstoke – that’s how I know him, as a lesser neighbour.’
    De Wolfe thought cynically that, like his sister, Richard was ever conscious of his position in the pecking order of the county aristocracy and could not resist emphasising his higher status over this Philip. He wondered why the man so conveniently happened to be in Exeter to be offered the unexpected vacancy, but could not think of any sinister reason for it – though anything involving the sheriff was always liable to be devious.
    ‘Why the rush to appoint someone? The previous incumbent is not even in his grave yet!’
    De Revelle began to look impatient, tugging at the cuffs of his gloves and glancing at the door.
    ‘The verderer’s work has to go on. The Attachment Court is due next week, over which he must preside.’
    ‘Did you discuss it with Nicholas de Bosco before you offered the job to this man?’
    Now the sheriff’s impatience turned to annoyance. ‘That man is an incompetent old fool. It’s none of his business. The appointment is made by the freeholders of the county upon my writ. The Warden of the Forests has no say in the matter.’
    He paused, then added angrily, ‘Neither is it any of your concern, John. I hear that you went to Sigford yesterday and held an inquest on the dead man. You had no right – forest law prevails there.’
    This was too much for de Wolfe. He jumped up to tower over the sheriff, his dark face glowering down at him.
    ‘What arrant nonsense you talk, Richard! I am the King’s coroner and it’s his rule that runs everywhere in England. The forest laws concern offences against venison and vert, not men being shot in the back!’
    Richard’s face reddened in anger. ‘I dispute that! This coroner nonsense came into being only last year – before that the forest, the stanneries and the Church dealt themselves with matters within their own jurisdiction.’
    ‘Well, they don’t now, Sheriff!’ bellowed de Wolfe, equally incensed. ‘The tinners no longer dispute my right to investigate their dead, even though you, as their Warden, tried to stop me. And the Bishop has agreed that any violence in the cathedral precinct should be handed to the secular powers. So if you wish to question the will of our King Richard, do so and