Free The Lost Prophecies by The Medieval Murderers Page B

of light fell upon the old stones as the door of the lantern was opened. Faint scraping noises began as shovels were used to push aside the rampant undergrowth around the cross. This was the signal for action, and de Wolfe rapped Gabriel on the shoulder as he and Gwyn stood up.
    ‘Right, men! Seize these fellows!’ roared the sergeant.
    As they began running towards the centre of the churchyard, four other figures erupted from the bushes and converged on the startled men. They attempted a dash for the gate, but were met by solid muscles and were forced down upon the ground amid strident curses and protests. Gwyn grabbed the lantern and held it up as the soldiers pinned the robbers down.
    ‘Who the hell are these knaves?’ he roared, giving a hefty kick in the ribs to one who was wriggling violently.
    The coroner hovered over them like some black hawk, as Gabriel pulled away the hoods from their faces. John did not recognize any of them, but he felt that they did not have the coarse features or rough dress of the usual violent robber.
    ‘I know who this one is, sergeant!’ cried one of the men-at-arms in surprise. ‘He’s the priest from St Lawrence’s.’
    John felt a glow of satisfaction as his theory about a thieving priest was vindicated. If the soldier was right, this was the incumbent of the church of St Lawrence, in the eastern part of High Street.
    At that moment the man in question was unable to confirm or deny his identity, as Gwyn was helping to pin him to the ground with a large foot placed on his throat. When he was released, he began gasping and gurgling, then launched into a series of lurid oaths unbecoming of a man of the cloth, until the coroner snarled at him. ‘What’s your name, villain?’
    ‘I am Ranulf de Fougères, an ordained priest of this diocese, damn you!’ howled the man. ‘Release me and my cousins this instant or the bishop will hear of this!’
    Gwyn gave a roar of laughter. ‘He’ll hear of it right enough! Perhaps he’ll also attend your hanging.’
    De Wolfe was more interested in what Ranulf had said. ‘Your cousins, eh? Are they both priests as well?’
    The other two were still struggling in the grip of the soldiers, and John saw in the dim light that one had a shaven tonsure. They were both big men and had an equally large vocabulary of foul language.
    At a sign from de Wolfe, Gabriel and Gwyn hauled the vicar of St Lawrence back on to his feet but kept a firm grip on his arms as he spluttered a reply to John’s question.
    ‘They are most certainly in lower orders of the Holy Church and like me claim benefit of clergy! We demand to be released at once; you have no jurisdiction over us.’
    Ranulf was a narrow-faced weasel of a fellow, full of bluster and self-righteousness. ‘We are on consecrated ground here in Church property. You are trespassing!’
    It was the coroner’s turn to laugh now. ‘You bloody fool! Just accept that you’ve been caught! We’ll gladly turn you over to the bishop. There are still enough proctors in the cathedral precinct to keep you locked up, even though you killed one of them!’
    At this, one of the cousins let out a howl. ‘It wasn’t me, it was Simon here . . . though he says the proctor fell down the stairs.’
    The other man struggled anew, this time trying to get at his relative. ‘Shut up, you lying bastard! I wasn’t even there. It was you that Ranulf sent to ransack the books!’
    A barrage of accusations and insults began between the three miscreants, until the men-at-arms cuffed them into grumbling silence. De Wolfe, frozen to his bones and out of patience with the squabbling clerics, told Gabriel to march the prisoners back to Rougement and put them in the cells.
    ‘A night in that hellhole under the keep will cool their tempers!’ he growled. ‘Then in the morning the sheriff can negotiate with the bishop or the archdeacon about what happens to them. They won’t be very happy with a bunch of renegade clerics who