Figure of Hate by Bernard Knight Page B

satisfying her customers' wants for food and drink. The taproom was crowded, the regulars being outnumbered by the many strangers who were attending the fair. The renowned food of the Bush was much in demand, and Nesta had hired an extra ale-maid and a kitchen skivvy for these hectic few days.
    The one-eyed potman had still managed to keep John's favourite bench and small table free beside the hearth, in which an autumn fire was now glowing from a circle of logs arranged like the spokes of a wheel.
    The coroner sat there chatting to various acquaintances, as he contentedly downed a large pot of ale and later ate his way through a thick trencher covered in slices of roast pork and fried onions, with a pewter dish of boiled beans on the side. Life seemed tolerably good at the moment, with both his stomach and his loins satisfied. The only cloud on his horizon was the thought of his brother-in-law sitting at his own table in Martin's Lane, but he could hardly deny his own wife's right to entertain her only brother, as long as John was not forced to be present.
    As dusk began to fall, Edwin went around the noisy, smoke-filled taproom and lit the tallow dips that sat in sconces around the walls. Candles were too expensive for most people, so small dishes of mutton fat with a floating wick were used to give a feeble light. Soon afterwards, a small figure entered and approached de Wolfe's table, diffidently sliding on to the stool opposite. Thomas de Peyne was not over-fond of taverns, his priestly upbringing leading him to consider them dens of iniquity. Even after a year in the coroner's service, he rarely entered one except when his duties demanded. This was one such occasion, as he had some news for his master.
    'Crowner, I've been to the priory, as you commanded,' he announced in his rather squeaky voice. 'That man Terrus has recovered his senses - in fact, he's almost back to normal!'
    John's black brows rose, as he had not been expecting the silversmith's servant to recover this quickly, if at all.
    'Has he said anything useful?'
    'The infirmarian allowed me into his cell for a few moments. Terrus told me that two men on horseback attacked them, and although he recollects nothing after being struck on the head, he now remembers something about them.'
    John felt that Gwyn's long-windedness was rubbing off on his clerk, but held his impatience in check. 'And what was that?'
    'He claims that they were not ruffianly outlaws though they would hardly be on horses if they were.
    Though not gentlemen, he felt they were a better class of body servants - or maybe some manner of I squires to lesser gentry. They wore plain but good tunics and breeches and their horses had decent harnesses.
    'Would he recognise them again, if he saw them?'
    Thomas nodded emphatically. 'I asked him that question directly and he seemed in no doubt about one of them.'
    De Wolfe glowered into his ale as he drank the last drop. It was a damned nuisance that the fair would finish in two days' time, for the chances were that these men had arrived in the area to attend it and would most likely be gone as soon as the fair ended.
    'How soon will this fellow be up and about?' he demanded.
    The clerk's peaky face brightened. 'Remarkably, by tomorrow, according to the monks who are caring for him. He has a constitution like an ox, they said, and is already off his pallet arid demanding to be allowed to return home to Totnes. They will be glad to be rid of him, as he's eating too much and upsetting their quiet life in the priory.'
    The coroner considered this for a moment. 'Then if I send Gwyn and a hired horse down there tomorrow, would they release him to us? I need him to identify the assailants, if he can.'
    Thomas nodded. 'I'm sure they will, Crowner. Apart from his being knocked senseless and dumped in the river, his other injuries are no threat to his life.' Gwyn would have left the city for his hut in St Sidwells by now, to beat the closing of the gates at