The Tinner's Corpse by Bernard Knight Page B

it,’ answered Walter. ‘Henry was a freeman, and as he lived in Tunnaford his land was owned by de Prouz from Gidleigh, so he had no obligations of tenure to the lordship of Chagford. I paid his wages as a tinner, so Hugh has shrugged off the whole matter, as far as I can see.’
    The priest grunted and dug the yellow pegs of his remaining teeth back into his drumstick, while Lucy Tanner took up the conversation. She was about fifty, but looked much older, worn by the bearing of twelve children, seven of whom had died in infancy. Her thin frame was enveloped in a dull tan kirtle that was too big for her, while lifeless, dry hair poked from beneath her tight-fitting helmet of fawn linen. However, her wizened appearance and creaking joints were balanced by a sharp, if waspish intelligence. ‘Our lord can hardly brush murder aside like that,’ she hissed. ‘It’s his manor and he has a responsibility for the safety of the town, whether the man was his tenant or not. If some madman is abroad, we might all be murdered in our beds.’
    ‘That’s hardly likely, Mother,’ rumbled Knapman. ‘This happened on the edge of the high moor, not in Chagford itself. We have a bailiff, a constable and Hugh’s house-guards to look after us.’
    Lucy continued to mutter under her breath as she speared her food with a little knife, held awkwardly in fingers swollen with rheumy joints. The priest courteously kept their trencher loaded with food as, in spite of her infirmity, she had a healthy appetite.
    So far, Joan had said hardly a word since they began eating. She kept her long-lashed eyes on the table, as if her mind was far away. Her husband had tried several times to coax her into the conversation, but she replied in monosyllables. He turned his attention back to Smithson, the incumbent of St Michael the Archangel, whose new church was largely a gift from Knapman himself. ‘Hugh has done the correct thing in sending for the coroner,’ he said. ‘Justin, his bailiff, went to Exeter at first light and I hear that Sir John de Wolfe has been up to the stream-works this evening. No doubt he will show himself here before long.’
    Vicar Paul dropped his now stripped chicken bone under the table for the dogs and dug between his teeth with a dirty fingernail. ‘First time we’ve had a crowner come to Chagford. I’m still not clear what they’re supposed to do. Don’t you stannators settle all matters of law here?’
    Walter Knapman was a prominent jurator in the tinners’ Great Court, though the priest had used the old word ‘stannator’. ‘We have no say in crimes against life or limb, Paul,’ he replied. ‘That’s where this new coroner business comes in.’
    The priest stared at him. ‘In what way?’ he asked.
    ‘For years, the County, manor or burgess courts dealt with most offences, but now, especially since old King Henry’s reforms, the royal justices want to try all serious offences. Last September, the Chief Justiciar appointed these coroners, partly to sweep as much business into the King’s courts as possible. It’s all grist to the Treasury and King Richard never misses a chance to screw more money out of the people.’
    Smithson ignored his host’s mildly treasonable remarks but continued to look doubtful. ‘So what’s that got to do with this coroner fellow?’ Along with the majority of the population, he was vague as to the function of John de Wolfe and his counterparts in every county.
    ‘As far as I can make out – and it’s only from gossip in the Great Court – he has to record every legal event and present them to the justices when they come around at the Eyre of Assize. Dead bodies, rapes, serious assaults, fires, burglaries – even wrecks and catches of the royal fish. He has to attend every execution, mutilation, sanctuary, abjuration and trial by ordeal or battle in case there’s any money or chattels to be picked up for the King.’
    ‘Must be a damned busy man, then, in a county