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have met the fellow, but I just can’t place him,’ he said testily, banging the table with a hard fist.
    Nesta thought it best to change the subject, before his temper rose with frustration.
    ‘How is your dear wife, these days? Does she still mop your fevered brow?’ Nesta, though a kind and open-hearted woman, sometimes failed to conceal her jealousy of Matilda, who as of right shared house, bed and board with the dark man Nesta loved. The Welsh woman knew that her own station in life was far too distant from that of a Norman knight ever to dream of being more than his paramour, even though she knew that John de Wolfe had a genuine deep affection for her. Though it seemed that he and his wife were always at loggerheads, the rigid conventions of feudal and religious life had forced them into an indissoluble bond. Although Matilda had temporarily left her husband two months ago, his broken leg had driven them together again: Matilda had grimly announced her intention of nursing him back to health, and had done so with the icy determination of a Benedictine nun turned gaoler.
    ‘She’s drifted back to being the same old Matilda,’ he admitted sadly. ‘At first, she never spoke to me, except to tell me to sit or lie down or crawl to the privy pot. Then her old manner slowly returned and she treated me at first like a naughty schoolboy, then like one of Gabriel’s new recruits.’ He stared thoughtfully into the leaping flames in the hearth. ‘But by God’s white beard, she was efficient! She stuffed food down me like a fattening goose to mend my leg, and even suffered Gwyn in the house when it came to him helping me to stumble about to strengthen my limbs. She even put up with poor Thomas, whom she hates like poison, when he came to divert me with his reading lessons.’
    Nesta hugged his arm, then reached over to take a drink from his earthenware pot. ‘You sound quite fond of her, Sir Crowner,’ she said, with a tinge of wistfulness.
    De Wolfe shook his black locks vigorously. ‘Fond, no! Sorry for her, no doubt. I did her a wrong when I let her be humiliated over you and Hilda – though that was no fault of mine. It was that sleek bastard de Revelle who took a delight in shaming his own sister. But I evened up the score when I interceded on her behalf for him.’
    ‘It must have cost her pride a great deal, having to plead with you for him, especially at a time like that.’ Nesta felt sorry for her rival, as she often did. Much as she loved him, she was realistic enough to know that being married to John de Wolfe would be no bed of roses.
    The coroner swallowed the rest of his ale and waved Edwin away as he threatened a second refill from his big pitcher. ‘I must get home and eat Mary’s boiled pork and cabbage. And Thomas is coming afterwards with his parchments, I must get back to my duties as soon as I can.’
    As he rode slowly home, he planned how to deal with the numerous tasks that a coroner had to carry out – tasks that had been largely neglected in the past two months, though for a few weeks now, he had managed to deal with some cases in the city and nearby villages. Further afield, deaths had had to remain uninvestigated, and assaults, a rape and numerous administrative tasks had gone by default. His brother-in-law had taken delight in pointing out that they had managed very well for centuries without a coroner until last September and that they could, no doubt, manage just as well in the future, which had made de Wolfe all the more anxious to get back to work.
    He had no assistant or deputy, though the edicts of the Curia Regis had ordered that three knights should be appointed as coroners in each county. The duties were so onerous – as well as unpaid – that only one other had been found willing to officiate in North Devon, and he had fallen from his horse a few weeks later, then died of a broken back. As no replacement could be found, de Wolfe had the whole of the huge county, one of the