The crowd's mood had suddenly turned ugly. Gurney remounted and shouted for silence. Then: 'There is no proof against any man!'

'Well, who else could it be?' a voice asked.

A tight inner group of villagers had gathered around Fulke and his wife; A small, pot-bellied man stepped forward from amongst them. His wart-covered face was sour, the anger spots high on his cheek bones. He walked with a swagger, running thick fingers through wispy blond hair. He took up position before Gurney's horse.

'You know the custom, Sir Simon, and the ancient usage? I, Robert Fitzosborne, reeve of this village, demand that a jury be assembled and the murderer named!'

So this was the reeve. Corbett studied the man carefully, remembering the gossip of the night before. He noticed how Fitzosborne's boots and jerkin were of a better quality than those of the other villagers. The reeve now extended his arms and half-turned towards the villagers. 'We demand it,' he shouted. 'It is the custom and the law.'

The crowd of villagers shouted their approval. Corbett felt beneath his cloak for the hilt of his sword and glanced warningly at Ranulf and Maltote. The villagers moved forward. Corbett turned at the sound of hoof beats on the track and saw Catchpole and other liveried servants galloping towards them. Gurney's henchman had been astute enough to guess what might happen for, beneath his cloak, he wore chain mail and the five servants who accompanied him were also well armed.

At their arrival, Robert Fitzosborne lost some of his arrogance, though he refused to be cowed.

'Sir Simon, the manor's custom is well known,' he shouted defiantly. 'One of your tenants has been murdered, brutally. You have the power.'

Gurney turned to Corbett and smiled weakly at him.

'Fitzosborne is right,' he said. 'I have the power of sword and gallows. But you are the king's representative here, what do you advise?'