Crowner Royal

CHAPTER THREE

The next day, though the sun was already warming the lanes, it was still early when the coroner and his officer walked from their house to the palace. As they went from Tothill Street through the rear gate of the abbey precinct and strode across Broad Sanctuary, the sounds of chanting came from the chancel, as the monks celebrated Prime, the first office of the day.

‘I suppose our clerk is amongst that lot,’ said Gwyn gruffly, jerking a thumb towards Edward the Confessor’s great building.

John had never managed to discover the cause of the Cornishman’s disenchantment with the Church. He himself was a reluctant worshipper, especially since he no longer had his wife to drag him to devotions, but compared to his officer he was an ardent believer.

‘Let him enjoy it, poor fellow,’ he advised. ‘There’s nothing for him to do until the inquest an hour before noon.’

They passed the small church of St Margaret, built by the monks for the use of the local population, to avoid interruption of their endless devotions in the abbey. A small gate in the wall between the monastic and secular areas, led them into New Palace Yard, where already clerks, men-at-arms and members of the public were criss-crossing the wide area, dodging ox-carts and mounted men coming and going from the main gate on King Street.

Up in their chamber, Gwyn threw open the window shutter and leaned out to study the strip of scrubby grass between the base of the wall and the river’s edge. Feet had worn a path of dusty earth along it, the same one along which he had chased the killer two days before. The tide was dropping now and the sullen brown water swirled downstream. Across the wide expanse, he could see more marshes and some farmland visible on the opposite bank at Lambeth, now disfigured by some large building activity.

‘Too bloody flat around here for my liking,’ he grumbled, determined to find fault with everywhere that was not his native West Country. Coming from the steep fishing village of Polruan in Cornwall, he missed the slopes and cliffs of his youth.

He raised his eye to the sky and frowned. ‘I reckon this weather is soon going to end in a storm,’ he added. ‘Instead of dust, we’ll have mud everywhere!’

‘Jonah had nothing on you, Gwyn,’ growled John, sitting behind his table. ‘I think you’ll soon need a trip back home to see your wife and family. I might come with you, to try to discover what this bloody wife of mine intends to do.’

His officer left the window and sat on a milking stool, which creaked ominously under his weight. ‘If this whole court is going to shift itself to Gloucester when the old queen comes, maybe we’ll have a chance to slip off to Exeter from there — it’s nearer than this place.’

De Wolfe shrugged, doubtful if the distance would make much difference, but not wanting to dishearten Gwyn. They had spent over twenty years together away from Devon, on campaigns in Ireland, France and the Holy Land, without being too bothered by homesickness. However, three years back in England seemed to have softened them up. He decided to shake off this morbid mood and changed the subject.

‘Thomas said he would bring this fellow Robin Byard here when they had finished singing and praying over in the abbey.’

‘D’you think there could be anything in this story?’ grunted Gwyn. ‘Sounds a bit far-fetched to me, a clerk being afraid that he’s overheard something to endanger his life!’

De Wolfe shrugged, running his hand through his over-long hair. ‘Nothing would surprise me in this damned place! I know both France and our own country have a bevy of spies in each other’s camps. But this might just be some petty intrigue about one man bedding someone else’s wife — or even some swindle over an official selling meat from the kitchens.’

For a while there was silence in the bare chamber, as John settled down to try to re-learn some of the Latin that Thomas had written out for him in simple phrases on a roll of parchment. When in Exeter, a vicar in the cathedral had coached him until the patience of both of them had run out. Now his own clerk had taken on the task, but at his age, John’s mind was too set to absorb much learning. He was a physical man, active and energetic, but lacking the concentration and willpower to apply himself to academic pursuits.

He muttered under his breath, his lips forming the unfamiliar words as his finger slowly traced out the perfect script of his clerk, while his officer perched back on the windowsill, gazing out across the Thames. A barge drifted downstream, piled with bales of raw wool, four men keeping it in the centre of the river with long oars. Above, the sky was taking on a leaden hue towards the south, and the weather lore that Gwyn had learned from his fisherman father told him that a storm was brewing.

After about an hour, the silence was broken by Thomas entering the room. He ushered in a pale young man dressed in Benedictine black, his shaven tonsure having removed most of his fair hair. Robin Byard looked nervous and ill-at-ease as he looked from the ginger giant at the window to the menacingly dark figure of the coroner sitting behind the table.

‘My clerk tells me that you have something to tell us about Basil of Reigate,’ began John, trying to sound affable.

To his embarrassment, Byard promptly burst into tears. ‘He was my best friend, Sir John! Perhaps there was something I could have done to save him.’

The ever-sympathetic Thomas placed a reassuring hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘Just tell the coroner what you know,’ he advised.

‘I told your clerk the little I know yesterday,’ he snivelled. ‘Basil was afraid for his life, in case the people he heard plotting decided to silence him.’

‘Yet I’m told you have no idea either who these people were — nor what was said between them to make him so fearful?’ snapped John, already forgetting his attempt at being gentle.

Robin cringed at the coroner’s tone. ‘He said he had no wish to drag me into danger, sir.’

‘And you have no other suspicion as to who these people might be. Were they both men or a couple, for instance?’

The novice shook his head miserably. ‘All he wanted was some advice as to what he should do. He was even talking about running away, back to our village.’

‘And what did you advise him?’

‘He worked in the guest chamber of the palace, so his immediate superior would be the Guest Master, who was one of the Lord Chamberlain’s staff,’ explained Byard. ‘Yet he was concerned only with supplies, so he was directed mainly by the Purveyor. I told him he must confide in either of these — or go to the Keeper of the Palace himself.’

‘And what did he say?’ demanded the coroner. It was obvious that Basil had not spoken to the Purveyor, for that official knew nothing of it when told of the recovery of the body.

‘He said he would think about it, but was reluctant in case he was not believed or thought of as causing false rumours. And that was the last time I saw him!’ added Robin, bursting into tears again.

If there was anything that de Wolfe could not abide, it was weeping, especially if it came from a man. He jerked his head at Thomas to take the boy away and the soft-hearted clerk gently ushered him out of the room.

‘I’ll not call him at the inquest, for his evidence is not worth a bent penny,’ he growled. ‘And if there was any truth in what he said, there’s no point in alerting these mysterious conspirators, if they exist.’

He rose from his bench and stretched his long arms.

‘I’ve asked for an audience with our old friend Hubert Walter this morning. He’s back from his parish in Kent today, so I’m told.’

He was referring to the Chief Justiciar and Gwyn guessed that John’s attempt at levity about a parish concerned the Archbishop’s diocese in Canterbury.

‘He won’t be interested in a stabbed clerk, will he?’ objected Gwyn.

De Wolfe gave one of his rare grins. Hubert was effectively running England in the continued absence of King Richard and undoubtedly had more weighty matters on his mind.

‘No, but I want to bend his ear about these bastards in the city,’ he fretted. ‘If I’m supposed to be Coroner of the Verge, then we can’t have these arrogant sheriffs interfering. And what’s going to happen when the court goes out into the shires? Are the county coroners going to do the same?’

He pondered for a moment. ‘Mind you, if I was still Devon’s coroner, I’d be hopping mad if some outsider turned up and took my cases from me, just because the court is within a dozen miles of Exeter!’

Gwyn nodded sagely, knowing his master well enough to let him blow off steam. ‘When are you going to see him? That’s if you can find him again in this rabbit warren.’

They had ridden up to Westminster the previous year to see the Justiciar, when they needed a special dispensation against an injustice caused to a fellow Crusader.¹ Gwyn recalled being led through innumerable passages to get to Hubert’s chamber, but he doubted he could find it again without help.

‘One of the Chancery clerks is coming to fetch me when he’s ready,’ replied John. ‘Until then, we’ll have a drop of the ale you’ve got hidden in that jar.’

It was the same austere chamber that they had sat in the previous year. Though as Chief Justiciar and Archbishop of Canterbury, he was the most powerful man in the country, Hubert Walter did not flaunt his power with rich robes and ostentatious jewels. A lean man with tonsured iron-grey hair, he wore a plain dark-red tunic, belted at the waist, the only sign of his ecclesiastical eminence being a small gold cross hanging by a thin chain around his neck.

In spite of the difference in their stations in life, he was a good friend of John’s. They had first met in the Holy Land, when Hubert, then Bishop of Salisbury, was made chaplain to the Crusaders after Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, had died before the walls of Acre. Like many bishops, Hubert was also a seasoned warrior and became the king’s chief of staff, later being left behind to organise the withdrawal after Richard sailed for home on his ill-fated journey. John had been one of the royal bodyguard that had accompanied him and had suffered the same shipwreck in the Adriatic that led to the Lionheart’s ill-advised attempt to reach England overland, with only a few remaining knights and squires as protection. De Wolfe still felt guilty about being away from the king’s side when Richard was captured near Vienna, though the Lionheart had since airily absolved John from any fault.

‘At least it’s not about Richard de Revelle this time!’ said the Justiciar with a smile. On the two last occasions that they had met in England, it was over problems with John’s brother-in-law, the former sheriff of Devon, who had repeatedly sailed too close to the wind of treason and corruption.

‘No, but his sister is causing me problems instead!’ confessed John wryly. He explained the frustrating situation with his wife, who was in Polsloe Priory in Exeter, but had not committed to taking her vows nor indicating whether she would return to married life. However, his matrimonial affairs were nothing to do with his purpose today and he went on to explain in detail the confrontation with Godard of Antioch and his men.

‘I must know who has precedence, Your Grace!’ he ended.

Though the archbishop was an old comrade-in-arms, John was not one to ignore the formalities of address. ‘If the king requires me to be his court coroner in England, then I must know where the limits of my duty lie. There’s no point in having jurisdiction over the Verge, if the local officers deny me the right to investigate anything.’

The Justiciar leaned across the oak table that was half-buried in parchments. ‘They delight in being awkward, those strutting city folk!’ he complained. ‘I’m in bad odour with them at present, over that Longbeard affair in April, so no doubt they’ll take every opportunity to tweak my tail.’

He twisted a large golden ring on one of his fingers, one of the few signs of his religious primacy, for he had recently been made Papal Legate to England, the agent of the Holy Father in Rome.

‘Not only that, but the Mayor, Henry fitz Ailwyn, is annoyed that I am enlarging the defences around the Tower. He says I am encroaching upon his territory, so he’s trying to defy me in as many ways as possible.’

‘But where does that leave me as coroner?’ persisted de Wolfe. ‘Am I going to face the same opposition in the shires when the court moves out into the country? If so, I may as well abandon any hope of carrying out the king’s wishes.’

Hubert Walter shook his head decisively.

‘I am the Chief Justiciar, responsible for law and order in England. They cannot obstruct me, much as they would wish to.’

He stood up and strode about the room, rubbing his hands together. ‘As you well know, almost two years ago I instructed my judges at the Kent Eyre to appoint three knights as coroners in every county to keep the pleas of the crown. Straight away, London raised objections and the king gave in to them, wanting to keep them sweet, as they are a huge source of revenue to the Exchequer. We need every penny to pay off his ransom and to fund his wars across the Channel.’

‘I understand that one of the sheriffs also acts as coroner in the county of Middlesex,’ said John morosely. ‘Does that mean that even Westminster comes under their jurisdiction? If so, I may as well saddle up and go home to Devon right away!’

Hubert replied by ringing a small brass bell that stood on his table.

‘I’ll get this settled this minute,’ he promised, as one of his black-robed clerks hurried in from an adjoining room and stood waiting expectantly for instructions. ‘As for Middlesex, I don’t think you need worry about that. Westminster is an ancient liberty ruled by Abbot Postard, who is even more jealous of his independence than is the city. Even I as Archbishop have no say in abbey affairs, only through the Pope, but I doubt the abbot is interested in usurping the functions of a coroner.’

He turned to the elderly clerk. ‘Send me in one of your scribes, Martin. I want a letter to go out to every sheriff, when you next send monthly heralds out to the counties — and a separate one to the Mayor and aldermen of London.’

He plumped himself down again on his chair and looked across at John. ‘I will command them all in the king’s name to allow you access and every courtesy in investigating incidents that occur within the Verge, for that is what our Lord Richard specifically desired.’

A younger clerk came in and quietly sat at a small desk to one side of the Justiciar’s table, quill and parchment at the ready for dictation.

‘I’ll have a copy sent to you, with my personal seal attached, John. You can keep it with you and wave it under the nose of any belligerent officer who gives you trouble!’

De Wolfe recognized this as a signal to leave and rose from his seat, but as he bobbed his head in deference to the archbishop, Hubert had one last question.

‘This palace servant who was stabbed in broad daylight — have you any idea what that was all about?’

‘I am holding an inquest this morning, sire, though I doubt it will achieve much. The killer seems to have vanished into thin air.’

He hesitated, unsure whether it was worth mentioning the nebulous tale offered by Robin Byard. ‘There is a vague suggestion that it might have been connected with some intrigue within the palace, but I will keep you informed, if you so wish.’

Hubert nodded and waved his hand in dismissal, but just as John reached the door, he called him back.

‘I almost forgot, I need you for another task this week, one for which your reputation as a safe and trusted escort fits you well.’

De Wolfe waited patiently for enlightenment, though he had misgivings about being landed with some other unenviable job.

‘We have now brought almost every office of state here from Winchester, but there remain several chests of bullion which need to be safely moved to London. The Marshalsea will organise the transport, but I want you to make sure that nothing goes amiss. There are too many rogues and robbers about these days to take any chances. The under-marshals will give you all the details.’

John wondered what this had to do with being a coroner, though it was true that they could be a given a royal commission to carry out virtually any task which the monarch wished. However, he made no objection, as it sounded a welcome opportunity to get away from Westminster for a while.

As he muttered his agreement, Hubert Walter was already dictating to his clerk, so John quietly slipped away, hoping he could find his way back through the corridors of power.

As de Wolfe had anticipated, the inquest achieved virtually nothing, but doggedly he went through the routine, for his fervent loyalty to the Lionheart made him a stickler for keeping to the rules laid down by the king and his council.

It was held in the Great Hall. William Rufus’s massive edifice was used for a variety of functions, including great feasts and accommodating the higher courts of law. The side aisles of the huge hall were divided by movable screens, set against the double row of columns that supported the roof. The court of King’s Bench sat at the head of the hall, furthest from the main doors and in other areas between the pillars; various ad hoc tribunals sat as required. In other bays, lawyers were consulted by clients and some court officers used the space for their duties. There were even stalls selling parchment, pens and ink, cloth of various types and even several food booths, offering pies and pastries. These traders had their stalls near the main doors which opened on to New Palace Yard.

There was little attempt at privacy and all manner of people strode or wandered about the hall, some listening to the deliberations of the courts, often chewing on a mince pie as they did so. A babble of voices rose from all parts, but this did not appear to disconcert those who were deliberating on weighty matters. The royal judges, some being members of the Curia, sat with other Barons of the Exchequer on the King’s Bench and seemed impervious to the raucous atmosphere which would have been better suited to a marketplace or town square.

Today, Gwyn had commandeered a vacant space between two of the lofty pillars halfway up on the left side, where there were a few stools and benches left by the last occupants. At noon, the small crowd that he had chivvied into attending, turned up to form the jury, these reluctant members also acting as witnesses. Normally, Gwyn would have bellowed out the coroner’s summons, commanding ‘All ye who have anything to do with the king’s coroner for this county, to draw near and give your attendance,’ but he was nonplussed by the change in circumstances and decided to leave out any mention of a county.

De Wolfe sat on a bench with his back to the massive stone wall, facing the ragged half-circle of jurymen. Thomas had a stool on his right, with another between his knees to support his roll of parchment, quill and ink flask.

Gwyn wasn’t the only one confused about procedure, as John also felt uncertain about certain aspects, compared with the familiar routine back home in Devon.

Should he raise the ‘Presentment of Englishry’? The dead man’s relatives, if he had any, were a day’s ride away in Reigate, so there was no father or brother to declare that he might be a Saxon? The inquest was supposed to be held over the corpse, but he could hardly bring a dead body on a handcart into the Great Hall, especially as it had been lying in this torrid heat for a couple of days.

‘We are here to enquire into where, when and by what means Basil of Reigate came to his death,’ he began in his deep, sonorous voice. ‘I will hear what evidence is available, but then we must adjourn to the abbey for you to view the mortal remains, before coming to a verdict.’

The dozen men that Gwyn had mustered included the sergeant of the palace guard, the two monks from the landing stage, the Guest Master who supervised Basil, and Hugo de Molis, the Chief Purveyor, as well as a few random servants that Gwyn had summoned to make up the numbers. John had toyed with the idea of demanding that the city sheriff and his men should attend, together with the wherryman who had recovered the corpse — but he realized that his summons would be ignored, and the wherryman had doubtless vanished into the anonymity of his fellows on the river.

‘We have no true First Finder of the body,’ he began, glowering at the jury. ‘As he appears to have drowned after being wounded, then those who tried to attend him on the wharf cannot be said to have found a corpse. The city’s sheriff failed to record the boatman who dragged the body from the river near Baynard’s Castle,’ he added maliciously.

He turned to Hugo de Molis, who was not very pleased to have been dragged from his duties for what he considered to be a fruitless enquiry.

‘Sir Hugo, can you confirm that the dead man crossed the river on the day of his death?’

Hugo de Molis grudgingly agreed that the dead man’s duties had entailed him going across to Lambeth and back again.

He also agreed that though he would have had a substantial purse of money on the outward journey, his empty scrip on returning would not have provided a motive for robbery.

The coroner then enquired whether the nature of his work could have made him privy to any dangerous intelligence.

De Molis sarcastically replied that unless having advance knowledge of a rise in the price of carrots or onions was hazardous, he could not see much risk to someone who was but a lowly palace employee. ‘But the Guest Master can tell you more about his duties,’ he said with an air of dismissive finality.

This official was a plump sub-deacon, one of the more senior grades of those in clerical lower orders. He had an oily manner, full of smiles, which straightway caused John to distrust him. When it came to assessing people, the coroner had a profound capacity for instant likes and dislikes.

The smiles suddenly changed into doleful sorrow, with hand-wringing and sighs, when he bemoaned the sad demise of his trusted assistant, Basil of Reigate.

‘What were his duties?’ demanded de Wolfe. ‘Did he work mainly under you or was he attached to the Purveyor’s chamber?’

‘He was under my direction, but his function was to ensure that all supplies for the lodging and comfort of palace guests were amply maintained without shortages. To do this, he constantly topped up necessities from the Steward’s department, obtaining goods under my authority.’

De Wolfe had no interest in the internal workings of the palace and moved on impatiently. ‘How much contact would he have had with the people staying there?’

The Guest Master grimaced at such an unexpected question.

‘I don’t really follow you, sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘He was in and out of the guest chambers all the time, but it was not his place to engage in conversation with the guests. He was a lowly official and sometimes we have earls, dukes and even princes staying in the palace.’ He puffed himself up, as if he was responsible for attracting such nobility.

‘But he would have opportunities to overhear what was being said by those guests?’ persisted John.

‘I suppose so, unless he was deaf!’ snapped the sub-deacon. ‘But a good servant must be discreet and avoid any eavesdropping. I cannot see the point of these questions, coroner!’

‘That’s because you are not privy to my own knowledge,’ retorted de Wolfe and dismissed the man, realising that he was of no help to his enquiry. The two monks and the sergeant of the guard gave their factual evidence of the happenings on the landing-stage, then the coroner scowled around the ring of jurors and asked if anyone else had any information at all. After a resounding silence, it was obvious that nothing more was to be learned and Gwyn led the jury out of the hall and across the yard to the gate in the wall separating the palace from the abbey. With de Wolfe and Thomas walking behind, the small procession went past the chapter house and dormitory to the abbey mortuary. This was a small wooden building behind the infirmary chapel, right at the back of the abbey precinct, towards the wall that ran above the Tyburn stream.

The mortal remains of Basil of Reigate had spent a night lying before the altar in the adjacent chapel, but the effects of immersion and the hot weather had caused the abbey precentor to have it removed to the mortuary. As this was next to the latrines of the reredorter, the developing odour would not be so noticeable, but the unfortunate jurors had to come much closer, to file past the corpse while the coroner and his officer displayed the stab wound in the chest. Outside again, they stood thankfully in the fresh air while de Wolfe concluded the inquest on the spot, it not being worth trailing back to the hall.

‘The cause of death is clear, being drowning after a stab wound of the chest which you have all seen,’ he said grimly. ‘The attack was witnessed by my officer and some of you also saw the altercation on the jetty, though regrettably no one was able to recognise the assailant. The victim would probably have died from the stabbing alone, but it caused him to fall into the river and drown.’

He glared again at the circle of faces. ‘All we can do today is to come to a provisional verdict, so that he can be decently buried. If and when any further information comes to light, then I will have to reopen the inquest. But for now, I need you to return a verdict, which I cannot imagine will be anything but murder by a person unknown.’

He jabbed a finger at the sergeant. ‘You can be spokesman for your fellow jurors, so now deliberate amongst yourselves and tell me what you decide.’

His tone indicated that there would be trouble if they dared to deviate from his suggestion and within half a minute the foreman announced that they fully agreed with him. The participants rapidly dispersed, all seeking their noontide dinner and de Wolfe, Gwyn and Thomas began walking through the abbey grounds back to the house in Long Ditch.

Though John had decided to go to the Lesser Hall for supper each night, they took dinner at home. Throughout the country, noon was traditionally the time for the main meal of the day, though a newfangled habit was creeping in to the upper layers of society of having a substantial supper in the early evening — a fad subscribed to by John’s snobbish wife Matilda, before she buried herself in a nunnery.

Thomas divided his eating loyalties between the abbey refectory and his master’s house and today accepted de Wolfe’s invitation to sample Osanna’s efforts. There was not much that she could do wrong in grilling herrings and even Thomas, who normally had the appetite of a mouse, did justice to the large platter of sizzling fish that was put before them, after a bowl of vegetable broth. Followed by frumenty and washed down with ale and cider, they felt comfortably satisfied and sat talking afterwards in the downstairs room of John’s lodging.

He had both rooms of the two-storeyed cottage, Aedwulf and Osanna living in a thatched hut in the backyard, where there was also the kitchen shed, a pigsty, a privy and a wash-house. They lived and ate in the lower room, into which the door to the lane opened and John slept in the smaller upper chamber, Gwyn using a pallet in the living room.

Though the circular firepit in the centre of the earthen floor held only cold ashes in this weather, they sat around it from force of habit, John in the wooden chair and the others hunched on stools.

‘The Justiciar told me this morning that we have to go on a journey very shortly,’ announced John, after refilling his ale-pot from a jug on the table.

‘To Gloucester already?’ queried Gwyn. ‘But the old queen hasn’t arrived yet.’

De Wolfe shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with that, this is a quick jaunt to Winchester and back to escort some treasure chests. I’ve not got the details yet, but it looks like a five- or six-day trip. It’ll make a change from this place, anyway.’

Thomas, usually very reluctant to go far on a horse, was for once keen to go with them. ‘It would be pleasant to see Winchester once again, now that my circumstances have taken a turn for the better,’ he said eagerly. ‘Perhaps I would have a chance to see my parents.’

His elderly father was a somewhat impoverished knight who lived near the old capital and Thomas himself had attended the cathedral school there and gone on to take holy orders.

‘Your last visit there was a happy one, Thomas!’ observed John, referring to the joyous occasion when his clerk had gone to Winchester to be received back into the Church by the bishop, after the allegations of indecent assault had been proved false. ‘But are you sure you want to wear down your backside on a horse once again?’

The little man smiled happily. ‘It’s much nearer here than it was from Devon, Crowner! But why exactly do they want you to accompany the treasure? It’s hardly coroner’s business?’

De Wolfe shrugged. ‘I suspect they want someone reputable to keep a close watch on the safety of these chests while they’re outside the security of Winchester Castle.’

Gwyn wiped some ale from his luxuriant moustaches and went to refill his pot. ‘Where is it to be moved to in London?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, it’s not something that’s gossiped about much,’ grunted John. ‘No doubt we’ll find out when we bring it back.’

Thomas spoke up, ever keen to air his knowledge. ‘I recall that in William the Bastard’s time, the royal regalia used to be kept in the Tower, but now it’s locked here in the crypt of the abbey.’

‘What’s the royal regalia?’ boomed Gwyn, proud of his ignorance of the high and mighty.

‘The Crown jewels, the sacred items used at coronations, you barbarian!’ snapped Thomas. ‘The golden sceptre and orb and the crown of Saint Edward, God rest his soul.’ He crossed himself at the mention of the kingly Confessor.

‘The treasure we are collecting is nothing to do with that,’ said John firmly. ‘This is what’s left of the gold and silver collected by the sheriffs from the county farms, as well as some treasure trove. It seems that from now on, many of them will have to make the longer journey to London.’

‘Maybe someone will try to ambush us on the way back!’ said Gwyn hopefully. ‘I’d best sharpen my sword, I could do with a good fight, it’s been an age since I blooded anyone.’

Thomas paled a little and began to regret his enthusiasm for accompanying them to Winchester, but John took pity on the timid clerk.

‘He’s teasing you, Thomas, I wouldn’t worry. There’ll be a troop of men-at-arms with us, enough to fight off half an army.’

‘Maybe the French will send a whole army!’ said Gwyn mischievously. ‘Most of that treasure will end up in Normandy, paying for our king’s troops who are fighting them, so perhaps they’ll send an invasion force to steal it!’

Thomas had had enough of his big friend’s efforts to frighten him and got up to leave.

‘I’m going back to my tasks in the scriptorium, where there’s no big Cornish idiot,’ he said loftily, as he walked out into the lane.

After a few moments, when they had finished the ale jug, the coroner and his officer began walking slowly back towards the palace. It was hot and the air was still and humid, but the expected storm had not materialised, the cloud mass having drifted away to the east.

‘It’ll come back, mark my words,’ grumbled Gwyn, unwilling to have his fisherman’s forecast proved wrong. ‘Probably just as we set off for Winchester, if that’s going to be in the next few days.’

That evening de Wolfe ate in the palace, as he had decided that the gossip there might give some clue to the intrigues that were current and perhaps touch on the vague hints that Robin Byard had offered.

At about the sixth hour, with the sun still blazing, de Wolfe made his way to the Lesser Hall and found the place busier than on his previous visits. The two rows of tables were almost filled, but John saw that the same trio that he had talked with before were there, with a couple of empty spaces nearby. John was uncertain whether he again wanted to risk the flirtatious Hawise d’Ayncourt. He enjoyed the company of an attractive woman, but wanted to avoid both a confrontation with her husband, as well as a struggle with his own conscience. However, he told himself that seeking information was part of his duty and this salved his misgivings sufficiently for him to stride across and slide on to the bench next to the lady. Lady Hawise greeted him effusively and from beyond her, husband Renaud nodded affably. The food came to the table in regular instalments and the drink was already flowing. John tucked in with relish, as there was jugged hare, cooked in its own blood, and pork knuckles, two of his favourite dishes. As they sat close together on the benches, he felt Hawise’s thigh tight against his, and suspected that the pressure she used was more than required by the lack of space.

Acting the gentleman, this time he was bold enough to cut slices of meat and slide them on to her trencher, though he was careful not to outdo her husband’s duty in carrying out the same task. They made suitable small talk, though as usual in public, this was something of an effort for John, even with a beautiful woman. Everyone was complaining of the sultry heat and like Gwyn forecasting the mother and father of all thunderstorms before many days were out.

‘The last time I was here, some two years ago, there was a violent summer storm and at high tide the river had risen over the banks, lapping against the very walls of the palace!’

The speaker was a heavily built priest, sitting opposite Hawise. He had a long face and a Roman nose, but his features were marred by a harelip. His speech was slightly odd, which John put down to his deformity; even so, there was a trace of accent which John recognised as coming from central France, perhaps the Auvergne. As he chewed his way through the various meats, supplemented by boiled cabbage and carrots, John gathered that the priest was known to the pair alongside him, though he could not guess whether this was from previous residence in France or merely from sitting here for meals.

So far, the coroner could not think of any way of stimulating conversation which might lead to discussion of current intrigues, but then the empty place opposite was filled by Ranulf of Abingdon. John was glad to see him, as he had enjoyed his company the other night — and possibly he might lead them into more gossip. As a servant filled his tankard with ale, Ranulf greeted John warmly and then introduced the priest sitting next to him, who it seemed was also an established friend.

‘This is Bernard de Montfort, archdeacon of Saint Flour,’ he announced, confirming John’s guess that the man came from the Massif Central, as Saint Flour was an important town on the edge of the mountains. They exchanged some pleasantries and de Wolfe began to think he must be on the road to becoming a soft-centred expert in mouthing platitudes, instead of the hard-bitten soldier that he had been for the past twenty years.

After a few moments, the under-marshal leaned across and spoke in a low voice. ‘We had better meet for a talk afterwards, I have some news for you about our trip to Winchester.’

Immediately, the sharp-eared Hawise picked up on the remark.

‘What plots are you men hatching now?’ she asked archly. ‘Are you off on a hunting trip — or perhaps you are seeking to hunt the ladies of Winchester!’

Ranulf smiled weakly, wishing for once that she would mind her own business.

‘Affairs of state, I’m afraid, nothing exciting,’ he replied dismissively. He winked at John who took the hint and diverted the inquisitive woman. ‘Madam, did you know this poor fellow on whom I held an inquest today? He was one of the staff in your guest quarters.’

Her husband spoke across the table before Hawise could answer.

‘You mean Basil, the little fellow who made sure we all had bed linen and chamber pots?’

‘He did a little more than that,’ countered Ranulf. ‘He also made sure that the kitchens were supplied with food for the guests and a host of other tasks to make your stay comfortable.’

‘Why on earth should anyone murder such a useful fellow?’ asked Hawise, fluttering her long lashes at the under-marshal, who was handsome enough in a stern sort of way. In fact, she thought, both he and the brooding Sir John alongside her, were very attractive men.

‘I wish I knew, there seems no motive for it at all,’ said de Wolfe. ‘He was not robbed and his private life seemed too dull for him to have made enemies.’

‘He was in minor orders, I understand,’ cut in the archdeacon. ‘More than just a servant, then?’

‘He was a small, but not insignificant part of the palace administration,’ replied Ranulf. ‘He had to be literate and he needed to behave correctly before persons of high rank and quality — such as yourselves,’ he added suavely.

Hawise preened herself at the compliment, but John had a question for her and her husband.

‘On that point, did you ever notice Basil in any kind of — what shall I say — close contact with any of the guests? I mean, engaged in conversation beyond any matters relating to your accommodation?’

The couple from Blois looked at each other in mystification. ‘I don’t really know what you mean, Sir John,’ said Renaud. ‘Men like that are not noticed much — in fact, I feel that is part of their function, to remain inconspicuous. This Basil certainly went about his business quietly and discreetly, as one would expect.’

‘I never noticed him whispering in corners,’ declared Hawise, determined to have the last word. ‘He was certainly self-effacing and discreet. Now, tell me about this mysterious journey to Winchester. I hope you are going to return before we leave for Gloucester, we need your company and your protection on our own journey!’

Ranulf managed to fob off her curiosity with adroit disclaimers and then turned the conversation around to the sightseeing and marketing the visitors had done in the city since they arrived. At the end of the meal, he managed to escape with John and they strolled out into New Palace Yard, where they were joined by Gwyn, who had come up from his supper in the soldiers’ mess. They walked to the riverbank, near the landing stage where poor Basil had met his end and watched the evening sun as it dropped through a heat haze in the western sky.

‘So tell me about this task we have in Winchester,’ began de Wolfe. ‘My officer here will be with me, as well as my clerk. The Justiciar was not very forthcoming about why he wanted me to go on this venture.’

The under-marshal hooked his thumbs into the broad leather belt that encircled a thigh-length brown tunic, below which breeches and boots were visible. He spent much of his life on a horse and rarely wore the long calf-length tunic favoured by the less-active men in the palace.

‘These two chests are the last remaining in the treasury vault in Winchester Castle,’ he explained. ‘One is full of coin, being part of the last Exchequer collection, but I’m told that the other holds a variety of valuable objects of both gold and silver, as well as a few jewels.’

‘Where did they come from?’ asked John. Jewels were not common, most wealth being held in the two precious metals.

‘I gather they are mostly objects recovered as treasure trove, almost all of Saxon origin. No doubt you know more about that than most folk.’

John nodded. ‘We have had quite a few finds in Devon these past few years. Probably some of the contents of that chest have already passed through my hands in Exeter.’

Gwyn had been listening attentively. ‘So we are to bring these safely back to Westminster. Will they be lodged in the Receipt of the Exchequer?’ This was a building adjoining the front of the Great Hall, on the corner facing the river.

‘I doubt it, that’s only an office and counting house for clerks of the Exchequer, when the sheriffs bring their taxes up for audit. It’s not very secure, so I think at first they will be housed either in the strongroom in the King’s Chamber or in the abbey crypt. Some previous deliveries have been taken to the Great Tower in the city.’

‘You say “at first”, so are they to be moved again?’ asked John, wondering how an under-marshal knew all these details of the nation’s wealth.

As if reading his thoughts, Ranulf of Abingdon explained.

‘I have carried out this task before, as most of the treasure has come up to London over the past year or so. Some of it gets sent on to Dover and across to Rouen via Honfleur, but the last consignment ended up in the vaults of the New Temple, a mile up the road from here.’

At John’s puzzled expression, Ranulf slyly tapped the side of his nose. ‘Both old King Henry and now Richard have borrowed heavily from the Templars — I suspect that they require either some repayment or at least security for further loans.’

De Wolfe did not wish to get into a discussion about his sovereign lord’s financial dealings and moved on to more practical matters.

‘So what is the plan for this expedition? I’m still not clear what my role is supposed to be.’

‘You are well known as the most trustworthy of Hubert Walter’s knights. With so much silver and gold at risk, you are to ensure that nothing goes amiss!’

John thought cynically that if anything did go amiss, then it would be his head that would roll — perhaps literally.

‘When do we leave on this mission?’

‘The day after tomorrow, wet or shine! There will be twenty men-at-arms under a sergeant and three knights, including ourselves.’

‘Who is the other one?’ enquired de Wolfe.

‘William Aubrey, who is slightly junior to myself. He will carry the writ of release for the chests to the custodian at Winchester Castle.’

A distant rumble of thunder made them glance up at the sky and they saw that a bank of almost purple clouds was rolling up rapidly from the southern horizon.

‘God save us from muddy roads on Thursday!’ said Ranulf fervently. ‘Let’s get this storm over with tonight and give it a chance to dry up tomorrow.’

They began walking back across the wide yard and the marshal went off to his quarters behind the palace, leaving the coroner and his officer to trudge towards Long Ditch Lane. As they reached their dwelling, the first big splashes of rain began falling and within minutes, a deluge dropped from the darkening sky.

They sat in the main room around the whitewashed stones of the dead firepit and drank a few pints of Osanna’s ale as they listened to the rain beating on the thatch above the upper room and heard the drip of several leaks on to the table and benches below. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled for an hour until the storm passed over, but a steady drizzle of rain continued for much of the night.

John lay for a long while on his low bed, which he had shifted to avoid the drips, thinking about how his life had changed in the past couple of months. Losing Nesta was the most hurtful thing, though he fully appreciated the reasons. He fervently hoped that she was happy with her new husband, Owain the stonemason, and had found contentment back with her own people in Gwent. For all his many amorous adventures over the years, she was the one who had tugged at his heartstrings the most and he had truly loved her — even though he had loved Hilda before her and still loved her now.

Apart from concerns over these two women, he had problems with yet another pair. Firstly, Mary, his cook-maid in Exeter was left alone in his house in Martin’s Lane with only his old dog for company. Until he knew how permanent this exile to London might be — and whether or not his wife would ever return home — he could not dispose of the dwelling. He knew that Mary was unhappy with being left in an empty house with no duties except to feed herself and Brutus, and with no forecast of how long this state of affairs might last. With money not an issue, thanks to his share in a successful wool-exporting business, he could afford to keep the house on indefinitely, but it was his wife Matilda who was the fly in the honey-pot. As he tossed and turned on his hard mattress in the humid heat of the small room, he cursed again at the fate that had linked him to Matilda seventeen years earlier. Neither had a say in the marriage, forced on them by their respective parents and John had coped by staying away from his bride for most of the first fifteen years, finding campaigns, battles and then a Crusade to keep him far away. Since he had hung up his lance and shield over two years ago, living at home had only been bearable by virtue of his new job as Devon county coroner — and his liaison with Nesta. Matilda had become more and more sullen and abrasive, both because of his infidelities and by the depression caused by the disgrace of her brother Sir Richard de Revelle, who had been ejected as sheriff, mainly due to John’s exposure of his malpractice. Twice she had forsaken the world and entered a nunnery, this time showing no sign of revoking her decision, and until she decided what she was going to do, Mary was left alone in the house.

With these thoughts going round and round in his head, John eventually fell asleep as the thunder rolled away over the distant Chilterns, leaving him with the half-formed decision to somehow get back to Exeter to try to resolve the problem of his resentful wife.