Crowner's Crusade

TWENTY

The second week of December brought the first snow. John rose from his cold conjugal bed soon after dawn and fancied that the light coming between the cracks in the shutters was brighter than usual. When he peered out of the door, he looked out on a white world, the yard and the roofs running down the back of High Street being coated in a couple of inches of pristine snow.

He was due to call on Hugh de Relaga at the Guildhall after the cathedral bells had rung for Sext and None. By then, the High Street was already grey slush churned by the feet of hundreds of traders, porters and goodwives doing their shopping at the stalls that lined the main streets of the city. Hugh greeted him with his invariable good humour and a cup of hot posset, welcome on such a cold day.

He reported that trade was doing well, even though no exports could be dispatched out of the deep-sea sailing season — and also in spite of the greatly increased taxes to pay for the king’s ransom. The previous king Henry had imposed a ‘Saracen tithe’ to help pay for the coming Crusade and now Hubert Walter had introduced a new ransom tax on both income and movable goods.

‘Still, there’s still plenty left for us, John’ said Hugh cheerfully, as he pushed a heavy bag across his table towards his partner.

‘Any news of the king?’ asked John in a sombre voice. ‘It will soon be exactly a year since he was taken in Vienna.’

‘I had a trader in here only yesterday, who had come from Dover on a coastal vessel in only five days,’ replied Hugh. ‘He said that the second instalment of fifty thousand marks was due to be taken to the Emperor by Queen Eleanor herself. It will be taken by wagon down to Queenhithe and put aboard a ship a few days before Christ Mass⁶.’

John knew that a similar payment had been safely delivered early in November. ‘Let’s hope that this will secure his release after all these delays,’ he grunted. ‘I’d not trust Henry of Germany an inch — and neither does the old queen, by the sound of it.’

After an hour’s talk about their business and the need for a new contract with Buckfast Abbey for next season’s wool, he took his money back to the house. Matilda had gone to the cathedral and he hid the fat purse under the clothes in his trunk. This time he turned the key and put it in his scrip, mindful of the ease with which Joel the Ravisher had broken into the house in Sun Lane.

The rest of the short day was spent in aimless activities, which brought home to him the problem of what to do with the rest of his life. He took Bran for a trot down on Bull Mead, the open ground below Southernhay, where the fairs and tournaments were held, then came back for his dinner of poached salmon and mutton stew. Matilda announced that her brother had sent a message to ask her to visit him that afternoon at his town house in North Street.

‘Richard is staying there a night on his way down to Revelstoke,’ she said haughtily. ‘He is returning from Gloucester, where he has been on important business.’

John guessed that his business was with the Count of Mortain, whose prime residence was at that city on the Severn, as he had married Isabel, Countess of Gloucester at the time that his brother Richard had gained the throne and given him his six counties. What Richard de Revelle was doing at Gloucester was a matter for speculation, but John suspected that he was angling for further advancement.

When his wife had left in her best finery, trailed by the dismal Lucille, who always seemed to have a head cold and running nose, John took himself to the castle to pass the time. As usual, Gwyn was there playing dice with the gatehouse guards and they went to the keep together to find Ralph Morin. At the bottom of the steps, they heard a commotion from the undercroft and saw Stigand hauling himself up the steps in a state of agitation.

‘He’s killed the other fellow!’ he wheezed as he came nearer. ‘Strangled him with his bare hands!’

Gwyn pushed the obnoxious gaoler out of the way and hurried down the steps, de Wolfe close behind. In the gloom of the undercroft, they could see that the outer gate in the iron fence was open and once inside, they could see the large figure of Joel sitting on the sleeping slab of the largest cell at the end of the row. The gate to this was padlocked and they peered in to see what had happened, gagging at the stink that came from inside.

‘He’s dead, the bastard!’ snarled Joel, raising his head. ‘He had it coming, trying to steal my piece of bread.’

Lying on the filthy straw of the sodden floor, they could see an inert shape, the body of Arnulf of Devizes, the man they had captured after the attack on the priest and nuns.

‘Did you kill him?’ barked John, though the question was unnecessary, as no one else was in the cell with him.

‘I did indeed — and saved you the trouble of a hanging,’ grunted Joel, with brazen indifference. ‘And you can’t string me up twice, so why should I care?’

Stigand had waddled up to them by now, puffing with exertion.

‘Why did you shut these two in the same cell, you fool?’ demanded John.

The fat man shrugged. ‘Saved me emptying two buckets of their ordure. . What did it matter, anyway? They were both going to die.’

John shook his head despairingly at the man’s inhumanity. ‘I’ll tell Sergeant Gabriel to get a couple of men down here to shift the body out. For God’s sake, clean that place out, put fresh straw down. I told you before, even if a man is going to the gallows, there’s no need to treat him far worse than any pig in a sty!’

Upstairs, they found Ralph Morin in his chamber and told him of the death below his feet. The castellan sent a soldier to find Gabriel and then went out with them into the hall, to sit near the firepit and share a jug of cider. The talk soon turned to Richard de Revelle and John told them of his recent trip to Gloucester.

‘It’s not time for him to take the tax money there, so he’s up to something else,’ he concluded.

‘So that’s where he’s been, the crafty devil!’ said Ralph. ‘He’s not been in his chamber for more than a week.’

John had previously told Ralph about the cathedral’s desire to have a sheriff appointed and the castellan agreed with John that this may have been the reason for de Revelle’s trip.

‘Hubert Walter won’t stand for a sheriff being put in by Prince John!’ he declared. ‘We all know that we need one, but pray God it’s not de Revelle!’

But later, that was exactly the news that John received. Matilda came home well after dusk fell, escorted by a couple of her brother’s servants. As soon as she came into the hall, he could tell that she was almost bursting to tell him her good tidings.

‘My brother is to be the new sheriff!’ she exclaimed, even before she shed her heavy cloak into Lucille’s waiting arms. ‘Prince John himself has given him the post, on the recommendation of the bishop.’

Matilda was almost visibly swollen with pride, as her brother was her idol, a paragon of success in the world. The main beneficiary of their rich father’s will, Richard had estates in several counties. He was well educated and literate, and she compared him very favourably to her own husband, whose only talents she perceived were wielding a sword, drinking and wenching. She conveniently ignored the money he had brought to them from campaigning and tournaments and the present very profitable partnership with Hugh de Relaga.

‘He takes office straight away, after the appointment is confirmed by the county court,’ she crowed. ‘As I am his sister, we will be invited to more feasts and events, which will give you a chance to better yourself amongst the important people in the county!’

She was so benign and happy that John could not bring himself to deflate her and start another quarrel by pointing out that the prince had no authority to appoint a senior officer of the king. He mumbled some non-committal sounds and her euphoria glossed over his obvious lack of enthusiasm.

Matilda had not yet finished her good news. ‘My brother has invited me to spend the Feast of Christ Mass with them at their manor in Tiverton,’ she gushed.

‘He is returning to Revelstoke tomorrow to fetch Eleanor, then they will collect me in a week’s time and we shall all go to Tiverton. I will be away a week, but no doubt you will find plenty to occupy you, John.’

A barbed undercurrent of sarcasm had crept into her voice, but her mood was too buoyant to pursue it. There was no mention of him being included in the invitation, for which he was truly thankful.

Dragging Lucille behind her, she went straight to her solar, as she had had supper with her brother — not enquiring whether John had eaten. No doubt she was checking all her gowns and cloaks, he thought cynically, to see what further finery would be needed to befit a sheriff’s sister. John leaned down from his seat by the fire to stroke the head of his now-famous old dog.

‘We’re in for some tempests in the next few weeks, Brutus,’ he murmured. ‘When her brother gets kicked out by Westminster, I suppose she’ll shift the blame on to me, as usual!’