After his cool reception at the Bush the previous evening, de Wolfe decided to give it a miss that night and sat gloomily drinking alone at his own fireside, before taking himself early to bed in the lonely solar built above the back yard. He tossed and turned on the big hessian bag stuffed with feathers that lay on a low plinth on the floor, restless under the woollen blankets that now replaced the winter bearskin. It would be wrong to say that he missed Matilda's company there, but he had become used to her lumpy body breathing heavily on the other side of the bed, with the occasional strangled snore.
He went over his plan to try to entice pirates into his trap but was realistic enough to know that it had a slim chance of success. Even if the news of the 'treasure' reached Axmouth, would they want to act on it? Perhaps they would suspect a trick and, even if they did decide to attack, they would have to know exactly when the St Radegund left harbour to have any chance of intercepting her. This could not be done within sight of land, so they would have to identify the cog and then follow her for at least some hours. And what if some other pirate beat them to it? If the news was disseminated as well as John hoped, maybe privateers well known to operate out of Lyme or even Dartmouth might decide to try their luck against a hoard of silver.
Obviously, it did not matter greatly which pirates were ambushed, but John felt a particular need to squash whatever was going on in Axmouth. From piracy, the turmoil in his mind moved on to Matilda and her apparent implacable resolve to remain in Polsloe. He felt that part of her motive was to spite and punish him, but he had to admit that she had always inclined towards the religious life. Soon after their wedding, she had admitted to him that she had never wanted marriage. She had yearned as a girl to take the veil, but her forceful parents had insisted that she make a socially acceptable marriage and her heartfelt inclinations to the Church had been denied. There was now nothing he could do about it, and he accepted philosophically the disappointment of the archdeacon's final opinion concerning the impossibility of an annulment. They were saddled with each other until death parted them, so taking a new wife was probably denied him for ever.
From here his thoughts wandered on to the linked problems of Nesta and the royal command to leave Exeter. Here, he felt confused and uncertain, as there were too many unknowns for him to see any clear pathway through the maze of possibilities. He loved Nesta, but did she still love him? Was her fondness for him cooling, given her oft-repeated conviction that they could never live together? Was this new factor, the Welshman, a real threat or just a product of his own latent jealousy? And hovering on the margins of his consciousness was the slim figure of his childhood sweetheart and first lover, the elegant Hilda. He was almost afraid to think of her, for fear that he would admit to himself how much he desired her, even though he loved Nesta.
John knew he would soon have to go down to Dawlish to talk to one of his shipmasters about using the St Radegund for his trap — and he knew that, when he did, the temptation to visit Hilda again would be irresistible.
He hauled his naked body over in the bed with a groan, his head swirling with all these imponderables. As he tried to sleep, his final debate with himself was about moving to London. Would this really be just a trial period or would he never live in Devon again? His mother, sister and brother were not many miles away in Stoke, so how many times would he see them again in this life? In spite of his reassurances to Mary, would he keep his house here? His partnership in the wool trade was no problem — Hugh de Relaga would continue to administer that, as he had done all along — and it seemed that Gwyn and Thomas were resigned to going with him. But what of Nesta — and even Hilda, he dared think? How much of his familiar life would survive the desires of his king? John de Wolfe was a doer, not a thinker, and the effort of juggling these sudden complications in his life made his head ache. Mercifully, sleep eventually overtook him, and in spite of all the problems it was a dreamless coma until the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the shutters.
Next morning saw a number of new cases that needed the coroner's attention, a welcome diversion from his worries. An alleged rape in St Sidwell's, a man stabbed to death in a brawl in the Saracen Inn, the lowest drinking house in the city, and a rotten body fished out of the river at Exe Island occupied the coroner's trio until the evening.
However, with nothing remaining to be dealt with the following day, in the early morning de Wolfe and his staff were once more in the saddle, a place never much appreciated by Thomas. John had decided that they needed at least a week or two to set up their trap and allow the rumours to be spread around Devon. In the meantime he decided to visit the Prior of Loders, the manor-lord of Axmouth. After meeting Brother Absalom, John was suspicious about his activities on the Axmouth scene. He claimed to be the assistant to the priory cellarer, the obedientiary responsible for the material needs of a religious house. John had taken an instant dislike to the man. Though such aversions were nothing new for de Wolfe, he wanted to see Loders for himself and gauge how Absalom fitted into the picture.
So once again they were traversing the east of the county, taking the whole morning to reach Axmouth, where they received a frosty reception. The surly landlord of the Harbour Inn grudgingly provided poor rye-and-barley bread with cheese that tasted as if it had been buried in the village midden for a week.
'My mare passes better ale than this stuff,' growled Gwyn, grimacing over his jug. Thomas, who refused anything other than a slice of bread, asked his master why they had called yet again at Axmouth. 'We seem to learn less at each visit, Crowner,' he complained.
'As we are on the way to Loders, we might as well show our faces here, to show them that we have them under our eye,' replied de Wolfe. 'If I could only catch them out in even one misdemeanour, we could drag them back to Rougemont and shake them a little to see what fell out.'
With this ominous threat, which was largely wishful thinking, they left their poor meal and walked their mounts along the river's edge towards the sea, looking at the vessels tied up there. It was low tide, and five cogs were sitting on the stony mud, leaning against the bank. Three of them were loading wool, a line of men carrying bales on their backs from the warehouses opposite, to trot up the tilted gangplanks.
'That Tiger is not here again,' growled Gwyn as they reached the end of the line of ships. 'Her master seems to be avoiding us, though I suppose that's just chance.'
The coroner was also sorry that Martin Rof, the villainous captain, was not around to be questioned — not that he was likely to admit anything useful.
'Still, we can drop a few hints about our six cases of silver, as long as it's done casually,' he suggested. 'Thomas, you work your charms on that old priest — he looks as if he enjoys a gossip. I'd better not raise the subject myself, but you, Gwyn, could let something slip to that tally-man, what's his name, Capie?'
They ambled their horses back through the lower gate into the village and tied them up at the rail outside the bailiff's dwelling. While his two assistants went off about their business, de Wolfe strode up the path and banged on the door, which was ajar. Without waiting for a reply, he pushed it open and walked in, to find Edward Northcote bending over a table where Elias Palmer was wielding a quill pen over a roll of parchment. Both men turned to face the coroner, but their greeting was anything but welcoming.
'We heard that you and your men had ridden through our village,' snapped Northcote. 'What do you want with us this time?'
Though there was an undercurrent of insolence in his voice, it was muted.
'I want nothing particular, but wish to keep an eye on this manor,' growled de Wolfe. 'I would remind you that a young man was cruelly murdered here and no progress has been made in finding his killer. Neither has your attitude helped my investigation.'
'We have nothing to tell you, Crowner,' replied the bailiff stubbornly. 'You seem unwilling to accept that it was but some violent act of drunken shipmen.'
De Wolfe scowled at the man. 'I have information that suggests otherwise. There is also the matter of the deaths of a Keeper of the Peace and of a pedlar, both of which have features that point in this direction.'
'I don't know what you are talking about, sir!' said Northcote doggedly.
John glowered at him, then shifted his gaze to Elias. 'What is that you are writing, portreeve?' he asked suspiciously.
'Merely a list of the cargo taken from one of those cogs down at the quayside. I am entering the items that John Capie has recorded on his tallies.' He pointed to a collection of knotted cords and notched sticks that lay on the table.
Knowing that he was unable to challenge what Elias said, John wished that Thomas was here to check on the document. Frustrated, he changed the subject. 'I see that ship on which the dead boy Simon sailed is not in the harbour?'
'The Tiger? No, she sailed some days ago for Barfleur. Martin Rof will bring her back in a few days' time,' volunteered the portreeve, whose attitude was less resentful than that of the bailiff.
De Wolfe felt that he was uneasy and slightly apprehensive when in the presence of the coroner. 'Has that monkish fellow from Loders been here recently?' demanded de Wolfe, determined to keep the pressure up and convince the Axmouth people that he was watching every move they made.
'Of course. He is the prior's envoy here, he comes once a week,' said Northcote stiffly. 'I don't know what you could want with him, but if you had come yesterday you would have seen him here.'
'No matter. I will be at the priory this afternoon. I can discuss his functions with the prior,' said John smugly and was gratified to see the other two exchange worried glances.
John gave a final suspicious glare at Northcote and Elias and made his way back to his horse. As he waited for his assistants, he looked past the cottages on the other side of the village street to the wide expanse of the estuary, where a stiff onshore breeze was skipping wavelets far up the valley towards Colyford. Beyond the water, the countryside was a patchwork of bright green pastures, brown strip-fields and darker forest, all sloping up inland towards Axminster and Honiton. Above the village, the high ridge south of Hawkesdown Hill was covered in dense woodland running out towards the cliff at the end of the headland at the open sea. It was a pleasant place, and he hoped that soon any evil that lurked there would be driven out. He also realised with a pang of nostalgia that he would miss this Devon countryside when he moved to London.
When Gwyn and then Thomas reappeared, they said little until they were well clear of the village, heading inland for a short way until they turned up at Boshill Cross on to the steep track over the ridge towards Lyme.
Thomas was the first to report. 'I managed to insinuate to Father Henry that you had come back today because you were concerned about piracy in the area, given that a cargo of coin was soon to sail, taking the army's pay to Rouen. I swore him to secrecy, which means that he will blab every word about before supper!'
Gwyn guffawed at his little friend's duplicity. 'I was a bit less forthright with John Capie. I dropped into the conversation something about my going up to Taunton with some troops to collect something valuable that was soon being shipped out of Exeter.'
John nodded his approval. 'We need to put similar hints about the city when we get back. Gwyn, you can do it in the alehouses and again Thomas can seed it amongst the clergy. God knows, they are the biggest gossips in England!'
The Priory of Loders was just beyond the small town of Bridport in Dorset. As the town was not on the actual coast, its name came from the use of the word 'port' for a market, and it was here that de Wolfe decided to stop for the night, as the day was now well advanced and he did not think that they would be all that welcome as guests at Loders. They found a moderately respectable-looking tavern and the coroner bought them all a penny-worth of bed and board, which consisted of supper and a straw-filled sack in a barn-like room behind the alehouse, where they lay wrapped in their riding cloaks.
In spite of the austere accommodation, John slept like a baby, unlike his tossing and turning of the previous night. He woke refreshed, ready for his breakfast of thin oatmeal gruel and a couple of butter-fried eggs on a thick slab of coarse bread.
The rest of the journey was short, a mere few miles further east before they reached the small priory, whose Benedictine mother house was in Montebourg in Normandy, just south of Cherbourg.
As in Polsloe, they had to negotiate with a surly gatekeeper to get into the walled compound, leaving Thomas to wonder how the traditional hospitality to travellers was dispensed, when it seemed so difficult to get inside. Services were still in progress in the priory church, and inevitably Thomas de Peyne vanished inside like a homing pigeon, eager to attend the devotions. The indifferent coroner and his covertly agnostic officer stayed out in the precinct, sprawled on the grass in the spring sunshine, for the weather had improved markedly. There was nothing they could do until the inhabitants of the priory finished the offices of Terce, Sext and Nones, at about the tenth hour. Then a score of monkish figures streamed out of the church, and Thomas came towards them accompanied by a thin priest, whom he introduced as the prior's chaplain and secretary.
'Prior Robert will see you in his parlour in a few moments,' announced the chaplain in a sepulchral voice.
'You won't want me,' said Gwyn gruffly, subsiding again on the greensward, confirming his antipathy to those who practised religion. John had never discovered what had caused his attitude, which was potentially dangerous in a society dominated by the Church. He would never have got away with it in a village, but the relative anonymity of a city and the army had allowed his phobia to be ignored.
De Wolfe beckoned to his clerk, who accompanied him with alacrity as they followed the chaplain across to a side door of the main building, which led to the prior's residence. They climbed a stone staircase and were ushered into a room that was sparsely furnished with a table, a few stools and a large wooden crucifix hanging on a whitewashed wall. It looked as if Prior Robert of Montebourg was as ascetic as John's friend the archdeacon, and if he was profiting in any way from sharp practices in Axmouth then certainly it was not being spent on lavish living.
Robert was a small man of late middle age, with a rim of grey hair around his shaven tonsure. He had a brooding look, with deep-set eyes and a sharply hooked nose. The black robe of the Benedictine combined with the bare, gloomy appearance of his room oppressed John and made him wish he was still out on the sunlit lawn with Gwyn.
Robert waved a hand at a stool and invited the coroner to sit. His voice was deeper and more melodious than might be expected from a small and rotund body. His chaplain stood behind him and, taking his cue from that, Thomas placed himself at his master's shoulder.
'You are the king's coroner for Devon, I understand?' said Robert. 'I am intrigued as to why you should venture into Dorset to seek out a humble prior.'
'It concerns Axmouth, father, which is within my jurisdiction. I know that the manor and church have belonged to your house since William de Redvers granted it very many years ago.' John had gleaned this information from his knowledgeable clerk.
Robert looked mildly surprised. 'It is indeed one of the manors that we hold on behalf of the Abbey of Montebourg. What interest can that be to a law officer?'
'There have been some disturbing occurrences there recently. A young shipman was murdered and his body buried in the village — and I have reason to suspect that the administration of the port is irregular, to say the least. It may be frankly criminal.'
The prior's sparse eyebrows lifted. 'I find that hard to credit, Sir John! I have heard nothing of any of this. But then I leave all such business to my cellarer, whose duty it is to deal with all the material aspects of our life here.'
'You do not supervise their work or check the revenues that the port generates?' said John. He failed to keep his voice free from criticism.
Robert shook his head. 'I am more concerned with the religious life of this establishment. Naturally, I scan the accounts every quarter-day and remit part of the income to Montebourg when the abbot sends his emissaries across at intervals. But my cellarer, Brother Philip, has been carrying out his duties faithfully for twenty years and more. As they say, why keep a dog and bark yourself?'
De Wolfe thought this relaxed attitude was an invitation to abuse of the system, but he kept his opinion to himself. 'It seems that your cellarer does not deal directly with affairs in Axmouth but leaves them to an assistant. Are you content with such an arrangement?'
'Of course! Brother Absalom is a trusted lay brother. True, he is in lower orders, but Philip has high regard for his efficiency, which he has been displaying these past five years.'
'And you have no doubts as to his integrity, for he must be responsible for considerable sums of money which are due to the priory from all the activity at the port down there?'
De Wolfe was starting to tread on sensitive ground with his implied criticisms, for the prior was beginning to look irritated.
'Indeed, I trust all my staff implicitly!' he replied crossly. 'Axmouth has a bailiff and a portreeve and we keep in touch through Absalom. There has never been any suggestion of malpractice. The cellarer receives their monthly accounts and checks them — and as I said, I look over them myself several times a year. I cannot see what you are hoping to gain by these questions, sir!'
De Wolfe was inclined to agree with him, as he saw the futility of trying to learn anything from Robert of Montebourg. The prior seemed indifferent to the secular side of his responsibilities, content to leave it all to subordinates, especially where Axmouth was concerned. Presumably, as long as the manor turned in a reasonable income, much of it remitted to the mother house in Normandy, no one bothered to check on the reality of the accounts brought up by Absalom. It seemed unlikely that the actual cellarer, Brother Philip, was involved in anything shady, as he was an ordained monk of long standing with no reason to need personal wealth. But Absalom could be party to a conspiracy down in Axmouth, as a lay brother could walk away from a religious establishment at any time and enjoy any wealth that he had managed to accrue by fair means or foul.
John decided it was wasting everyone's time to prolong this meeting and stood up to take his leave. 'I thank you for your frankness, prior. Perhaps you would allow me to have a few words with your cellarer and his assistant, now that we have come all this distance?'
Robert readily agreed, glad to see this law officer go on his way. He instructed his secretary to take them to Brother Philip, and a few minutes later they found themselves in a small room on the ground floor, adjacent to a series of chambers filled with a jumble of food, grain, furniture and all the oddments that were needed to keep the priory supplied with worldly goods.
The cellarer was a stout man, getting towards the end of his active life, and John suspected that Brother Philip rarely left his chair in the office, except to eat, sleep and worship.
The conversation with the prior was repeated almost word for word, and it was obvious to the coroner that the cellarer left almost everything to his lay assistant, especially over dealings with Axmouth. He even admitted that he had not visited the village for the past two years, being satisfied with scanning the parchment lists that Absalom brought up after his frequent trips.
'Is your valuable assistant here?' asked John with unintended irony.
The cellarer reached out across his cluttered table and picked up a brass bell of quite substantial size. 'He is usually within earshot of this!' he exclaimed and shook the ivory stem vigorously. The clangour made John wince and the noise must have been heard all over the priory. A few moments later the flopping of sandals was heard on the flagstones of the corridor and Brother Absalom appeared. When he saw the coroner and his clerk, he stopped dead in the doorway and stared, obviously taken aback.
'What are you doing here?' he asked suspiciously, ignoring any pretence at greeting or deferring to John's rank.
'We came to speak to your prior and the cellarer, but as you are now here we may as well have a word with you.' De Wolfe's tone was dismissive, as if he thought the man of little account.
'What about? If it's that nonsense in Axmouth, there's nothing to tell. You saw for yourself that everything there is in order.'.
'We saw some documents that tallied with the goods in the storehouses; but that's not necessarily the true state of affairs,' growled the coroner.
Absalom shrugged indifferently. 'They were good enough for me — and my cellarer and Prior Robert.'
Brother Philip looked anxiously from one face to the other. 'What's all this about? I know of no irregularities in this regard.'
John marked him down as a placid fellow looking forward to a quiet life in retirement in the priory and not wanting any trouble to rock his comfortable existence.
'These law officers have some strange notion that there is vice and corruption in our manor of Axmouth, Brother Philip. It has all arisen because of some drunken brawl amongst shipmen there, which ended in an unfortunate death. God knows why the coroner wants to blame the one on the other.'
'You forget the deaths of a Keeper of the King's Peace soon afterwards,' grated de Wolfe. 'And the killing of a pedlar nearby.'
'Nearby? They both died up towards Honiton. What has that to do with our manor?' Absalom's voice was strident with indignation, and John was hard put to decide whether it was feigned or real.
The cellarer lumbered to his feet, intent on defending his assistant. 'This is the first I've heard of all this; it is in a different county from Dorset. But I can assure you that the trading at Axmouth is conducted in the best traditions of both legality and honesty,' he said pompously. 'The dues we receive from the goods passing through the harbour are substantial and are very welcome in this house and in Normandy. If you have evidence that it is otherwise, then of course you must present it to us and we shall take action.'
This took the wind out of the coroner's sails, as he knew that there was nothing concrete that he could use to accuse anyone. After some minutes of acrimonious exchange, he admitted defeat and he beckoned Thomas to leave, offering a final veiled threat as they went.
'I would counsel you to impress on your assistant here that in future he had better be very careful in his dealings with the folk in Axmouth,' he boomed. 'The place is under close scrutiny by the sheriff and other officers, and any felonious behaviour is likely to end on the gallows!'
With this largely empty threat, they left to seek Gwyn and the horses. Absalom watched their departure through the shutters of a window in the cellarium, biting his lip in concern at this tenacious knight who seemed determined to catch them out in something.
The Sabbath passed and the new week brought a little activity to an otherwise quiet period for the county coroner. He had had no whisper of news from Polsloe and felt that yet another visit to pester Dame Madge or the prioress would be a waste of time, as they had promised to let him know if Matilda changed her mind about wishing to speak to him. He had asked Thomas to pen a short letter to his wife, the message being a rather formal request for her to let him know her intentions. He had sent it by a messenger and at least the boy had said that the sealed parchment had not been rejected at the priory, though no reply had been forthcoming.
The situation at the Bush remained cool but improved somewhat over the course of the next few days. Nesta's excuse about the 'time of the moon' held sway for a couple more nights, and John returned to his lonely bed in Martin's Lane, causing a few puzzled glances from Mary, who had thought that her master would have been taking full advantage of his wife's absence. '
Owain ap Gronow was not much in evidence in the tavern during the evenings that de Wolfe took his place by the firepit. John saw him a few times and received a pleasant smile and greeting, but he got the impression that the stonemason was being tactful and was keeping out of the way.
On Sunday night the pretty Welshwoman was more like her old self and cwched up comfortably against John's shoulder as he sat on his bench behind the wattle screen. That night they made the journey together up the loft ladder to her box-like room and made love in a gentle rather than passionate way. But afterwards she began crying softly into her pillow and refused to say what was wrong, even when he pleaded with her to tell him. All she would say between her tears was 'It's us, John. Just us! What's to become of us?'
When he awoke the next morning she had already risen, although it was so very early. Recalling the previous evening, he climbed sadly into his clothes and went down to the empty taproom. He found her in the cook-shed, busy making him a breakfast of honeyed gruel, pork sausages and fried onions. She smiled at him wanly and avoided him while she chivvied her two servants about domestic trifles. Eventually, she came and sat with him while he finished with barley bread and cheese. There seemed little new to say, so he filled the time by telling her of their plot to try to trap the pirates with a tale of a treasure ship. Though the true plan was a deadly secret, he knew he could trust her and, with the large number of patrons that passed through the Bush, her help in seeding the rumour would be of great use. Nesta also seemed relieved at having something to discuss apart from themselves and their intractable problems.
When he got up to Rougemont that Monday morning, Gwyn was ready for him with news of a fresh case.
'On the bloody horses again, I'm afraid,' he observed amiably. 'A fellow has turned up with news of a killing which needs our attention. Says he's the manor reeve from Ottery St Mary. They've found a man there stabbed at the side of the road.'
This large village was about ten miles from Exeter in the direction of Honiton but was not on the main Roman road that led eastwards.
'Where is he now?' demanded de Wolfe.
'Gone for some bread and ale after his ride, but he'll come back here soon,' said the Cornishman. When the reeve arrived at the guardroom below the coroner's stark chamber, John went down to speak to him. Walter Spere, a thin man with a mournful face, wore a serge jerkin and canvas breeches, with a thin cloak thrown over his shoulders. On his head was a pointed woollen cap, the end flopped over to one side.
'The cadaver was found by a cowman early today, sir, though he was stone cold and probably died last night,' he began in a quavering voice.
'Where was this?' demanded John.
'On the verge of the road, about a mile this side of the church.'
Thomas, who was lurking behind, could not resist airing his knowledge. 'The church and manor of Ottery St Mary have long belonged to Rouen Cathedral, being a gift from Edward the Confessor, of blessed memory.' He crossed himself devoutly, but de Wolfe was more interested in murder than history.
'And he has been deliberately slain, you claim?'
Walter nodded vigorously. 'Covered in blood, he was! Stabbed in the back, by the looks of it.'
'Any idea who he is?'
'No, sir, but he's not from the village, that's, for sure. He has good clothes and boots and a fine sword, so he's probably a merchant. or even a knight.'
De Wolfe cleared his throat noisily as he came to a quick decision. 'We'd better ride back with you and see what this is about. Gwyn, go and organise the horses — but Thomas, you may as well stay here and attend to your other duties, as I want to get back as soon as I can.'
Thankful to be spared, the clerk took no offence at this implied hint about his poor performance on a horse and before long he watched the three men ride off down Castle Hill. They left through the South Gate and turned up Magdalen Street to ride into the countryside past the gallows, which was bare of customers that day. The coroner and his officer rode their larger horses side by side, followed by Walter Spere on a rounsey. They rode in silence, as no one had anything to say.
An hour and a half later they were well on their way to Ottery and entering a strip of forest-lined track that John remembered as stretching for at least a couple of furlongs, the tall trees reaching right to the edge of the road. Suddenly, they realised that the regular rhythm of the three horses had changed and, looking around, were mystified to see the reeve cantering off to the left and vanishing down a narrow path between the trees. In seconds, he had completely disappeared and even his hoof-beats were silenced on the soft ground of the forest floor.
'Where the hell has that bloody man gone?' demanded Gwyn in surprise. 'Shall I follow him?'
'No, stay where you are!' snapped de Wolfe, drawing his sword from its sheath at the side of his saddle. 'I don't like the feel of this.'
They sat and listened to the silence of the deep woodland, broken only by the croak of a magpie. Gwyn reached for the ball mace that hung from his saddlebow. This had a short handle with a chain carrying a wicked-looking iron ball studded with spikes. 'Is this another ambush like the one that injured the stonemason?' he grunted, looking around suspiciously.
'But why be set up by a manor-reeve?' growled John. 'If indeed he is a reeve. And why try to rob us? We are not rich merchants or priests with fat purses.'
'Do we go on or turn back?' asked his officer.
The coroner glowered around, seeing only an empty road in front and behind them. 'We may as well carry on, now that we've come this far.'
They kicked their horses into motion and began trotting down the centre of the track, their heads swinging from side to side as they scanned the green wall of forest. Suddenly, Gwyn caught something out of the corner of his eye, a shadowy movement just within the tree-line on his left. Automatically, he gave a warning shout and swung his big brown mare around to face the possible threat. Almost simultaneously, he heard the unmistakable 'twang' of a released crossbow and half-expected to feel the impact of a bolt in his chest. But he was not the target, for alongside him there was a 'clang' as the missile struck something metallic.
John had heard the sound of the crossbow discharge at the same second as Gwyn and had instinctively ducked, as well as digging his spurs into Odin's flanks. But before the great stallion had been able to accelerate, the bolt had crossed the short distance from the trees and struck the upraised blade of John's sword, just above the cross-guard. It jerked his hand sideways and skittered away to land on the road.
The two seasoned warriors automatically took evasive action, bending low over their saddles and diverging from each other as they prodded their horses into maximum effort. As they pounded up the road, another bolt from the opposite side of the road flew harmlessly past Odin's rump, then they were well out of range, given the time needed to crank back a crossbow for reloading. However, they did not stop until they had emerged from the wooded stretch and were safely alongside open strip-fields,
'The bastards!' fumed Gwyn. 'Are we going to go in and flush them out?'
John examined the dimple and scratch on his sword-blade, which had probably saved his life, as he had been holding the weapon upright in front of his chest. 'No, I'm not mixing with bowmen hiding behind trees! Anyway, they'll have long gone now, having failed. '
'That sod of a reeve or whoever he was led us nicely into a trap!' snarled Gwyn, his usual good temper evaporated by the churlish trick that had been played upon them. 'But what was it all about?'
De Wolfe, although as experienced in battle as any man, was shaken by the unexpected ambush. 'There's a pattern to this, Gwyn! Murdering a Keeper and now trying to assassinate a coroner, both of them king's officers! And in this same part of the county, too.'
'You think it's connected with Axmouth?' asked the Cornishman dubiously.
'What else? We went and shook up the bailiff and portreeve a few days ago and then went and caused trouble at Loders. They are getting worried and want to get rid of me.'
'Maybe it's just as well we are leaving for London!' jested Gwyn, his good nature recovering. 'Otherwise we'll be looking over our shoulders all the time.'
'Not if our plan with the non-existent silver works,' said John grimly. 'I'll see those swine dancing by their necks before we quit Devon!'
Later that day de Wolfe related to the sheriff what had happened, but decided not to tell Nesta that he had probably escaped death by only an inch. Henry de Furnellis was outraged at this second attack on a royal law officer and seemed as frustrated as John that they had no proof of who might be responsible. De Wolfe had ridden with Gwyn the remaining distance to Ottery St Mary and discovered that they knew nothing about any corpse. The real manor-reeve turned out to be an amiable, fat fellow, utterly unlike the silent man who had impersonated him. No one in the village recognised John's description of such an unremarkable man, and it was obvious that he could have come from anywhere in the east of the county. The two archers hidden in the woods could have been anyone, as they remained hidden from view.
Tired from a day in the saddle and the stress of the sudden attack, John decided not to visit the Bush that evening, though part of him welcomed the excuse to escape Nesta's emotional mood, as women in tears frightened him more than facing a troop of cavalry. Next day he had to attend the fortnightly county court in the bleak Shire Hall in the inner ward of Rougemont. With Thomas prompting him from his parchments, he made several declarations of 'exigent', outlawing men who had failed to answer to their bail on four previous occasions. There were two confessions to read out from men who had turned 'approvers', trying to save their necks by denouncing their accomplices in cases of robbery, and he successfully persuaded an indignant leather merchant to take his 'appeal' against a fraudulent supplier of hides to the next Eyre, rather than challenge the man to trial by combat, which he was almost certain to lose.
The proceedings were finished by dinner-time, with the sheriff sending three men to be hanged for thefts of items worth more than twelve pence and another for clipping coinage, a felony classed as treason and always punishable by death. Though the efforts of the Chief Justiciar to wean major cases from the local manor, hundred and county courts into the royal courts was slowly succeeding, the old Saxon system was proving hard to eradicate. One problem was that the visits of the king's justices to hear cases at the Eyres were so infrequent that the population preferred the quicker summary justice of the local courts. It was true that to speed up the process, more frequent visits of lesser judges, the Commissioners of Gaol Delivery, had been established, but still the old ways proved most popular with the people.
De Wolfe discussed some of this with Henry de Furnellis when they met that afternoon in the keep, but the main business was to harden up their plans to sail the decoy ship to try to attract the pirates. The coroner had learnt from his partner Hugh de Relaga that the St Radegund was due to be back in Topsham within the next week, weather permitting.
'Her master, Roger Watts, is then due for a voyage off, to spend time at home, so we can use Angerus de Wile for our purposes,' said John.
'Assuming he's willing to put his life at risk,' reminded Ralph Morin, who was also present. 'You had better go and talk to him and explain what's required.'
John readily agreed, very conscious that the shipmaster lived in Dawlish.
'We had better arrange for this collection of the fake treasure boxes from Taunton,' declared the sheriff. 'You and Gabriel had better go up with the empty ones and fill them full of stones yourselves. The fewer people who know the truth of this, the better.'
The castle constable agreed and added: 'The return journey to Exeter with an escort of men-at-arms needs to be as public as possible. We can store the boxes here in Rougemont until they are due to be taken down to Topsham.'
The finer details were thrashed out until all that remained was for John to get the cooperation of the St Radegund's master. The crew need not be told anything until the contingent of soldiers arrived to be hidden below deck.
'Amongst whom will be myself!' boomed Ralph.
'As will be I and Gwyn of Polruan,' added John grimly. 'Though I think I'll leave my little clerk at home for this particular adventure!'