'But did anyone come to check what was there? The bailiff or the portreeve?'
The sailor grimaced with pain as he tried to shake his head. 'Never saw either of them down on the quay. Only Henry, the agent for some noble merchant here in Exeter - and of course John Capie, he was always hanging around.'
It was soon apparent that the seaman knew nothing more of use and they left, with John promising to ask the monk from the hospital to look at his neck when he came to see the dying man. With the lad's plaintive supplications following them down to the gate, de Wolfe and Gwyn left the prison, leaving Thomas behind to write down the confession that the young man had made, especially his oath that Martin Rof had strangled Simon Makerel.
'Where are we going now?' asked Gwyn as they strode out of the castle down into the quieter lanes near St John's Hospital.
'Someone had better tell Robert de Helion that he's lost a ship from his fleet!' said John. 'And see what he has to say about his agent.'
The august, rather supercilious merchant-knight was aghast when John informed him that one of his cogs had been involved in piracy and was now in the hands of criminals, but God knows where!
John was inclined to think that his shock and indignation were genuine, unless he was as good an actor as he was a businessman.
'Are you saying that I may have lost my vessel altogether?' he cried in distress. 'That cog cost me five hundred marks to have built!'
John shrugged; he had more pressing problems than the price of a rich man's property.
'She may turn up, Sir Robert - who knows? The crew may abandon the vessel and leave her on some beach when they flee to become outlaws. Or perhaps they will sail to Brittany or Flanders and try to sell her there,' he added mischievously.
De Helion groaned. 'That idiot Henry Crik, he should have known that something like this might happen. I'll have the miserable fool flayed alive!'
'It seems likely that your agent was party to this evil trade,' said the coroner. 'I presume you had no suspicions of his involvement?'
There was a veiled hint here that de Helion himself might not be lily white, and he rose to the bait in a temper. 'Sir John, I trust you are not suggesting that I have any complicity in this? I assure you that there has not been the slightest breath of corruption coming from Axmouth, which is but a small part of my commercial interests. The Tiger's voyages have always turned in a reasonable profit, according to the records that Crik brings to my clerks here.'
He shouted for his chief clerk, and soon a bent elderly man hobbled in, looking too threadbare to have made any money from piracy. His master interrogated him about the accounts and the records relating to Axmouth, but the cowed old fellow could say nothing but that everything had always seemed to be in order.
'Yet if the documents were falsified, would you be any the wiser?' asked John. 'The Tiger no doubt spent most of her time on legitimate voyages - but if she returned earlier than expected, who was to know in Exeter that she might make an extra short foray out into the Channel to seize a passing ship?'
De Helion huffed and puffed but had to admit that this was a possibility. He even added that The Tiger might have come across a victim when returning from a normal voyage, especially if she was coming home light or with only a part-cargo, so that there was still room in her hold for pillaged goods.
'That swine Martin Rof is the man behind all this!' he raved. 'I met him but once, when I took him into my service as a shipmaster, and I took a dislike to him then. But I admit that I have had no complaints about his seamanship - indeed, he seems to have made a very successful pirate!'
Neither the merchant nor his chief clerk seemed to know where Henry Crik was at that moment, so soon the coroner left him still bellowing about the loss of his ship and ordering his old clerk to send messengers out along the southern coast in both directions, to see if she had turned up anywhere.
'Where are we going to seek this fellow Crik?' asked Gwyn as they walked back to Rougemont. 'He must surely be the key to this mystery.'
'The only mystery is who is involved in this scandal and who is not!' replied de Wolfe. 'De Helion was trying to include the Prior of Loders in the conspiracy, but I doubt that is the case.'
'I wouldn't trust any bloody priest,' muttered the Cornishman, half to himself, but aloud he said 'Do you think Axmouth have heard of the loss of their Tiger, for she can never go back there, unless de Helion finds her abandoned somewhere.'
'I doubt the news has travelled that fast yet, unless someone guessed why the St Radegund came back to harbour the same day that she left,' answered de Wolfe. 'But no doubt someone will take the news to Axmouth within a day or two. The men-at-arms are bound to boast of their success in the alehouses here, so carters and pedlars are sure to spread the news far and wide.'
'What will that bailiff and portreeve do about it when they hear?' mused Gwyn. 'D'you think they'll make a run for it, if they have been involved?'
The coroner pondered this as he stalked alongside his officer across High Street and up the track that led into the outer ward of the castle. 'I doubt it. Those who are guilty will brazen it out for as long as they can. Otherwise, they can only turn outlaw, and I can't see them doing that readily, after the nice comfortable life they've had stealing so much from the king and the merchants.'
Back in their upper chamber in the gatehouse, they found Thomas at his usual task of neatly scribing the various parchment rolls that the coroner would have to present to the Justices in Eyre, when they eventually came to Exeter. As they sat down to their ritual second breakfast of bread, cheese, ale and Thomas's cider, de Wolfe fretted over what should be done next.
'We cannot delay too long in getting the sheriff's posse down to Axmouth. Even though I suspect they will play the innocent and blame everything on Martin Rof and his crew, one of them will surely break and admit to something.'
'We'll get nothing from that Rof fellow unless we let Stigand loose on, him with a branding iron - or make him submit to the Ordeal,' boomed Gwyn.
Thomas crossed himself, as he scorned such a barbaric attitude. 'The Church is becoming more concerned about the correctness of the Ordeal,' he said primly. 'The Holy Father is likely to forbid it before long, on the grounds that it smacks of unchristian paganism and magic.'
His ginger friend hooted with scorn. 'Not that it's painful, cruel and humiliating, eh? Just that it's unchristian! '
John raised a hand to stop their frequent bickering. 'At least we have the seaman's confession that clears up the death of that poor lad Simon. Now, I can complete the inquest on him, and Martin Rof will hang for the crime in due course. But we have nothing more to point to how the Keeper or that pedlar came to their deaths.'
'It will all come together in the end,' said Thomas hopefully. 'Someone will speak unwisely out of fear or conscience.'
After dictating some more case summaries to Thomas, de Wolfe tried again to study his lessons in reading and writing, which recently he had sadly neglected. Then he ate his dinner in the hall of the keep, and the afternoon was spent discussing the new situation with Henry de Furnellis and Ralph Morin and organising another military expedition to Axmouth the next day. The sheriff felt that action was needed without delay, hopefully before the news of The Tiger's rout arrived in the village. Henry was afraid that either the culprits would run or at least destroy any remaining evidence of their activities. 'And they'll have a chance to dream up some excuses, if we leave it too long,' he added.
The constable went off to organise another troop of soldiers, as to call the force a 'posse' was not quite accurate, for a posse comitatus was a band of freemen conscripted by the sheriff 'to maintain the peace of the county and to pursue felons'. They agreed to ride out at dawn next day, led by the sheriff and coroner, hoping to catch any malefactors unawares.
De Furnellis pointed out that seizing Henry Crik was a priority and, assuming that he dwelt in Exeter, he sent several of his clerks scurrying into the city to discover where he lived. Within
an hour one of them was back, reporting that though Crik, a widower, lived in St Mary Arches Lane with a leman, he was not at home. His woman said that he had left in a hurry early that morning but would not tell her where he was going.
'Blast the fellow!' cursed de Wolfe. 'He must have heard about the return of the St Radegund and taken off to Axmouth to warn them.'
When he returned to his house in Martin's Lane, he was struck by the empty feel of the hall, which was not a very welcoming chamber at the best of times. Now, it seemed even more cold and silent and the two vacant monks' chairs that sat near the huge hearth were a pathetic reminder of the state of affairs.
When he went around to the back yard, there was a similar sombre atmosphere, as Lucille's hutch under the solar was deserted and Mary was sitting listlessly in her kitchen-hut, absently stroking Brutus's head. Even the hound seemed melancholy.
The cook-maid raised a doleful face to her master. 'How long is this going to go on, Sir Crowner? , she asked listlessly. 'The mistress has gone, the maid has gone, I have almost nothing to occupy me, as you are away half the time and I have no one to feed except myself and the dog. You don't need a house or a maid.'
He bent to kiss her cheek and to try to reassure her that eventually all would turn out well. 'Someone will have to look after me in London, and I'm sure it won't be my wife, whether she comes with me or not. You may depend that once I get settled there I will send for you, Mary. I will keep this house for at least a year, in case I have to return. If Matilda does decide to leave Polsloe, then she may wish to come back to live here.'
Mary brightened at his assurances and busied herself fetching him some of her own-brewed ale and heating up some mutton stew, as his dinner at Rougemont had been an uninspiring platter of tough pork, cabbage and last season's beans. He squatted on a stool to eat and told her of the events of the past two days, to which she listened with rapt attention.
'But if this monster of a shipmaster won't speak, how can you be sure who is guilty and who is innocent?' she asked.
She had touched on the very matter that concerned de Wolfe, and he hoped that the next day would see some breakthrough in that problem.
'The sheriff is pinning his hopes on this agent, Henry Crik,' he replied. 'If the fellow is found in Axmouth, then he has some explaining to do as to why he ran there as soon as he heard of the failure of The Tiger's attack.'
Mary was not so convinced. 'Won't he just say that he was going to the port anyway, in the pursuit of his usual business?'
John finished the last mouthful and washed it down with a draught of ale. 'We'll just have to see what happens tomorrow. For all we know the whole lot may have fled, though I doubt they'll give up so easily.'
'Might they not make a fight of it?' asked Mary, looking worried for John's safety. 'The prosperity of the whole village must depend on the success of the harbour and its trade, so would they not try to protect the men who run it?'
'We're taking a dozen experienced men-at-arms, the same ones who overcame the pirates,' he assured her, but she still looked dubious.
'Even a dozen soldiers would fare badly against a hundred angry villagers armed with scythes and pitchforks!' she said stoutly.
John grinned and hugged her around the shoulders. 'Don't dream up a civil war, Mary! If it eases your concern for me, I'll wear my coat of mail tomorrow - but I draw the line at taking my old shield from the wall!'
Later that evening he walked down towards the Bush, passing through the cathedral Close, where the usual collection of urchins and youths were throwing a ball made of rags bound with cord. A few drunks and beggars slumped between the grave-mounds, but the fine spring evening had also brought out a few families, who were ambling along the main paths, enjoying the fresh air that was a welcome change from the cramped, odorous accommodation that many of the city dwellers had to endure.
When John came out of the Bear Gate passage into Southgate Street, the stall-keepers were packing up their wares as the evening waned. Crossing into the small lanes that led down towards the river, he passed wives gossiping outside their huts and cottages, their shrieking children still playing in the dirt of the road, dodging the occasional handcart or packhorse going down to the quayside through the Watergate. He wondered if he would miss all these familiar scenes when he went to London, until he reminded himself that one town was much like the next, only there would be far more of it in the case of the capital.
When he reached Idle Lane, he also wondered what sort of reception he would get from his mistress, having been away for a day or so. He once again found Nesta in a quiet mood, amiable but somehow distant. She sat with him and listened attentively to his detailed story of the ambush of the pirate ship the previous day and the foray that was planned on Axmouth in the morning. Once again, she cautioned him about his own safety.
'Be careful, John, if you are going with a troop of soldiers to fight!' she warned with a worried look. 'You are not so young as you were and, though I have no doubt about your courage, your eyes may not be so keen and your sword-arm might not be as brisk as they once were.'
He bridled a little at this. 'I downed the pirate captain at my first stroke yesterday!' he protested. 'I am not yet a feeble old man in his dotage - as I could prove to you up in the loft tonight.'
Nesta smiled wanly at him. 'Perhaps not tonight, John. I feel tired and out of sorts this evening. Maybe there is a thunderstorm brewing - it affects me that way.'
John recalled a blue sky free from a single cloud as he walked down to the tavern. This time the moon could not be blamed for her indisposition, and again a niggle of concern slid into his mind. He looked around the crowded taproom, but he saw no sign of the Welsh stonemason.
'Are you perhaps sickening for something, cariad?' he asked in their habitual Welsh.
She shook her head. 'No, John, just a headache and a passing lowering of the spirits.'
De Wolfe recalled that when she had been pregnant the previous year, she had been in a strange state of mind - indeed, it was only Thomas's intervention that had saved her from doing away with herself. John did some rapid calculation in his head and decided that this was unlikely to be the problem now, unless he himself was responsible.
They talked on quietly for a while, and Nesta spoke of the journey they had made some months earlier, when she had accompanied him back to Wales for a short visit. He had been on the king's business but had left her in Gwent to visit her family, whom she had not seen for several years. Now, she spoke longingly of her mother, who lived not many miles from Chepstow, wondering about her health, as she was advancing in years. John was on the point of promising her another such pilgrimage when he realised that soon he would be two hundred miles away in London.
He had still not told Nesta of his new appointment, being held back by some ill-formed fear of her reaction, but now he saw that he could delay no longer. Bolstering his courage, he reached to take her hand.
'Nesta, my love, I have something to tell you. This came about when I was with the king in Normandy.'
She looked at him almost fearfully, her big eyes wide in her heart-shaped face. 'I feel that this is news that will alter our lives, John!', she said. Like the mother she pined for, she was blessed - or perhaps cursed - with a certain clairvoyance, which had led her near mortal trouble in the past.
Still holding her hand, he slowly and clearly told her of the Lionheart's summons to London, an order that could not be disobeyed. 'I must go within a few weeks, cariad, as soon as this Axmouth problem is dealt with. I have sent news of it to Matilda, and she has not replied in any shape or form. So the way is clear for you to come to London with me - it will solve our eternal problem, as we could start afresh in a great city where no one knows or cares about us!'
When he had finished, he wondered if her famous temper, which went with her red hair, would explode over him. He did not know what to expect by way of her reaction. Would it be joy, confusion, hysterics or anger? What ensued was none of these, but a
calm appraising look that unnerved him.
'Why did you not tell me this before, John?' she asked, her hazel eyes upon him.
'I lacked the courage until now. But tomorrow, though the danger, is slight, I will again be handling a sword and, as you keep telling me, maybe I am getting too slow to keep out of trouble, so I felt I should unburden myself to you tonight.'
'And what of us? What of me? I have this alehouse, which is my life.'
'You must come to London with me, my love. We have spoken of leaving many times. This is a chance to make a clean break.'
Nesta looked at him dispassionately. 'There is the small matter of your wife, John. Will you just abandon her?'
John made an impatient gesture. 'I have told her what is to happen. She has made no response. It is now up to her to do what she wants.'
'And the Bush? What of my home and my livelihood?'
'We can arrange for someone to run it for a year, until we see what is to happen. I told you, this is for a trial period - for all I know, I will be back here in a twelve-month. '
He half-turned and gripped her by her upper arms. 'Nesta, this is the opportunity we have been waiting for! London is a huge place; no one knows us there. Gwyn and Thomas will be with me, there will be new friends to make, new sights to enjoy! It will be exciting, moving from place to place when the court travels to the country. Sometimes we will be near Wales, and you can visit your family there.'
The mention of Wales caused a shadow to pass over her face, but John was too intent on persuasion to notice. 'All we have meant to each other over these past few years cannot be lost to us now, cariad! But I have no choice but to go where my king commands.'
She was silent for a moment, the colour drained from her face. 'This is a great shock, John. I had not expected anything like this. I must think deeply about what you ask.'
He pulled her gently against his chest, ignoring the covert glances of others in the taproom. 'Nesta, come with me to a new life! It is the chance we have sought for so long.'
The Manor of Death Page 29
