The Manor of Death Page 12

  Maundy Thursday began wet and windy, and de Wolfe was glad that after checking with the guardroom at Rougemont no new deaths had been reported overnight. Neither were there any hangings due at the gallows-tree outside the walls on Magdalene Street, so after a pint of cider and some bread and cheese with his assistants in their dreary chamber in the gatehouse, John announced that he was off to track down Robert de Helion. Matilda had said that he had a town house near the East Gate. If he was that rich, no doubt it would be one of the city's bigger dwellings on the south side of High Street, possibly in Raden Lane. He took his cloak from a wooden peg driven between the rough stones of the bare wall and left Thomas to his scribing of duplicate rolls for the next Eyre. Gwyn no doubt would find himself a game of dice with his soldier friends in the garrison while the coroner went in search of information.

  He went across the drawbridge and down the hill through the outer ward to reach High Street. Ignoring the fine but steady rain, he pushed through the shoppers thronging the booths along the edge of the now muddy road and went into a quieter lane on the opposite side of the main thoroughfare. Here were houses of varying styles, many now in stone, but the majority still timber, set in long burgage plots that ran at right angles to the narrow road. Few were thatched, as this was now frowned upon in the tightly packed cities where fire was an ever-present hazard, so slate or stone tiling were the usual roofing materials.

  Halfway along, he saw a young servant girl throwing used floor-rushes out into the street, where they would soon be trodden into the mud. He enquired about Robert de Helion's dwelling and the flustered child called an older manservant, who directed him to a large house on the corner of a side lane opposite. It was stone-built and, though opening directly on to the road, had an imposing front door between two pillars, which reminded him of Hilda's house in Dawlish. Shuttered windows on each side were matched by a pair on an upper floor in the modern style, suggesting that the dwelling was fairly recent.

  He knocked on the door with a fist and it was opened by a middle-aged servant wearing a red tunic with an embroidered crest across the front, an extravagance usually confined to the greater lords and barons. After John had announced his rank and office, he was told that Sir Robert was at home and would undoubtedly be willing to receive him. They stepped into a vestibule, from which two leather-flap doors led into the side rooms behind the lower windows. A wooden door straight ahead of them entered the hall, a lofty chamber occupying all the centre of the building. John was pleased to see that in spite of the grandeur of the place it still had a central fire pit, unlike his own treasured hearth and chimney. The furnishings and tapestry wall-hangings were expensive, and a large dresser displayed a multitude of fine pewter and silver dishes.

  Robert de Helion was sitting at a table to one side of the fire, a few smouldering logs dispelling the chill of early spring. He was surrounded by parchments, and a grey-haired clerk stood alongside his master, just as Elphin hovered over the sheriff back in Rougemont.

  The merchant-knight stood up to greet de Wolfe, then motioned for him to sit on the other side of the table and waved at his emblazoned bottler to bring wine. The clerk stepped tactfully into the background and de Helion courteously enquired about the coroner's business with him. As the wineskin and goblets appeared, John took the opportunity to study Robert at close quarters, as he had seen him only at a distance in the cathedral. He was above average height, slim and erect, with a head of dark brown hair cut severely in the Norman style, the sides and back being shaved up to an abrupt ledge that ran horizontally around his head. The face was strong and brooding, with a passing resemblance to John's own, the big nose and long jaw being similar.

  'I have come to make enquiries about one of your cogs, as well as the general situation in Axmouth,' he began after he had sipped the excellent wine.

  De Helion looked puzzled. 'Is this not a strange task for a coroner, Sir John?' he asked. 'I thought that your duties were in the courts and investigating deaths?'

  John nodded and explained more fully. 'I am looking into a murder in Axmouth, where the dead youth was a shipman on one of your cogs. I am told that you own The Tiger, is that not so?'

  The manor-lord of Bridport still failed to comprehend. 'Indeed, that vessel does belong to me, along with about a dozen other ships! But I know nothing of the death of a crew member, though I suspect that fatal brawling and disputes are all too common amongst seamen.'

  De Wolfe shook his head. 'This was no wharf-side brawl. The lad was strangled, then his body buried to avoid detection. I have been waiting to question the shipmaster and crew, but the damned thing has vanished over the horizon.'

  Robert turned his head to speak to his clerk. 'Stephen, do we know where The Tiger is and when she might return?'

  'The vessel must be due back at any time, sir, according to Henry Crik. She went across to Rouen with tin and to fetch cloth back from Caen to Axmouth.'

  De Helion swung back to the coroner. 'A short voyage. You should be able to speak to her master very soon.' He spoke again over his shoulder to Stephen. 'Remind me who he is, will you?'

  'Martin Rof, sir. He used to sail mostly out of Dartmouth until last year.'

  The ship owner nodded. 'That's why I don't recall him that well. I have cogs that use the Dart as well as the Axe and Exe. But I have little to do with the crews or their ships; that is the task of my agent Crik and others, like Elias Palmer in the case of Axmouth, ' he added dismissively.

  De Wolfe rubbed his bristly chin. 'Ah yes! Elias Palmer - and the bailiff Edward Northcote. I have heard rumours of irregular dealings down at Axmouth, which may not be unconnected with this killing.'

  He stretched the truth for the sake of his investigation. 'Have you any reason to suspect that anyone in your employ down there might be involved in illegal or even criminal pursuits?'

  De Helion stared at this gaunt, dark figure who had descended upon him without warning. 'I've no notion as to what you might mean, coroner,' he protested. 'What kind of crimes?'

  'To put it bluntly, evasion of royal taxes on certain goods - and possibly the passing of pirated goods.'

  Instead of looking shocked, Robert de Helion gave a wry smile. 'Evasion of royal taxes? That's a polite way of saying 'smuggling', I think. Sir John, many people consider these Customs dues an added imposition on an already overburdened population and if they can 'evade' them, then good luck to them. I don't involve myself in any such schemes, but I fully understand those who will accidentally forget to show the tally-man every bale or keg.'

  The coroner grunted: this was a sentiment that seemed to fall from everyone's lips. 'And piracy? Have you heard rumours of that? Our new Keeper of the Peace in that area seems convinced that the cargoes of some vanished ships end up deep inland - and that some get there through Axmouth.'

  The expression on the ship owner's face hardened. 'That I cannot believe, but again I have no personal knowledge of these matters. Being a merchant and financier with fingers in many bowls, I do not involve myself in the daily running of my various enterprises. I pay agents and clerks to handle that, so how would I know what some of my shipmasters get up to when they are a dozen leagues from land?'

  This was a neat disclaimer, but de Wolfe could find no reason to disbelieve what the other knight said.

  'You mentioned the portreeve, Elias Palmer,' he persisted. 'Along with the bailiff, Edward Northcote, they seem to have the port of Axmouth very much under their thumbs. Have you any reason to think that they might be involved in some underhand business?'

  Again Robert de Helion gave a sardonic smile. 'Axmouth is very much under a thumb - but it is the holy thumb of the Prior of Loders! We all know that the Church is as concerned with its worldly possessions as with its heavenly duties - did I not hear recently that now about one third of England belongs to them, rather than to the barons or even the king?'

  He stopped to swallow some wine. 'And of the priests and monks who are keen on their estates and their incomes, the
Prior of Loders is amongst the keenest. He keeps his bailiff on a very short rein, and I warrant that he would know straight away if as little as one clipped penny went astray in the accounts kept by old Elias.'

  For a man who claimed to be aloof from the daily running of his business, Robert seemed very well informed about the finances of Axmouth. Further questions produced nothing useful, and John sensed that the merchant was becoming impatient to return to his clerk's ministrations. Soon, he rose to leave and de Helion promised to send him word as soon as he knew that his ship The Tiger had returned to Axmouth.

  As he strode back to Rougemont, John pondered over what he had learnt, which in truth was very little. He was not sure what to make of Robert - the man was rich and probably powerful in certain circles, though he seemed to have no political ambitions. No doubt the guilds had considerable respect for him, as he offered employment to many of their members, but he seemed to keep a very low profile amongst the county aristocracy. He had told John that he and his wife and family spent most of their time at his manor near Cullompton. His Exeter house seemed to be used mainly for conducting his business, though he had said that he also travelled regularly to Southampton, Plymouth and Dartmouth. The coroner had no grounds for thinking that any of de Helion's obvious wealth came from illegal sources, as a dozen ships, a fulling mill and God knows what other business enterprises would surely bring him in more than enough to maintain his lifestyle.

  Disgruntled, he returned to his chamber, conscious that at every turn his efforts to discover who killed Simon Makerel seemed to run into the sand. Whether or not the irritating Luke de Casewold was right in trying to link it to the death of the pedlar was another matter. He decided that another visit to Axmouth was called for soon, whether the missing cog had returned or not.

  The solemn days of Easter brought virtually all activity to a stop, as Good Friday was devoted to churchgoing. Matilda had attended an all-night vigil at St Olave's, and next morning John had no option but to accompany her to the cathedral for a special High Mass. After dinner at noon, the exhausted Matilda collapsed into her bed and proclaimed her intention of staying there until late evening, when she would again make her way to her favourite little church in Fore Street. The taverns were closed, but once his wife was sound asleep he whistled to his hound and made his way down to Idle Lane. For once in the year, the inn was strangely silent, the servants having gone home for the day. The front entrance was closed, but he went around to the yard and put his head around the back door, calling out for Nesta. An answering voice came from the loft and, leaving Brutus to nose in the rushes for mice, John climbed the wide ladder and found his mistress waiting for him at the door to her small cubicle, her fists planted on each side of her slim waist.

  'I do believe it's the coroner, if my memory serves me right!' she said, though the sarcasm was tempered by the smile on her face.

  For answer, he seized her and kissed her almost wildly, and in a trice they were back in her room, collapsing on to the feather mattress that lay on a low plinth on the floor. This time there was no sign of any small devil perching on John's shoulder as they fumbled at each other's clothing and soon - but not too soon - they lay panting and satiated under the sheepskins that served as blankets.

  'Now I see why they call it 'good' Friday,' he murmured irreverently as their pulses gradually slowed down.

  Nesta pinched his thigh as she cuddled closely against him. 'don’t be blasphemous, John,' she said in semi-serious concern. 'You'll go to hell for saying things like that.'

  'I want to be with all my old friends, for I'm damned sure they'll not be in heaven,' he growled into her ear. 'And at least I'll get away from my wife, for with all the praying and bobbing up and down that she does, she must have assured herself a place alongside St Peter.'

  He said this partly to tease Nesta, for he knew she was a devout woman with a strong belief in the faith, even if she was not a fanatical churchgoer. In the villages, attendance at Mass was virtually obligatory, with a parish priest ready to chase up and castigate those who fell by the wayside - but in a city like Exeter, full of churches with no strict parish system, it was virtually impossible to keep track of backsliders.

  'But surely you must be a believer and not a heretic, John?' she demanded, rising up on one elbow, deliciously exposing her bosom.

  De Wolfe, becoming somewhat philosophical in the afterglow of lovemaking, considered this for a moment. Everyone was brought up from infancy to revere the faith, attend church and never to question the dictats of the priests, who were powerful figures with all the weapons of eternal damnation at their disposal. Apart from a few madmen, no one disputed the teachings of the Church, which pervaded everyone's lives. John accepted that he was no exception; he had never once even thought of denying the creed or wondering what proof there was of God, the devil and all the saints and angels. Yet he was supremely uninterested in the whole business, being at the opposite pole from Matilda, who lived and breathed her religious faith. If there was one area that he occasionally wondered about, it was the ritual of the Church, rather than the underlying concept of God and all His works. If Christ was a lowly carpenter, preaching poverty and humility, why did bishops and archbishops and the Pope need to further His mission by wearing outrageously ornate garments and parade around swinging incense? Even when these faintly sacrilegious thoughts came to him, he afforded them no importance. He was in general an unimaginative man, preferring the concrete evidence of his own eyes and ears. To him, life consisted of eating, sleeping, fighting, doing his duty to his king - and bedding a woman when the opportunity presented.

  Nesta's question was still unanswered, but she stayed propped up waiting for it, her hazel eyes fixed worriedly upon his.

  'No, I'm no heretic, my love,' he said slowly. 'I just don't care much about it all, to tell the truth. What is to be, will be!'

  With this fatalistic rejoinder, he slid his arms around her and drew her down under the covers again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In which the Keeper makes himself unpopular

  The Saturday of the Easter festival was a neutral sort of day, between the tragic sadness of Good Friday's Crucifixion and the triumphant drama of the Sabbath's Risen Lord. People went about their business to some extent, as food had to be bought from the stalls, bread had to be baked, animals had to be fed and meals prepared.

  For one man - and his much less enthusiastic clerk - the day was to prove considerably more active. Sir Luke de Casewold, Keeper of the King's Peace for Axminster and a wide area around it, decided that he would pursue his suspicions about Axmouth by checking on the activities of the officials there and the contents of the barns and storehouses along the estuary.

  He rose early and left his house in Axminster to rouse Hugh Bogge from his nearby cottage. They collected their horses from his stable and covered the five miles to Axmouth in less than an hour. There were six vessels moored along the bank below the village and several more were to be seen on the opposite side at Seaton. Where possible, the shipmasters had arranged their voyages so that they would spend Easter in port, but the Keeper soon discovered that The Tiger was not one of them.

  'We'll call on that rascally tally-man first,' announced Luke, trotting his mare to a cottage halfway between the village gate and the sea. It stood between two large thatched sheds with high doors like hay-barns, though. these were firmly closed with long bars across the front, each secured with a massive iron padlock.

  A crude fence around the croft hemmed in two goats, a sow, several chickens and two small children contentedly playing in the mud. De Casewold dismounted and stood at the wicker hurdle that served as a gate and yelled for the Customs official.

  'John Capie! I need to talk to you. Get yourself out here!'

  A woman's head poked out through the open doorway, then was quickly withdrawn after she had screeched at the infants to come inside. As they scuttled to obey, a man appeared, looking dishevelled and obviously not long risen from his bed.
He was about thirty, thin and with a long sallow face, with hollow cheeks and an unshaven spread of black stubble around his jaw. His hair, which looked as if a tempest had just blown through it, was of the same dark colour, and he futilely ran a hand through it to try to tame it into submission. He wore the same short dun-coloured tunic and green breeches that Luke had seen on him at his last visit.

  Capie peered sleepily at the visitor and groaned as soon as he recognised who it was. 'God's guts, Keeper, don't you know it's Easter?' he complained.

  'The king's business must be attended to every day, Capie,' he said pompously. 'I need to talk to you - right now!'

  The tally-man looked anxiously over his shoulder at the open door, from where children's cries and his wife's exasperated scolding could be heard.

  'Not in there. It's bloody chaos with those brats,' he muttered. Scratching himself under both armpits, he came to the hurdle and lifted it out of the way, then replaced it quickly as the goats tried to escape.

  'Come over here, if you must,' he suggested grudgingly and led the way over towards the nearest storehouse. He leant on one of the large doors and scowled at Luke de Casewold and his clerk. 'So what is it you want to know so urgently that brings you here to disturb me on this day?'

  The Keeper glared at him for speaking rudely to a royal officer. 'I want to know if you have had a hand in any irregular dealings in this port, Capie. I strongly suspect that much of the cargo that goes both inwards and out of here escapes the tax due to the royal Exchequer! '