The Manor of Death Read online

  John gave up the unequal struggle but hoped that chiselling faces on the cathedral saints would not take very long and that Owain could soon ride off home to Wales. After a few more minutes of amiable conversation, he managed to prise Gwyn away, but Nesta stayed behind, deeply immersed in reminiscences about their part of Gwent and exploring innumerable distant relations.

  'Seems a pleasant enough fellow, that Owain,' commented the Cornishman blithely as they strode away towards the castle, up the hill on the other side of High Street.

  'Lucky he's not a dead pleasant fellow,' grunted John. 'If we hadn't come across them yesterday, those bastard outlaws would have slain the lot of them.' Something in his tone stirred a chord in Gwyn's usually insensitive mind, and it gradually dawned on him that his master was already wary of Nesta's obvious delight in finding such a kindred soul to assuage her hiraeth, a Welsh word meaning a longing for home. Wisely, he let the topic drop and reverted to their present problems. 'What did the sheriff say about the happenings over in the east of the county?'

  As they climbed the short but steep slope through the outer bailey to the gatehouse, John related what Henry de Furnellis had suggested.

  'We are to take Ralph Morin and a troop of men-at-arms down to Axmouth and give the place a good going-over!' he said with some satisfaction in his voice. 'I doubt it will yield much, but at least it will show those crafty swine that we mean business and that we are keeping a close eye on them.'

  His officer was delighted at the prospect of some action, as since John had given up campaigning abroad he missed the excitement of battle. Though the coroner's business had occasionally provoked an odd fight or two, he found life rather staid and the prospect of some violence cheered him considerably.

  'When are we going down there?' he demanded, feeling the hilt of his old sword in anticipation.

  'In a few days' time, but first I need to go down to Dawlish,' replied John.

  Gwyn's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Is Widow Thorgils in need of some help?' he asked, his face a mask of false innocence.

  De Wolfe scowled at his old friend. 'Why should you think it was anything to do with Hilda?' he demanded. 'I have to see either Roger Watts or Angerus de Wile. We are going to Normandy very soon and I need to arrange a passage for us on one of their cogs.'

  Gwyn's face lit up even more than with the prospect of a fracas in Axmouth. 'Normandy! That'll be like old times - but why?'

  John explained that he needed to see the Chief Justiciar and possibly the king himself over the murder of the Keeper and the probability of piracy in the Channel.

  'Are we taking the little runt?' asked Gwyn, referring to their erudite clerk Thomas.

  John pondered for a moment as they reached the drawbridge and acknowledged the salute of the soldier on guard under the archway. 'I think we had better drag him along, though the poor devil will probably fare worse on a ship than on the back of a horse. But there may be documents to read or to be written - and he might be useful at the court, which is a nest of priests and clerks in holy orders.'

  They made their way up the narrow staircase built into the thickness of the wall and found the said Thomas already busy at his parchments, where John gave him the news that he would soon be suffering a sea voyage. The clerk's apprehension at having to cross the Channel was tempered by the prospect of seeing the royal court and meeting the Archbishop of Canterbury - and even perhaps the king himself.

  Twittering with excitement, he forced himself back to his pen and ink, while Gwyn and the coroner went in search of Ralph Morin, the castle constable, to confer with him about the form of their punitive expedition to Axmouth.

  Before the planned foray upon the warehouses along the estuary of the Axe, John de Wolfe had one more journey to make in the opposite direction. This time he left Gwyn behind, partly to avoid the knowing grins that the ginger giant would undoubtedly give him when John sidled off into Dawlish's back street.

  The morning after their visit to St John's Hospital, he rode alone down to the West Gate and across the ford, taking Odin down the sea road towards Kenton. It was a fine morning and he was in no hurry; so he let the big stallion set his own pace, a stately trot that he could keep up for hours. In this mostly open country, the flat moors that bordered the estuary gave little cover for trail-bastons, so the risk from attack was small, even though he was alone.

  He had time to ruminate again on his personal problems, which seemed to be getting more complicated with each passing day. There had been no word from Polsloe, though as it was only yesterday that he was there, he hardly expected any news yet about Matilda. From past experience, he knew she was likely to let him stew for some time before letting him know whether or not she intended to stay in the priory or whether she was just making another gesture to upset him.

  As to Nesta, he felt a niggle of anxiety both about her feelings and his own. She had been his mistress for two years now, and though at first he had continued his sporadic affairs with other women, gradually he had become more faithful as his feelings for her deepened. There had been Hilda, of course, his first true love, but even after her husband had been killed and he had no need to cuckold him, his attachment to Nesta had prevented him from bedding her, strong though the temptation had been. There had been yet another lady, a young widow from Sidmouth, but she had found a new husband and was now placed beyond his reach. As he trotted along on the destrier's back, he recalled the strains that had been put on his relationship with Nesta, not only when she became pregnant and lost the babe but also when she had succumbed to an affair with a bold young man who had come to work for her at the Bush. Now there was another bold young man in the offing, one moreover who had a strong emotional appeal for Nesta, both linguistically and geographically. Though John loved her in his own odd way and thought that she loved him, he knew they could never marry, even if he were free of Matilda. He was willing to take Nesta away and live with her as his leman, but he knew that she would never agree to it, feeling that the social gulf between them would still remain unbridgeable.

  As he passed through Kenton and saw Dawlish on the horizon, he felt a guilty pleasure at seeing Hilda again, as well as unease at the knowledge that he was being mentally, if not physically, unfaithful to Nesta. It confused him, for he was not a subtle man and had a strong need for passion and lust. Years ago, he would not have given a second thought to running several women at the same time, especially as most men of his acquaintance had one or more mistresses.

  'Ah, to hell with it!' he suddenly shouted at a surprised coney scurrying into the undergrowth at the side of the track. 'I'm a knight and a king's officer. Why should I be fretting myself over a handful of women?'

  He gave Odin a touch of his heels and the big beast lumbered along a little more quickly, hastening the moment when his master's life would become even more complicated. When they reached the village, slumbering under a warm spring sun, John looked keenly at the vessels in the mouth of the small river, as he had done in years past to see if Thorgils the Boatman was at home. This time he wanted to see if any of the three ships belonging to their partnership was beached there. He spotted the St Peter, whose shipmaster was usually Angerus de Wile. A crewman working on the rigging shouted to him that de Wile was in the nearest alehouse, the one usually frequented by Gwyn when he waited for de Wolfe to pay his call on Hilda. John found the lanky mariner leaning against a windowsill with a hunk of bread and cheese and a pint of ale. Ordering the same for himself from the slattern, as well as a refill for Angerus, he explained what he wanted.

  'A passage across to any port within riding distance of Rouen for my clerk, my officer and myself. Are any of our ships going that way soon?'

  The captain, whose undershot jaw always gave him an aggressive appearance, explained that the sailing schedules were arranged by Hugh de Relaga and his clerks, back in their office in Exeter, but he understood that one cog was due to sail for Calais very soon.

  'It's the Mary and Child Jesus, going o
n her first voyage since she was repaired. Roger Watts is taking her, so no doubt he will be willing to drop you at Honfleur.'

  'Do you know when she is sailing and from where?' asked John.

  'They are taking wool as usual from Exeter. Probably early next week, but you will have to ask the portreeve exactly when they leave. It will depend partly on the weather and the tides.'

  The Mary and Child Jesus was the vessel that had been wrecked on the west Devon coast last autumn, after all the crew, including Hilda's husband, had been slain. The cog had been salvaged and refitted and this was to be her first trip of the new season.

  They finished their victuals and talked about the new venture. According to Angerus, the endeavour was doing well, as other merchants were paying them to take their own materials across and to import finished cloth and other goods on the homeward journeys. John enquired about any reports of further acts of piracy out at sea, but the shipmaster had heard of no recent events.

  'There is talk of Moorish galleys back in the Irish Sea, but no ships have been lost along this coast recently.' After they had talked a little longer, John arranged with the ostler behind the inn to feed and water Odin and left him there while he walked the few hundred paces to Hilda's fine dwelling. Feeling the same tickle of excitement that he used to experience when he used to come when her husband was away on a voyage, he banged on the door and went through the usual routine with her young maid. Alice, with a covert smirk at the appearance of this impressive man, whom she knew was so attracted to her mistress, took him up to the solar, where Hilda expressed her delight at the unexpected visit. Pastries and wine were ordered, and as soon as the maid had delivered them she was dismissed, with no pretence at keeping her as a chaperone.

  'What brings you this time, John, welcome as you always are? I trust it is not only ships and trade that lead you to call upon me!'

  John took her hands and pulled her close to him. 'I confess that I have been talking to Angerus de Wile, but that was just an excuse to come to see you.'

  Hilda drew back gently. 'Do you need an excuse to visit me, John?' she said softly.

  He looked at her lovely face, her sweep of golden hair and the slim body in its sheath of pale blue linen. With a groan, he slid his arms around her and kissed her passionately, almost roughly. Those familiar lips responded eagerly and her hands reached up around his neck, holding his head in an almost desperate embrace. When they came up for air, one of his hands found her breast, and as they writhed against each other their lips and tongues joined together once more. Just as John was scanning the floor from the corner of his eye, looking for a place to lay her down, Hilda broke free and stepped back gasping, her hands up in defence.

  'No, John! This is not right. Please, consider what we are doing!'

  Aroused and frustrated, he stood breathing heavily, his empty arms still held out for her. Slowly, they drooped, as he gained control of himself.

  'Hilda, why not? We both lost our virginity together so long ago. We are very special to each other, are we not?'

  The elegant woman backed away and felt for a chair behind her, her eyes still upon his. 'We are indeed, John! There is no other man in the world like you, but we cannot hurt others to satisfy our own cravings. Sit down, I beg you.'

  Reluctantly, he lowered himself on to a padded stool and crouched with his hands on his knees, regarding her intently. He had come very near ravishment and his heart was still pounding in his chest like a water-hammer in a forge. With an effort, Hilda fought to bring her own feelings under control and, to cover her agitation, turned to pour some wine that Alice had provided in a jug.

  'Take this and behave yourself, dear man,' she said with an attempt at levity as she handed him a pewter cup. 'We are no longer a wayward lass and a wild young lad frisking in the tithe barn at Holcombe!'

  Simmering down, he grinned sheepishly. 'It is your fault, Hilda, for being so damned lovely. What man could resist being inflamed by you? You should veil your face to avoid temptation, like the Saracen women do in Outremer.'

  As the emotional temperature dropped, Hilda wisely cooled it even further by enquiring about John's wife and mistress. He told her about the latest machinations of Matilda and her retreat into Polsloe once again.

  'If only I knew whether she was serious this time - or just provoking me,' he glowered. 'It may be possible to get the marriage annulled if she actually takes her vows, though that will take a year or two and possibly an appeal to Rome.'

  Hilda gazed at him steadily, her blue eyes fixed on his. 'And if that comes to pass, will you then marry your Nesta?'

  He shook his head decisively. 'She never would do that, I know. She is very devout in her own way and thinks that the wedding bond is for life. Apart from which, she considers herself a lowly foreign Welshwoman, an ale-wife in a different world from a knighted Norman law officer!' he added cynically.

  Hilda shrugged. 'And what am I, John, but the Saxon daughter of a village reeve? Until your brother gave him his freedom, my father was a serf, toiling in the fields.'

  De Wolfe snorted. 'You are a queen amongst women, Hilda, wherever you came from. And now you are also a rich woman, with a fine house and a partner in a thriving business!'

  She smiled sadly, offering him more wine. 'And a lonely woman, John! I admit I miss Thorgils, even though he was at sea for more than half the year.'

  De Wolfe was not sure how to take this. Was it a hint that she needed his company more often? But after her pulling him up short a few moments ago, it seemed hardly likely that she was now encouraging him. Confused, he did not know whether to voice his concerns to Hilda about Nesta and the new arrival on the scene, the stone carver from Gwent. Then he decided that he was being a fool - all he had seen was his unfailingly kind mistress bringing a wounded fellow countryman a basket of food and some consoling conversation. It was ridiculous, he thought, for him to make that into a potentially amorous affair and to mislead Hilda into thinking that he was on the road to breaking off his long-standing liaison with Nesta.

  With an effort, they managed to bring their conversation down to more mundane matters, and John told her about the problems he had in Axmouth and the murder of the Keeper of the Peace. 'It affects us in a way,' he added. 'Our new venture with the ships could be in jeopardy if piracy threatens more vessels plying across the Channel.' He told her of his plans to raid Axmouth and then go across to Rouen to seek the support of Hubert Walter and perhaps even the king, in dealing with the growing problem of seaborne murder and theft. '

  'Be careful, John. The back of a horse is a safer place than the sea,' she warned, mindful of the loss of Thorgils.

  'Roger Watts will look after me,' he reassured her. 'And I'll have Gwyn with me to guard my back as usual.'

  Abruptly, he stood up to take his leave and remove himself from further temptation. Hilda rose with him. Tall as he was, her slender figure came to his chin as he held her gently and gave her a single chaste kiss on the forehead. 'I'll see you when I return from France,' he promised.

  Impulsively, she reached up to give him a quick but fervent kiss on the lips and then stepped back to avoid provoking his desire. 'Take care, John. I will pray for you.'

  She saw him to the head of the staircase, where the child Alice was sitting on the bottom step, as if ready to rush to her mistress's defence if this tall dark man should fall upon her.

  He strode out into the street, still feeling the softness of her mouth on his and the feel of her body under his hand. She was lonely, she said. He feared that soon she might seek someone else to assuage that loneliness, but what could he do about it?

  CHAPTER NINE

  In which the coroner goes on campaign

  That evening in the Bush, Nesta was full of her latest visit that day to the priory to see Owain ap Gronow. As John sat with Gwyn and Thomas at his table near the firepit, she prattled on about the Welshman, especially the increasing number of acquaintances and distant relatives that they shared. She spoke in Englis
h in deference to Thomas, and the others began to appreciate the homesickness that she must be feeling. The previous year, John had taken her on a short trip back to Gwent, but it seemed that this had heightened her longing, rather than having relieved it. Nesta had first come to Exeter with her husband Meredydd, but when he died she had been left isolated in a foreign city.

  'Is he recovering well?' asked Thomas solicitously.

  'Very well indeed. Brother Saulf said that he can leave the day after tomorrow. I will put a mattress filled with new straw for him up in the loft.'

  'A wonder you don't fill it with swans' down!' said John. He tried to make it sound jocular, but there was an undercurrent of sarcasm in the remark, which passed over Nesta's head.

  'And the first night, I'll make him some good Welsh cawl to build up his strength after his injuries.'

  She looked flushed with excitement this evening, but John was somewhat reassured, as she was more like a little girl with a new toy rather than a woman with a potential new lover. Cuddling up to his side on the bench and reaching over to take a sip from his ale-pot, she seemed happy and affectionate.

  Soon, Thomas' changed the subject to that of Matilda, as John had confided in his friends about his latest problem. 'Is there any news of your wife, sir?'

  De Wolfe shook his head. 'She's keeping me in suspense again, damn her! Every time I go back to the house, I half-expect to find her sitting there as if nothing had happened, just as she did last year.'

  As usual, the kind-hearted Nesta came to her defence. 'The poor lady must be in very low spirits, bless her. That business with her brother must have been hard to take - and you don't exactly make her life any easier, John,' she added caustically.

  He ignored the barbed remark, which was not the first in that vein. 'If she doesn't make up her mind one way or the other very soon, she'll find me gone. Gwyn, Thomas and I are sailing across the seas on Monday, if the weather allows.'