The Noble Outlaw Page 24

  Although he was absorbed in his task, the man kept one ear tuned for approaching footsteps. Whenever it sounded as if someone might come into his back room, he rapidly covered up the device with a piece of sacking and seized some other article to work upon. Usually, it was a false alarm and as soon as the footsteps receded, he went back to his careful filing again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In which Crowner John travels across England

  The journey to Winchester was tedious but unremarkable. Both John de Wolfe and his officer had made it a number of times over the years and the road was familiar.

  The weather remained cold, but free from snow or significant rain, so their progress was good. The coroner was not riding his old destrier Odin, who was too heavy for a long haul like this. He had once again hired a younger gelding from Andrew the farrier who kept the stable in Martin's Lane, and the good beast kept up a brisk trot hour after hour, covering a good twenty-five miles each day.

  Being in the saddle from dawn to dusk was enough for any man, even though the winter days were short.

  A good supper, some ale and a gossip with whoever was in their lodging was a prelude to sound sleep, whether it was on the rushes alongside an alehouse firepit or in a castle hall. Two nights were spent at inns and another at Dorchester Castle, as the coroner considered that he was on the king's business and therefore entitled to accommodation there.

  When, on the fourth day, they entered the walls of Winchester a few hours after noon, enquiry at the castle at the top of the sloping High Street soon brought about disappointment. Hubert Walter, the Chief Justiciar and virtual regent of England, was not there, but had left for London the previous week. One of the senior Chancery clerks, with whom de Wolfe was acquainted from previous visits, told him that as far he knew, Hubert was not planning to cross the Channel to see the Lionheart in the near future and could probably be found in Westminster or the Tower if John could get there within the next few days.

  'We'll rest up today and tomorrow, to give both the horses and ourselves some respite,' he announced to Gwyn. 'Then hack on to London, as I half expected we would need to.'

  The clerk readily found accommodation for the Devon coroner in one of the tower chambers in the castle, while Gwyn found a mattress in the soldiers' quarters, where he could drink and play dice to his heart's content.

  John spent the next day renewing old friendships with a number of knights and clerks he knew from either Outremer or Ireland, as the faithful service of many old campaigners was rewarded with official posts - as indeed John himself had been. Winchester, the old capital of Anglo-Saxon England, was still an important seat of government, though gradually London was becoming predominant.

  When their rest was over, they set off again eastwards, this time through less familiar countryside, passing through Hampshire and Surrey. The distance of this leg of the journey was much less and they needed only two nights' accommodation, the first at an inn in Farnham, the second by claiming hospitality at Chertsey Abbey.

  On the third day, now over a week away from Exeter, they rode wearily along the bank of the Thames into Southwark and across the bridge into the swarming streets of London. Both men had been there a number of times before and were not overawed by its size or its frenetic activity, but as they passed over the old wooden bridge, they stared curiously at the new one which was slowly being built nearby. Started a long time before, it was evidently still many years away from completion: only the bases of the nineteen piers showed above the turbulent water.

  'Where do we look first, Crowner?' grunted Gwyn as they halted their steeds at the corner of Eastcheap in the city itself. De Wolfe looked downriver to where the grim pile of the Conqueror's White Tower stood high above the city wall. He pondered whether to try there first or make the longer journey in the opposite direction to Westminster.

  'Hubert is almost king these days, so let's try the palace,' he said rather cynically. They plodded westwards, passing through the walls near the huge headquarters of the Knights Templar and onwards through the fields along the Strand, around the curve of the Thames until they came to the village of Westminster where the great Saxon abbey stood. Opposite, nearer the fiver bank, was the palace built a century before, its huge hall a legacy of William Rufus. As well as being the residence of an absent king, it was now surrounded by a cluster of buildings to house the ever-increasing bureaucracy of government, making it a bewildering maze for anyone unfamiliar with its layout.

  They stopped outside the main gatehouse and stared at the imposing building. 'Can we cadge lodgings here, Crowner?' asked Gwyn, looking doubtfully at the crowded courtyards and the hurrying clerks and monks who were crossing back and forth to the Abbey opposite.

  'We can but try, but first I need to see if Hubert is actually in residence,' grunted de Wolfe, kicking his mare into motion again. The gates were open, but guarded by two soldiers wearing tabards displaying the three couchant lions of King Richard's royal arms. John displayed a small parchment roll from which dangled the impressive wax seal of the Chief Justiciar, which Hubert had given him on a previous occasion. Though the sentinels could not read, they recognised the seal and directed the two visitors to a guardroom inside the gates, where in addition to a sergeant-at-arms they found a tonsured clerk sitting behind a table covered in documents.

  John explained who he was and proffered the warrant again, which this time the black-garbed official was able to read. It was an authority which Hubert Walter had given de Wolfe when Richard de Revelle needed disciplining the previous year. It ordered every one of the King's subjects to provide John with any aid he required and made it clear that the bearer was well known to both Justiciar and King Richard himself. After scanning it, the clerk rose to his feet and spoke respectfully to the coroner.

  'I have heard of you, sir, you have a certain reputation at the court.' He said this without any trace of sarcasm and went on to offer both good news and bad news.

  'I regret that the Archbishop has gone to attend to his episcopal duties at Canterbury and will not return until tonight. But I am sure he can give you audience in the morning - and in the meantime, I would be happy to arrange accommodation for you - and your officer.' He looked rather doubtfully at the dishevelled Cornish giant who stood behind the coroner, but wisely refrained from any comment.

  An hour later, after seeing that their horses were fed and watered, John and Gwyn were taken into the Great Hall by a servant, who placed them at a table near one of the several firepits and arranged for food and drink to be brought. The place was huge, a double row of columns supporting a vast roof, under which hundreds of people were milling about. Sections of the hall had been partitioned off, and it seemed to be part courthouse, part official chambers. The rest was a turbulent meeting place for those who either governed England or sought audience with those who governed England.

  'What the hell do we do now?' queried Gwyn as he started to demolish a platter of fried pork and onions which a serving lad had placed in front of him, along with a jug of ale. John, similarly engaged in tearing the meat from a boiled fowl, peered at his henchman from under his black brows.

  'You may do as you wish, Gwyn, but after a week in the saddle, I'm going to my bed and staying there until the morning.'

  Though Hubert Walter was the most powerful man in the country, he eschewed ostentation and dressed soberly, unlike many of the popinjays that strutted about the court. With Richard Coeur de Lion absent in France, the Chief Justiciar carried much of the burden of government on his shoulders, especially the task of endlessly finding money.

  'Little more than half the 150,000 marks ransom has so far been paid to Henry of Germany,' he confided to John de Wolfe the next morning. 'I have stripped most of the churches of their silver plate, taxed the wool producers until they groan and installed you and your fellow coroners, as well as the new Keepers of the Peace to squeeze all I can from the legal system.' They were sitting in a barely furnished room that Hubert used as his worki
ng office when in the palace of Westminster. A good fire burned in the hearth, which was modern enough to have a chimney, and the two chairs on either side of the large table were comfortable enough, but otherwise it hardly looked like the chamber of an archbishop and the virtual ruler of a country.

  Hubert was a lean, tanned man with a face like leather, his cropped brown hair greying at the temples. He wore a plain red tunic, the only gesture to his ecclesiastical rank being a small gold cross hanging on a slender chain around his neck. They sat each with a silver cup of wine before them, like old comrades. Hubert had been in Palestine ostensibly as chaplain to the English Crusaders, but his role became more and more military as time went on. He acted as chief negotiator between King Richard and Saladin, and when the Lionheart had left for home on his ill-fated voyage, Hubert was left to command the army and arrange for its withdrawal. When Richard was captured in Vienna and imprisoned first in Durnstein Castle on the Danube and then in Germany, it was Hubert who visited him and arranged the lengthy process of negotiating the huge ransom to get him released. It was during this time that he had come to know and respect Sir John de Wolfe.

  Now they sat opposite each other in the chilly morning, at first reminiscing about their dusty, dirty and dangerous days in Palestine, then getting down to the business that had brought de Wolfe to London.

  'I guessed it would be de Revelle again,' sighed the Justiciar. 'I suppose it would have saved a lot of trouble if we had hanged the bastard a couple of years ago.'

  'He never seems to learn, damn him,' replied John in exasperation. 'But he is my wife's brother and it would be difficult for me to see him swinging on the gallows-tree.'

  He explained in detail what had happened over the seizure of the manor of Hempston and the banishment of Nicholas de Arundell.

  'So you see the difficulty, that Nicholas was forced into outlawry and is unable to sue for restitution,' he concluded.

  Hubert Walter stared at the base of his goblet as he twisted it on the table. 'He was with us in Outremer, you say?'

  John nodded. 'I never met him there, but he was at the battle of Arsulf. Who wasn't?' he added rather bitterly, for that was a day of great slaughter on both tides.

  'De Arundell? Yes, I remember the name, amongst so many others. That family came over with William the Bastard at the time of Hastings. This is a poor reward for a staunch Crusader, John.'

  As Hubert refilled their cups, John added some more explanation. 'From what I've heard, Henry de la Pomeroy was the prime schemer in this. Hempston lies against his lands and though de Revelle has been a beneficiary of the theft, Henry has annexed the manor into his own estate and the two of them are splitting the revenues between them.'

  The archbishop shook his head sadly. 'There's been too much of this petty anarchy going on, John. Even though we crushed Prince John's major treachery, thanks to Queen Eleanor's vigilance, since then many lords have been whittling away at their neighbours' property. Too many of the damned sheriffs are either absentees or corrupt; they rarely take any action - and some are party to it themselves.'

  John thought of saying that it was a pity that the king did not spend more time in England to take a firm grip on his wayward nobles, but decided to hold his tongue.

  Instead, he pointed out one fact.

  'Both the miscreants in this are covert supporters of the Count of Mortain, sire. I don't claim this particular act is anything to do with that, it's just plain greed and opportunism on their part. But it goes a long way to explaining why they could get away with it, as John was the original tenant-in-chief.'

  The Justiciar looked enquiringly at the coroner. 'In what way?' he asked.

  'Well, this happened before you established the coroners, so I was not around to be involved. And you well know who the sheriff of Devon was at that time.' Hubert nodded. 'Prince John Lackland, of course. As Sheriff of Devon he was remarkable for his complete absence from the county. God knows who did his work, some serjeant or bailiff, no doubt. They wouldn't have lifted a finger against de Revelle or Pomeroy, of course.' He absently fingered the cross on his breast as he stared into the fire. 'What's to be done about it, that's the thing? You didn't ride all the way from Devon just for my sympathy, you want some action, eh?'

  De Wolfe nodded. 'It's a gross injustice, sire. They mustn't be allowed to get away with it.'

  'Indeed not. If it was up to me, I would ride back with you and either clap the bastards into irons or hang them from the nearest tree, for the trouble they have wrought these past few years. But they have powerful allies amongst both the barons and the churchmen. Even I have to work with circumspection, as there are those who would delight in seeing me humbled.'

  John, who took no great interest in the politics of the court, gave a noncommittal rumble in his throat and waited.

  'The prince still has a substantial following, all waiting like a pack of dogs to fall upon a lame deer,' continued Hubert Walter. 'Many lesser nobles, like de la Pomeroy and de Revelle, have ingratiated themselves with these and expect protection when they get into trouble.' He drank some of his wine and looked directly into John's eyes. 'I know from the complaints and veiled threats I've had before, that Bishop Henry of Exeter is one of these.

  And he is brother to William the Marshal of England, also effectively the Earl of Pembroke. There are others too, who would delight in seeing me fall, especially as I am so obviously the King's man.'

  This was all getting too rarefied for de Wolfe, who always considered himself a simple fighting man.

  'So what's to be done?' He returned to the same basic question, afraid that the Justiciar was working around to a refusal to take any action, but Hubert reassured him.

  'This must be properly brought before the royal judges, to ensure that justice is seen to be done. I know that the Eyres are grossly lagging behind in their visitations to the counties, but I will appoint a special commission to hear this matter.' He gave a wry smile and winked at de Wolfe. 'I think that Walter de Ralegh might be an appropriate person, being from Devon himself.' Walter, one of the senior royal justices, was well aware of the situation in the west of the country, being a local man. He had had brushes with de Revelle before and in fact had been responsible for dismissing him from office as sheriff, and had also sworn in his successor, Henry de Furnellis.

  'I'll appoint Walter and one other reliable judge to come down as soon as possible,' continued the Justiciar. 'They can resolve this matter speedily and firmly at a special sitting in Exeter.'

  'But what about Nicholas de Arundell?' asked John. 'He is still marooned on Dartmoor as an outlaw. I'd not put it past Pomeroy and Richard to murder him under the excuse that he is still has the wolf's head".'

  Hubert rubbed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. 'I'll take a chance on that. I'll grant him and his men the king's pardon and get the Lionheart to ratify it when I see him, probably in a month's time. It will certainly serve to allow de Arundell to attend the court and put his side of the dispute.'

  De Wolfe was gratified and relieved to hear this, but was still cautious. 'Is that really possible, sire?' Hubert looked sternly at de Wolfe. 'Anything is possible when you possess the king's writ to manage his kingdom in his absence. And here I have a twofold power, for as Head of the Church as well as Justiciar, I could enforce my decision on the grounds that it is an offence punishable by excommunication for anyone to take advantage of a man who is on Crusade. Even the other crowned heads of Europe, evil swine though most of them are, respect that rule. It was what prevented Prince John from getting aid from abroad when he rose up in revolt against his brother, when Richard was returning from Palestine.' •

  They spent a few more minutes discussing the details of the procedure before John took his leave. The two men had a deep mutual respect, and de Wolfe knew that he could depend upon Hubert Walter to keep his word. For his part, the Justiciar promised as John left the chamber that the clerks in Chancery would deliver a writ of command to him later that day, which would or
der the Sheriff of Devon to deliver Nicholas from his predicament as an outcast.

  'We will have to walt for Ralegh to make his deliberations before this Arundell can enter into his manor again, but that should not be long. At least, the fellow and his men can be reunited with their wives in the meantime.'

  With a great sense of relief, the coroner strode after an attending clerk through the tortuous passages of the palace, eager to find Gwyn and tell him the good news over a celebratory quart of ale.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  In which Crowner John comes home

  When the coroner and Gwyn were again at Dorchester, with still two days to go on their journey home, a curious injury occurred in Exeter.

  That evening, a master weaver, Gilbert le Batur, left the back door of his house in Rock Lane, at the lower end of town near the Water Gate, to visit his privy. This was against the fence at the end of his yard, past the kitchen hut and pigsty. Inside the house, he had left his buxom wife Martha and his two adult sons, who were shocked to see their father stagger back into the hall a few minutes later, bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder.

  Half an hour later, apothecary Richard Lustcote arrived, having been urgently summoned by one of the sons. It was not usual for him to attend upon customers, as they normally came to his shop, but he was well acquainted with Gilbert from their activities in the guilds - and the son's concern at his father's injury was too intense to be ignored.

  Lustcote found his friend lying on a pallet in the solar that was built on to the side of the hall, anxiously attended by his wife and younger son. The weaver was pale and shocked, lying shivering under a thick blanket of his own manufacture, and responded to questions only with a mumbled grunt. The son had only been able to tell Lustcote that some kind of missile was lodged in his father's shoulder, and with some calming words, the apothecary turned down the blanket and saw a mess of blood across Gilbert's tunic, spreading down from the shoulder to his waist. At the upper part of the garment, a short stub of what appeared to be rusty metal was protruding. Feeling gently around the back of the shoulder, Richard Lustcote touched more metal, this time a sharp spike protruding through the fold of skin at the bottom of the left armpit.