Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) Page 8

  It was held in the Great Hall. William Rufus’s massive edifice was used for a variety of functions, including great feasts and accommodating the higher courts of law. The side aisles of the huge hall were divided by movable screens, set against the double row of columns that supported the roof. The court of King’s Bench sat at the head of the hall, furthest from the main doors and in other areas between the pillars; various ad hoc tribunals sat as required. In other bays, lawyers were consulted by clients and some court officers used the space for their duties. There were even stalls selling parchment, pens and ink, cloth of various types and even several food booths, offering pies and pastries. These traders had their stalls near the main doors which opened on to New Palace Yard.

  There was little attempt at privacy and all manner of people strode or wandered about the hall, some listening to the deliberations of the courts, often chewing on a mince pie as they did so. A babble of voices rose from all parts, but this did not appear to disconcert those who were deliberating on weighty matters. The royal judges, some being members of the Curia, sat with other Barons of the Exchequer on the King’s Bench and seemed impervious to the raucous atmosphere which would have been better suited to a marketplace or town square.

  Today, Gwyn had commandeered a vacant space between two of the lofty pillars halfway up on the left side, where there were a few stools and benches left by the last occupants. At noon, the small crowd that he had chivvied into attending, turned up to form the jury, these reluctant members also acting as witnesses. Normally, Gwyn would have bellowed out the coroner’s summons, commanding ‘All ye who have anything to do with the king’s coroner for this county, to draw near and give your attendance,’ but he was nonplussed by the change in circumstances and decided to leave out any mention of a county.

  De Wolfe sat on a bench with his back to the massive stone wall, facing the ragged half-circle of jurymen. Thomas had a stool on his right, with another between his knees to support his roll of parchment, quill and ink flask.

  Gwyn wasn’t the only one confused about procedure, as John also felt uncertain about certain aspects, compared with the familiar routine back home in Devon.

  Should he raise the ‘Presentment of Englishry’? The dead man’s relatives, if he had any, were a day’s ride away in Reigate, so there was no father or brother to declare that he might be a Saxon? The inquest was supposed to be held over the corpse, but he could hardly bring a dead body on a handcart into the Great Hall, especially as it had been lying in this torrid heat for a couple of days.

  ‘We are here to enquire into where, when and by what means Basil of Reigate came to his death,’ he began in his deep, sonorous voice. ‘I will hear what evidence is available, but then we must adjourn to the abbey for you to view the mortal remains, before coming to a verdict.’

  The dozen men that Gwyn had mustered included the sergeant of the palace guard, the two monks from the landing stage, the Guest Master who supervised Basil, and Hugo de Molis, the Chief Purveyor, as well as a few random servants that Gwyn had summoned to make up the numbers. John had toyed with the idea of demanding that the city sheriff and his men should attend, together with the wherryman who had recovered the corpse – but he realized that his summons would be ignored, and the wherryman had doubtless vanished into the anonymity of his fellows on the river.

  ‘We have no true First Finder of the body,’ he began, glowering at the jury. ‘As he appears to have drowned after being wounded, then those who tried to attend him on the wharf cannot be said to have found a corpse. The city’s sheriff failed to record the boatman who dragged the body from the river near Baynard’s Castle,’ he added maliciously.

  He turned to Hugo de Molis, who was not very pleased to have been dragged from his duties for what he considered to be a fruitless enquiry.

  ‘Sir Hugo, can you confirm that the dead man crossed the river on the day of his death?’

  Hugo de Molis grudgingly agreed that the dead man’s duties had entailed him going across to Lambeth and back again.

  He also agreed that though he would have had a substantial purse of money on the outward journey, his empty scrip on returning would not have provided a motive for robbery.

  The coroner then enquired whether the nature of his work could have made him privy to any dangerous intelligence.

  De Molis sarcastically replied that unless having advance knowledge of a rise in the price of carrots or onions was hazardous, he could not see much risk to someone who was but a lowly palace employee. ‘But the Guest Master can tell you more about his duties,’ he said with an air of dismissive finality.

  This official was a plump sub-deacon, one of the more senior grades of those in clerical lower orders. He had an oily manner, full of smiles, which straightway caused John to distrust him. When it came to assessing people, the coroner had a profound capacity for instant likes and dislikes.

  The smiles suddenly changed into doleful sorrow, with hand-wringing and sighs, when he bemoaned the sad demise of his trusted assistant, Basil of Reigate.

  ‘What were his duties?’ demanded de Wolfe. ‘Did he work mainly under you or was he attached to the Purveyor’s chamber?’

  ‘He was under my direction, but his function was to ensure that all supplies for the lodging and comfort of palace guests were amply maintained without shortages. To do this, he constantly topped up necessities from the Steward’s department, obtaining goods under my authority.’

  De Wolfe had no interest in the internal workings of the palace and moved on impatiently. ‘How much contact would he have had with the people staying there?’

  The Guest Master grimaced at such an unexpected question.

  ‘I don’t really follow you, sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘He was in and out of the guest chambers all the time, but it was not his place to engage in conversation with the guests. He was a lowly official and sometimes we have earls, dukes and even princes staying in the palace.’ He puffed himself up, as if he was responsible for attracting such nobility.

  ‘But he would have opportunities to overhear what was being said by those guests?’ persisted John.

  ‘I suppose so, unless he was deaf!’ snapped the sub-deacon. ‘But a good servant must be discreet and avoid any eavesdropping. I cannot see the point of these questions, coroner!’

  ‘That’s because you are not privy to my own knowledge,’ retorted de Wolfe and dismissed the man, realising that he was of no help to his enquiry. The two monks and the sergeant of the guard gave their factual evidence of the happenings on the landing-stage, then the coroner scowled around the ring of jurors and asked if anyone else had any information at all. After a resounding silence, it was obvious that nothing more was to be learned and Gwyn led the jury out of the hall and across the yard to the gate in the wall separating the palace from the abbey. With de Wolfe and Thomas walking behind, the small procession went past the chapter house and dormitory to the abbey mortuary. This was a small wooden building behind the infirmary chapel, right at the back of the abbey precinct, towards the wall that ran above the Tyburn stream.

  The mortal remains of Basil of Reigate had spent a night lying before the altar in the adjacent chapel, but the effects of immersion and the hot weather had caused the abbey precentor to have it removed to the mortuary. As this was next to the latrines of the reredorter, the developing odour would not be so noticeable, but the unfortunate jurors had to come much closer, to file past the corpse while the coroner and his officer displayed the stab wound in the chest. Outside again, they stood thankfully in the fresh air while de Wolfe concluded the inquest on the spot, it not being worth trailing back to the hall.

  ‘The cause of death is clear, being drowning after a stab wound of the chest which you have all seen,’ he said grimly. ‘The attack was witnessed by my officer and some of you also saw the altercation on the jetty, though regrettably no one was able to recognise the assailant. The victim would probably have died from the stabbing alone, but it caused him to fall into the river a
nd drown.’

  He glared again at the circle of faces. ‘All we can do today is to come to a provisional verdict, so that he can be decently buried. If and when any further information comes to light, then I will have to reopen the inquest. But for now, I need you to return a verdict, which I cannot imagine will be anything but murder by a person unknown.’

  He jabbed a finger at the sergeant. ‘You can be spokesman for your fellow jurors, so now deliberate amongst yourselves and tell me what you decide.’

  His tone indicated that there would be trouble if they dared to deviate from his suggestion and within half a minute the foreman announced that they fully agreed with him. The participants rapidly dispersed, all seeking their noontide dinner and de Wolfe, Gwyn and Thomas began walking through the abbey grounds back to the house in Long Ditch.

  Though John had decided to go to the Lesser Hall for supper each night, they took dinner at home. Throughout the country, noon was traditionally the time for the main meal of the day, though a newfangled habit was creeping in to the upper layers of society of having a substantial supper in the early evening – a fad subscribed to by John’s snobbish wife Matilda, before she buried herself in a nunnery.

  Thomas divided his eating loyalties between the abbey refectory and his master’s house and today accepted de Wolfe’s invitation to sample Osanna’s efforts. There was not much that she could do wrong in grilling herrings and even Thomas, who normally had the appetite of a mouse, did justice to the large platter of sizzling fish that was put before them, after a bowl of vegetable broth. Followed by frumenty and washed down with ale and cider, they felt comfortably satisfied and sat talking afterwards in the downstairs room of John’s lodging.

  He had both rooms of the two-storeyed cottage, Aedwulf and Osanna living in a thatched hut in the backyard, where there was also the kitchen shed, a pigsty, a privy and a wash-house. They lived and ate in the lower room, into which the door to the lane opened and John slept in the smaller upper chamber, Gwyn using a pallet in the living room.

  Though the circular firepit in the centre of the earthen floor held only cold ashes in this weather, they sat around it from force of habit, John in the wooden chair and the others hunched on stools.

  ‘The Justiciar told me this morning that we have to go on a journey very shortly,’ announced John, after refilling his ale-pot from a jug on the table.

  ‘To Gloucester already?’ queried Gwyn. ‘But the old queen hasn’t arrived yet.’

  De Wolfe shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with that, this is a quick jaunt to Winchester and back to escort some treasure chests. I’ve not got the details yet, but it looks like a five- or six-day trip. It’ll make a change from this place, anyway.’

  Thomas, usually very reluctant to go far on a horse, was for once keen to go with them. ‘It would be pleasant to see Winchester once again, now that my circumstances have taken a turn for the better,’ he said eagerly. ‘Perhaps I would have a chance to see my parents.’

  His elderly father was a somewhat impoverished knight who lived near the old capital and Thomas himself had attended the cathedral school there and gone on to take holy orders.

  ‘Your last visit there was a happy one, Thomas!’ observed John, referring to the joyous occasion when his clerk had gone to Winchester to be received back into the Church by the bishop, after the allegations of indecent assault had been proved false. ‘But are you sure you want to wear down your backside on a horse once again?’

  The little man smiled happily. ‘It’s much nearer here than it was from Devon, Crowner! But why exactly do they want you to accompany the treasure? It’s hardly coroner’s business?’

  De Wolfe shrugged. ‘I suspect they want someone reputable to keep a close watch on the safety of these chests while they’re outside the security of Winchester Castle.’

  Gwyn wiped some ale from his luxuriant moustaches and went to refill his pot. ‘Where is it to be moved to in London?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know, it’s not something that’s gossiped about much,’ grunted John. ‘No doubt we’ll find out when we bring it back.’

  Thomas spoke up, ever keen to air his knowledge. ‘I recall that in William the Bastard’s time, the royal regalia used to be kept in the Tower, but now it’s locked here in the crypt of the abbey.’

  ‘What’s the royal regalia?’ boomed Gwyn, proud of his ignorance of the high and mighty.

  ‘The Crown jewels, the sacred items used at coronations, you barbarian!’ snapped Thomas. ‘The golden sceptre and orb and the crown of Saint Edward, God rest his soul.’ He crossed himself at the mention of the kingly Confessor.

  ‘The treasure we are collecting is nothing to do with that,’ said John firmly. ‘This is what’s left of the gold and silver collected by the sheriffs from the county farms, as well as some treasure trove. It seems that from now on, many of them will have to make the longer journey to London.’

  ‘Maybe someone will try to ambush us on the way back!’ said Gwyn hopefully. ‘I’d best sharpen my sword, I could do with a good fight, it’s been an age since I blooded anyone.’

  Thomas paled a little and began to regret his enthusiasm for accompanying them to Winchester, but John took pity on the timid clerk.

  ‘He’s teasing you, Thomas, I wouldn’t worry. There’ll be a troop of men-at-arms with us, enough to fight off half an army.’

  ‘Maybe the French will send a whole army!’ said Gwyn mischievously. ‘Most of that treasure will end up in Normandy, paying for our king’s troops who are fighting them, so perhaps they’ll send an invasion force to steal it!’

  Thomas had had enough of his big friend’s efforts to frighten him and got up to leave.

  ‘I’m going back to my tasks in the scriptorium, where there’s no big Cornish idiot,’ he said loftily, as he walked out into the lane.

  After a few moments, when they had finished the ale jug, the coroner and his officer began walking slowly back towards the palace. It was hot and the air was still and humid, but the expected storm had not materialised, the cloud mass having drifted away to the east.

  ‘It’ll come back, mark my words,’ grumbled Gwyn, unwilling to have his fisherman’s forecast proved wrong. ‘Probably just as we set off for Winchester, if that’s going to be in the next few days.’

  That evening de Wolfe ate in the palace, as he had decided that the gossip there might give some clue to the intrigues that were current and perhaps touch on the vague hints that Robin Byard had offered.

  At about the sixth hour, with the sun still blazing, de Wolfe made his way to the Lesser Hall and found the place busier than on his previous visits. The two rows of tables were almost filled, but John saw that the same trio that he had talked with before were there, with a couple of empty spaces nearby. John was uncertain whether he again wanted to risk the flirtatious Hawise d’Ayncourt. He enjoyed the company of an attractive woman, but wanted to avoid both a confrontation with her husband, as well as a struggle with his own conscience. However, he told himself that seeking information was part of his duty and this salved his misgivings sufficiently for him to stride across and slide on to the bench next to the lady. Lady Hawise greeted him effusively and from beyond her, husband Renaud nodded affably. The food came to the table in regular instalments and the drink was already flowing. John tucked in with relish, as there was jugged hare, cooked in its own blood, and pork knuckles, two of his favourite dishes. As they sat close together on the benches, he felt Hawise’s thigh tight against his, and suspected that the pressure she used was more than required by the lack of space.

  Acting the gentleman, this time he was bold enough to cut slices of meat and slide them on to her trencher, though he was careful not to outdo her husband’s duty in carrying out the same task. They made suitable small talk, though as usual in public, this was something of an effort for John, even with a beautiful woman. Everyone was complaining of the sultry heat and like Gwyn forecasting the mother and father of all thunderstorms before many days w
ere out.

  ‘The last time I was here, some two years ago, there was a violent summer storm and at high tide the river had risen over the banks, lapping against the very walls of the palace!’

  The speaker was a heavily built priest, sitting opposite Hawise. He had a long face and a Roman nose, but his features were marred by a harelip. His speech was slightly odd, which John put down to his deformity; even so, there was a trace of accent which John recognised as coming from central France, perhaps the Auvergne. As he chewed his way through the various meats, supplemented by boiled cabbage and carrots, John gathered that the priest was known to the pair alongside him, though he could not guess whether this was from previous residence in France or merely from sitting here for meals.

  So far, the coroner could not think of any way of stimulating conversation which might lead to discussion of current intrigues, but then the empty place opposite was filled by Ranulf of Abingdon. John was glad to see him, as he had enjoyed his company the other night – and possibly he might lead them into more gossip. As a servant filled his tankard with ale, Ranulf greeted John warmly and then introduced the priest sitting next to him, who it seemed was also an established friend.

  ‘This is Bernard de Montfort, archdeacon of Saint Flour,’ he announced, confirming John’s guess that the man came from the Massif Central, as Saint Flour was an important town on the edge of the mountains. They exchanged some pleasantries and de Wolfe began to think he must be on the road to becoming a soft-centred expert in mouthing platitudes, instead of the hard-bitten soldier that he had been for the past twenty years.

  After a few moments, the under-marshal leaned across and spoke in a low voice. ‘We had better meet for a talk afterwards, I have some news for you about our trip to Winchester.’

  Immediately, the sharp-eared Hawise picked up on the remark.

  ‘What plots are you men hatching now?’ she asked archly. ‘Are you off on a hunting trip – or perhaps you are seeking to hunt the ladies of Winchester!’