Bernard Knight - Crowner Royal

He was not all that keen on meeting Hubert Walter either, given what little progress had been made over recovering the treasure, though at least he could confidently report now that Simon Basset was almost certainly the man who had stolen it from the Tower.

A new decision was fermenting in de Wolfe’s mind, stemming from his abject failure to solve either the theft of the king’s gold or the murder of Basil, which seemed linked to some espionage activity. He was considering asking the Justiciar to release him from this appointment as Coroner of the Verge, given that he was patently unfitted for the task. He would have to leave with his tail between his legs, but at least he could go back to Devon and live out his life in quiet obscurity. Gwyn would no doubt revel in becoming landlord of the Bush Inn and Thomas would be happy to go back to his duties in Exeter Cathedral.

It would mean a serious loss of face for him as a knight, especially as the king himself had insisted on the appointment. Creeping back to Exeter to lick the wounds of failure would be a bitter pill to swallow, but life in Westminster seemed too artificial to be borne. The advantages of life in Devon would be some compensation — except that he already anticipated the gleeful crowing of his hated brother-in-law, Richard de Revelle, when he heard of John’s fall from grace.

But while de Wolfe was gloomily rehearsing the plans for his own professional suicide, things were happening nearby that were likely to alter the whole scenario.

In spite of his earlier reluctance to face Hawise d’Ayncourt, John’s Crusader spirit rose sufficiently for him to damn the power that women held over him and to declare himself master of his own soul. At about the seventh hour by the abbey bell, he went to the Lesser Hall and took his usual place on a bench with his acquaintances. Bernard de Montfort was there, as ready as ever to shovel good food into himself, as well as Guy de Bretteville and the physician from Berri. John was pleased to see William Aubrey and Ranulf of Abingdon back safely and in apparent good health. They greeted each other warmly, though John thought that Ranulf was somewhat reluctant to meet his eye as he sat down next to him on the bench.

Opposite were Renaud de Seigneur and the ever-lovely Hawise. De Wolfe was girding himself to be polite but distant if she began using her cow’s eyes on him and making her usual suggestive and flirtatious remarks. Thus he was surprised when she responded to his civil greeting with a frosty nod and then proceeded to ignore him. John was rather piqued as well as surprised, for though he had decided to be firm in his avoidance of any further dallying with her, it was galling to know that his attraction for her suddenly seemed to have evaporated.

He also came to realise that her husband was not his usual cheerful self, as Renaud sat silently picking at his food, darting glances now and then at the row of men sitting opposite. Archdeacon Bernard seemed oblivious of any such tension and chattered away, telling the company of the coroner’s miraculous escape from a murderous crossbow assassin and invoking the divine protection of God and King Richard in placing the stout warrant seal between the crossbow bolt and John’s vitals.

Hawise affected to take no notice and though Ranulf and William showed concern, John thought that the marshal from Abingdon had only half his mind on the escapade. It soon became obvious what was going on as John began to intercept covert glances between Hawise and Ranulf and though they spoke not a single word to each other he knew with certainty that they had already become lovers.

He felt relief, tempered by a little jealousy, that the younger and undoubtedly handsome under-marshal had now taken the problem off his hands. Ranulf had no wife, as he had once told him that she had died, so Ranulf had no impediment to taking Hawise either as a mistress or a wife, if the complication of having Renaud de Seigneur as husband could be overcome.

Anyway, he thought, it was no business of his and he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his mind, no longer having to avoid the woman or make stern refusals of her future favours.

As soon as Renaud had finished his meal — not that he had eaten much — he rose abruptly and almost dragged his wife away, murmuring a bare goodnight. Accompanied by her maid, Hawise followed reluctantly, giving Ranulf a soulful glance and a covert flutter of her fingers as she trailed after Renaud towards the doors.

While de Montfort prattled on to Guy de Bretteville on his other side, John prodded Ranulf gently in the ribs with his elbow and leaned over to speak to him in a low voice.

‘Well done, sir knight! I see how the land lies between you and the fair Hawise,’ he murmured. ‘But watch your step, the husband looked none too pleased, I doubt he’s ignorant of what’s going on.’

Ranulf gave a sheepish grin, but John sensed that he was both excited and agitated beneath his efforts to keep a calm exterior. De Wolfe hoped that Hawise had restrained herself from boasting to the under-marshal about Marlborough. She wouldn’t disillusion the younger man by flaunting her promiscuity, he thought.

He let the subject lie and they talked of other things, including the return journey through Oxford and the fortitude of the old queen and William Marshal on such a long and gruelling ride.

John had hoped for a walk along the riverbank with Ranulf, to catch up on the events of the return from Gloucester and to tell him more details of his own recent brush with death. But the younger knight seemed abstracted and excused himself straight after the supper, taking Aubrey away in a rather abrupt fashion. John wondered if Hawise had in fact told him of her previous passionate episode with him and this had made Ranulf embarrassed. John shrugged it off, he had more pressing matters to think of, mainly how he was to tell Hubert Walter that the investigation had stalled and that he wanted to resign as coroner.

For some exercise to settle the meal in his stomach, he walked into the abbey precinct and across Broad Sanctuary to come out in Thieving Lane. He loped back towards the main gate of the palace and the Deacon tavern. This route took him past the Crown alehouse, a low-class drinking den of which the man who had assaulted John had been a patron. On impulse, he turned into the inn and pushed his way past the drinkers standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder in the low-ceilinged taproom.

The place reeked of sweat, spilt ale and urine — both human and animal. The floor rushes looked as if they had not been changed since before the Conquest and several cats and dogs scratched through the litter for mice, rats and scraps of fallen food. Compared with this hovel, the Deacon was as much a palace as the one across the road.

De Wolfe pushed to the back of the room, where several casks were propped up on wedges and racks. A landlord almost as big as Gwyn stood truculently in front of the kegs, his hands on his hips. He had a large cudgel propped against a barrel, ready to deal with the frequent fights that broke out. The man wore a stained leather apron over his bare chest, his lower half encased in serge breeches. He glared at de Wolfe, who was obviously not one of his usual class of customers.

Thinking it politic to act like one, he asked for a quart of ale and gave a quarter-segment of a penny in exchange. Rather cautiously, he took a sip and to his surprise found it of better quality than that on offer in any of the other Westminster taverns. He complimented the landlord on the taste and received a grunt in reply, but persisted in his quest. This was no place to flash his royal warrant, especially without its impressive seal.

‘I met a man recently who recommended your brew,’ he lied. ‘A big fellow, with a curious brown mole on his cheek.’