Bernard Knight - Crowner Royal

As the meeting dispersed, John went to speak to the Justiciar and William Marshal.

‘I have a bad feeling about this, sirs!’ he began. ‘Those two would not suddenly abandon their positions here and streak for foreign parts if they were not well provided with money or the means to obtain it. From being deeply in debt to the moneyers, suddenly they seem to have ample funds to throw away their careers and seek a new life abroad.’

The Justiciar nodded. ‘I know very well what you are suggesting, John. Have these two benefited in some way from the theft of the gold from the Tower? I thought you had pinned the blame on Canon Simon?’

‘He was certainly involved, but he was murdered and that suggests that he had at least one accomplice who may have wanted to silence him.’

‘Then how was it done, de Wolfe?’ demanded William Marshal. ‘By Job’s pustules, I fail to see how they could have got hold of the keys to the chest in the Tower.’

John was beginning to have his own ideas about that, but this was not the time to go into it. Instead, he asked permission to join the hunt for the two men.

‘Each search party needs to know what they look like and I certainly do,’ he said. ‘I would like to take my officer and begin nearer home, in case they are seeking a ship along the Thames.’

Hubert nodded his agreement, exasperated that all this trouble had arisen on the day before the queen was leaving, when the Marshalsea would be at its busiest.

‘If you do find the bastards, drag them to the Tower straight away. There are ample means in the dungeons there to get the truth out of them!’

Another hour saw de Wolfe and Gwyn cantering past Charing on a pair of fast rounseys from the stables, on their way into the city. John had decided to leave Thomas behind, as he was an impediment to swift travel and he thought speed may be of the essence if the fugitives were intent on leaving by ship. However, Gwyn pointed out that the tide was almost at the ebb, so no vessel would be leaving for another six hours.

‘Are we going to search all along the wharves?’ called the Cornishman as they clipped along the Strand towards the Temple. ‘There are many of them, both in the Fleet river, the city and beyond it past St Katherine’s, where ships also berth.’

‘We need only vessels bound for a Channel crossing or directly across to the mouth of the Rhine,’ shouted John. ‘No need to concern ourselves with those who are going up the east coast or around to the west.’

As they passed through Ludgate, the magnitude of their task came home to the coroner. They needed some help in deciding where along the seething banks of the river to make their search.

There was no evidence that Ranulf, William and the woman were even in the city, for they may have crossed the bridge and be on their way to Dover or Ramsgate by now. As they reached the end of Cheapside, John was uncertain whether to continue or turn down Watling Street to the bridge. Then he decided to seek some help, if it was forthcoming.

‘Let’s go to see that damned sheriff again,’ he declared and turned up towards the Guildhall. He had no impressive warrant to show this time, but the clerk recognised him and moments later he was again in Godard of Antioch’s chamber.

‘The Justiciar needs some information of a different nature this time,’ he began. ‘About vessels along your wharves.’

The sheriff scowled and held up a hand. ‘God’s teeth, you are a persistent fellow, de Wolfe. You’ve not had the result of your last request yet.’

John stared at him. ‘You mean that you’ve discovered something about the man who was with that murdered canon?’

Godard nodded with smug satisfaction. ‘My men traced the tavern where he ate.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ snapped John. ‘It was vitally important.’

‘It must have slipped my mind,’ said Godard casually. ‘But I’m telling you now. One of my men asked around the streets and it seems that this fat priest that died in Bartholomew’s was well known in an eating house in St Martin’s Lane, leading up to Aldersgate. He probably went there every time before he vented his lust in the Stinking Lane brothel.’

‘Did they say there was another man eating with him?’ demanded John urgently. ‘And whether they knew him, too?’

The sheriff held up a hand to stem the flow of questions. ‘For hell’s sake, what do you expect from us, coroner? The tavern keeper only recalls this canon because he was a regular customer. He can’t be expected to do more than that!’

De Wolfe calmed down and after he had obtained the name of the inn, he thanked Godard and left, almost at a run.

‘I know the eating house where Basset ate,’ he yelled at Gwyn, as he swung himself into the saddle. ‘It’s worth seeing if Ranulf was the second man.’

St Martin’s Lane, sounding so similar to John’s address in Exeter, was only a few yards away and within minutes they saw the Falcon, a large and respectable-looking tavern fronting directly on to the busy thoroughfare that led up to Aldersgate. It had two storeys, with shuttered windows on either side of the large central door. There was a side lane which led around to a yard containing stables and various outbuildings. As they could not leave their horses in the road, John led the way around to the back, where a snivelling barefoot boy took their steeds and hitched them to a rail.

‘There’s a door to the taproom there, sirs, to save you going round to the street again,’ said the lad, as John gave him a half-penny.

‘Let’s see if the landlord recalls who might have dined with our lecherous priest,’ said John, pushing open the back door that the urchin had pointed out. Through a short passage, half-filled with casks and crates, was an arch into the main room, crowded with drinkers even at mid-morning. They either stood in groups or sat on benches around the walls. There was a cacophony of chatter, some drunken singing and in a corner the twanging of someone playing a lute. There were several harlots with painted lips and cheeks plying their trade, dressed in striped gowns and wearing bright-red wigs, the uniform of London whores. A pair of hounds were wrestling playfully on the rushes, watched at a distance by several wary cats.

Drink was being served from barrels behind a table, from which a potboy and a wench were selling pint jugs of ale. De Wolfe pushed his way to them through the uncaring throng.

‘Where’s your master, the landlord?’

‘Still at Smithfield, buying meat,’ said the girl. ‘But the missus is in the eating hall, through there.’ She flipped a hand towards another arch which led into the other half of the ground floor.

John, with Gwyn close behind, went through into a room with one long table and several small ones, where people were beginning to settle on benches for their early pre-noon dinner. A large woman in a long linen apron was carrying in baskets of bread and John moved to intercept her with his questions, when he received a hard nudge in the back from Gwyn.

‘Just look who’s over there, Crowner!’ he hissed, jerking his head. John followed his gesture and saw that, at a table in the far corner, were two men and a woman — the very ones they were seeking.

Almost at the same moment, William Aubrey noticed them standing inside the entrance. He blanched and leaned forward to whisper to Ranulf and Hawise, who were sitting with their backs towards the newcomers. Their heads shot around and in any other circumstances the expressions of surprise on their faces would have been comical. William sat transfixed, but Ranulf recovered his poise almost immediately, rising to his feet and coming across to John and his officer with a smile on his face.