Bernard Knight - Crowner Royal

‘Great God, John, how came you here? Do you seek me or the Lady Hawise?’

De Wolfe was not sure if there was some innuendo in his remark, but that was not his main concern. ‘I think you have some explaining to do, Ranulf of Abingdon,’ he said harshly, moving towards the corner table.

The young marshal turned up his hands in a parody of supplication. ‘You have caught me red-handed, sir! What can I say, other than love is blind and will not be denied, even by common sense?’

John hesitated. Was the dashing young knight only involved in a foolish elopement, running away from a jealous husband? Perhaps his other suspicions were unfounded, after all.

‘I can well understand that the fair lady may have captivated your heart, Ranulf,’ he growled. ‘But what of William there?’

He jabbed a finger towards Aubrey, who was stuck half-risen from his bench, apparently paralysed by indecision. ‘Does this lady’s power over men extend to more than one at a time?’

He had not meant to be offensive, but the silent Hawise turned her head to give him a poisonous glare.

‘My good friend William has decided to join me in our new life, Crowner!’ replied Ranulf, almost light-heartedly. ‘We have tired of being superior stable boys at Westminster. There are fortunes to be made in the tourney grounds of Germany.’

He waved a hand at their table, where food was half-consumed. ‘Join us for a meal, you and your good man Gwyn.’

De Wolfe shook his head, still suspicious of the situation.

‘I need some answers from you and Aubrey. Why did you choose this tavern to hide away, presumably to wait for a ship for Flanders?’

Ranulf stared at him. This was a question he had not expected.

‘Because I know it well, it has the best roast beef in London and clean beds upstairs. We need a decent night’s lodging, so where else but the Falcon?’

De Wolfe fixed him with a steely eye, his brooding hawk’s face searching the man’s features for the truth.

‘And not because you know it well from your visits here with Canon Simon Basset?’ he snapped.

Ranulf stared back at him guilelessly. ‘By Christ’s wounds, sir, you speak in riddles! We are merely waiting here until a cog is due to sail for Antwerp on tomorrow’s tide.’

The coroner looked across at William Aubrey, who remained as if turned to stone, only his frightened eyes watching every move. Then John moved to stand over Hawise d’Ayncourt, who looked at him as if he was something scraped from the midden in the inn’s backyard.

‘Your husband will be overjoyed to know that you are safe after your abduction, lady,’ he said sarcastically.

She glared up at him. ‘Abduction be damned! I have left that fat pig, the dullest man in Christendom!’

She was not to know that lifting her head to speak was the trigger for mayhem.

As she raised her chin defiantly, John saw a glint of gold appear above the neck of the pale-cream gown that she wore. Careless of any courtesy to a lady, he plunged his fingers into the space between the linen and her soft skin. Paying no heed to her scream of outrage, he pulled out a heavy necklace of solid gold, embellished with intricate designs typical of Saxon craftsmanship.

‘I think the last time I saw this, it was in the strongroom of the Great Tower!’ he roared at Ranulf. ‘So where’s the rest of it, you thieving bastard?’

Three men on the next table had leapt to their feet when they heard the scream and saw the bosom of a fine lady apparently being violated, but they backed away rapidly when Ranulf whipped out a long dagger from his belt and advanced on the coroner, waving it dangerously close to his face. Simultaneously, William Aubrey unsheathed a short sword and, with his dagger in the other hand, leapt over the table to stand back-to-back with his friend, facing the somewhat astonished Gwyn. The room went into pandemonium, as the other diners fell over themselves in haste, to get out of range of what looked like a fight to the death.

De Wolfe and Gwyn had left their long swords in their saddle-sheaths, as they had entered the tavern expecting only to search for information, so both had to grab for their own daggers, which never left their belts.

‘You stupid cow!’ roared Ranulf at his mistress. ‘I told you not to wear that damned thing until we left the country!’

At the same time, he lunged at John, who stepped back sharply and knocked over a fat dame who was desperately trying to get to the safety of the other side of the room.

‘You cannot escape the city, Ranulf!’ snarled de Wolfe. ‘You may as well surrender and put yourselves at the mercy of the court.’

For reply, Ranulf slashed out again at John, this time slicing into the sleeve of his grey tunic. ‘What mercy will we get?’ he yelled. ‘The choice between hanging or flaying alive?’

Behind him William Aubrey was challenging the big Cornishman and it became obvious that both these younger men, strong, fit and well trained from their frequent practice on the tourney fields, were expert fighters.

But the coroner and his officer, though more than a dozen years older, were crafty and experienced.

As Aubrey advanced on Gwyn, the ginger giant swept up a stool with one hand and swung it like a scythe, knocking the sword from the other man’s hand. As it flew across the room, there were redoubled screams from the unfortunate patrons of the Falcon, who were struggling to get out of the doorway.

Ranulf and John circled each other, knife hands outstretched, each making feints and retreats, knocking over benches and stools as they glared into each other’s eyes, watching to anticipate every new move. Hawise shrunk back on her bench, her face contorted partly by fear and partly by the thrill of having four reckless men fighting over her.

Aubrey, having lost his sword, was now on equal terms with Gwyn but arrogantly thought that he would easily dispatch this lumpish oaf from Cornwall. He made a sudden thrust, but the big man was not where he expected him to be — on the point of his dagger. Gwyn had stepped sideways and in a flash sunk his own knife deep into William’s belly. He dragged it upwards under his ribs and a scream from the younger man was almost instantly staunched as a gout of blood erupted from his mouth.

As he pulled out his dagger, his opponent crashed to the floor, to the accompaniment of more shouts, curses and screams from the remaining bemused and frightened patrons.

‘Settled this sod, Crowner!’ yelled Gwyn. Moving towards the coroner and his adversary, he hesitated, wondering when to intervene and bring this fracas to a speedy end.

‘Don’t kill this bastard as well!’ hollered de Wolfe. ‘Or we’ll never know what happened.’

But Ranulf had other ideas in his desperate situation. Suddenly stepping back from the coroner, he threw an arm around Hawise’s waist and hoisted her to her feet, putting the point of his knife against her throat.

‘Now back off, both of you!’ he screamed, pressing the dagger so that a drop of blood appeared on the woman’s white skin. ‘Let us through and out into the yard, or she’ll die!’

De Wolfe was outraged at his lack of chivalry. ‘Is this what you won your spurs for, damn you? To shelter behind a woman’s skirts?’

His contempt was far outmatched by Hawise. She screamed some obscenities that no high-born lady should have known as she wriggled in his grasp, but the knife bit even deeper and she subsided.

‘I thought you were enamoured of this woman!’ raged John. ‘Now you are prepared to kill her!’

The knight gave a twisted grin. ‘She is a demon in bed, for which I give thanks. But if it is a matter of her life or mine, then mine wins every time!’

Frustrated, but afraid that Ranulf would keep his promise and drive the knife deeper into her neck, John could only stand impotently while the other man began to pull her towards the door.