Bernard Knight - The Tinner's corpse

‘What’s that one for?’ he grunted to Gwyn.

‘The quality mark, Crowner, what he considers to be the purity of the metal, which will affect the price it gets from merchants like Matthew Knapman.’

‘How does he know that?’ demanded de Wolfe.

Gwyn chuckled. ‘Black magic, some say. But he’s been doing it for years. A good assay master is worth his weight in gold, let alone tin. He can tell by the way the chisel cuts the metal, its hardness, even the sound it makes when it’s sliced, as well as the colour and the amount of impurities on the surface.’ Gwyn sounded almost wistful, as his mind went back to the days of his youth, before his father left tinning for the dangers of the sea.

De Wolfe was almost as impressed by the speed of the operation as by the ability of the assay master to value the quality of the bars. With many hundreds if not thousands of ingots to deal with in two days, the rapidity of the process was remarkable. The calling out of the weights, the clang of the bar into the weighing pan and the steady pounding of the hammers as they embossed the tin were almost hypnotic.

Outside the ropes there was now equally frantic activity, as tinners and porters hurried back and forth across the square with piles of bars, fetching them for assay and returning them to the stacks at the edge of the roadway. Mugs of ale and cider were ferried across to the coining team, as were loaves and pasties, so that the labouring officials could grab a bite or swig from a drink between their incessant handling of the black metal.

After a few minutes, de Wolfe noticed that the sheriff, who had so far ignored him, seemed restive, and soon afterwards he left the enclosure with Morin and two men-at-arms and vanished up the high street, no doubt to seek refreshment in one of the taverns. The novelty of watching the coinage soon palled on John, too, and he turned to Gwyn to give him his orders. ‘I must go back to Exeter this morning. I’ll take Thomas with me, but you must stay until the coinage has finished tomorrow. I’m told the sheriff is going to stay until the end, to emphasise his role as Lord Warden, so maybe you can ride back with Gabriel and his men behind de Revelle and the constable.’

‘What do you want me to do here?’ asked Gwyn, quite happy to spend a day and a night in a town with six ale-houses.

‘Just keep your eyes and ears open, especially in the taverns. Drink loosens tongues and I want to know what the tinners are saying about these killings. The answer must surely be up here in Chagford, not in the city. But I can’t spend all my time here — there’s other work at home, to say nothing of my wife’s tongue.’

Turning his back on the banging, shouting and clanging, de Wolfe took Thomas to retrieve their horses from the side-street, then to collect Matthew and Peter Jordan from the Knapman house ready for the ride to Exeter. He left his officer without a thought for his well-being: after all, Gwyn was more than capable of looking after himself in most situations.

On the journey back to Exeter, de Wolfe learned little that was new, but was intrigued by the vehemence with which Matthew aired his suspicions about his brother’s likely killers. Away from Joan and her mother, his tongue seemed more ready to wag, though Peter Jordan remained relatively silent. As the pair rode at each side of the coroner, with Thomas plodding forlornly behind, the tin merchant seemed eager to voice his theories about the murder. He appeared to have changed his mind about the likely culprits. ‘I now think more strongly than ever that trail-bastons are to blame,’ he said, as they trotteda long the track towards Moretonhampstead. ‘The countryside is plagued by outlaws, especially since there are so many unemployed soldiers about, and many men destitute after that bad harvest eighteen months back.’ He paused and added, ‘These crippling taxes to pay for the King’s damned wars have also driven many men into poverty and outlawry.’

De Wolfe grunted, unsure whether to censure Matthew for another slur on the monarch, but decided to correct him instead. ‘It would be a strange footpad who carried out robbery with violence, then left the victim’s purse on his belt,’ he said. ‘I think you must look elsewhere for your killers.’

Matthew produced his other ideas with equal conviction. ‘Then the sheriff is involved, to defeat poor Walter’s ambition to run the Stannaries properly. You saw how feelings run high against him — but he’s a crafty one, is de Revelle, and ruthless into the bargain. He’d have little compunction in arranging a convenient murder.’

At this, Matthew’s step-nephew spoke: ‘I find it hard to believe the sheriff would need to take such drastic action. Walter had little chance of unseating him as Lord Warden, unless this threatened commission from London or Winchester was to recommend it. The tinners themselves couldn’t do it, however much noise and trouble they caused.’

Matthew shook his head doubtfully.

‘They could stop producing tin! The royal court — and the King himself — would take notice if the coinage taxes stopped coming in!’

‘But the tinners wouldn’t go on strike! They’d starve in a month, without pay coming in or metal to trade,’ protested Peter.

‘Then I wouldn’t put it past Joan’s brother, damn him. That Roland’s an evil fellow, you can see it in his face, coveting the good things Walter had in his house. He hopes to benefit from Joan’s inheritance and has his eye on the tin-works. That’s why he was so keen to take over their running as a temporary measure. Once he was in, we’d never get rid of him.’

De Wolfe wanted to keep the debate going to see what else came out. ‘So do you rate him as a serious possibility for the slaying?’ he asked.

‘He’s as ruthless as the sheriff. He saw a good chance for himself when his sister married Walter. I’d be loath to say that she was in collusion with him, but it’s not impossible. And certainly that old dame Lucy is single-minded about getting every penny for her children. She’d cut anyone’s throat for a prize like Walter’s property and business.’

‘What about the inheritance, then? When will that be settled?’ asked John.

‘We must find out what Walter’s testament says — everything depends on that. Joan says that she and her damned brother are coming to Exeter tomorrow to see the lawyer.’

‘Who happens to be my wife’s father,’ added Peter drily. ‘Not that it’s of any advantage to us.’

De Wolfe had his doubts about that, but kept them to himself.

The talk during the rest of the journey was only elaboration and repetition of the same themes, and de Wolfe was glad when they reached the city, where they parted company inside the West Gate.

As they walked their tired horses up the slope to Cairfax, Thomas moved alongside his master, plucking up courage to ask a favour.

‘You were good enough to speak to my uncle John of Alençon, Crowner. I wondered if you had any answer yet.’

De Wolfe looked down at the diminutive clerk slumped awkwardly on his pony. ‘As you know, Thomas, I’ve hardly been in Exeter lately, with all these problems.’ He said this kindly, but with a bitter undertone as he recalled the difficulties his absences had caused him, especially in his love-life.

‘Do you think you could ask the Archdeacon fairly soon, Crowner? I am consumed with longing and worry, sir.’

The quaver of suppressed emotion in Thomas’s voice reached even de Wolfe’s tough heart. ‘Then no time like the present. We’ll call upon him on the way home — he should be there at this time. Compline must be over by now.’