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 were 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!’
Ranulf smiled weakly, wishing for once that she would mind her own business.
‘Affairs of state, I’m afraid, nothing exciting,’ he replied dismissively. He winked at John who took the hint and diverted the inquisitive woman. ‘Madam, did you know this poor fellow on whom I held an inquest today? He was one of the staff in your guest quarters.’
Her husband spoke across the table before Hawise could answer.
‘You mean Basil, the little fellow who made sure we all had bed linen and chamber pots?’
‘He did a little more than that,’ countered Ranulf. ‘He also made sure that the kitchens were supplied with food for the guests and a host of other tasks to make your stay comfortable.’
‘Why on earth should anyone murder such a useful fellow?’ asked Hawise, fluttering her long lashes at the under-marshal, who was handsome enough in a stern sort of way. In fact, she thought, both he and the brooding Sir John alongside her, were very attractive men.
‘I wish I knew, there seems no motive for it at all,’ said de Wolfe. ‘He was not robbed and his private life seemed too dull for him to have made enemies.’
‘He was in minor orders, I understand,’ cut in the archdeacon. ‘More than just a servant, then?’
‘He was a small, but not insignificant part of the palace administration,’ replied Ranulf. ‘He had to be literate and he needed to behave correctly before persons of high rank and quality — such as yourselves,’ he added suavely.