The process of checking the items against Simon Basset’s list took no longer than half an hour, at the end of which he declared himself satisfied that nothing was missing and added his signature to the bottom of the inventory from Winchester.
The chamber was re-locked, as was the outer door into the undercroft and the party moved back out into the glow of sunset outside, where Gwyn and Thomas were waiting patiently. Simon offered them all refreshment, but the Westminster contingent unanimously decided to ride back home. Now unencumbered by the wagon, the troop set off westwards and passing through the city streets and out through Ludgate, arrived thankfully at the palace less than an hour later.
Thomas hurried off to the abbey refectory and Gwyn inevitably made for the nearest alehouse for food, drink and a game of dice with his cronies. This left de Wolfe to seek supper in the Lesser Hall, accompanied by Ranulf of Abingdon and William Aubrey. The meal had begun, but they found seats opposite Renaud de Seigneur and Lady Hawise. When John slid on to his bench, he found himself next to the archdeacon, Bernard de Montfort.
‘We’ve missed your company these past days,’ offered the amiable cleric. ‘We have heard that you have been on a secret mission deep into the countryside!’
John was happy to let Ranulf answer, as he was too intent on loading his trencher with a pair of grilled trout from a platter which a serving boy placed in the middle of the table.
‘Nothing secret about it, merely a routine escort task for some of the king’s valuables,’ said the under-marshal easily.
‘There will be another royal escort task soon,’ commented the Lord of Blois. ‘We hear that Queen Eleanor’s arrival becomes ever more imminent. No doubt she is awaiting a fair wind from France.’
‘Then you know more than I, sir,’ replied Ranulf. ‘But in any event, it will not involve us, other than to manage the horses and wagons to transport them. They will require far more august persons to attend upon her than a lowly servant of the Marshal.’
Renaud’s wife answered for him.
‘You are too modest, sir. I feel sure you are given assignments that would surprise us all, if you could reveal them.’
Hawise d’Ayncourt fluttered her lashes at the good-looking knight, but her eyes slid covertly towards de Wolfe, who was stolidly attacking his fish with his eating knife.
‘What do you say to that, coroner?’ asked Renaud, with false jocularity. ‘I hear you have the ear of the Justiciar — and even of the king himself!’
John sighed inwardly, he was becoming a little tired of these mild interrogations at every meal. He would not mind bedding the delectable Hawise, but tonight he did not particularly wish to talk to her or her tiresome husband.
‘The king’s ear is far away in Normandy — and the archbishop’s is only tuned to receiving my reports on dead bodies!’ he replied rather abruptly. He lifted his ale-pot and waved at a nearby servant for a refill, hoping that the others would drop the subject. However, Hawise, tonight attired in a white gown and a light surcoat of blue silk, dextrously moved on to his private life.
‘We hear that you have your own private house in the town, coroner,’ she said smoothly. ‘That must be very convenient for a handsome man living far from his home and family?’
The meaning of her remark was obvious from the roguish tone she used. De Wolfe was about to snub her with a cutting remark about his wife, but then thought that if that was how the land lay, then maybe he should leave the matter open. To tell the truth, he was feeling the ill-effects of a long period of celibacy since leaving Devon — and even before he left, the barren period since Nesta had abandoned him, had only twice been relieved by visits to Dawlish. If this undoubtedly handsome woman wanted to enjoy herself one evening, then why should he stand in her way?
The look he gave her from under his heavy brows must have conveyed something of his mood, for she smiled archly at him. For her part, she thought once again that he was an attractive man, with his tall, strong body and dark brooding features. His swept-back black hair, his high-bridged nose and his full, sensuous lips gave her a quiver of anticipation. Hawise lifted her wine cup and stared over its rim at de Wolfe, already imagining those hard-muscled arms crushing her tightly against him, so different from the flabby embraces of her boring husband.
Still, at the moment that boring husband was sitting right alongside her and with a sigh she returned to her trencher of boiled salmon and her platter of beans and carrots. The conversation continued around them, and once again the lack of any progress over the murdered Basil was one of the topics.
‘Probably slain by a disgruntled guest, in revenge for the poor food and service that we get upstairs!’ chortled the archdeacon, an insensitive remark for one whose profession was supposed to exude compassion and respect for his fellow men.
‘There should be at least one good meal on the way,’ offered the cherubic William Aubrey, from further down the table. ‘I hear that Hubert Walter is to hold a feast in the Great Hall when the old queen arrives, as a mark of respect for her.’
This set them chattering again about the continuing role that the ageing Eleanor still played in politics, even though she was now seventy-four years of age. She continued to champion her favourite son Richard and kept a rein on the excesses and follies of the younger John. This was undoubtedly the main reason for her impending visit, as the Count of Mortain continued to be much too friendly with Philip of France for most people’s liking.
Eventually the meal ended and Hawise swayed away behind her shorter husband, casting a longing look at John as she went.
‘That dame is quite taken with you, John,’ said Ranulf rather wistfully, as they went out into the twilight of the Palace Yard. ‘I’d not say no to a tumble with her myself, especially as that Renaud fellow seems not to be too bothered by her wayward eye.’
De Wolfe shrugged indifferently. ‘I don’t want to start a diplomatic incident, even if the chance presented itself,’ he countered. ‘Why the hell are they here, anyway? De Seigneur is lord of some miserable place in Blois, which is not even allied to Normandy.’
Near the main gate to the palace compound, Ranulf excused himself and hurried off up King Street. ‘He’s off to a game of chance in one of the houses up at Scotland Yard,’ confided Aubrey. ‘A great one for cards and dice, is Ranulf. But when he loses badly, he’s like a bull with a sore head for days!’
The under-marshal, who John felt was rather naive even for the youngest of knights, pleaded fatigue after the long day and went off to his quarters near the stables at the rear of the palace, leaving John to his own devices. He was tired as well, but decided to have a last drink with Gwyn before going to bed.
The sun had dropped well below the western horizon and the light was failing as he went into the Deacon alehouse, which seemed to have become their favourite tavern.
He found his henchman with a group of soldiers and palace guards, sitting in a circle of benches and stools, playing ‘quek’, an obscure game with dice and small stones, thrown on to a board upon the ground, painted with a series of squares. Money was changing hands, but he was glad to see that it seemed to be only halves and quarters of pennies. He knew that Gwyn was trying to save from his daily wage of three pence, to take money back for his wife and two small sons when they next returned to Exeter. Although John had bought the Bush inn from Nesta when she left and put in Gwyn’s wife as landlady, the profits might not be much for some time, until the trade settled down after the change.