‘If you have such complaints, then take them to the Chief Justiciar,’ rasped John. ‘And if you don’t like the rules he agreed upon at the meeting in the Great Hall, then consider this — he acts upon the direct wishes of our King Richard, so if you flaunt those, then you might well be guilty of treason!’
John always liked rubbing in the royal authority and hinting at accusations of sedition.
Robert fitz Durand began protesting, but then realised he had better be careful of what he said before two witnesses, given that it was common knowledge that John de Wolfe had the ear of both the Justiciar and the king himself. His voice trailed away into a growling mumble, as John pressed home his point.
‘I consider that I have acted courteously and properly, which is more than can be said for your behaviour, bursting in here in such an ill-mannered fashion! You should be grateful that I have informed you so quickly and written for you what few details I had at the time. At least I saw the corpse fresh and passed on a description of his wounds.’
He sat down again to indicate that the interview was over.
‘Now I suggest that you get on with your own investigation as soon as possible, for in this weather, the cadaver will corrupt very rapidly.’
The sheriff flushed at this peremptory dismissal and stalked to the still-open door. ‘The mayor shall hear of this,’ he snarled as he reached it.
‘I very much hope he will — and I trust you will tell him how I did my best to assist you,’ replied de Wolfe, now well in control of his temper.
For answer, fitz Durand marched out into the corridor, pushing aside the page who had been eavesdropping, and disappeared without a word of thanks or farewell.
‘The bastard!’ was Gwyn’s succinct comment. ‘Are we going to have to put up with his ranting every time we get a corpse?’
De Wolfe sighed, wishing again that he was back in Devon.
‘In future, I’m only going to deal with cases where we know definitely that the victim is from either the palace or the abbey. Those jealous men from the big city are welcome to any doubtful ones. Thank God we are going on tour very soon, away from the objectionable sods in London!’
In the Lesser Hall that evening, the main topic of conversation was the impending arrival of Queen Eleanor, the news of which had spread throughout the palace within minutes of its being received, thanks to the garrulous clerks in the chancery offices. As well as being Justiciar and Archbishop of Canterbury, Hubert Walter was now for all practical purposes also the Lord Chancellor, as the disgraced William Longchamp had been ejected from England almost two years earlier. Although he nominally retained the chancellorship due to the king’s benevolence, Longchamp was exiled in Normandy and though Eustace, Bishop of Ely, was nominally Vice Chancellor, Hubert effectively controlled Chancery and all its business, so the news of the old queen’s arrival went there first. However, after this had been gossiped over and dissected by those at the supper tables, the bloody murder on the marshes became the next topic for conversation.
‘The sheriff’s men have been buzzing around the abbey mortuary like flies today,’ said Archdeacon Bernard. ‘And judging by the smell that is starting to drift over from there, the real flies will soon be buzzing as well!’
The unpleasant images that this conjured up did not seem to discourage any of the usual group from tucking in to their food.
John had to explain why he was no longer involved in the investigation, as everyone seemed to know that he had been out in the reens to view the cadaver.
‘It seems ridiculous for officers to come all the way from the city to deal with it, when we have England’s premier coroner sitting right here,’ effused Hawise d’Ayncourt, fluttering her eyelashes at John as she spoke.
‘Perhaps an assault on a mere blacksmith is insufficient to warrant the attention of a royal coroner,’ said her husband, with a trace of sarcasm in his tone.
‘Was he robbed?’ asked Bernard de Montfort, as he speared another grilled herring and laid it on his trencher. ‘That would seem to be the most likely motive for killing a tradesman.’
De Wolfe shook his head. ‘My clerk, who knows everything, says he was not. That’s all I know about the matter. I am more concerned about the death of that poor fellow from the guest chambers. I suppose you have heard no other rumours from upstairs, as you are residing there?’
Renaud de Seigneur shook his head. ‘We are just passing guests, we are not privy to the gossip of the servants.’
Hawise gave John a coy look, lowering her eyes as she spoke. ‘All I have gathered is that Basil, if that was his name, was very friendly with a young monk across the yard. Unusually friendly, it would seem!’ she added archly.
Her meaning was clear, but no one responded to her, this being a subject about which delicate ladies were supposed to remain ignorant. Adroitly changing the subject, Ranulf observed that their dining regime would almost certainly be disrupted when the queen arrived.
‘This Lesser Hall was used by the king when he was in residence — as did his father Henry before him. Though usually the king ate in his chambers above, he sometimes used this for dining, as well as for large meetings and sessions of the Royal Council. I expect that Eleanor will revert to what she was used to, before her husband locked her away for sixteen years!’
De Montfort in his turn shied away from the unwelcome memory of the old king’s vengeance upon Eleanor for encouraging his sons to revolt against him. ‘I hear there will be an elaborate feast when she arrives. Will that be in here, I wonder?’
As usual, Ranulf was the best informed. ‘I hear that it is likely to be in the Great Hall, for already the Keeper of the Palace is muttering about extra transport to bring in supplies from both the countryside and the city. I suspect that Hubert wishes to keep on the right side of the Queen Mother, for she is still a powerful force on both sides of the Channel, with great influence with her two sons.’
De Wolfe privately marvelled at the endless capacity for gossip and scandal possessed by these people at court. Most of it went over his head, as he did not know the persons involved — and did not much care about them. The talk went on as they ate their way through the stews, the roasts and the puddings, but eventually Hawise came around to John’s private life.
‘I suspect you are a dark horse, Sir John. I heard rumours that you were attached to a very comely Welsh woman before you came to Westminster. Just as sailors have a girl in every port, do coroners have ladies in every jurisdiction?’
Her husband gave a little snigger at this and John felt like kicking him under the table. How in God’s name did she hear of Nesta? he wondered irritably. But even though Hawise annoyed him greatly, he still found her alluring, with her habit of lowering her eyes and showing those long dark lashes, before lifting them again to give him a languorous look. Perhaps his last two nights of passion had increased his amorous appetite, but he decided that he would not be averse to giving her what she obviously desired.
It was just as well that Bernard de Montfort diverted his attention at that point, taking the conversation in a different direction.
‘It seems the purpose of this forthcoming perambulation is to escort Queen Eleanor to Gloucester to meet her son John,’ he said, folding his hands across his overfilled stomach. ‘I have never met the prince, but I hear that you have had dealings with him in the past. What is he like? We hear such conflicting reports about his character.’
This was sensitive ground and de Wolfe, though he had very strong views on the subject, was not going to open his mind to a casual acquaintance, especially not knowing where such opinions might be whispered by this garrulous crowd.