Though the most important people were accommodated in the castle, the rest were distributed all over the city and the lower echelons of the Westminster contingent had to camp out in the castle grounds and surrounding fields. The Purveyor and his staff had worked strenuously to find places for the middle ranks, filling every inn, lodging house and even confiscating private houses.
By the time John de Wolfe and his clerk and officer arrived some days later, there was no room anywhere within the bulging city. At first, he viewed this with some relief, as lodging at a distance meant that he could avoid Hawise, until he recalled that she and her husband had gone on to visit her relatives in Hereford, a day’s ride away. Thomas de Peyne, using his priestly connections, managed to find a pallet in a corner of the great abbey, but John and Gwyn rode a mile or two to the east where, in the village of Brockworth, they found room in a crowded inn, each sleeping on a bag of hay in the loft.
On the first morning after they arrived, John presented himself at the castle to tell the Justiciar’s clerks that he was back. Thankfully, they informed him that there had been nothing that required his attention during his absence, but that Hubert Walter wished to speak to him. An audience was fixed for the middle of the afternoon and at the appointed time John was called into a chamber in the gatehouse.
He found the Justiciar and William Marshal there, together with Richard fitz Nigel, the Bishop of London. The King’s Treasurer was a florid man in the evening of his life, one of a line of fitz Nigels who had rebuilt the Exchequer after the anarchy of Stephen many years before.
The three men sat easily with goblets of wine around a small table and John was relieved to find that he was not being arraigned before a tribunal. In fact, he was invited to sit in a vacant chair and given wine by a servant, who then withdrew.
‘I am glad to see you back safely, de Wolfe,’ said Hubert. ‘I trust your visit to Devon was satisfactory.’
John thought about Dawlish and considered the visit very satisfactory indeed, but he forbore to trouble Hubert with the continuing problem of his wife and merely thanked him for allowing him to go. What was this all about, he wondered, looking around at the faces of the three great men?
The Justiciar soon enlightened him.
‘The Marshal was recently with the king until he came across the sea with Queen Eleanor. Before he left Rouen, my dispatches, which recorded the theft from the Tower, had arrived.’ He stopped and looked at the long, stern face of William Marshal, then invited him to continue.
‘As was to be expected, King Richard was most concerned,’ rasped the Earl of Pembroke. His long face cracked into a wry smile. ‘You will know from personal experience, de Wolfe, that our beloved Richard is prone to outbursts of extreme temper, like his father before him. He was not amused by this theft of his precious funds, which are so desperately needed for his army.’
John nodded his heartfelt agreement, as he well knew of his volatile moods. But he failed to see where this was leading, until Richard fitz Nigel took up the tale, voice quavering a little.
‘Not to beat about the bush, the king wants his money back and the thieves hanged! No effort is to be spared in achieving this.’
The Marshal came back in a more conciliatory mood. ‘The king realises that no fault attaches to you, de Wolfe. This audacious robbery took place after you had delivered the treasure safely to its destination. But he wants the matter settled quickly and commands that you use every means to effect this. He wishes me to tell you that he has every confidence in your ability to do this.’
There was an undercurrent of meaning in the Marshal’s voice that suggested that old friendships would count for little if he failed. Hubert Walter threw back the rest of his wine in a gesture that said that the interview was almost over. ‘John, I think it best if you go straight back to London and get on with this vital task. The court is returning through Oxford and will not be back at Westminster for at least ten days. There seems little point in your staying on here, given that there seems to be no call upon your services.’
He stood up and de Wolfe hurriedly emptied his own cup and got to his feet, backing towards the door. As he bowed to the others and declared that he would do his very best to solve the mystery and bring the miscreants to justice, the Justiciar reminded him of the authority he had been given.
‘Remember, de Wolfe, you already have the king’s writ, carrying my seal. You may go wherever you wish, interrogate anyone and summon any aid whatsoever. So take no nonsense from those sheriffs in the city. You can put the Mayor of London himself to the torture if you think it will help!’
With these rousing words echoing in his ears, John withdrew and closed the door. He had mixed feelings about what had just been said — on the one hand, he was flattered by the trust that was being put in him, yet daunted by the task which had so far been like kicking uselessly at a stone wall. And the price of failure was not to be contemplated.
Whatever the problems and possible penalties looming over him, de Wolfe saw one immediate advantage in cutting and running from the royal cavalcade — he would not have to dodge the seductive temptations of Hawise d’Ayncourt. Hopefully, she and her husband would be travelling back to France in the queen’s retinue and apart from a night or two when passing through Westminster, he would be safe from her beguiling charms. Though he had admittedly enjoyed his romp with her in Marlborough very much, his day with Hilda had brought it home to him how fond he was of the Saxon woman.
Early on the morning after his ultimatum from the Justiciar, Marshal and Treasurer, de Wolfe and Gwyn were joined by Thomas at Brockworth, the little clerk rather sulky at being so prematurely wrenched from the great abbey of Gloucester, where he could have indulged himself for far longer in the liturgy and offices of such a famous religious house.
They set off for London by the most direct route, across the Cotswolds to Witney and then on to Oxford and Wycombe.
The magic document with Hubert’s seal dangling from it readily got them bed and board at royal castles and manors for the four nights that they were on their journey and at the end of the fifth day’s riding, they arrived in King Street, with the abbey and the irregular outline of the palace looming over the Thames.
Much as John preferred his native Devon, Westminster was a welcome sight after all those weary miles and Osanna’s hurried meal of oatcakes, boiled bacon and eggs was like nectar.
With Thomas safely in the abbey dorter, he and Gwyn crawled to their palliasses and slept like logs until morning.
When their clerk arrived after his early duties in the abbey the next day, the coroner’s team held a council of war, as John had told them of the direct order from the king to bring this crime to a rapid conclusion.
‘He wants his money back and the perpetrators dangling from the elms at Tyburn!’ said de Wolfe. ‘So we had better come up with some ideas or it may be our own necks that get stretched!’
They spent an hour discussing every aspect of the matter, but it seemed an intractable problem. As often happened, it was the nimble brain of Thomas de Peyne that had the first original thought.
‘Crowner, do you still have those two keys that we found amongst the possessions of Simon Basset?’
John stared at his clerk, wondering what tortuous thoughts were going through his mind. ‘I do indeed, but we have stared at them long enough before this. We don’t even know if they were for the locks on that damned chest, as it has gone off to Rouen. What else could be seen upon them?’
‘Perhaps not seen upon them, master,’ answered Thomas cryptically. ‘But could I handle them once more, with your leave?’
De Wolfe groped under his table, where a shelf lay beneath the oaken top. Amongst oddments which included a broken knife, two part-used candles and an old leather belt, he found the two keys, put aside as being of no further use to their investigation.