‘Yes, they usually eat there. Ranulf of Abingdon and William Aubrey kept me company, as they often do. Why do you ask?’
‘Because they’ve both damned well disappeared!’ snapped Stanford. ‘Of all times, when I need every man in the Marshalsea to start preparing for Queen Eleanor’s departure to Portsmouth tomorrow.’
‘They said nothing to me about going away when I spoke to them last night,’ replied John. ‘Is there no sign of them in their quarters?’
Stanford strode to the open window and slapped the sill angrily with his riding gloves. ‘There’s nothing left there — they’ve taken their personal belongings and vanished! It seems that they left before dawn, for only a stable boy saw them both saddle up and ride away. Are you sure they said nothing about leaving?’
John shook his head. ‘Not a word! I must say that Ranulf seemed somewhat distant, compared to his usual talkative self, but there was no mention of leaving Westminster.’
Martin Stanford’s rather small eyes stared suspiciously at the coroner. ‘What d’you mean, he was somewhat distant?’ he demanded.
De Wolfe felt trapped, as he had no wish to start gossip that might prove unfounded. ‘There might have been a reason, but it was a very personal one and as I’m only guessing, it would not be fair for me to repeat it.’
Stanford glowered at him. ‘Damn it all, de Wolfe, this is a serious matter! If you know or even suspect something, I need to know. They were two of my most senior assistants.’
John wavered until he decided that he had better divulge his suspicions about Ranulf and Hawise, but he was saved from this awkward position by yet another interruption. This time there was no knock on the door, it was flung back with a crash to admit Renaud de Seigneur, followed by a worried-looking Keeper of the Palace and an even more distraught Guest Master.
‘Sir John, do you know where my wife has gone to?’ he demanded in his shrill voice. For a moment, de Wolfe feared that he was going to denounce John as an adulterer and accuse him of adultery with his wife, but thankfully he had a different target for his anger.
‘You were in the supper hall last evening — did that bloody man Ranulf say anything to you about her?’ he almost shrieked.
Before John could again deny being told anything by the under-marshal, Nathaniel de Levelondes laid a restraining hand on the Lord of Freteval’s shoulder and tried to placate him.
‘De Seigneur, I’m sure there must be some innocent explanation. Let us begin a search of the palace, for perhaps your lady has had some temporary loss of her mind and is wandering the passages and rooms.’
Renaud twisted away and red-faced, began to shout again. ‘Loss of mind be damned! She has gone off with that devil of a horseman! Left her maid and almost all her clothes behind, just taken her jewels!’ he yelled.
Stanford turned to stare at the coroner. ‘Is that what is behind this, de Wolfe? Is that what you were going to tell me?’
John shrugged. ‘I know nothing definite, believe me. It’s just that at the table last night, I thought I detected — well, a situation between the Lady Hawise and Ranulf.’
‘By God’s bones, you certainly did!’ snapped Renaud. ‘I saw what was developing during the week it took to come back from Gloucester. I regret to say that my young wife has a weakness for handsome men.’ He did not look at de Wolfe when he said this and John was unsure whether to be relieved or insulted.
‘Then last night, she said she wanted to petition for an annulment, ridiculous though that may sound. She has had many a flutter with other men, but has never gone as far as that before.’
It was now clear to the other men in the room what had happened before dawn broke that morning.
De Levelondes summed up the situation. ‘So we must assume that the Lady Hawise has eloped with Ranulf of Abingdon. This must surely be some passing infatuation, Lord Renaud. She will come to her senses very quickly.’
Stanford soon picked upon a flaw in his optimism. ‘For a knight in the king’s service to suddenly abandon his career is a major disaster for him, so if he has fled with a lady, then he must be very confident of her fidelity to him.’
He stopped and slapped his head. ‘And why in the name of God has William Aubrey gone with them? She cannot be infatuated with them both!’
This pronouncement suddenly ignited a train of thought in de Wolfe’s mind. Ranulf and William Aubrey, fleeing and abandoning their careers? What would they live on now? Was it possible? He began to think the unthinkable.
‘We need to hurry to the stables and speak to anyone else who knows these two men,’ he said decisively and without waiting for anyone’s reaction, he motioned to Gwyn and headed for the door.
Within the hour, an urgent meeting had been convened in the Justiciar’s chambers. Hubert Walter presided, sitting grave-faced at his table, with William Marshal on his right hand. Nathaniel de Levelondes, the Keeper of the Palace, Martin Stanford, the Deputy Marshal, William fitz Hamon, one of the Barons of the Exchequer, John de Wolfe and Renaud de Seigneur were sitting or standing around the table. At the back of the room, between two palace guards and looking very apprehensive, were Hawise’s maid, a stable-boy and two of the esquires from the Marshalsea.
The pressing nature of this most high-level congress was not because an under-marshal had run off with a young woman, even though she was the wife of a minor noble from Blois. It was because of what John de Wolfe had postulated back in his chamber — the coincidence that the two under-marshals who had escorted the treasure chest back from Winchester, were the same ones who had cut and run, without any apparent funds.
All that was so far known about the emergency had already been given to Hubert Walter by the Deputy Marshal and by the coroner and now the Justiciar wanted to harden up the available evidence.
‘What do we know about this Ranulf that might be relevant?’ he demanded. Martin Stanford beckoned to the two esquires, who reluctantly came nearer.
‘These men knew him best, as they shared accommodation,’ he began. ‘For my part, I know that Ranulf of Abingdon was a most competent and reliable man when it came to his duties.’
‘Your tone suggests that there was another side to his character,’ snapped Hubert.
‘He was a young and energetic fellow,’ said Stanford. ‘He was fond of women, as many of us were at his age. But he was also keen to the point of obsession on gambling, both at dice, cards and in the wider sense, as well as chancing his luck at tournaments, where he was a skilful fighter.’
He prodded one of the squires, a young man of about twenty, who looked frightened to death in this august company.
‘Elias, you knew him best, for you sometimes acted as his squire in the tournaments and melees. What can you tell us?’
‘He was certainly devoted to jousting, sir, mainly because of the prize money and the forfeits of horse and armour of those he defeated.’
‘Has he said anything of suddenly leaving the king’s employ?’
Elias shook his blond head. ‘No, but he often boasted that one day he would take himself abroad and make his fortune going around the tournaments in Germany and Flanders. He said that the restrictions in England made it hardly worth the trouble of entering for the jousts.’
John knew it was true that, though King Richard had relaxed the rules, his father Henry had been against knights killing themselves for money, so many went across the Channel for their sport.
‘What about this lady?’ demanded William Marshal. He almost said ‘this bloody woman’, but realised that her husband was present. ‘Did he say anything about her?’
Elias reddened. ‘I was not with him on the progress to Gloucester and back, my lord. But since he has been back, he spoke of little else other than a new paramour, though he would not name her.’
‘But you must have known who it was!’ barked the Keeper.
‘Indeed, it was obvious that it was the Lady Hawise,’ admitted the squire.