John went inside and found an elderly clerk writing at a table and a younger man, also with a tonsure, shuffling parchments at another. The latter jumped to his feet and ushered de Wolfe through an archway into an inner room.
‘Sir, the coroner is here.’
The Keeper of the Palace was seated behind a desk, reading a parchment roll which he was unfurling with both hands. It looked as if he was one of the relatively few people not in holy orders who could read and write and John felt a pang of envy, as he had been trying to learn for almost two years, with indifferent success.
De Levelondes was an elderly man who seemed to lean forward with his head outstretched and de Wolfe noticed that his hands trembled as laid down the parchment. He had a thin, careworn face, deep grooves running down each side of his mouth. His hair was as grey as his long tunic, over which he carried a large ring of keys on a thin chain around his neck. John knew that he was not a knight or a baron, but came from an affluent Kentish family which held the post of Keeper as a hereditary gift from old King Henry. In the hierarchy of the Norman court, de Wolfe was his superior and he gave a brief nod of the head as a deferential greeting.
‘I am sorry to trouble you, Sir John, but I thought I had better deliver a message to you myself, rather than depend on perhaps the garbled efforts of yet another messenger.’
His voice was slightly tremulous as he rested his quivering hands on the edge of the table for support. This was not due to anxiety, but appeared to John to be some disorder of the nerves. De Wolfe muttered a greeting in reply and waited for enlightenment.
‘A lay brother from the chapel of Baynard’s Castle in the city came on a donkey a short while ago, sent by the priest there to tell us that a body had been recovered from the nearby foreshore. He was apparently someone in holy orders, and had the royal device displayed upon his robe.’
John’s black eyebrows rose on his forehead.
‘Someone from here? Then surely it is likely to be that of the man who was stabbed on the landing stage yesterday. You heard about that?’
The Keeper nodded. ‘Hugo de Molis informed me as soon as he had confirmed that Brother Basil had not returned. I understand that this probably falls within your remit as Coroner of the Verge?’
De Wolfe nodded. ‘It most certainly does! My officer saw it happen and we only just missed catching the bastard who was responsible.’
Nathaniel de Levelondes sank back on his stool as if unsteady on his feet. ‘The corpse is being held inside Baynard’s Castle until someone confirms it is indeed Basil of Reigate.’
John rubbed the black stubble on his face. ‘I must go there at once — but I don’t know this fellow from Adam!’
‘No doubt Hugo de Molis can send someone with you who knew him. He will also be able to direct you to the castle.’
Glad at last to have a proper case to deal with, the coroner was eager to be off and managed to find his way down to the purveyor’s chamber. Here de Molis dispatched one of the young clerks to accompany John and after gathering Gwyn and Thomas from their upstairs chamber, they collected their horses from the livery stables and set off, the clerk on a pony commandeered from another of the under-marshals who organised all transport for the palace. The coroner’s trio had ridden up from Exeter five weeks earlier and John had his old destrier Odin, while Gwyn kept to his big brown mare and Thomas rode a docile palfrey.
The clerk, a cheerful young man named Edwin, was happy to have a few hours away from his tedious duties in the stores and regaled them on the way with accounts of the places they passed during the two-mile journey. They walked their steeds across the Palace Yard between the Great Hall and the wall of the abbey to reach the gateway into King Street, commonly known as ‘The Royal Way’. The wide track led northward, crossing the Clowson Brook, with houses on either side.
‘That lane goes down to Enedenhithe, a wharf on the river,’ said Edwin, with a cheerful wave of his hand. He pointed to a short side street lined with larger stone houses, which lay on their right. ‘Many of the senior court officers live there — and some of the king’s ministers!’ he added with almost proprietorial satisfaction.
Beyond this, the houses petered out and there were meadows, those toward the riverbank being called ‘Scotland’ by the clerk for some obscure reason. At the small village of Charing, the road turned to follow the curve of the river, where the Hospital of St Mary’s Rounceval was placed on the bend.
From there up to the Preceptory of the Templars, with their new round church, the track followed the raised strand above the edge of the river, the clerk enthusing about some large houses, gardens and orchards that were scattered along both sides. By now the city was looming in front of them behind its great wall, as the road dipped down into the valley of the Fleet. The city was already overflowing beyond its walls, set out by the Romans in a great irregular half-circle. Each end abutted on the riverbank, the further one finishing at William the Bastard’s great tower that still loomed threateningly, reminding the citizens of its royal power.
John and his two henchmen had been to London before, but the sheer size of the place never ceased to impress them. The great bulk of St Paul’s stuck up brazenly, shepherded by dozens of church spires and towers across the city.
‘That’s Baynard’s Castle there!’ pointed Edwin, as they crossed the wooden bridge over the murky Fleet river to pass through Ludgate, the westernmost of the eight entrances to the city. His arm flung out towards a low fortress tucked inside the end of the city wall where it met the Thames, just beyond some busy wharves at the mouth of the Fleet.
The road was crammed with people, carts, barrows and animals coming and going through the gate. Inside, they climbed part of the slope of Ludgate Hill, then turned right to squeeze along a narrow, noisy, stinking street to the gateway of the castle. Here the two sentries recognised a knight of some substance by the size of his destrier, his sword and his forbidding appearance, together with the three men who formed his entourage. They saluted him and waved him into the large bailey that occupied much of the space within the walls. In the centre were several stone buildings forming a palace and a keep, with other half-timbered and wooden structures built against the inner walls. There were two turrets at each end of the castellated ramparts right on the river’s edge, but John’s eyes sought out a guardhouse just within the main entrance. With a nod of his head he sent Gwyn towards it and the Cornishman slid from his saddle and went to seek directions.
‘The corpse is lying next to the chapel,’ he announced when he returned. The rest of them dismounted and a pair of young grooms came running to take charge of their horses. The chapel was a small stone structure next to the keep and when they approached, they saw a group of figures standing outside a lean-to shed attached to its wall. From many similar encounters, de Wolfe knew that this was likely to be a primitive mortuary.
One of the three men outside was obviously a priest and John sent Thomas ahead to greet him, as he knew that this was often a useful tactic.
When de Wolfe reached the chapel, his clerk introduced the priest and explained that the other two men were sheriff’s constables from the city. They were heavily built and had the appearance of watchmen or soldiers, though they wore leather jerkins and breeches, rather than uniforms. John thought them surly fellows and after muttered greetings they all turned to the open end of the shed, which seemed to be mainly a repository for a handcart.