Gilbert’s manner changed at once and he looked warily at John. ‘Who was that? Not a Templar?’
De Wolfe shook his head slowly. ‘A priest by all accounts. Thought to be an abbot from Paris, who called briefly upon the bishop then went on his way.’
The other’s face paled. Whatever it was he feared was no fantasy but a grim reality, thought the coroner. ‘You must know something more about him, surely? What did he look like?’
De Wolfe took a long, slow swallow from his wine cup. ‘I had third-hand information only – cathedral gossip, really. All I was told was that he was short and had a peculiar nose.’ He set down his cup carefully on the flat arm of the monk’s chair. ‘And my clerk said that he was a papal nuncio, whatever that might mean.’
De Ridefort jumped up as if jabbed with a dagger, his foot knocking over a long fire-iron with a clatter. His lean face was ashen and his fingers were clenched. De Wolfe, who had seen him fight fearlessly in the heat of battle in Palestine, now saw him in near terror at the mention of a passing visitor to Exeter. ‘They’ve traced me to this city – there can be no doubt,’ he whispered.
Matilda looked in concern at her new idol, sensing his distress. ‘Who is this priest that he worries you so much, sir?’
De Ridefort paced across the front of the hearth and back, then flopped down on to his stool. ‘Worry is a gross understatement, dear lady,’ he said, struggling to get a grip on his emotions. ‘I do not know his name, but there was an abbot from Fleury who sometimes came to the Commandery to speak to our Master. He was small and had a singular nose. But whoever he is, the fact that he is now styled a papal nuncio can surely mean only that he is on my track.’
‘What’s a nuncio?’ demanded Matilda.
‘According to Thomas, who knows everything connected with the Church, it is a messenger from Rome,’ supplied de Wolfe.
‘And this singular nose?’ persisted his wife, looking at de Ridefort.
‘If it’s the same priest that I recall, he had a nose completely without a bridge. It came down straight from his forehead, with no trace of the usual dip between the eyes.’
‘A truly Roman nose, in fact!’ commented John.
‘This is no time for your stupid puns, John,’ snapped Matilda. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Her husband felt it time to bring them all down to the earth of common sense. ‘Wait, for Christ’s sake! We have no reason to think that this man has anything at all to do with Sir Gilbert. He jogged into the city with two guards, paid a duty call on the bishop then jogged out again. Why should we think he has any interest in Sir Gilbert, whom no one knows is in the city, except us?’
Some of de Ridefort’s colour had come back into his face, but he was still uneasy. ‘Thank you for trying to comfort me, John, but the coincidence is too great. An envoy from the Holy Father arrives in one of the most remote cities in Europe a few days after a renegade Templar. Why else would he be here, if not to seek me out?’
They argued the matter for some minutes, de Ridefort being adamant that the search for him was getting closer. ‘I must leave Exeter and hide somewhere more obscure until Bernardus arrives,’ he exclaimed in agitation. ‘Can you suggest some remote village outside the city?’
‘What about a monastery or an abbey? There are plenty of those about the county who would be glad to offer you hospitality,’ offered Matilda, desperate to play the part of a maiden of salvation to her hero.
But de Ridefort rejected this suggestion vehemently. ‘Religious houses will be the first place they will search. They can depend upon priests, of whatever Order, to hasten to obey the command of Rome to report all travellers and strangers answering my description.’ He had a sudden thought. ‘I’ll wager that was the message this abbot is distributing about the country – he would have taken it to Bishop Marshal to pass on throughout his diocese.’
‘I can soon find out from the archdeacon if that is so,’ said de Wolfe. Then he smote his forehead in realisation that he would be absent for several days, in which he had so far avoided telling his wife. ‘I have to leave for Ilfracombe at dawn tomorrow, so there is nothing further I can do until my return.’
He caught a poisonous glare from Matilda, and knew that she would give him a piece of her mind as soon as their guest had left.
‘I should stay at the inn and not venture out, except at night, if you have to. I still think that no one can be looking for you in the city – who would know what you look like? Especially now that you have no beard or moustache. I failed to recognise you myself.’
‘When will you be back?’ asked de Ridefort. ‘I need to move to somewhere utterly remote.’
‘I shall spend two nights away and be back at curfew on the third day. Then I will arrange somewhere for you. It’s the best I can do.’
And with that, the errant Templar had to be satisfied.
In spite of the absence of Thomas, who was always a brake on their progress, the journey to Ilfracombe took a day and a half, partly due to heavy rain, which made the track a quagmire during the first afternoon. The coroner and his officer, followed by Sergeant Gabriel and four soldiers, rode as far as Umberleigh on the first day and spent the night in a barn. In the morning they rode on, straight through Barnstaple, reaching Ilfracombe by noon.
Here John found little that was new since his last visit, except that the wrecked ship had broken up completely, a few scattered planks in the rocky coves being all that was left. The sole survivor, Alain the Breton, had improved in health and had been brought into the little port from the shepherd’s hut on the cliffs. He was now being looked after by the family of a ship-master in the town, until a vessel called that could take him to either Bristol or St Malo, where he would be returned either to his employers or his family.
The coroner interrogated Alain again, but the youth had no further recollection of anything that might identify the pirates, except that there had been a dozen oarsmen on board.
Gabriel asked the reeve what had happened to the dead body.
‘We buried him behind the church – there are a dozen graves of seamen there, mostly without names, men who have been washed ashore over the years.’
Both the sergeant and the coroner questioned the reeve and a few others at the harbour about any tales of piracy in the area. Apart from some vague rumours that covered virtually every port and fishing hamlet from Minehead to Padstow, there was nothing concrete about their allegations, which seemed to arise mainly from personal animosity for the various villages.
There was little else to keep the coroner and his men in Ilfracombe, and after some food and ale in the reeve’s house, for which de Wolfe gave the man’s wife a couple of pence, the seven men set off for Appledore. The little port was on the opposite side of the river, where the Taw and the Torridge joined, and although as the crow flies it was only about twelve miles distant, they had to travel through both Barnstaple and Bideford to get there, almost doubling the journey.
It was twilight by the time they reached Barnstaple and again de Wolfe requested a night’s lodging at the small castle of de Tracey, though the lord himself was still absent, this time at a hunting lodge somewhere out in the countryside.
Next morning, they rode to Bideford to cross the only bridge over the Torridge and then the three miles to Appledore. Here they unenthusiastically surveyed the huts along the shoreline and the few more solid houses set back on the slope above.
‘Another poor-looking place, Crowner!’ grumbled Gwyn, looking about him at the shabby dwellings and the rickety fish-huts with their nets hanging alongside.
‘If they are pirates, they can’t be very good ones,’ added Gabriel cynically.