He was a pleasant, rather jovial man, middle-aged and running to fat. His red nose and pink cheeks suggested a partiality to wine and ale, which was confirmed by his generosity when the jugs and flasks circulated to his guests. His wife, a buxom, motherly woman, appeared briefly to greet them with her husband, then retired to her solar, leaving the men to their meal and ample drink, even though it was early afternoon.
‘Two ships are prepared for us, but the tide will only be suitable early tomorrow morning as we cannot embark tonight in the dark,’ de Grenville announced, as they all sat around the long table waiting to be served.
‘Will there be enough room aboard for the whole company?’ asked Ralph Morin. ‘We have forty men and you have your own troop.’
De Grenville stood at the head of the table and waved a pewter tankard reassuringly. ‘We will be six knights including myself, and half a score men from the castle guard. The vessels will easily carry us – we have no horses or equipment other than what we carry ourselves. The crews are local men, who know these treacherous waters and also Lundy – as well as anyone can, for Marisco never allows any but his own men to land there.’
They settled down to eat, but discussion concerning the expedition punctuated their meal. ‘What do you know about piracy in these waters, de Grenville?’ asked de Revelle. ‘We have a death and a lost crew to investigate from Ilfracombe, as you must know.’
‘There are so many possible culprits,’ replied the lord of Bideford, taking a capon’s leg from his lips to reply. ‘As much as I would like to think Lundy was responsible, so many other possibilities exist. There is a nest of pirates in the Scillies, and though the Bretons from St Malo operate mainly south of Cornwall, they sometimes find rich pickings from the Bristol trade up here. Then the Welsh come across from Swansea, Flat Holm and Porthclais near Menevia, and the Irish from Wexford and Waterford.’
‘I have heard that some marauders come from as far away as Spain,’ growled Morin, his grey forked beard wagging as he spoke.
‘And further yet! Moorish galleys from the Barbary coast have been seen off Hartland, and it is said that some even come from Turkey.’
De Wolfe fixed his host with a suspicious eye. ‘Yet I am told that we need not look that far away for many of our pirates. Our own coast may harbour them, from Cornwall to Somerset.’
De Grenville shrugged. ‘I’m sure that may be right. Who is to tell what any vessel and its crew does once it leaves its own port? Weapons can be concealed in the hold and a few extra crew to outnumber the victim. The home village is not going to advertise the fact, if their men bring home a free cargo in these hard times. As long as they leave no shipmen alive to tell the tale, how can they ever be accused?’
‘You know of nothing like that in this river?’ persisted the coroner, though he knew that de Grenville would hardly admit to it.
Even this direct question failed to blunt de Grenville’s good humour. ‘I know you heard some tale about Appledore, when you came recently. But of all the places who are likely to be involved, that poor vill is the least likely. They have no safe anchorage and no vessel bigger than a miserable fishing boat. I cannot speak for Barnstaple, but no pirates sail from Bideford or I would know of it – and they have no need as commerce here is good enough. You should look to smaller havens, more remote and with a need to prey on others.’
The talk drifted on to other matters, and as soon as he could decently quit the table, de Wolfe quietly made his way outside. He checked quickly that Odin was well watered and fed and that Gwyn was happily eating and drinking his fill outside the kitchen with the other men. Then he left the castle gate, with an awkward salute from the somewhat overawed guard, and walked along the track by the riverbank into the small town.
The market was almost immediately outside the castle, and though it was late in the day for trade, many stalls and booths were still open. As he passed by to reach the bridge, a miracle play was being performed on a curtained stage, and a small crowd had gathered in front of the platform to watch. Most were women and children, but there was a sprinkling of men. De Wolfe recognised Thomas amongst them, his small hunched body next to a larger, muffled figure, who must have been de Blanchefort, though no part of his features was visible beneath his cloak collar and big hat. De Wolfe moved around until he was plainly in view of his clerk and waited until Thomas noticed him.
When he did, de Wolfe beckoned and, sensibly leaving the former Templar to continue watching the drama, Thomas came casually across to his master.
‘I thought we were to meet at the bridge?’ growled the coroner.
‘I was there at noon, but there was no sign of you, so eventually we came nearer.’
‘The journey was slower than I expected. We had that damned priest to hold us up. Have you had any problems?’
‘Only that de Blanchefort keeps wanting to declare his awful secret to the world at large. I dissuaded him by pointing out that Bideford is such a remote town that it must be the least effective place on earth to reveal some great truth,’ he added drily, crossing himself as a precaution against contamination from the man’s heresy. ‘Otherwise nothing. We have found a lodging out of the town, with an ale-wife in a village a mile or so away. No risk of being recognised there.’
‘Have you tried to find a passage out for Bernardus?’
Thomas looked abashed. ‘I spent the morning doing that, Crowner, but there is no vessel leaving, except to go to other harbours along this coast. The only two bigger vessels have been commandeered by Lord Richard for your expedition tomorrow.’
De Wolfe considered this, but no other plan came to mind. ‘Keep trying, then. Our Templar says he has plenty of silver to buy a passage, so that should be no problem. All we need is a ship going to Wales or Ireland.’ He arranged with his clerk that he should be at the bridge at two hours after dawn on Thursday, and if there was no sign of the expedition returning by then, at a similar time each day until they met. With a covert wave at Bernardus, he returned to the castle and brought Gwyn up to date with events.
He spent a couple of hours with Ralph Morin and Gabriel, checking the readiness of the soldiers for the morning. Everyone had taken off their mailed hauberks, which were hanging up on wooden poles thrust through the sleeves from side to side. The men were rubbing the steel links with handfuls of hay daubed with beef fat, to preserve them against rust, especially as they would be exposed to salt spray on the morrow. De Grenville was also out in the bailey, marshalling his armed men and knights. They had a motley collection of armour and weapons, but looked tough enough for the task ahead.
That evening, the hospitable lord of Bideford put on a good meal, which though hardly a banquet was a liberal entertainment, especially in the quantity of drink provided. A pair of minstrels at the bottom of the hall and two jugglers diverted the guests between courses. De Grenville’s lady and their two eldest daughters attended for the meal, then tactfully retired before the serious drinking began. As well as the sheriff, coroner, constable, Templars and abbot from Exeter, there were the Bideford knights, chaplain, steward, treasurer and several others from the borough seated along the long table, with de Grenville at its head.
John de Wolfe found himself placed next to Cosimo, sharing with him a trencher, which was kept liberally loaded with food by attentive servants. Though the coroner had grave suspicions of the Italian, he had little option but to be civil to him out of deference to their host, though he would have preferred his room to the Italian’s company. However, he was unable to be anything but blunt with the priest when conversation was inevitable. ‘In spite of the confidential nature of your business in England, which you so firmly put to us, I feel little doubt that those two errant Templars were your prime concern,’ he said.