The ginger giant made a show of deep thought, pursing his lips under their hairy fringe and staring first at the vessel, then at the line of rocks at the top of the beach.
'Have to be quick — a few more rising tides and she'll be pounded to bits. But if this cargo can be taken out of her, then she'll float upright and could be towed upriver on a flood tide.'
'Why take her up the Avon?' asked the coroner.
'Because then she could be beached somewhere safe a mile or two inland, until she could be remasted and sailed back to Dawlish,' reasoned his officer. 'Or a rough mast could be jury-rigged, enough to get her to Salcombe or even Dartmouth for repairs.'
De Wolfe stood immobile for a long moment, as the glimmerings of a plan came into his mind. The bailiff thought that he now looked more like a black cormorant than a crow, as with his hands on his hips the drape of his dark cloak resembled the outstretched wings of one of those seabirds drying itself on a rock.
'I'm seizing this vessel and her cargo in the name of the King,' announced de Wolfe formally. 'It is part of my duties as coroner to confiscate wrecks of the sea, as well as royal fish — the whale and sturgeon — to the use of our sovereign.' He cleared his throat. 'At least until I hold an inquest … it may be that I will decide to restore the property to the rightful owners.'
'The owner's dead!' objected Thomas, with unusual boldness.
'Then to his heirs!' snapped John. 'And the cargo was not his property, he was just the carrier. I need to discover the true owners.'
He glared at Thomas. 'No doubt you've got writing materials in that bag you always carry,' he grunted, indicating a shapeless pouch that hung from his clerk's shoulder. 'So make a tally of everyone of these casks and boxes. I want them all accounted for when they're carted back.'
'Back to where, Crowner?' asked the bailiff.
'I don't know yet. Enquiries will have to be made among various importers. Thorgils usually dealt with merchants in Exeter or Topsham.'
He turned to Gwyn once again. 'You said this vessel will have to be towed. How can that be brought about?'
'Once she's afloat, given calmer weather like we have today, then a couple of pulling boats can drag her out towards the middle of the estaury. The incoming tide will take her up without effort, as long as the towing boats keep her bow to the middle of the stream.'
De Wolfe spent the next ten minutes giving orders to William Vado and his reeve, using his authority as the King's law officer to impress on them that there would be trouble if his wishes were not carried out. The cargo, which thankfully was only about half a full load, was to be carted back to the tithe barn at Ringmore, and the coroner promised dire consequences if any of it went missing. He was only too well aware of how goods and even the fittings and timbers of a stranded ship could vanish overnight. In fact, one of the purposes of the coroner was to try to stop the depredations of the locals on what was royal booty.
'And what about moving the vessel?' he demanded. 'Can two boats be found, together with some men who have a knowledge of these matters?'
William consulted the old man with the smelly hide cloak, who apparently was a beach scavenger who lived in a hut near the mouth of the river. After a muttered discussion, in accents so thick that John missed half the words, the bailiff turned back, somewhat abashed.
'He says it could be done, but the men would wish for payment, as they would lose their fishing for that day.'
John nodded curtly. 'We'll no doubt be able to find them a few pence for their trouble. They only need to beach the craft in a safe place, then I will send a shipwright down to see what needs to be done.'
As they began walking back along the beach, Gwyn came close to his master and murmured in his ear.
'Why are you concerned with the vessel, Crowner? Thorgils is dead.'
John tapped the side of his curved nose. 'Firstly, I feel I should do what I can for the widow Hilda. That vessel is worth nothing to her smashed on the rocks.'
'I thought the coroner had to sell salvaged wrecks for the benefit of the King's treasury?' grunted his officer. He was well aware of the long history of John and Hilda and wondered what the coroner was planning.
'It's up to the coroner and his jury. As with deodands, there is a discretion to give some or all of the value to the widow or surviving relatives.' He was referring to the object that caused a death, such as a sword, a cart or even a mill-wheel. Normally this 'deodand' was confiscated for the Crown, but its value could be given to the dependants, especially if the dead victim was the breadwinner and his demise had caused hardship to the family. But Gwyn was still curious about the coroner's motives.
'D'you think Hilda would want to keep on Thorgils' seafaring business? She will be a comfortable widow anyway, with that fine house in Dawlish and no doubt quite a few pounds sitting in his treasure chest.'
John was quite ready to talk about his plans with his trusted companion of more than twenty years.
'It occurs to me that as Thorgils carried abroad almost all the goods from my enterprise with Hugh de Relaga, it might be more sensible for us to run the vessel ourselves. When she has overcome her grief, I will put it to Hilda that she could enter our partnership, as a passive member. We could have the use of the Mary and Child Jesus and she could share in the profits.'
As they trudged across the sands, Gwyn gave a broad smile that was almost a leer. 'You must like living dangerously, Crowner, to take as a partner such a lovely woman, when you have two other ladies in Exeter who are only too well aware of your partiality for her.'
'This would be purely a business arrangement, man!' he snapped. 'Where's the harm in that?'
'None, though I suppose you will need to go to Dawlish quite often to discuss that business,' replied Gwyn, with an innocent expression that did not fool his master.
Thomas, who had been limping behind listening to this exchange, piped up with a practical question. 'Beg pardon, Crowner, but you are no ship-master! How will you manage such a venture, which is so foreign to your nature as a soldier and a knight?'
'Pah! I'll leave that side of the matter to Hugh de Relaga. He can appoint one of his clerks to run the business or find some former shipman to advise him. If the portreeve thinks that he can make more profit, he'll find a way, never fear!'
As they were nearing the bottom of the gully, their conversation lapsed, but privately Gwyn was still worried. He feared that John's proposed intimacy with Hilda, even if allegedly only commercial, would be ill received by certain ladies in Exeter. He knew that de Wolfe's youthful romance with the blonde Saxon and his irregular adultery with her over the succeeding years, was more than just casual lust. The Cornishman cared nothing for any problems with the coroner's wife Matilda, with whom Gwyn shared a virulent mutual dislike — but he was concerned about anything that might cause another rift between the coroner and Nesta, the landlady of the Bush Inn.
His anxious ruminations were suddenly interrupted by shouting from behind them, coming from the direction of the river, where it fanned out across the sand in its last rush towards the sea. The old flotsam-raker stopped and stared in that direction. 'It's one of the beach fishers,' he said in a quavering voice. 'But there's a packhorse and some other men coming up behind him.'
The bailiff and his manor-reeve began walking towards the man who was hollering and waving his arms to attract their attention. A beach fisher was one of those shore-dwelling folk who scratched a living by catching crabs in the rocks and by pegging out baited lines at low tide, following the next ebb back to retrieve any fish that might have been hooked. The coroner's trio waited for the men to approach and saw that the last pair were leading a thin packhorse across the shallow delta of the river.