De Helion swung back to the coroner. 'A short voyage. You should be able to speak to her master very soon.' He spoke again over his shoulder to Stephen. 'Remind me who he is, will you?'
'Martin Rof, sir. He used to sail mostly out of Dartmouth until last year.'
The ship owner nodded. 'That's why I don't recall him that well. I have cogs that use the Dart as well as the Axe and Exe. But I have little to do with the crews or their ships; that is the task of my agent Crik and others, like Elias Palmer in the case of Axmouth, ' he added dismissively.
De Wolfe rubbed his bristly chin. 'Ah yes! Elias Palmer — and the bailiff Edward Northcote. I have heard rumours of irregular dealings down at Axmouth, which may not be unconnected with this killing.'
He stretched the truth for the sake of his investigation. 'Have you any reason to suspect that anyone in your employ down there might be involved in illegal or even criminal pursuits?'
De Helion stared at this gaunt, dark figure who had descended upon him without warning. 'I've no notion as to what you might mean, coroner,' he protested. 'What kind of crimes?'
'To put it bluntly, evasion of royal taxes on certain goods — and possibly the passing of pirated goods.'
Instead of looking shocked, Robert de Helion gave a wry smile. 'Evasion of royal taxes? That's a polite way of saying 'smuggling', I think. Sir John, many people consider these Customs dues an added imposition on an already overburdened population and if they can 'evade' them, then good luck to them. I don't involve myself in any such schemes, but I fully understand those who will accidentally forget to show the tally-man every bale or keg.'
The coroner grunted: this was a sentiment that seemed to fall from everyone's lips. 'And piracy? Have you heard rumours of that? Our new Keeper of the Peace in that area seems convinced that the cargoes of some vanished ships end up deep inland — and that some get there through Axmouth.'
The expression on the ship owner's face hardened. 'That I cannot believe, but again I have no personal knowledge of these matters. Being a merchant and financier with fingers in many bowls, I do not involve myself in the daily running of my various enterprises. I pay agents and clerks to handle that, so how would I know what some of my shipmasters get up to when they are a dozen leagues from land?'
This was a neat disclaimer, but de Wolfe could find no reason to disbelieve what the other knight said.
'You mentioned the portreeve, Elias Palmer,' he persisted. 'Along with the bailiff, Edward Northcote, they seem to have the port of Axmouth very much under their thumbs. Have you any reason to think that they might be involved in some underhand business?'
Again Robert de Helion gave a sardonic smile. 'Axmouth is very much under a thumb — but it is the holy thumb of the Prior of Loders! We all know that the Church is as concerned with its worldly possessions as with its heavenly duties — did I not hear recently that now about one third of England belongs to them, rather than to the barons or even the king?'
He stopped to swallow some wine. 'And of the priests and monks who are keen on their estates and their incomes, the Prior of Loders is amongst the keenest. He keeps his bailiff on a very short rein, and I warrant that he would know straight away if as little as one clipped penny went astray in the accounts kept by old Elias.'
For a man who claimed to be aloof from the daily running of his business, Robert seemed very well informed about the finances of Axmouth. Further questions produced nothing useful, and John sensed that the merchant was becoming impatient to return to his clerk's ministrations. Soon, he rose to leave and de Helion promised to send him word as soon as he knew that his ship The Tiger had returned to Axmouth.
As he strode back to Rougemont, John pondered over what he had learnt, which in truth was very little. He was not sure what to make of Robert — the man was rich and probably powerful in certain circles, though he seemed to have no political ambitions. No doubt the guilds had considerable respect for him, as he offered employment to many of their members, but he seemed to keep a very low profile amongst the county aristocracy. He had told John that he and his wife and family spent most of their time at his manor near Cullompton. His Exeter house seemed to be used mainly for conducting his business, though he had said that he also travelled regularly to Southampton, Plymouth and Dartmouth. The coroner had no grounds for thinking that any of de Helion's obvious wealth came from illegal sources, as a dozen ships, a fulling mill and God knows what other business enterprises would surely bring him in more than enough to maintain his lifestyle.
Disgruntled, he returned to his chamber, conscious that at every turn his efforts to discover who killed Simon Makerel seemed to run into the sand. Whether or not the irritating Luke de Casewold was right in trying to link it to the death of the pedlar was another matter. He decided that another visit to Axmouth was called for soon, whether the missing cog had returned or not.
The solemn days of Easter brought virtually all activity to a stop, as Good Friday was devoted to churchgoing. Matilda had attended an all-night vigil at St Olave's, and next morning John had no option but to accompany her to the cathedral for a special High Mass. After dinner at noon, the exhausted Matilda collapsed into her bed and proclaimed her intention of staying there until late evening, when she would again make her way to her favourite little church in Fore Street. The taverns were closed, but once his wife was sound asleep he whistled to his hound and made his way down to Idle Lane. For once in the year, the inn was strangely silent, the servants having gone home for the day. The front entrance was closed, but he went around to the yard and put his head around the back door, calling out for Nesta. An answering voice came from the loft and, leaving Brutus to nose in the rushes for mice, John climbed the wide ladder and found his mistress waiting for him at the door to her small cubicle, her fists planted on each side of her slim waist.
'I do believe it's the coroner, if my memory serves me right!' she said, though the sarcasm was tempered by the smile on her face.
For answer, he seized her and kissed her almost wildly, and in a trice they were back in her room, collapsing on to the feather mattress that lay on a low plinth on the floor. This time there was no sign of any small devil perching on John's shoulder as they fumbled at each other's clothing and soon — but not too soon — they lay panting and satiated under the sheepskins that served as blankets.
'Now I see why they call it 'good' Friday,' he murmured irreverently as their pulses gradually slowed down.
Nesta pinched his thigh as she cuddled closely against him. 'don’t be blasphemous, John,' she said in semi-serious concern. 'You'll go to hell for saying things like that.'
'I want to be with all my old friends, for I'm damned sure they'll not be in heaven,' he growled into her ear. 'And at least I'll get away from my wife, for with all the praying and bobbing up and down that she does, she must have assured herself a place alongside St Peter.'
He said this partly to tease Nesta, for he knew she was a devout woman with a strong belief in the faith, even if she was not a fanatical churchgoer. In the villages, attendance at Mass was virtually obligatory, with a parish priest ready to chase up and castigate those who fell by the wayside — but in a city like Exeter, full of churches with no strict parish system, it was virtually impossible to keep track of backsliders.
'But surely you must be a believer and not a heretic, John?' she demanded, rising up on one elbow, deliciously exposing her bosom.
De Wolfe, becoming somewhat philosophical in the afterglow of lovemaking, considered this for a moment. Everyone was brought up from infancy to revere the faith, attend church and never to question the dictats of the priests, who were powerful figures with all the weapons of eternal damnation at their disposal. Apart from a few madmen, no one disputed the teachings of the Church, which pervaded everyone's lives. John accepted that he was no exception; he had never once even thought of denying the creed or wondering what proof there was of God, the devil and all the saints and angels. Yet he was supremely uninterested in the whole business, being at the opposite pole from Matilda, who lived and breathed her religious faith. If there was one area that he occasionally wondered about, it was the ritual of the Church, rather than the underlying concept of God and all His works. If Christ was a lowly carpenter, preaching poverty and humility, why did bishops and archbishops and the Pope need to further His mission by wearing outrageously ornate garments and parade around swinging incense? Even when these faintly sacrilegious thoughts came to him, he afforded them no importance. He was in general an unimaginative man, preferring the concrete evidence of his own eyes and ears. To him, life consisted of eating, sleeping, fighting, doing his duty to his king — and bedding a woman when the opportunity presented.