The Keeper came back into the dialogue. 'So you tally up the bales of wool and report the number to the portreeve, is that how it works?'
'Yes. Elias is the linchpin of the system, being the only one who can write; other than the priests.'
Luke noticed his use of the plural. 'Priests? Is there more than one, then?'
The Customs man stared at him. 'Only old Henry of Cumba actually lives here — but the cellarer's man from the priory is here every week, keeping a very close eye on what's due to Loders.' The priory was just beyond Bridport, some ten miles over the border in Dorset.
'And what is due to them?' demanded de Casewold. John Capie looked at him as if he was a backward child. 'What's due? Jesus, they own the bloody manor, don't they! They claim a fifth of everything that is collected for the king, to go into the coffers of the prior.'
'Are you saying that they rob the royal Exchequer of a fifth of the king's dues?' squawked the Keeper indignantly.
Again Capie gave him a look that he usually reserved for the village idiot. 'Of course not! The king's tax is used as a measure — and then a fifth of that is added on for Loders.'
Hugh Bogge muttered something under his breath, which his master failed to catch. It was just as well, as it was a seditious comment about government and ecclesiastical extortion.
'So how is this money collected?' Luke wished to know.
The tally-man shrugged again. 'Don't know; nothing to do with me! I think Elias sends a list up to the sheriff, who collects it as part of the county farm from all the merchants who import and export.'
The 'farm' was the six-monthly accumulation of taxes from every part of Devon, which the sheriff had to take to Winchester in person, in bags of coin in the panniers of packhorses. Here it was paid into the Exchequer, which got its name from the chequered cloth on the treasury clerks' table that was used to facilitate counting the silver pennies that were the only form of currency. The size of the farm was set annually by the Curia Regis for each county — and if the sheriff could collect more than that, he was entitled to keep the difference, which made the post of sheriff so much sought after by barons and even bishops. Some even held multiple shrievalties in several counties at once. However, after the depredations of his predecessor, Richard de Revelle, old Henry de Furnellis was hard pressed to collect the minimum required.
'So it's all down to Elias Palmer as to how much he enters in his accounts,' said the Keeper, cynicism oozing from his voice. 'You can't read, so you've no idea what he's writing down in his accounts.'
'Not my problem, sir! I'm paid a pittance to record as much as I can manage — what happens after that is none of my business, and I don't want it to be.'
De Casewold changed the subject somewhat, waving a hand at the locked doors behind the tally-man. 'So what exactly is kept in these sheds?' he demanded.
Capie moved away from the doors and looked at the barn-like structures as if he had never noticed them before. 'In here? Why, the goods that have either been unloaded and not yet been delivered to the owners — or the stuff that is waiting for the cog that is to carry them abroad.'
Luke de Casewold looked dubious at the explanation. 'A complicated task, sorting all that. Who is responsible for it?'
'The portreeve, of course. No one else can check the goods against the manifest lists, for only he can read them. Tally-sticks and knotted cords are no good for identifying a pile of kegs or bales.'
The Keeper felt that Elias Palmer was in a position to make or break the administration of Axmouth, as he seemed in a position to control every aspect of the trade there.
'I want to have a look in there, so open them up for me!' he snapped.
Capie shook his head obstinately. 'Can't be done, Keeper. I don't have a key. Only the portreeve and the bailiff can unlock them.'
Luke puffed out his cheeks and blew in annoyance, feeling that he was being deliberately frustrated in his search for the truth.
'Then I'll go up and get them to show me what's in there,' he promised, but turned the subject once again. 'Now then, Capie, I want an honest answer and be sure that if I find you are lying, you'll end up in chains before the courts. Do you know anything about goods coming in here as the spoils of piracy out at sea?' He glared at the tally-man and rattled his sword in its scabbard to emphasise his threat.
John Capie stared sullenly into the middle distance and shuffled his dirty shoes on the ground. 'I know nothing of such things!' he protested. 'How could I know? I just count items of cargo as they get carried off the cogs. Where they came from is not within my knowledge. '
His words and demeanour were totally unconvincing, and de Casewold leant towards the man and breathed his foul breath into his face as he spoke. 'Come, Capie, you are the man most involved with these ships and their crews! If anyone heard any gossip about certain vessels pillaging others, it would be you!'
The tally-man suddenly backed away, holding up his palms as if warding off the devil himself. 'I know nothing of such matters, Keeper! Don't ask me. I don't want to get involved in any gossip. I'm a simple man who does a job and just wants to live quietly with my family!'
'You sound afraid, John Capie!' exclaimed Luke. 'Has someone been threatening you if you speak out?'
The tally-man stumbled back even further. 'I don't know what goes on out at sea — and I don't want to know! Go and ask someone else, if you must, but leave me out of it, d'you hear!' The last words had risen into a screech as Capie turned and lurched back to his cottage without so much as a backward glance.
'There's a man with something to hide,' observed Hugh Bogge as they watched him hurry into his cottage and quickly shut the door, which screeched as the wood scraped the uneven threshold.
'I'll have him eventually,' crowed de Casewold vindictively. 'But I want to see what's in these storehouses, so we'll tackle the bailiff and Elias next.'
Entering the harbour gate, they passed the church, where a bell was tolling mournfully for some service, a trickle of villagers gravitating to it through the churchyard. Further up the main street they entered the garden of the bailiff's house and through a wideopen shutter saw him and the portreeve bent over a table. The Keeper went to it and called through the window-opening.
'Edward Northcote! I need to talk to you — and to your portreeve.'
The two men inside swung around and groaned when they saw who it was. 'What in God's name do you want, Casewold?' bellowed the bailiff.
'To ask you some questions — and to inspect those warehouses on the wharf.'
'Go to hell, you interfering busybody!' roared Northcote, coming across to the window-opening and thrusting his large, flushed face right into that of the Keeper. 'It's Easter and we have better things to do than waste time with you.'
Behind him, the portreeve nodded nervous agreement but said nothing.
'Have a care, Northcote. I am a king's officer!' threatened Luke. 'I can have you attached to the next county court — or have you dragged off to Axminster gaol.'
'Indeed! And who is going to do that?' sneered the bailiff, his anger rapidly coming to the boil. 'Is that fat clerk of yours going to haul me off by the scruff of the neck? Or are you' going to prod me with your little sword all the way to Axminster?'
'Perhaps not — but a sheriff's posse might!' retorted the indignant Keeper.
'Don't talk such bloody nonsense, man!' was the scathing reply. 'You are a damned nuisance, but what is it you want to ask?'
Slightly mollified by Northcote's grudging agreement, Luke leant his hands on the sill of the window. 'Several matters, bailiff. Do you know when The Tiger is due to return?'