They reminisced about their childhood and adolescence in Holcombe, their families and their youthful escapades, Hilda coming near to blushes as they skirted the memories of amorous adventures in hay-barns and woods. These had gone on intermittently for years after John had taken up the sword, until his long absences had caused her to seek a husband in Thorgils — and even a few times after that. When alone with a pretty woman, the coroner was a different man from the stern, almost grim law officer that most people knew.
A dozen years seemed to drop away from him in her company. His back straightened, his features lightened and an almost roguish smile crept across his usually taciturn face. As with Nesta, and several other ladies who had now faded into his past, the presence of an attractive woman like Hilda seemed to act as a catalyst, softening his habitually severe manner.
After Alice had brought the refreshments, Hilda waved her away, needing no chaperone in the privacy of her own home, and John's personal devil had a fine time, dancing merrily on his shoulder as the pair leant towards each other, chatting and smiling. With an effort, de Wolfe kept his distance, though every fibre in his body yearned to seize her and smother her in kisses!
Hilda knew this only too well and had difficulty in keeping her own instincts in check, especially as after so many months her lonely bed had become increasingly hard to bear. But she knew of John's longstanding liaison with Nesta, and her innate sense of propriety made her suppress her longing — and dampen down any bursting of passion on his part.
His only chance to relieve his feelings came as they eventually parted, when a goodbye embrace somehow turned into a bear-like hug and a prolonged kiss that left her breathless.
As they left the solar, his arm around her waist, they saw Alice sitting on the lower step of the stairs, gazing up with an impish expression identical to that on the face of his shoulder-devil.
Two days later the coroner's team rode once again to Axmouth. The previous evening a carter had left a message at the castle gatehouse from Luke de Casewold, to the effect that the cog The Tiger had arrived that day. As she was likely to sail again very soon, the coroner should make all haste to get down to the harbour, where the Keeper would meet him by noon on Thursday. In fact, he was waiting for them at the crossroads outside the village when they trotted in from Colyford, with the clerk Hugh Bogge alongside his master.
The group walked their horses down to the upper gate ofAxmouth, Luke telling the coroner that Martin Rof had unloaded his vessel the previous day and was now taking on wool for Calais.
'I've already had words with him, but the bloody man will say almost nothing, except to tell me to mind my own business,' complained the Keeper. 'But I have threatened the bailiff here that unless he allows me a view of one of those storehouses, I will petition the sheriff for a troop of men-at-arms to come down and force it open.'
De Wolfe thought that the chances of Henry de Furnellis agreeing to that were remote, but Luke's next words surprised him.
'After that threat, Edward Northcote has agreed to let me see inside one of them, which he says contains goods belonging to Robert de Helion, the Exeter merchant. I'm going in there this afternoon, if you want to see for yourself.'
As they went down the main street towards the gate to the wharf, the village seemed almost deserted, though they received a few scowls and stares from people standing at their doorways to watch them go by. There was no sign of the bailiff or portreeve as they passed their houses, but when they came out on to the bank of the estuary there was much more activity. Four cogs were tied up along the wharf, the furthest being The Tiger, identified by an animal head crudely painted in yellow on each side of the prow. Men were carrying large bales across the gangplank, bringing them from an open warehouse on the other side of the road, beneath the slope of the hill behind.
'That's the shed I am going to inspect,' said de Casewold proudly, as if he had beaten the bailiff and portreeve into submission over the issue. He marched across the track to the large open doors, where the Customs tally-man, John Capie, was standing with notched sticks and knotted cords in his hands.
'I demand to see inside this building,' bleated Luke, as if he expected yet another angry refusal. The tallyman shrugged and waved a handul of cords towards the entrance. 'Help yourself — best hurry or it'll be empty, the rate these lads are loading the ship.'
Somewhat deflated, de Casewold strutted into the storehouse like a bantam cockerel, staring around him pugnaciously. On the left of the large shed there were a score of big bales of wool, trussed in cord, but most of the space had already been emptied. On the opposite side of the doorway a large bay held more bales, but to one side was a pile of kegs and bundles reaching to twice the height of a man. Hugh Bogge and Thomas, the only literate members, wandered over and read out some of the crude lettering burnt into some of the kegs with a hot iron.
'Wine from Anjou, Bordeaux and the Loire,' announced Thomas. 'And other barrels seem to have dried fruit.'
'What's in those other bales, the ones wrapped in hessian?' demanded the Keeper.
'They are full of finished cloth, good English wool coming back from the weavers in Flanders.'
The voice came from behind them and, turning, they saw that the bailiff, Edward Northcote, was standing there, with Elias Palmer and another man.
'And it all belongs to my master, Robert de Helion,' snapped the stranger, a thickset man of about forty, with a pale, puckered scar running from eyebrow to chin down his leathery face.
'Who might you be?' demanded John de Wolfe, glaring at the newcomer.
'I am Henry Crik, one of Sir Robert's agents. Why are you nosing into his property?'
The coroner took a long step towards Crik. 'Watch your tongue, agent! I am on the king's business and I need give you no excuses!'
Henry Crik flushed, and the scar looked whiter by contrast. 'This is private property and you have no right to look here.'
John moved even nearer and looked down into the agent's face, almost nose to nose. 'I will look up your arse if I so choose, Crik! Obstruct me and you'll find yourself answering my questions in the undercroft of Exeter Castle!'
The man seemed to get the message and stepped back, muttering under his breath. The coroner turned to the bailiff and pointed to the pile of merchandise. 'How do I know that all this is legitimate import — and has been tallied for Customs duty?'
Northcote shrugged and waved a hand at Elias Palmer. 'Ask the portreeve. He keeps all the records. And the tally-man — it's his job to check it all.' He bellowed for John Capie at the top of his voice, and the skinny official hurried in. 'When did this lot arrive?' demanded Northcote. 'Tell the coroner what you know about it.'
'It has been here a sennight, sir. Came in from Caen, off-loaded from the cog St Benedict. I checked it all and gave the tallies to the portreeve, as usual.'
Luke de Casewold bobbed around to Elias. 'Can you confirm that, portreeve?' he snapped.
Elias looked back at him calmly. 'No doubt I could, if I had my manifests with me. They are in my house, if you wish to check them.'
De Wolfe had the distinct feeling that if they were checked they would be in perfect order — and he further suspected that they had been allowed into this particular shed because the contents were quite legitimate. He further had the suspicion that Elias was crafty enough to be able to produce parchments to legitimise anything that became the subject of investigation.