'We cannot delay too long in getting the sheriff's posse down to Axmouth. Even though I suspect they will play the innocent and blame everything on Martin Rof and his crew, one of them will surely break and admit to something.'
'We'll get nothing from that Rof fellow unless we let Stigand loose on, him with a branding iron — or make him submit to the Ordeal,' boomed Gwyn.
Thomas crossed himself, as he scorned such a barbaric attitude. 'The Church is becoming more concerned about the correctness of the Ordeal,' he said primly. 'The Holy Father is likely to forbid it before long, on the grounds that it smacks of unchristian paganism and magic.'
His ginger friend hooted with scorn. 'Not that it's painful, cruel and humiliating, eh? Just that it's unchristian! '
John raised a hand to stop their frequent bickering. 'At least we have the seaman's confession that clears up the death of that poor lad Simon. Now, I can complete the inquest on him, and Martin Rof will hang for the crime in due course. But we have nothing more to point to how the Keeper or that pedlar came to their deaths.'
'It will all come together in the end,' said Thomas hopefully. 'Someone will speak unwisely out of fear or conscience.'
After dictating some more case summaries to Thomas, de Wolfe tried again to study his lessons in reading and writing, which recently he had sadly neglected. Then he ate his dinner in the hall of the keep, and the afternoon was spent discussing the new situation with Henry de Furnellis and Ralph Morin and organising another military expedition to Axmouth the next day. The sheriff felt that action was needed without delay, hopefully before the news of The Tiger's rout arrived in the village. Henry was afraid that either the culprits would run or at least destroy any remaining evidence of their activities. 'And they'll have a chance to dream up some excuses, if we leave it too long,' he added.
The constable went off to organise another troop of soldiers, as to call the force a 'posse' was not quite accurate, for a posse comitatus was a band of freemen conscripted by the sheriff 'to maintain the peace of the county and to pursue felons'. They agreed to ride out at dawn next day, led by the sheriff and coroner, hoping to catch any malefactors unawares.
De Furnellis pointed out that seizing Henry Crik was a priority and, assuming that he dwelt in Exeter, he sent several of his clerks scurrying into the city to discover where he lived. Within an hour one of them was back, reporting that though Crik, a widower, lived in St Mary Arches Lane with a leman, he was not at home. His woman said that he had left in a hurry early that morning but would not tell her where he was going.
'Blast the fellow!' cursed de Wolfe. 'He must have heard about the return of the St Radegund and taken off to Axmouth to warn them.'
When he returned to his house in Martin's Lane, he was struck by the empty feel of the hall, which was not a very welcoming chamber at the best of times. Now, it seemed even more cold and silent and the two vacant monks' chairs that sat near the huge hearth were a pathetic reminder of the state of affairs.
When he went around to the back yard, there was a similar sombre atmosphere, as Lucille's hutch under the solar was deserted and Mary was sitting listlessly in her kitchen-hut, absently stroking Brutus's head. Even the hound seemed melancholy.
The cook-maid raised a doleful face to her master. 'How long is this going to go on, Sir Crowner? she asked listlessly. 'The mistress has gone, the maid has gone, I have almost nothing to occupy me, as you are away half the time and I have no one to feed except myself and the dog. You don't need a house or a maid.'
He bent to kiss her cheek and to try to reassure her that eventually all would turn out well. 'Someone will have to look after me in London, and I'm sure it won't be my wife, whether she comes with me or not. You may depend that once I get settled there I will send for you, Mary. I will keep this house for at least a year, in case I have to return. If Matilda does decide to leave Polsloe, then she may wish to come back to live here.'
Mary brightened at his assurances and busied herself fetching him some of her own-brewed ale and heating up some mutton stew, as his dinner at Rougemont had been an uninspiring platter of tough pork, cabbage and last season's beans. He squatted on a stool to eat and told her of the events of the past two days, to which she listened with rapt attention.
'But if this monster of a shipmaster won't speak, how can you be sure who is guilty and who is innocent?' she asked.
She had touched on the very matter that concerned de Wolfe, and he hoped that the next day would see some breakthrough in that problem.
'The sheriff is pinning his hopes on this agent, Henry Crik,' he replied. 'If the fellow is found in Axmouth, then he has some explaining to do as to why he ran there as soon as he heard of the failure of The Tiger's attack.'
Mary was not so convinced. 'Won't he just say that he was going to the port anyway, in the pursuit of his usual business?'
John finished the last mouthful and washed it down with a draught of ale. 'We'll just have to see what happens tomorrow. For all we know the whole lot may have fled, though I doubt they'll give up so easily.'
'Might they not make a fight of it?' asked Mary, looking worried for John's safety. 'The prosperity of the whole village must depend on the success of the harbour and its trade, so would they not try to protect the men who run it?'
'We're taking a dozen experienced men-at-arms, the same ones who overcame the pirates,' he assured her, but she still looked dubious.
'Even a dozen soldiers would fare badly against a hundred angry villagers armed with scythes and pitchforks!' she said stoutly.
John grinned and hugged her around the shoulders. 'Don't dream up a civil war, Mary! If it eases your concern for me, I'll wear my coat of mail tomorrow — but I draw the line at taking my old shield from the wall!'
Later that evening he walked down towards the Bush, passing through the cathedral Close, where the usual collection of urchins and youths were throwing a ball made of rags bound with cord. A few drunks and beggars slumped between the grave-mounds, but the fine spring evening had also brought out a few families, who were ambling along the main paths, enjoying the fresh air that was a welcome change from the cramped, odorous accommodation that many of the city dwellers had to endure.
When John came out of the Bear Gate passage into Southgate Street, the stall-keepers were packing up their wares as the evening waned. Crossing into the small lanes that led down towards the river, he passed wives gossiping outside their huts and cottages, their shrieking children still playing in the dirt of the road, dodging the occasional handcart or packhorse going down to the quayside through the Watergate. He wondered if he would miss all these familiar scenes when he went to London, until he reminded himself that one town was much like the next, only there would be far more of it in the case of the capital.
When he reached Idle Lane, he also wondered what sort of reception he would get from his mistress, having been away for a day or so. He once again found Nesta in a quiet mood, amiable but somehow distant. She sat with him and listened attentively to his detailed story of the ambush of the pirate ship the previous day and the foray that was planned on Axmouth in the morning. Once again, she cautioned him about his own safety.
'Be careful, John, if you are going with a troop of soldiers to fight!' she warned with a worried look. 'You are not so young as you were and, though I have no doubt about your courage, your eyes may not be so keen and your sword-arm might not be as brisk as they once were.'