Picot scowled across the muddy water. ‘He not only assaulted your boy, Joseph, he also attacked his wife in public, when she tried to pull him off Edgar. ‘His face lightened a little. ‘At least the way seems clear for us now. She has broken with him altogether and left his house.’
Joseph turned to stare at his friend. ‘She is with you?’
Eric sighed. ‘We must tread carefully, annulment is a very difficult business. At present she is staying with her sister, but she says she will never go back to Godfrey. She was already at breaking point with his philandering and ill-treatment of her, though he had never struck her so hard nor so openly as last night.’
Joseph stroked his beard and looked down-river again at his approaching vessel. ‘What’s to be done, Eric? Am I to let his evil attack on my son go unchallenged?’
The wine merchant pulled up the hood of his mantle against the keen sea breeze. ‘I should make your great displeasure known to him as soon as you return to Exeter. Keep the pressure on the swine. Perhaps then he will have a seizure, damn him!’
Joseph nodded absently. ‘My son is a fool, though a well-meaning one. This defiling of Christina has been a bitter blow for all of us, but naturally mostly for Edgar.’
The tall, bearded man looked down-river again at his ship and his eyes moistened, not from the wind alone. ‘He has set his heart on becoming a leech and his apprenticeship ends next month. He was going to marry and take his bride to London, so that he could study at the hospital of St Bartholomew and become a proper physician. Now all is in confusion, he may not marry at all or Christina may not wish to go to London. His world is down about his ears and I can’t forecast what his actions will be. God forbid that he does something even more foolish. It would be better if I were to slit Fitzosbern’s gizzard myself than that my impetuous son should get hanged for it!’
After a frantic Monday morning in both cathedral and castle, the preparations were finally finished for Hubert Walter’s progress into Exeter. Ralph Morin, the constable of Rougemont, rode out along the old Roman road to the west with almost the whole of the castle garrison in full battle order, chain mail hauberks with aventails covering their necks, round helmets, shields, swords and lances.
The Chief Justiciar’s procession had left the great abbey of Buckfast early that morning, and they met up with it about five miles out of the city. Shortly after noon the sound of trumpets could be heard approaching the river crossing.
The wooden footbridge was of no use to such a mounted multitude, and as Walter Gervase’s stone bridge was still only half built, the only way across the Exe was by the ford. Thankfully the river was not in spate and it was not high tide, so an old soldier like Hubert thought nothing of riding his huge warhorse belly deep in the cold water.
With four knights as a vanguard, he came to the city wearing secular garb, rather than his archbishop’s mitre. Though he wore no armour, he had a conical helmet with a nasal guard and a yellow surcoat emblazoned with a couchant lion, the same arms on the oval shield that hung at his saddlebow. He carried no lance, but a great sword hung from his baldric, symbolic rather than necessary as he felt sure that no fighting would occur that morning between Buckfast and Exeter.
On each side of him and extending well behind, were lines of Ralph Morin’s men-at-arms under the proud captainship of Gabriel. A phalanx of Hubert’s own troops followed close behind him, then a mixed collection of nobles, priests, clerks, administrators, judges and other court officials, for Walter was effectively the regent and ruler of England now that the King had left the country, apparently for good.
Behind the riders came curtained wagons carrying the fine ladies and their families, then ox-carts piled with supplies. There were other wagons full of documents, the treasure cart and then a motley collection of nags, mules, donkeys and more carts carrying servants, cooks, falconers, houndsmen and all the ragbag needed to keep a court on the move. The convoy stretched for a quarter of a mile, ending with a troop of soldiers to protect the rear.
As the Justiciar came up out of the river, a large crowd waited to welcome him at the West Gate, which was hung with banners and flags. Just outside it, the sheriff and coroner waited on their horses with the two Portreeves, Henry Rifford and Hugh de Relaga. Almost all the town’s burgesses were there, the only notable absentee being Godfrey Fitzosbern. The Bishop, the canons and numerous other ecclesiastics were waiting for Hubert in the cathedral precinct, partly to emphasise its independence from the secular part of the town.
The advance guard wheeled smartly to the side as they came up to the welcoming party and Hubert Walter rode sedately up to Richard de Revelle and John de Wolfe. There were salutes and greetings all round and the sheriff introduced the Portreeves, who had not met the Justiciar before. Naturally, Richard de Revelle knew him well, as every six months he had to report personally on the state of the county’s taxes to Winchester or London. John, of course, was an old crusading comrade, albeit of greatly different rank, but they clasped arms and greeted each other warmly, to the sheriff’s ill-concealed displeasure.
The cavalcade set off up the steep slope from the West Gate towards Carfoix, where the four main roads from the gates met in the centre of the town. The streets were lined with most of the population of Exeter, who gave some ragged cheers as the cavalcade passed – though the crushing taxes that the Justiciar had imposed at the King’s insistence had markedly blunted Hubert’s popularity. The establishment of John’s office had been a tax-raising device, and Hubert had plenty more ideas up his sleeve.
The escort delivered him to the Bishop and his clerical entourage, all waiting outside the great West Front of the cathedral, attired in their full ceremonial robes. After being fed and watered in the Bishop’s Palace, Hubert would change into his archbishop’s regalia, for he was to celebrate a High Mass in the cathedral in the late afternoon, then attend a banquet in the palace that evening.
The sheriff stayed with the Bishop and Justiciar, but when the procession broke up to be housed in various parts of the Close, the castle and elsewhere in the town, John took his horse back to the farrier’s stable in Martin’s Lane and crossed to his house. Matilda, who had been in the crowd at the West Gate, had also hurried home and intended spending the rest of the day there, for Lucille to primp her hair and her new clothes for the banquet that evening, which would be the high spot of her social calendar.
With a sigh, John ate a meal in solitary state in his hall, then sat by the fire with a quart of ale, before reluctantly deciding to have an unscheduled wash in the back yard and even consider attacking the dark stubble on his chin, in honour of the Chief Justiciar.
Chapter Twelve
In which Crowner John is called out of a banquet
The refectory in the Bishop’s palace, between the cathedral and the city wall, was crowded with gaily dressed folk and filled with a hubbub of conversation, laughter and the clatter of dishes. The hall was only large enough to hold a hundred people, so the company was very select. The following evening, there would be room for many more at the banquet at Rougemont, where the sheriff and burgesses were to entertain the Justiciar. Tonight, Hubert was in his archbishop mode, sitting in the centre of the top table between Bishop Marshall and the Archdeacon of Exeter, John de Alecon.
Ranged on either side were the three other archdeacons of the diocese, the Treasurer and the Precentor, then military and civic officials, which included Richard de Revelle and his wife, Lady Eleanor, John de Wolfe and Matilda. The two Portreeves and the castle constable Ralph Morin were next, together with a mixture of county nobility, abbots, canons and burgesses. The other trestles, arranged as spurs from the top table, held as many of the lesser notables, rich merchants, guild officials and minor clergy as had been able to wheedle invitations for themselves.