Even at this eleventh hour, Matilda fought for her brother’s reputation. ‘But Cadbury is part of his estate — the treasure should be his!’
John sighed and patiently explained once again that all England belonged to the Crown and that tenants, be they barons or bishops, had no claim to abandoned gold or silver left in the soil.
‘Then these lists must be in error!’ she cried wildly.
He shook his head. ‘They were checked by no less than six people, four of them literate. I myself was present at Cadbury, and though I may not be able to read and write, I can count coins put in piles of ten.’
Matilda was silent, her face drawn and ashen. ‘What will happen to him?’ she asked in a low voice.
‘That’s up to the chief ministers — Hubert Walter, the treasurer and the chancellor, though undoubtedly the King himself will be informed about such a serious matter involving one of his sheriffs.’
‘And the penalty?’ she whispered
John shrugged, not out of indifference, but because he genuinely did not know. With Richard’s ability to squeeze out of tight corners, given the powerful friends he had in Prince John and some of the bishops, he might get off more lightly than he deserved. ‘There is no way in which he can continue as sheriff,’ he said slowly. ‘It depends on what the Curia Regis think of the matter when they consider it — and what the Lionheart wishes. Strictly speaking, Richard has committed treason, by stealing from the King. Added to the seditious leanings he has displayed in the past, his political career is finished — at least under the present monarch.’
Matilda sat silently, a tear now coursing down each side of her nose.
‘I gain no pleasure from this, lady,’ John said suddenly. ‘I wish I could spare you the sorrow that it must bring. But the matter is not in my hands, the exchequer clerks must deal with it now. However, I am duty bound, as the next most senior law officer in Devon, to deliver the attested list of the treasure to Winchester, otherwise your brother’s false claim that it was stolen could lead to innocent men being blamed.’
Matilda made no reply, but a moment later rose from her chair and made her way towards the door. ‘I must go to Richard and talk to him. I need to hear from his own mouth that what you have told me is the truth.’
He followed her to the screens that sheltered the door. ‘You have not yet eaten, Matilda. Wait until after supper and I shall escort you.’
She shook her head, not looking at him. ‘I am not hungry. I will call Lucille and she can walk with me up to the castle. It will not be dusk for some time yet.’
She left, and he sat down in the gloomy hall to finish his wine and wait for Mary to bring supper. Tonight even the prospect of going down to the Bush seemed less inviting than usual, though he must go to make sure that Bearded Lucy was still hidden safely away in the brewing-shed.
His old dog sensed that something was amiss and came to rest his drooling mouth on John’s knee. ‘It’s a strange world, Brutus,’ said his master with a sigh, as he stroked his head. ‘Why does everything always have to be so bloody complicated?’
When de Wolfe returned later that night, just as the last traces of daylight were fading in the western sky, Mary told him that his wife had sent Lucille home with a message that she would be staying the night with her cousin, a widow who had a small house in the town. There was nothing unusual in this, but John suspected that she wanted to avoid him for the time being. Whether this was to hide her despair about her brother or because she suspected him of plotting the sheriff’s downfall, he could not decide. In any event, he found his way to their lonely bed in the solar and fell into a troubled sleep, partly because of concern about Nesta and the veiled warnings that Lucy had offered about his mistress’s safety. All had been quiet at the Bush that evening and the old crone seemed content to hide away behind a row of ale casks, comfortable enough on a straw mattress, with ample food coming from the cook-house a few yards away. In fact, she was much better housed and fed than she had been in her miserable shack down on the marshes at Exe Island.
There was no sign of the mob that had chased Lucy earlier in the day, and John hoped that some of the novelty of witch-baiting was wearing off as time went on. What they were going to do with the old woman in the long term was something else that worried him, and he wondered whether the nuns at Polsloe Priory, a couple of miles outside the city, might be able to give her refuge, if she was cleaned up a little.
Eventually he fell asleep and woke as usual some time after dawn to the novel luxury of being alone on the big feather-stuffed mattress on the floor of the solar. As there was nothing that morning which demanded his early attention, he lay indolently under the single summer blanket until he heard the cathedral bells ring for prime, soon after the seventh hour. He dressed in his linen undershirt and pulled on a pair of breeches instead of his usual hose, as he thought he might take Odin for a canter around Bull Mead, the tournament ground outside the city walls. He searched in his oak chest, which was the repository for his few clothes and took out a clean black tunic, a plain garment that reached from his shoulders to just below his knees. Buckling on the wide belt that carried his dagger and purse-like scrip, he slipped his feet into house shoes and went down the outside stairs to Mary’s kitchen-hut, where she lived with Brutus for company.
A handsome woman in her late twenties, she was not married, a fact that John often thought strange, but he was thankful that she remained as the mainstay of their household, as Matilda was indifferent to any form of domesticity, being concerned only with her social life, her devotions at St Olave’s and an occasional bout of needlework.
Being alone, John ate his breakfast in Mary’s kitchen, squatting on a milking-stool before the small table where she prepared the food. She had been out early to the stalls and had brought back several fine sea-fish, caught during the night from boats that worked the estuary between Topsham and Exmouth. Grilled and laid on a thick slab of buttered bread, they were delicious, especially when followed by a couple of new apples and a quart of best ale.
The dark-haired maid stood over John and watched him eat with the satisfaction of a woman that knew she could please a man not only in bed, but also at the board. However, it had been a long time since they had lain together — and since Nesta had monopolised his affections, she was content to keep him at arm’s length, even though now and then he caught her in a quiet corner and gave her a good kissing.
This morning they talked of recent happenings and John, who trusted her discretion, told her about the scandal that was soon to break over the sheriff. Mary had known that something was in the wind when Matilda, with a face like stone, had hurried away to the castle late the previous evening and had not returned.
‘The mistress will take this very hard, after the previous troubles with her brother,’ she observed. ‘She has been loyal to him against the odds for so long, but this will finish it, I fear.’
De Wolfe nodded and wiped the last of the grease from his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. ‘I feel very sad for her, poor woman, even though she makes my life a misery. I would not wish this disillusionment upon her, but the bloody man had gone too far this time — it’s out of my hands now.’
When he had finished, he went to the vestibule and pulled on a pair of riding boots and attached his spurs. Crossing the lane, he went into the stables and chatted to Andrew the farrier while one of the grooms saddled up Odin, his massive destrier. Although he had no wars to fight now, John was used to the feel of a broad warhorse beneath him, and since the tragic death of Bran, his previous stallion, he had developed a similar admiration and affection for this twelve-year-old grey, who had been pensioned off from the French campaigns.