The Manor of Death (35 page)

The cellarer reached out across his cluttered table and picked up a brass bell of quite substantial size. 'He is usually within earshot of this!' he exclaimed and shook the ivory stem vigorously. The clangour made John wince and the noise must have been heard all over the priory. A few moments later the flopping of sandals was heard on the flagstones of the corridor and Brother Absalom appeared. When he saw the coroner and his clerk, he stopped dead in the doorway and stared, obviously taken aback.

'What are you doing here?' he asked suspiciously, ignoring any pretence at greeting or deferring to John's rank.

'We came to speak to your prior and the cellarer, but as you are now here we may as well have a word with you.' De Wolfe's tone was dismissive, as if he thought the man of little account.

'What about? If it's that nonsense in Axmouth, there's nothing to tell. You saw for yourself that everything there is in order.' .

'We saw some documents that tallied with the goods in the storehouses; but that's not necessarily the true state of affairs,' growled the coroner.

Absalom shrugged indifferently. 'They were good enough for me - and my cellarer and Prior Robert.'
 

Brother Philip looked anxiously from one face to the other. 'What's all this about? I know of no irregularities in this regard.'

John marked him down as a placid fellow looking forward to a quiet life in retirement in the priory and not wanting any trouble to rock his comfortable existence.

'These law officers have some strange notion that there is vice and corruption in our manor of Axmouth, Brother Philip. It has all arisen because of some drunken brawl amongst shipmen there, which ended in an unfortunate death. God knows why the coroner wants to blame the one on the other.'

'You forget the deaths of a Keeper of the King's Peace soon afterwards,' grated de Wolfe. 'And the killing of a pedlar nearby.'

'Nearby? They both died up towards Honiton. What has that to do with our manor?' Absalom's voice was strident with indignation, and John was hard put to decide whether it was feigned or real.

The cellarer lumbered to his feet, intent on defending his assistant. 'This is the first I've heard of all this; it is in a different county from Dorset. But I can assure you that the trading at Axmouth is conducted in the best traditions of both legality and honesty,' he said pompously. 'The dues we receive from the goods passing through the harbour are substantial and are very welcome in this house and in Normandy. If you have evidence that it is otherwise, then of course you must present it to us and we shall take action.'

This took the wind out of the coroner's sails, as he knew that there was nothing concrete that he could use to accuse anyone. After some minutes of acrimonious exchange, he admitted defeat and he beckoned Thomas to leave, offering a final veiled threat as they went.

'I would counsel you to impress on your assistant here that in future he had better be very careful in his dealings with the folk in Axmouth,' he boomed. 'The place is under close scrutiny by the sheriff and other officers, and any felonious behaviour is likely to end on the gallows!'

With this largely empty threat, they left to seek Gwyn and the horses. Absalom watched their departure through the shutters of a window in the cellarium, biting his lip in concern at this tenacious knight who seemed determined to catch them out in something.

The Sabbath passed and the new week brought a little activity to an otherwise quiet period for the county coroner. He had had no whisper of news from Polsloe and felt that yet another visit to pester Dame Madge or the prioress would be a waste of time, as they had promised to let him know if Matilda changed her mind about wishing to speak to him. He had asked Thomas to pen a short letter to his wife, the message being a rather formal request for her to let him know her intentions. He had sent it by a messenger and at least the boy had said that the sealed parchment had not been rejected at the priory, though no reply had been forthcoming.

The situation at the Bush remained cool but improved somewhat over the course of the next few days. Nesta's excuse about the 'time of the moon' held sway for a couple more nights, and John returned to his lonely bed in Martin's Lane, causing a few puzzled glances from Mary, who had thought that her master would have been taking full advantage of his wife's absence. '

Owain ap Gronow was not much in evidence in the tavern during the evenings that de Wolfe took his place by the firepit. John saw him a few times and received a pleasant smile and greeting, but he got the impression that the stonemason was being tactful and was keeping out of the way.

On Sunday night the pretty Welshwoman was more like her old self and
cwched
up comfortably against John's shoulder as he sat on his bench behind the wattle screen. That night they made the journey together up the loft ladder to her box-like room and made love in a gentle rather than passionate way. But afterwards she began crying softly into her pillow and refused to say what was wrong, even when he pleaded with her to tell him. All she would say between her tears was 'It's us, John. Just us! What's to become of us?'

When he awoke the next morning she had already risen, although it was so very early. Recalling the previous evening, he climbed sadly into his clothes and went down to the empty taproom. He found her in the cook-shed, busy making him a breakfast of honeyed gruel, pork sausages and fried onions. She smiled at him wanly and avoided him while she chivvied her two servants about domestic trifles. Eventually, she came and sat with him while he finished with barley bread and cheese. There seemed little new to say, so he filled the time by telling her of their plot to try to trap the pirates with a tale of a treasure ship. Though the true plan was a deadly secret, he knew he could trust her and, with the large number of patrons that passed through the Bush, her help in seeding the rumour would be of great use. Nesta also seemed relieved at having something to discuss apart from themselves and their intractable problems.

When he got up to Rougemont that Monday morning, Gwyn was ready for him with news of a fresh case.

'On the bloody horses again, I'm afraid,' he observed amiably. 'A fellow has turned up with news of a killing which needs our attention. Says he's the manor reeve from Ottery St Mary. They've found a man there stabbed at the side of the road.'

This large village was about ten miles from Exeter in the direction of Honiton but was not on the main Roman road that led eastwards.

'Where is he now?' demanded de Wolfe.

'Gone for some bread and ale after his ride, but he'll come back here soon,' said the Cornishman. When the reeve arrived at the guardroom below the coroner's stark chamber, John went down to speak to him. Walter Spere, a thin man with a mournful face, wore a serge jerkin and canvas breeches, with a thin cloak thrown over his shoulders. On his head was a pointed woollen cap, the end flopped over to one side.

'The cadaver was found by a cowman early today, sir, though he was stone cold and probably died last night,' he began in a quavering voice.

'Where was this?' demanded John.

'On the verge of the road, about a mile this side of the church.'

Thomas, who was lurking behind, could not resist airing his knowledge. 'The church and manor of Ottery St Mary have long belonged to Rouen Cathedral, being a gift from Edward the Confessor, of blessed memory.' He crossed himself devoutly, but de Wolfe was more interested in murder than history.

'And he has been deliberately slain, you claim?'
 

Walter nodded vigorously. 'Covered in blood, he was! Stabbed in the back, by the looks of it.'

'Any idea who he is?'

'No, sir, but he's not from the village, that's, for sure. He has good clothes and boots and a fine sword, so he's probably a merchant. or even a knight.'

De Wolfe cleared his throat noisily as he came to a quick decision. 'We'd better ride back with you and see what this is about. Gwyn, go and organise the horses - but Thomas, you may as well stay here and attend to your other duties, as I want to get back as soon as I can.'

Thankful to be spared, the clerk took no offence at this implied hint about his poor performance on a horse and before long he watched the three men ride off down Castle Hill. They left through the South Gate and turned up Magdalen Street to ride into the countryside past the gallows, which was bare of customers that day. The coroner and his officer rode their larger horses side by side, followed by Walter Spere on a rounsey. They rode in silence, as no one had anything to say.

An hour and a half later they were well on their way to Ottery and entering a strip of forest-lined track that John remembered as stretching for at least a couple of furlongs, the tall trees reaching right to the edge of the road. Suddenly, they realised that the regular rhythm of the three horses had changed and, looking around, were mystified to see the reeve cantering off to the left and vanishing down a narrow path between the trees. In seconds, he had completely disappeared and even his hoof-beats were silenced on the soft ground of the forest floor.

'Where the hell has that bloody man gone?' demanded Gwyn in surprise. 'Shall I follow him?'

'No, stay where you are!' snapped de Wolfe, drawing his sword from its sheath at the side of his saddle. 'I don't like the feel of this.'

They sat and listened to the silence of the deep woodland, broken only by the croak of a magpie. Gwyn reached for the ball mace that hung from his saddlebow. This had a short handle with a chain carrying a wicked-looking iron ball studded with spikes. 'Is this another ambush like the one that injured the stonemason?' he grunted, looking around suspiciously.

'But why be set up by a manor-reeve?' growled John. 'If indeed he is a reeve. And why try to rob us? We are not rich merchants or priests with fat purses.'

'Do we go on or turn back?' asked his officer.

The coroner glowered around, seeing only an empty road in front and behind them. 'We may as well carry on, now that we've come this far.'

They kicked their horses into motion and began trotting down the centre of the track, their heads swinging from side to side as they scanned the green wall of forest. Suddenly, Gwyn caught something out of the corner of his eye, a shadowy movement just within the tree-line on his left. Automatically, he gave a warning shout and swung his big brown mare around to face the possible threat. Almost simultaneously, he heard the unmistakable 'twang' of a released crossbow and half-expected to feel the impact of a bolt in his chest. But he was not the target, for alongside him there was a 'clang' as the missile struck something metallic.

John had heard the sound of the crossbow discharge at the same second as Gwyn and had instinctively ducked, as well as digging his spurs into Odin's flanks. But before the great stallion had been able to accelerate, the bolt had crossed the short distance from the trees and struck the upraised blade of John's sword, just above the cross-guard. It jerked his hand sideways and skittered away to land on the road.

The two seasoned warriors automatically took evasive action, bending low over their saddles and diverging from each other as they prodded their horses into maximum effort. As they pounded up the road, another bolt from the opposite side of the road flew harmlessly past Odin's rump, then they were well out of range, given the time needed to crank back a crossbow for reloading. However, they did not stop until they had emerged from the wooded stretch and were safely alongside open strip-fields,

'The bastards!' fumed Gwyn. 'Are we going to go in and flush them out?'

John examined the dimple and scratch on his sword-blade, which had probably saved his life, as he had been holding the weapon upright in front of his chest. 'No, I'm not mixing with bowmen hiding behind trees! Anyway, they'll have long gone now, having failed. '

'That sod of a reeve or whoever he was led us nicely into a trap!' snarled Gwyn, his usual good temper evaporated by the churlish trick that had been played upon them. 'But what was it all about?'

De Wolfe, although as experienced in battle as any man, was shaken by the unexpected ambush. 'There's a pattern to this, Gwyn! Murdering a Keeper and now trying to assassinate a coroner, both of them king's officers! And in this same part of the county, too.'

'You think it's connected with Axmouth?' asked the Cornishman dubiously.

'What else? We went and shook up the bailiff and portreeve a few days ago and then went and caused trouble at Loders. They are getting worried and want to get rid of me.'

'Maybe it's just as well we are leaving for London!' jested Gwyn, his good nature recovering. 'Otherwise we'll be looking over our shoulders all the time.'

'Not if our plan with the non-existent silver works,' said John grimly. 'I'll see those swine dancing by their necks before we quit Devon!'

*

Later that day de Wolfe related to the sheriff what had happened, but decided not to tell Nesta that he had probably escaped death by only an inch. Henry de Furnellis was outraged at this second attack on a royal law officer and seemed as frustrated as John that they had no proof of who might be responsible. De Wolfe had ridden with Gwyn the remaining distance to Ottery St Mary and discovered that they knew nothing about any corpse. The real manor-reeve turned out to be an amiable, fat fellow, utterly unlike the silent man who had impersonated him. No one in the village recognised John's description of such an unremarkable man, and it was obvious that he could have come from anywhere in the east of the county. The two archers hidden in the woods could have been anyone, as they remained hidden from view.