The Manor of Death

by Bernard Knight

  As he approached the door of the Bush, he took a deep breath and marched in, this time without hesitation, resigned to getting this over with as soon as possible. It was gloomy inside, as, like Martin's Lane, the fire was only a heap of dead ash and the sole illumination came from the flickering tallow dips in their niches around the walls. Though the shutters on the few narrow window-holes were open, the final pale light of the western sky did little to dispel the shadows, and at first he had to strain his eyes to seek out the trim figure of his mistress.

  Nesta was standing by the barrels of ale, racked on wedges near the back door, dipping a jug into a large crock of cider. As soon as she saw him, she thrust it into Edwin's hand and hurried across towards him as he stood near his table. On the way, she snatched her shawl from a peg on the wall and somewhat to his surprise threw it over her head and shoulders. When she reached him, she slipped her arm through his and pulled him towards the door.

  'John, let's walk. I am glad to see you safe. I was worried about you.'

  Bemused, he let himself be taken out into Idle Lane, where Nesta guided his steps to Smythen Street, the dog loping along behind them.

  'Where are we going, cariad?’ he asked.

  'Let's walk a while. I have a fancy to see the last of the daylight from the city wall,' she replied firmly.

  This was not what he expected, and he didn't know whether it boded good or ill for him. They walked steadily down towards Stepcote Hill, where the steep lane was terraced to give a foothold. As they passed the church of St Mary Steps, he attempted to broach the big question.

  'Nesta, have you thought of what I said last time?' he asked anxiously.

  'I have thought of little else, John - but wait until we are there.'

  She pointed to the jagged top of the town wall, silhouetted against the fading light. Across the road from the church, narrow steps were built into the stonework to reach the walkway fifteen feet above. Holding up the hem of her long kirtle with one hand, she climbed up and, when they reached the parapet, set off slowly towards the Watergate away to their left. After a few hundred paces, they reached the nearest of the twin towers that straddled the gateway below. Turning so that her back was against the stonework, she held out her hands and grasped his own.

  'John, I cannot come with you to London,' she said simply.

  De Wolfe tried to ignore the sudden void in his chest. 'Why not, my love?' he asked, hoping that she wished to be persuaded.

  'Because I am soon to be married,' she murmured, her eyes cast down as she spoke.

  He dropped her hands as if they had become red hot. 'Married? How can you become married?'

  This was the last thing he expected. After her fling with a servant in the tavern last year, he might have expected another affair with the good-looking Welshman. Yes, that was within his expectations. But married!

  She raised her face and they stared at each other. 'Is it so extraordinary, John? I can never become your wife, we both know that. Am I to remain your leman for the rest of my widowed life, seeing you when it suits you? A lonely foreigner in a strange country for ever?'

  'This is that Owain, no doubt?' he muttered grimly, already wondering whether he should seek out the stonemason and kill him.

  'Of course it is Owain,' she answered. 'A good man, kind, and of my own age and kin. He has asked me to marry him and I have said that I will - and go home to Wales with him.'

  'Have you lain with him?' he rasped.

  Nesta stiffened a little and stared at him defiantly. 'How is that any of your business, John? You are not my husband,' she said crisply. 'But if you must know, I have not! He is a man of honour and is content to wait until the Church has bound us together.'

  De Wolfe, for all his stern, stolid nature, crumpled at this. He pulled her to him, and his hand pressed her head against his chest.

  'Nesta, Nesta! Does this have to be? I thought you loved me?'

  'Of course I love you, John! But now I also love Owain, and he I can have, unlike you.'

  'How can you love us both?'

  She looked up at him in reproof. 'You should know that, sir! I have always felt that I have shared you with Hilda of Dawlish.'

  It was something of a shock for him to realise that she was right. He had never suspected that she knew of his real feelings for the blonde Saxon.

  'Is there nothing that I can say or promise that might change your mind?'

  She shook her head, still close to his body. 'You cannot marry me or take me home to Gwent, John.'

  There was iron determination in her voice that told him that nothing he could say would alter her decision. At that moment he knew that his life was going to change far more than just a move to London. His mind capitulated and his practical nature straightway began to make plans.

  'Sit here, my love. We must make sense of this thing,' he said gently, guiding her to one of the stone blocks that sat behind the crenellations of the wall. Down below, Brutus had run along keeping pace with them and was now sitting looking up, whimpering slightly as he sensed that something disturbing was going on.

  'Nothing will divert you from this course?' he began.

  She shook her head again. 'God knows I have agonised over it long enough, but this is my last chance. I want to go home and I want to be with this good man. Do not hate him for it, John. He truly loves me and will be kind to me.'

  'I should break every bone in his body, Nesta - and chastise myself as well, for it was I who was foolish enough to bring him to you!' He said this without bitterness, as a kind of calm had descended upon him. 'But what are we to do about everything?' he asked helplessly.

  She reached out and held his hand again, as they sat side by side on the cold stone. 'You have been so good to me, John. When Meredydd died, you saved the Bush and saved me. And again after the fire, you had the inn rebuilt. I can never repay you enough.'

  He gave one of his throat clearings to cover his emotion. 'It was nothing, for I loved you, Nesta. But what are we going to do now?'

  'You are going to London, I am going to Wales. The Bush is rightly yours, you must do as you think fit. Sell it and recover what you have spent on it.'

  He pulled her head towards him. The shawl had slipped off and her auburn hair flowed over his shoulder. 'Nonsense! The Bush belongs to you. That loan I made when your husband died has been repaid, thanks to the skill you showed in running the place so successfully. '

  'You paid for the repairs when it was burnt, John!'

  'The profit from a few cargoes of wool soon covered that. No, it is yours, for you will need money to start your new life.'

  'Owain is a master mason, he has a house in Chepstow and can support a wife with ease.'

  John did not miss the tinge of pride in her voice and knew that the situation was irrevocable now. 'Money never comes amiss, but we will see. Maybe I already have the germ of an idea,' he said.

  Now that the die was cast, he became the practical man of action that had ensured his survival as a warrior and his success as a law officer. Shocked though he had been, he already felt an unexpected sense of lightening and freedom, like lizards he had seen in the desert, which shrugged off their old skin and started life afresh. Standing up, he held out his hands to the woman he still loved but could not have.

  'Come, let's go back to the Bush. I had better meet this Owain again and congratulate him - the swine!'

  Next morning de Wolfe carried on with his usual routine, going up to the gatehouse of the castle to decide on the day's tasks with his clerk and officer. When Mary had put his breakfast before him in the cook-shed, he had decided not to tell her about Nesta until he had worked out a plan of action. As he spooned down his oatmeal gruel sweetened with honey, he recalled with some, surprise that he had slept like a log, after fearing that sorrow and recrimination over Nesta would keep him awake all night.

  Now, he was sitting behind his table in the bleak chamber at Rougemont, with Thomas scratching away on his rolls with a goose quill and Gwyn pe
rched on his window-ledge, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood.

  'When the cathedral bells ring for Prime, we are to meet the sheriff and Ralph Morin in the undercroft to see what we get from those bastards locked up there,' he announced. 'In the meantime I have some grave news to tell you.'

  His tone made Gwyn throw down his toothpick and Thomas laid his pen aside, as both men stared expectantly at their master.

  'Nesta is to be married to that stonemason and is going back to live with him in Wales,' he announced flatly.

  The reaction of the two men was very different.

  Thomas adored Nesta, who had been kindness itself to him during his many and various problems. He was devastated and his eyes immediately filled up.

  'Nesta leaving us?' he gasped. 'May Christ Jesus make her happy, but, oh, how I will miss her!' He crossed himself repeatedly and sniffed back his tears.

  Gwyn, on the other hand, scowled ferociously and offered to go down and strangle Owain ap Gronow. When de Wolfe had explained a little more and made it clear that he had become resigned to the situation, Gwyn asked the obvious question. 'But what about the Bush?' he demanded. 'What will happen to that when we go to London?'

  John, who had thought long and hard about it before going to bed the previous night, had a proposition to make.

  'Gwyn, you are fonder than most men of good food and good ale. How would you like to be the new owner of the Bush?'

  The big Cornishman stared at him, uncomprehending. 'Me? How could I buy the Bush? I've not two pennies to rattle together!'

  'I'll buy it for you, Gwyn,' growled John. 'Nesta is going. Though she wants to give me the place, I'll buy it from her, then pass it over to you.'

  His officer looked at the coroner as if he had taken leave of his senses - which perhaps he had.

  'But I'm coming to London with you!' he protested. 'How can I become an alehouse keeper in Exeter?'

  John was unperturbed. 'You live in a hovel in St Sidwell's, renting a shack from some grasping landlord. You have said many times that you wish you could move your goodwife and children into somewhere better, so now's your chance!'

  'You mean put them in the Bush?' asked Gwyn incredulously.

  'Why not? I know your wife is a capable, strong-willed woman and a good cook. She could run the inn as well as Nesta, for there's old Edwin and the two maids to do much of the work.'

  Gwyn floundered for something to say. 'But why me? Why give a valuable property to a drunken old soldier like me?'

  'An old drunk you may be, but you've served me for twenty years and saved my life more times than I can count on my fingers. It's time you had something to rely on for your old age.'

  'I can't just take it, Crowner. How can I? It's not proper.'

  John turned up his hands. 'I don't want to see the Bush fall into disrepute and end up a foul den like the bloody Saracen. If it eases your conscience, I'll keep the freehold myself and give you a rent-free lease for your lifetime, allowing you to keep any profit you make. That should see your wife and family secure.'

  Thomas, who had been listening to this exchange with delight, offered his help. 'I can draw up a deed to that effect, master. Nesta told me that she has a parchment which her husband Meredydd obtained when he bought it, confirming his title to the land in Idle Lane. We just need to set out the new arrangement, everyone puts their mark upon it and have it entered in the burgess court to make it all legal! '

  It took another half-hour of argument and discussion to convince Gwyn that de Wolfe was deadly serious in his intentions.

  'Will your wife agree to this?' asked Thomas solicitously. 'It is she who will have the burden of the place, if we are gallivanting off to London.'

  Gwyn, finally reconciled to the idea, began to revel in its implications. 'Free food and ale for life!' he chortled. 'Of course Avisa will agree. Anything that gets her and the boys out of that hovel in St Sidwell's will be like a gift from heaven! She has a sister in Milk Street, with a great lump of a daughter, who can help her when needs be.'

  John, who was trying to submerge his sadness in boundless activity, stood up and announced that he was going over to talk to the sheriff. 'Then we have work to do in Stigand's cesspit,' he reminded them. 'Gwyn, you go home and talk to your wife about my proposition. I have no wish to force this upon you, but I see nothing but advantage for everyone.'

  His officer could walk through the East Gate back to St Sidwell's in a few minutes and be back well before the bells rang for Prime at about the ninth hour. Gwyn clumped off down the stairs, whistling cheerfully, and left Thomas and the coroner looking at each other.

  'That was a very kind and generous act you did for him, sir,' offered the clerk, a rather bold speech for him to make to his master, but he was full of admiration for John's generosity.

  'He has been my best and sometimes only friend for almost half my life, Thomas. It is time I did something in return.' He looked keenly at the little priest. 'And I will not forget you, when the time comes.'

  Thomas looked acutely embarrassed. 'You have already saved my sanity and my very life by your kindness in taking me as your clerk when I was destitute, sir. And my needs as a priest are small. There is nothing I desire, other than to be able to serve you.'

  John grunted and rumbled a little at this close shave with emotion and after a few nods at his clerk vanished down the stairs.

  De Wolfe spent some time with Henry de Furnellis discussing the events of the previous two days and trying to make sense of what they knew of the suspects incarcerated below their feet. John told the sheriff nothing about the recent developments in his private life, feeling that they had better settle their official problems first.

  'What about this damned lay brother from Loders?' grumbled Henry. 'Someone must have informed his prior by now. We'll soon have an army of monks besieging us to get him released.'

  'I suppose we can't be as hard with him as the others, if the need arises,' said John. 'It depends on what we can learn from them as to his involvement. If he's clean, which I doubt, then we'll have to let him go.'

  'I'll wager my money on this agent Crik,' mused de Furnellis. 'He had the best opportunity to set up this conspiracy, being the agent for The Tiger and having contacts for getting rid of the stolen goods.'

  'If that's so, he and Martin Rof must be close accomplices. They are the two who need to be squeezed the hardest.' .

  The distant bells sounded from the cathedral, and they made their way out of the sheriff's chamber into the hall and then down the wooden stairs to the inner ward. As they turned into the low doorway of the undercroft, John asked the sheriff what had happened to the two shipmen from The Tiger.

  'The one your monk took away to St John's died, as they expected. The other one seems to have survived - at least until we hang him.'

  A group of people were already waiting for them in the dank, dismal cellar. Only feeble light came through the doorway and from a couple of slits in the walls opposite the grating leading to the cells. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, John saw that Gabriel and half a dozen of his men-at-arms were lined up, with Ralph Morin, Gwyn and a reluctant Thomas standing behind them. There were another two persons whom he failed to recognise for a moment, then realised that they were Robert de Helion and his wizened chief clerk.

  Henry de Furnellis marched over to the merchant, who stood with a rich red cloak pulled closely about him in the clammy cold of the undercroft.

  'I'm not sure that you have the right to be here, de Helion,' he said. 'This is king's business and we have to seek the truth from the prisoners by whatever means proves necessary.'

  'I'm a knight like you and de Wolfe here,' responded the ship owner tartly. He was not used to being told what he could and could not do. 'I've done my share of fighting and seen plenty of violence, so don't concern yourself with my feelings. I heard that my servant Crik had been caught up in your snare and I also want to know if any of these people know where my ship has got to.'

>   The sheriff nodded. 'Very well, but your agent seems to be the most suspect of the lot, apart from your shipmaster. '

  'If Crik was involved, then he must be punished,' countered Robert.

  'If Crik's involved, he'll be hanged,' was the sheriff's laconic response.

  The corpulent gaoler came out through the rusted gate in the row of iron bars that went from floor to roof in the centre of the undercroft. Stigand waddled up to the sheriff, jangling a ring on which were a collection of keys. 'Do you want them brought out yet, sir?' he said thickly, his round, waxy face with the hooded eyes reminding de Wolfe of a large toad.

  'Yes, let's get on with it,' grunted Henry and motioned to Gabriel.

  The soldiers filed through the gate after the sergeant, and after a great deal of clanging, scuffling and a barrage of shouting and cursing the prisoners were led out in a line. They were in a sorry state, dirty, dishevelled, their clothes soiled and scattered with stalks of filthy straw. Several faces showed numerous recent bites from lice and other vermin. All wore leg irons to prevent them from running away, but their hands were free, which they used to shake furiously at their captors as they raised a cacophony of protests and demands to be freed.

  De Furnellis stood this for a moment or two, then bellowed for silence. He was only partially successful, and after a moment Morin signalled to his sergeant, who walked along the line of prisoners with a short staff, whacking the shins of the noisiest offenders until they subsided into sullen silence. The last one to obey was Henry Crik, who seeing Robert de Helion shrieked out for him to save him. He got no response from a stonyfaced de Helion, and another crack from Gabriel's stick shut him up.

  'As you are so talkative, Crik, we'll start with you first,' said the sheriff.

  John again marvelled at the new-found energy that the old knight was displaying, after months of letting the coroner do most of his work.