Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries)

by Bernard Knight

  As de Wolfe broke away and hurried towards the gate into King Street, Gwyn growled indignantly. ‘Perform, indeed! She makes you sound like a mountebank’s monkey! That woman is good for only one thing, Crowner – and she makes it bloody obvious what that is!’

  John was of much the same opinion, but he held his tongue and soon the incident was forgotten in the delights of Osanna’s leek soup followed by pig’s liver fried with onions, with a pile of boiled carrots and parsnips. The weather had turned sultry again – hot, still and humid, with dark clouds massing on the horizon threatening another thunderstorm before nightfall. The atmosphere encouraged torpor and the two old comrades slumped at the table to end their meal with a quart of Aelfric’s home brew. Soon Gwyn had rested his head on his arms and began snoring, while John lethargically mused about Hawise d’Ayncourt, wondering how her body looked under those elegant clothes. He didn’t much like her, but that was no barrier to him desiring her.

  As he watched Gwyn’s tousled red locks quiver with each snorting breath, John sleepily analysed his love life. At forty-one, he felt as virile as he had at eighteen, but the years were passing ever more quickly and he viewed the prospect of extended celibacy with dismay, unless he patronised one of the Bishop of Winchester’s stews in Southwark. Though John would forfeit his very life before being unfaithful to his king, he would be the first to admit that he was not a faithful man when it came to women. He had loved Nesta deeply enough to have rarely strayed for almost two years, but it had been an effort. He felt a similar guilt when it came to Hilda, but although he had known her for many years he had slept with other women in the lonely years of distant campaigning.

  Before he also laid his head on his arms and snoozed at the table, he thought dreamily of the full lips and languorous eyes of Hawise d’Ayncourt, deciding that any reluctance for him to bed her would be on the grounds of diplomatic complications with the Lord of Blois, rather than his own moral scruples.

  The under-employed coroner and his officer slept on for almost an hour before they were rudely awakened by an urgent rapping on the street door. Osanna came grumbling from the yard to answer it, but Gwyn had already yawned his way to lift the latch and peer out. It was the same young page who had brought them messages to their chamber in the palace.

  ‘Sir John, you are required urgently at the Exchequer!’ he gabbled excitedly. ‘The Chief Justiciar and the barons are there already and require your presence straight away.’

  ‘What’s going on, lad?’ muttered de Wolfe, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  ‘I don’t rightly know, sir, but two horsemen with an escort of royal guards from the Tower rode in an hour ago. Since then, there’s been a great deal of bustle and commotion around the palace.’

  They buckled on their sword belts and strode after the page, who was almost dancing along ahead of them in his eagerness to get them to the riverside. As they went, the coroner and Gwyn tried to guess what the emergency might be. Since they were summoned to the Receipt of the Exchequer building, from which the block of stone had fallen, John felt that it must be something connected with his inquest that morning. However, no amount of mind searching could fathom any reason for such urgency, especially involving Hubert Walter himself. They eventually decided that the most likely cause was that Queen Eleanor had surprised them all by arriving unexpectedly in the Thames, instead of at Portsmouth.

  They were very wide of the mark, as they soon learned when they arrived in New Palace Yard. There was much activity around the front of the Great Hall, with half a dozen fine horses being held by ostlers and grooms standing with a trio of soldiers in the uniform of the Tower guards. To their left, towards the riverbank, they saw Ranulf of Abingdon and William Aubrey with the sergeant of the palace guards, the one who had accompanied them on their trip to Winchester. With them were several senior clerks of the Exchequer in their black cassocks, matching the garb of Thomas de Peyne, who stood near them, looking very apprehensive.

  ‘God’s guts, what’s all this about?’ demanded de Wolfe of his clerk. Before Thomas could answer, one of the Exchequer officials, a grey-haired man with a large paunch, motioned John and the others towards the door to the very building which had been the scene of the fatal accident that morning.

  The Receipt of the Exchequer had been built as a result of King Henry’s desire to move the organs of government from Winchester to Westminster. Now the taxes were delivered here in coin by the sheriffs from every county, as well as dues from wool, tin and the many other commodities from which the king reaped an income for the pursuance of his wars.

  It was built against the riverside wall of William Rufus’s huge hall, in line with its front. On the opposite side, a similar edifice was being erected for the housing of the increasing number of Treasury clerks and officials.

  Inside, John saw that it was a single hall, with a wide gallery all around, reached by two sets of wooden stairs. There were clerks’ desks on both levels, as well as a number of large tables downstairs, which he guessed were used for the receipt of money, though the famous chequered cloths for counting the coins were not in evidence today. Two of the tables had been pushed together and behind them sat a formidable array of nobles and officials.

  In the centre sat Archbishop Hubert Walter, obviously in charge of proceedings. He was flanked by some of the senior members of the Curia Regis, the King’s Council, and a number of nobles, a few of whom John recognised as Barons of the Exchequer, the royal justices. Eustace, Bishop of Ely and Vice Chancellor was also there, as was Richard fitz Nigel, the Bishop of London and King’s Treasurer.

  Simon Basset, the Treasury official who had received the chests at the Tower sat with the two knights who were witnesses to the checking of the inventory. Along the sides of the tables sat the Keeper of the Palace, the Constable of the Tower, and the Deputy Marshal, Martin Stanford, who represented William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, who was at present across the Channel, escorting Queen Eleanor.

  Having taken all this in, de Wolfe knew that something was seriously amiss, to require such a panoply of senior ministers to be gathered together in such urgency. For a moment he feared that news of King Richard’s death might have arrived, but such a tragic event would not have been announced in the Exchequer chamber.

  A moment later, he was made uneasy when the Keeper, Nathaniel de Levelondes, abruptly motioned for de Wolfe, the two Marshalsea knights, Gwyn, Thomas and the sergeant of the guard, to stand in a line before the tables. There were no benches for them and John felt as if they were being arraigned before a panel of justices at the bar of a court.

  Thankfully, it was Hubert Walter who began speaking and when he addressed de Wolfe as the most senior, his voice was grave, but in no way condemnatory.

  ‘Sir John, most serious news has just been delivered to us from the Tower and our first line of enquiry has to be through you.’

  Mystified, John racked his brains to wonder as to what prisoner might have died in custody in the grim Tower, to require the services of the coroner. The real reason never crossed his mind until the Constable of the Tower was asked to speak. Sir Herbert de Mandeville, a tall, spare man with a haggard face and slight stoop, rose to his feet and addressed de Wolfe in a sonorous voice.

  ‘Sir John, you visited the Tower recently when you delivered certain chests from Winchester into my care. No doubt you recall the occasion?’

  It was more a statement than a question, and as if struck by a lightning bolt John knew immediately that some catastrophe had occurred to that damned treasure. This was why the leaders of that expedition to Winchester were lined up like errant scholars before their magister.

  ‘I do indeed, Constable,’ he replied cautiously. ‘I saw the two boxes safely placed in your strongroom in the undercroft.’

  De Wolfe deliberately made the point that he had seen the chests transferred out of his custody into that of Canon Basset.

  Hubert Walter now cut in on the previous speaker. ‘So it would surprise you, w
ould it not, if you were told that some very valuable items were now missing from one of the chests?’

  There was murmuring along the line of apparent suspects at this. Incredulity and denial were the obvious sentiments, but the Justiciar held up his hand.

  ‘We are accusing no one at this stage, but this is a most serious matter amounting to treason and one which we cannot keep from the king.’

  ‘Can you tell me what is missing?’ asked John.

  Hubert Walter turned to one of the Treasury clerks, a wizened man with an expression like a squeezed lemon. He consulted a parchment laid on the table before him.

  ‘According to the inventory, a pure red-gold collar with pendant breastplate of Saxon workmanship. A heavy gold torc, probably of Celtic origin, two solid gold necklaces, four thick bracelets, also of pure gold, four amber earrings, set in gold, a pair of jewelled brooches, set in fine gold – and a gold plate a handspan in width.’

  He put down the document and glared at John, as if already convinced that he was the culprit. ‘These were the finest and most valuable objects in the whole delivery. I would hazard a guess that, in total, they would be worth at least nine hundred pounds!’

  There were murmurs of mixed surprise and outrage at the estimate, which represented a very large sum of money, bearing in mind that most workers earned only a few pennies a day.

  De Wolfe, bolstered by a perfectly clear conscience, asked more questions. ‘Were the chests broken into, Your Grace? Were the guards assaulted by armed men?’

  The Constable returned to the attack, defending his position as guardian of the Tower and all its contents.

  ‘This is the whole point, de Wolfe! The boxes were unmarked and still securely locked. The doors to the strongroom and the outer chamber were also firmly locked and the guards saw nothing. If I were not convinced that evil spirits have no need of gold, I would be tempted to say that the theft was supernatural!’

  Ranulf of Abingdon was emboldened to enter the dialogue.

  ‘Tragic and heinous though this theft undoubtedly is, sir, it certainly cannot be laid at our door.’ He waved a hand along the line standing before the tables. ‘We brought the shipment from Winchester with all due care and delivered it as ordered. Sir John here was most insistent that a full check of the contents against that inventory was made at the Tower before we left, to safeguard us against exactly what has transpired.’

  The coroner, standing hunched in his black tunic like a large crow, nodded his agreement.

  ‘My duty – for I readily acknowledge that the responsibility for the transfer was entirely mine – was totally discharged when I saw the chests delivered to the Tower and was assured by the Treasury clerk present, that the inventory corresponded with the contents down to the last detail. What happened after that is utterly unfortunate and reprehensible, but certainly we hold no responsibility for it.’ He emphasised the ‘we’ and stared pointedly at the Constable of the Tower, whose sallow face flushed at the inference.

  The Archbishop of Canterbury, wearing only his usual small pectoral cross and ring of office to denote his eminence, nodded in sad acceptance of what his old friend and comrade had said.

  ‘We have already discussed this and have to agree that whatever happened to the treasure, it occurred after you had left it in the Tower. But for the sake of completeness and from lack of any other explanation, we had to question you as a starting point.’

  His gaze swept along the line of men, from William Aubrey at one end to the sergeant at the other. ‘Have any of you anything to offer on this most serious crime? Any ideas will be carefully considered.’ His tone suggested that he had abandoned any suspicions of complicity amongst the delivery team.

  The only volunteer was, surprisingly, Thomas de Peyne. Normally self-effacing, he piped up with a disturbing, if obvious comment that had unwelcome implications for many officials.

  ‘The keys, Your Grace? If the chest was undamaged, then it could only have been opened in the proper manner. So who would have access to the keys?’

  There was a chorus of murmuring and muttering from the seated members at the table. Hubert Walter waved a hand towards the Constable again and glowering Herbert de Mandeville again rose to his feet, leaning with both fists on the table.

  ‘There are two complicated locks on each chest,’ he snarled. ‘I keep one set of two keys for these particular boxes, one for one lock on each box – though of course I have many more keys for other chests in that vault. The other pair is held by officials of the Treasury, in this case Canon Simon Basset. I trust that no one thinks that either of us is anything other than above suspicion?’

  He glared around, challenging anyone to dispute what he said.

  Hubert Walter fingered the small cross on his breast as he spoke. ‘Let me be quite clear on this matter. You, Constable, hold a key to one padlock on this particular chest – and Canon Basset, our esteemed senior Treasury official, holds the other?’

  The two men named stared at each other, almost suspiciously, then nodded. ‘That is so, Archbishop,’ grunted de Mandeville.

  ‘So neither of you independently can gain access to the contents?’

  Simon Basset, his rotund face pink with embarrassment, bobbed his head. ‘It requires both of us to be present to open both locks at the same time.’

  ‘And I assure Your Grace – and the rest of the company assembled here – that this never happened!’ grated de Mandeville, banging the table with his fist.

  ‘But it must have done, otherwise we would not know that anything was missing?’ said the Keeper of the Palace, with deceptive mildness.

  ‘I meant until today!’ roared de Mandeville, choking back a jibe that the Keeper was an idiot.

  ‘Why were the boxes opened today?’ asked the Deputy Marshal, a straight-backed soldier with a broken nose.

  ‘All the contents of that strongroom were given a final check, before being taken to the Tower wharf tomorrow for loading on to a warship for Honfleur,’ explained Basset, with a desperate earnestness. ‘It was when the manifests were checked against the contents, that the loss was discovered.’ The Treasury man seemed about to burst into tears. ‘This is the first time that such an irregularity has occurred in all my long service to the king!’

  There was a short period of further questions and discussion, but it was obvious that nothing useful would be gained from further pestering of the team that delivered the chests from Winchester and Hubert Walter brought the proceedings to a rapid close.

  ‘If this was not such an obvious crime of avarice, I would be tempted to add it to the list of miracles!’ he proclaimed. ‘There seems no rational explanation and I consider these men before us deserve nothing but praise for the way they safely conveyed the treasure to the Tower.’

  There was a collective sigh of relief from the line of men, though John did not contribute to it, as he knew that no fault attached to him. But his hope that he could now walk away from the affair was soon dashed, as Hubert Walter continued to speak.

  ‘The loss of objects worth such a considerable sum from the king’s war chest cannot be tolerated – least of all by King Richard himself! The means by which they were stolen must be discovered and the culprits brought to justice, which as this amounts to treason, means by a slow and painful death!’

  When it came to the king’s money, Hubert Walter became very short of Christian forgiveness, for all that he was head of the Church in England.

  ‘As the new Coroner of the Verge, Sir John de Wolfe is charged with investigating all serious crimes within the royal precincts. As he was also in charge of the transfer of this chest, it makes it all the more appropriate that he seeks out the perpetrators of this daring and outrageous act. I therefore give him a Royal Commission to enquire with all speed and diligence into the matter, and command that every one of the king’s subjects, from the highest to the lowest, offer him all assistance.’

  Rising to show that the session was finished, he turned to speak to the
nearest members of the Curia, but before doing so, gave John a slight gesture, telling him to come to him in his chambers.

  The line of highly relieved ‘suspects’ also broke up and filed silently out into the Palace Yard, where they mopped sweating brows and began congratulating themselves and each other that their heads were still on their shoulders.

  ‘Thank Christ Almighty that you insisted on a check of that bloody box before we left the Tower, John!’ said Ranulf. ‘Otherwise we would have all been back in another small chamber there, until we all danced at the end of a rope at Smithfield or Tyburn!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In which the coroner goes back to the Tower

  At supper in the Lesser Hall that evening, even the coming visit of Queen Eleanor was eclipsed as a topic of conversation. Apart from the usual clique around de Wolfe, other diners gravitated as best they could to be within earshot of the coroner, trying glean any titbits of gossip about the notorious theft of the king’s treasure. After vegetable potage and several fish dishes, including grayling, gudgeon and dace, for it was Friday, the eager questioning began. Relaxed after a stressful day by a few cups of wine, de Wolfe saw no reason not to respond, especially as he had very little to tell them.

  ‘There is no secret about this, for every man-at-arms and kitchen scullion knows as much as I concerning the matter,’ he said in answer to Archdeacon Bernard’s demand.

  Ranulf nodded in gloomy agreement. ‘Almost everyone in London will know by now, though the king has yet to learn about it. There’ll be hell to pay if it’s not found before the news gets to him.’

  ‘We heard only that a fabulous golden treasure had vanished from the Tower!’ said Hawise in a suitably breathless voice.