The questioning and discussion went on for a time, with no concrete conclusions being made. By then, the Lord of Freteval was almost jumping up and down with impatience, demanding that something be done to ‘rescue’ his wife, though most of those present felt that Hawise failed to look upon it as an abduction.
Hubert Walter eventually stood up to terminate the meeting.
‘All that we can do is pursue these men, both for the sake of the lady and her husband – and because there are possibly other issues at stake.’
‘And where are we to seek them, Your Grace?’ asked the Deputy Marshal. ‘It sounds as if they might make for the Continent, but at which port? Dover is the nearest for Flanders, but there are a dozen havens from Portsmouth round to the Thames or even up to Essex and Suffolk that would do as well.’
Another discussion began and it was decided that the Deputy Marshal would send out a number of small search parties to the most likely ports on the Kent and Sussex coasts, each with a knight or squire and a couple of men-at-arms. As the fugitives already had a number of hours’ start and their destination was unknown, it seemed a forlorn hope, but it was all that could be done.
As the meeting dispersed, John went to speak to the Justiciar and William Marshal.
‘I have a bad feeling about this, sirs!’ he began. ‘Those two would not suddenly abandon their positions here and streak for foreign parts if they were not well provided with money or the means to obtain it. From being deeply in debt to the moneyers, suddenly they seem to have ample funds to throw away their careers and seek a new life abroad.’
The Justiciar nodded. ‘I know very well what you are suggesting, John. Have these two benefited in some way from the theft of the gold from the Tower? I thought you had pinned the blame on Canon Simon?’
‘He was certainly involved, but he was murdered and that suggests that he had at least one accomplice who may have wanted to silence him.’
‘Then how was it done, de Wolfe?’ demanded William Marshal. ‘By Job’s pustules, I fail to see how they could have got hold of the keys to the chest in the Tower.’
John was beginning to have his own ideas about that, but this was not the time to go into it. Instead, he asked permission to join the hunt for the two men.
‘Each search party needs to know what they look like and I certainly do,’ he said. ‘I would like to take my officer and begin nearer home, in case they are seeking a ship along the Thames.’
Hubert nodded his agreement, exasperated that all this trouble had arisen on the day before the queen was leaving, when the Marshalsea would be at its busiest.
‘If you do find the bastards, drag them to the Tower straight away. There are ample means in the dungeons there to get the truth out of them!’
Another hour saw de Wolfe and Gwyn cantering past Charing on a pair of fast rounseys from the stables, on their way into the city. John had decided to leave Thomas behind, as he was an impediment to swift travel and he thought speed may be of the essence if the fugitives were intent on leaving by ship. However, Gwyn pointed out that the tide was almost at the ebb, so no vessel would be leaving for another six hours.
‘Are we going to search all along the wharves?’ called the Cornishman as they clipped along the Strand towards the Temple. ‘There are many of them, both in the Fleet river, the city and beyond it past St Katherine’s, where ships also berth.’
‘We need only vessels bound for a Channel crossing or directly across to the mouth of the Rhine,’ shouted John. ‘No need to concern ourselves with those who are going up the east coast or around to the west.’
As they passed through Ludgate, the magnitude of their task came home to the coroner. They needed some help in deciding where along the seething banks of the river to make their search.
There was no evidence that Ranulf, William and the woman were even in the city, for they may have crossed the bridge and be on their way to Dover or Ramsgate by now. As they reached the end of Cheapside, John was uncertain whether to continue or turn down Watling Street to the bridge. Then he decided to seek some help, if it was forthcoming.
‘Let’s go to see that damned sheriff again,’ he declared and turned up towards the Guildhall. He had no impressive warrant to show this time, but the clerk recognised him and moments later he was again in Godard of Antioch’s chamber.
‘The Justiciar needs some information of a different nature this time,’ he began. ‘About vessels along your wharves.’
The sheriff scowled and held up a hand. ‘God’s teeth, you are a persistent fellow, de Wolfe. You’ve not had the result of your last request yet.’
John stared at him. ‘You mean that you’ve discovered something about the man who was with that murdered canon?’
Godard nodded with smug satisfaction. ‘My men traced the tavern where he ate.’
‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ snapped John. ‘It was vitally important.’
‘It must have slipped my mind,’ said Godard casually. ‘But I’m telling you now. One of my men asked around the streets and it seems that this fat priest that died in Bartholomew’s was well known in an eating house in St Martin’s Lane, leading up to Aldersgate. He probably went there every time before he vented his lust in the Stinking Lane brothel.’
‘Did they say there was another man eating with him?’ demanded John urgently. ‘And whether they knew him, too?’
The sheriff held up a hand to stem the flow of questions. ‘For hell’s sake, what do you expect from us, coroner? The tavern keeper only recalls this canon because he was a regular customer. He can’t be expected to do more than that!’
De Wolfe calmed down and after he had obtained the name of the inn, he thanked Godard and left, almost at a run.
‘I know the eating house where Basset ate,’ he yelled at Gwyn, as he swung himself into the saddle. ‘It’s worth seeing if Ranulf was the second man.’
St Martin’s Lane, sounding so similar to John’s address in Exeter, was only a few yards away and within minutes they saw the Falcon, a large and respectable-looking tavern fronting directly on to the busy thoroughfare that led up to Aldersgate. It had two storeys, with shuttered windows on either side of the large central door. There was a side lane which led around to a yard containing stables and various outbuildings. As they could not leave their horses in the road, John led the way around to the back, where a snivelling barefoot boy took their steeds and hitched them to a rail.
‘There’s a door to the taproom there, sirs, to save you going round to the street again,’ said the lad, as John gave him a half-penny.
‘Let’s see if the landlord recalls who might have dined with our lecherous priest,’ said John, pushing open the back door that the urchin had pointed out. Through a short passage, half-filled with casks and crates, was an arch into the main room, crowded with drinkers even at mid-morning. They either stood in groups or sat on benches around the walls. There was a cacophony of chatter, some drunken singing and in a corner the twanging of someone playing a lute. There were several harlots with painted lips and cheeks plying their trade, dressed in striped gowns and wearing bright-red wigs, the uniform of London whores. A pair of hounds were wrestling playfully on the rushes, watched at a distance by several wary cats.
Drink was being served from barrels behind a table, from which a potboy and a wench were selling pint jugs of ale. De Wolfe pushed his way to them through the uncaring throng.
‘Where’s your master, the landlord?’
‘Still at Smithfield, buying meat,’ said the girl. ‘But the missus is in the eating hall, through there.’ She flipped a hand towards another arch which led into the other half of the ground floor.
John, with Gwyn close behind, went through into a room with one long table and several small ones, where people were beginning to settle on benches for their early pre-noon dinner. A large woman in a long linen apron was carrying in baskets of bread and John moved to intercept her with his questions, when he received a hard nudge in the back f
rom Gwyn.
‘Just look who’s over there, Crowner!’ he hissed, jerking his head. John followed his gesture and saw that, at a table in the far corner, were two men and a woman – the very ones they were seeking.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In which Crowner John draws his dagger
Almost at the same moment, William Aubrey noticed them standing inside the entrance. He blanched and leaned forward to whisper to Ranulf and Hawise, who were sitting with their backs towards the newcomers. Their heads shot around and in any other circumstances the expressions of surprise on their faces would have been comical. William sat transfixed, but Ranulf recovered his poise almost immediately, rising to his feet and coming across to John and his officer with a smile on his face.
‘Great God, John, how came you here? Do you seek me or the Lady Hawise?’
De Wolfe was not sure if there was some innuendo in his remark, but that was not his main concern. ‘I think you have some explaining to do, Ranulf of Abingdon,’ he said harshly, moving towards the corner table.
The young marshal turned up his hands in a parody of supplication. ‘You have caught me red-handed, sir! What can I say, other than love is blind and will not be denied, even by common sense?’
John hesitated. Was the dashing young knight only involved in a foolish elopement, running away from a jealous husband? Perhaps his other suspicions were unfounded, after all.
‘I can well understand that the fair lady may have captivated your heart, Ranulf,’ he growled. ‘But what of William there?’
He jabbed a finger towards Aubrey, who was stuck half-risen from his bench, apparently paralysed by indecision. ‘Does this lady’s power over men extend to more than one at a time?’
He had not meant to be offensive, but the silent Hawise turned her head to give him a poisonous glare.
‘My good friend William has decided to join me in our new life, Crowner!’ replied Ranulf, almost light-heartedly. ‘We have tired of being superior stable boys at Westminster. There are fortunes to be made in the tourney grounds of Germany.’
He waved a hand at their table, where food was half-consumed. ‘Join us for a meal, you and your good man Gwyn.’
De Wolfe shook his head, still suspicious of the situation.
‘I need some answers from you and Aubrey. Why did you choose this tavern to hide away, presumably to wait for a ship for Flanders?’
Ranulf stared at him. This was a question he had not expected.
‘Because I know it well, it has the best roast beef in London and clean beds upstairs. We need a decent night’s lodging, so where else but the Falcon?’
De Wolfe fixed him with a steely eye, his brooding hawk’s face searching the man’s features for the truth.
‘And not because you know it well from your visits here with Canon Simon Basset?’ he snapped.
Ranulf stared back at him guilelessly. ‘By Christ’s wounds, sir, you speak in riddles! We are merely waiting here until a cog is due to sail for Antwerp on tomorrow’s tide.’
The coroner looked across at William Aubrey, who remained as if turned to stone, only his frightened eyes watching every move. Then John moved to stand over Hawise d’Ayncourt, who looked at him as if he was something scraped from the midden in the inn’s backyard.
‘Your husband will be overjoyed to know that you are safe after your abduction, lady,’ he said sarcastically.
She glared up at him. ‘Abduction be damned! I have left that fat pig, the dullest man in Christendom!’
She was not to know that lifting her head to speak was the trigger for mayhem.
As she raised her chin defiantly, John saw a glint of gold appear above the neck of the pale-cream gown that she wore. Careless of any courtesy to a lady, he plunged his fingers into the space between the linen and her soft skin. Paying no heed to her scream of outrage, he pulled out a heavy necklace of solid gold, embellished with intricate designs typical of Saxon craftsmanship.
‘I think the last time I saw this, it was in the strongroom of the Great Tower!’ he roared at Ranulf. ‘So where’s the rest of it, you thieving bastard?’
Three men on the next table had leapt to their feet when they heard the scream and saw the bosom of a fine lady apparently being violated, but they backed away rapidly when Ranulf whipped out a long dagger from his belt and advanced on the coroner, waving it dangerously close to his face. Simultaneously, William Aubrey unsheathed a short sword and, with his dagger in the other hand, leapt over the table to stand back-to-back with his friend, facing the somewhat astonished Gwyn. The room went into pandemonium, as the other diners fell over themselves in haste, to get out of range of what looked like a fight to the death.
De Wolfe and Gwyn had left their long swords in their saddle-sheaths, as they had entered the tavern expecting only to search for information, so both had to grab for their own daggers, which never left their belts.
‘You stupid cow!’ roared Ranulf at his mistress. ‘I told you not to wear that damned thing until we left the country!’
At the same time, he lunged at John, who stepped back sharply and knocked over a fat dame who was desperately trying to get to the safety of the other side of the room.
‘You cannot escape the city, Ranulf!’ snarled de Wolfe. ‘You may as well surrender and put yourselves at the mercy of the court.’
For reply, Ranulf slashed out again at John, this time slicing into the sleeve of his grey tunic. ‘What mercy will we get?’ he yelled. ‘The choice between hanging or flaying alive?’
Behind him William Aubrey was challenging the big Cornishman and it became obvious that both these younger men, strong, fit and well trained from their frequent practice on the tourney fields, were expert fighters.
But the coroner and his officer, though more than a dozen years older, were crafty and experienced.
As Aubrey advanced on Gwyn, the ginger giant swept up a stool with one hand and swung it like a scythe, knocking the sword from the other man’s hand. As it flew across the room, there were redoubled screams from the unfortunate patrons of the Falcon, who were struggling to get out of the doorway.
Ranulf and John circled each other, knife hands outstretched, each making feints and retreats, knocking over benches and stools as they glared into each other’s eyes, watching to anticipate every new move. Hawise shrunk back on her bench, her face contorted partly by fear and partly by the thrill of having four reckless men fighting over her.
Aubrey, having lost his sword, was now on equal terms with Gwyn but arrogantly thought that he would easily dispatch this lumpish oaf from Cornwall. He made a sudden thrust, but the big man was not where he expected him to be – on the point of his dagger. Gwyn had stepped sideways and in a flash sunk his own knife deep into William’s belly. He dragged it upwards under his ribs and a scream from the younger man was almost instantly staunched as a gout of blood erupted from his mouth.
As he pulled out his dagger, his opponent crashed to the floor, to the accompaniment of more shouts, curses and screams from the remaining bemused and frightened patrons.
‘Settled this sod, Crowner!’ yelled Gwyn. Moving towards the coroner and his adversary, he hesitated, wondering when to intervene and bring this fracas to a speedy end.
‘Don’t kill this bastard as well!’ hollered de Wolfe. ‘Or we’ll never know what happened.’
But Ranulf had other ideas in his desperate situation. Suddenly stepping back from the coroner, he threw an arm around Hawise’s waist and hoisted her to her feet, putting the point of his knife against her throat.
‘Now back off, both of you!’ he screamed, pressing the dagger so that a drop of blood appeared on the woman’s white skin. ‘Let us through and out into the yard, or she’ll die!’
De Wolfe was outraged at his lack of chivalry. ‘Is this what you won your spurs for, damn you? To shelter behind a woman’s skirts?’
His contempt was far outmatched by Hawise. She screamed some obscenities that no high-born lady should have known as
she wriggled in his grasp, but the knife bit even deeper and she subsided.
‘I thought you were enamoured of this woman!’ raged John. ‘Now you are prepared to kill her!’
The knight gave a twisted grin. ‘She is a demon in bed, for which I give thanks. But if it is a matter of her life or mine, then mine wins every time!’
Frustrated, but afraid that Ranulf would keep his promise and drive the knife deeper into her neck, John could only stand impotently while the other man began to pull her towards the door.
‘Shall I have him, Crowner?’ shouted Gwyn, waving his dagger hopefully. John shook his head. ‘The swine is mad enough to slay her. Leave it, he can’t get far.’
In fact, he got nowhere at all.
Suddenly, a glazed look came over Ranulf’s face and he slid down Hawise’s body to a crumpled heap on the floor. Astonished, John and his officer looked down at him, and saw that his eyes were open and his arms were flailing weakly, though the dagger had dropped from his fingers. Hawise was still on her feet, also looking down with a hand to her mouth in surprised consternation.
‘She’s stabbed the sod!’ hissed Gwyn. ‘There’s a little knife sticking out of his back.’
An onlooker, in butcher’s tunic and apron, gaped at the victim.
‘He’s been pithed!’ he shouted, with professional expertise. ‘The blade has gone into his backbone, between the chops.’
By now, the landlord had returned from market, to find his dining chamber resembling the shambles at Smithfield that he had just left. A corpse lay on the floor, covered in blood and another man had fallen, partly paralysed, against one of his tables. Now that the violent action had ceased, the room was a babble of excited talk, some of which apprised the landlord of what had happened. John went across to him as Gwyn and the butcher knelt by Ranulf’s side.
‘Good man, I am the king’s coroner and that is my officer. We came across these two men who are urgently wanted by the Chief Justiciar for most serious crimes. They resisted and one is dead. The other seems badly wounded and we need to find a physician to attend to him.’
Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) Page 33