Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) (44 page)

Elias shook his blond head. ‘No, but he often boasted that one day he would take himself abroad and make his fortune going around the tournaments in Germany and Flanders. He said that the restrictions in England made it hardly worth the trouble of entering for the jousts.’

John knew it was true that, though King Richard had relaxed the rules, his father Henry had been against knights killing themselves for money, so many went across the Channel for their sport.

‘What about this lady?’ demanded William Marshal. He almost said ‘this bloody woman’, but realised that her husband was present. ‘Did he say anything about her?’

Elias reddened. ‘I was not with him on the progress to Gloucester and back, my lord. But since he has been back, he spoke of little else other than a new paramour, though he would not name her.’

‘But you must have known who it was!’ barked the Keeper.

‘Indeed, it was obvious that it was the Lady Hawise,’ admitted the squire.

‘And you say you had no idea that he was going to vanish so precipitately like this?’ growled Hubert.

‘None at all, Your Grace! He has seemed excited these past few days, but I put that down to his latest romance. He has had quite a few of those; I knew the signs.’

Renaud de Seigneur made a gargling noise at this exposure of the nature of his wife’s lover, but the Justiciar overrode him.

‘Have you any idea of where he might have gone? And what of the other man, this Aubrey?’

‘He gave no indication at all, sire! I cannot understand it, but Gilbert here knew William Aubrey better than I.’

The other young man, a muscular red-headed fellow, was pulled forward by the Deputy Marshal.

‘Do you know anything that throws light on this unfortunate affair?’ he rasped.

‘William said nothing to me, though like Ranulf, he seemed very excited these past days. He, too, was a keen gambler and I know that both of them were deeply in debt during the past few months.’

‘How so?’ demanded de Wolfe, venturing a question for the first time, as money seemed at the root of this debacle.

‘He and Ranulf had been several times to the Jews for loans. They had lost heavily at a tournament in Wilton last winter and they had visited several moneylenders, paying off debts owed to one with borrowings from another – a recipe for disaster in the long run.’

‘Maybe they have run away to escape repaying these debts,’ suggested William fitz Hamon, a judge from the King’s Bench.

Gilbert turned up his hands. ‘Perhaps, my lord. For some time, they were very anxious about their debts, but, recently, they no longer spoke of them and I got the impression that somehow they had come by substantial funds once again. I assumed one or the other had made a big winning at dice or cards, as they have not been jousting for some time.’

William Marshal spoke again. ‘Have you any idea where they might have gone?’

‘As Elias has said, Ranulf was always talking about going to Flanders and Germany to make their fortunes in the big tournaments that are held there. I have no other suggestion, my lord.’

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 from 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.

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.’