Crowner's Crusade (29 page)

When he left, the other men went with him and Nesta was left alone in the loft, though Molly and the serving girl were not far away, sleeping in the kitchen shed and the wash house as usual. Sitting on a small milking stool near his bed, she could see that he was still awake, huddled under the covers.

‘This is a fine affair, John,' she said softly. ‘Your first night in your new house and you spend it elsewhere, alone with a young lady!'

‘I expect that Matilda will have something to say about it,' he murmured.

‘In fact I'm bloody sure she will!'

A few minutes later, she could tell from his breathing that he was asleep and after a while, she went quietly back to her box-like room and got into bed, pulling extra blankets from a chest to cover her. She lay for a while looking up into the darkness, thinking of what might have been that night.

W
hen John awoke soon after dawn, he felt virtually back to normal, apart from a burning itch around his wound. He had suffered far worse many times before and now no longer sick and giddy, he got up and went down the steps, where he found Gwyn eating at a table. Nesta bustled in with oat gruel, bread and cheese, to enquire solicitously after his condition.

‘I'm fine, good lady! I just need to track down the swine that gave me this cut and pull his head off!'

Gwyn, who had slept on the floor near the fire, poured some honey over his porridge and passed the jug to John. ‘I went back up to the house after we put you to bed. The injured man had been taken up to St John's and Brother Saulf said that he was showing signs of recovering his wits, so it looks as if he'll live.'

‘What about the wife?' asked de Wolfe.

‘That old nun from Polsloe was brought down by the other town constable, the fat one they call Theobald. She examined the lady and said she had certainly been sorely ravished, but was in no danger, except to her mind. She is sending a litter down this morning, to take her up to the priory.'

John attacked the gruel with a wooden spoon with a ferocity that suggested he wished it were the assailant's guts. ‘So all we have to do now is find him! No luck with the hue and cry last night?'

Gwyn shook his hairy head. ‘No, Osric and a few men-at-arms joined the neighbours in scouring the streets, but it was the middle of the night, with no hope of finding anyone.'

‘We'll get the bastard somehow,' growled John. ‘But first I'd better go home and face my wife.'

Though not usually an early riser, the unfamiliarity of a new bed had woken Matilda early and the realization that her husband had not slept in it, got her up and dressed before he arrived. She had brusquely demanded her breakfast and Mary was serving it to her in the hall when John walked in.

Ignoring the unusual padded coif on his head, she glared at him. ‘And where did you spend the night, might I ask?' she snapped. ‘The first one in our new dwelling and you spurn my company, probably for a drunken revel or the arms of some strumpet!'

His face darkened, as although he expected some complaint, he did not relish yet another unfair accusation even before he had the chance to open his mouth. ‘I spent it much of it in the Bush Inn, if you must know!' he snarled. ‘That was after fighting with a rapist and being treated for this injury!' He pointed at the bulge under his linen helmet.

‘The Bush!' she yelled. ‘I might have guessed it was that Welsh whore again! How far will you go to shame me, husband?' She began a tirade, but he brought her up short by kicking a stool across her new flagstones, making a clatter that stopped even Matilda in mid-speech.

‘Quiet, woman! Do you know a lady called Clarice, wife to a merchant, Richard de Beltona?' he demanded stridently.

She gaped at him open-mouthed at this sudden twist in their dispute. Deflated, she answered in a flat tone of voice. ‘Of course, she is a friend of mine. I see her often at the cathedral.'

‘Then I regret to tell you that she has been raped in her own bed – and her husband beaten senseless alongside her!'

Matilda's pug face rapidly changed from anger to genuine concern. She hauled herself to her feet, leaving half her meal left untouched, a sure sign of her agitation. ‘I must go to her at once, poor woman!'

‘You can't, she's on her way to Polsloe, to be cared for by Dame Madge and her nuns. The husband is lying unconscious in St John's, up near the East Gate.'

Matilda sank back in to her chair. ‘And you have been involved in this, John?'

‘I went to their aid, yes. And got a hole knocked in my head by the assailant as he escaped. So keep the door locked when I'm not here!'

He doubted that any sane man would want to ravish Matilda, but he felt he should pay her the compliment.

Her anger evaporated, though she did not go so far as enquire about his injury. ‘Richard de Beltona is a cloth merchant in a good way of business, though Clarice complains that he is mean, as he could afford a better house than the one in Sun Lane.'

Again, her interest seemed more about affluence and social status than about the actual outrage.

They were interrupted by Mary putting her head around the screens near the door. ‘A servant just came from the house of the Archdeacon, Sir John. He brought a message from his master to say that he would be obliged if you would call upon him as soon as is convenient.'

Mary's head vanished and Matilda looked at her husband with a tinge of respect, as any mention of a senior churchman wishing to consult him went some way to rehabilitate him in her eyes. ‘What can he want? De Alencon is the most senior of the canons.'

‘I expect it's to talk about a priest getting murdered and two nuns being frightened out of their wits!' replied John gruffly.

He was quite right in his forecast, as he discovered as soon as he arrived at John de Alencon's house. Many of the canons lived in the houses that lined the north side of the Cathedral Close. Exeter was a secular cathedral in that it was not part of a monastic establishment, such as an abbey and had no monks. It was governed by a Chapter of twenty-four canons, who derived their incomes from the livings of various churches. Some of them were independently affluent and lived in luxury in large houses, both in the cathedral precinct and in estates elsewhere. John de Alencon was not one of those who indulged in ostentatious comfort, but preferred a modest, ascetic life. His house in Canon's Row was plainly, almost sparsely furnished and he had the minimum number of servants to keep his household functioning.

John de Wolfe was no great admirer of the senior clergy, who he considered generally to be a lazy, avaricious lot who farmed out many of their duties to their subservient vicars. But he admired his namesake for his simple lifestyle and his devotion to King Richard, especially as many of the other canons leaned towards Prince John.

Though generally spartan in his tastes, de Alencon had a weakness for fine wines, so even at that early time of day, a cup of good Anjou red was set before de Wolfe when he called upon his friend. They sat in the study, a bare room with only a table, a few hard chairs and a large wooden cross on the wall. The archdeacon, his lined face looking even more worried than usual, got straight to the point.

‘This lawlessness is getting too much to bear, John. I know you have no official standing in the matter, but you seem the only man in Exeter who seems to be involved in combating it! The city is full of praise for you in finding the killer of that unfortunate king's messenger that I put to rest in the cathedral yard not long ago.'

‘Pure chance, I'm afraid,' said John. ‘I just seem to have the knack of being around when there is some violence!'

De Alencon raised a hand in deprecation. ‘You are too modest, as always. You also saved the lives of those two nuns on the road, where our brother priest was so foully murdered. Now today I hear of your involvement in these dreadful crimes last night, not a few hundred paces from the cathedral itself.'

John took a sip of the wine and shrugged. ‘I hate seeing evil go unpunished – and these days, it seems to be not only unpunished, but ignored!'

The priest nodded his agreement. ‘Exactly, which is why I wanted your advice. We have discussed this in Chapter several times, especially since the killing of the priest from Tavistock and the disgraceful treatment of the nuns. At our Chapter meeting early today it was resolved that something must be done.'

‘Easy to say, but much harder to achieve,' observed John.

‘Chapter wants a proper sheriff appointed, one who would enforce law and order.'

‘That's rich! A sheriff is the
king's
representative in every county, yet Devon was given to the Count of Mortain to rule outwith the royal authority. As you don't need telling, many of your canons favour Prince John, so they can't have it both ways.'

‘But that's exactly what they do want,' said the archdeacon gently. ‘They are going to ask Prince John to install a sheriff – and are suggesting Richard de Revelle as the appointee.'

De Wolfe looked aghast at this proposition. ‘That would be a disaster! He'd never stir himself from his chamber, where he counts the taxes and takes his own tithes from them. I had heard such a suggestion, as the prince has already got him counting his coins. But as a fearless law officer, he would be worse than useless.'

‘I tend to agree, John. But they are set upon it and as you know, some have the ear of the prince. I thought I would warn you what is afoot.'

‘But appointing a sheriff is not within his gift!' objected de Wolfe. ‘I tell you now, the Chief Justiciar will not agree and I doubt the king would either, except that he is far away in captivity.'

De Alencon shrugged. ‘I suspect that the prince will just go ahead without such approval. After all, he is virtually the absolute ruler of six counties and has appointed his own chancellor, exchequer and other officers, independent of Winchester or London.'

De Wolfe shook his head in despair. ‘It will be a fiasco, John. Mark my words, when Hubert Walter gets to hear of this, he will forbid it. He has already spoken to me about his concerns that the prince is once again planning to challenge the Lionheart's right to the throne. Look how places are covertly being fortified and garrisoned, places like St Michael's Mount and Berry Peverel.'

They spoke further about the ominous signs of revolt and de Alencon told him that when a new bishop was installed in a few months time, the likely incumbent would be Henry Marshal, the Dean of York, who was another keen supporter of the prince.

John came away from Canon's Row with an even stronger presentiment of trouble, but the prospect of his brother-in-law becoming sheriff was the worst part. His arrogant pomposity would be intolerable – and no doubt Matilda's pride in becoming sister of a sheriff would be even more insufferable.

He collected his horse from the stables opposite his house and rode first to the tiny hospital at St John's Priory, just inside the East Gate. This had but six monks offering the only medical care in the city, apart from a few apothecaries who dispensed medicines. Outside the city, there was nothing at all and the villagers depended on ‘wise women' and helpful neighbours for their only hope of treatment.

At St John's, the small infirmary was run by Brother Saulf, a tall, gaunt man who had once attended the famous medical school of Montpellier in southern France. He told John that Richard de Beltona was still in a bad state, but his deep unconsciousness had lightened in the last few hours.

‘I trust in God that he will not die, but it may be days before he has recovered enough of his wits to speak, if he ever does,' said Saulf, in his deep, sonorous voice. ‘And even if he does, he probably will not remember the events that caused his injury.'

John went into the single ward of the little hospital, a high chamber with a row of pallets down each side and a huge wooden crucifix on the end wall, indicating that most of the healing here was done by God. The hall was full of sick and injured and Beltona was lying immobile in one of those nearest to the door. He lay breathing heavily, his eyes closed, one swollen with blood that had seeped down into his eyelids from the swelling above, reminding John of the ache in his own cranium.

There was nothing to be done except to thank Saulf and hand him a few coins towards the hospital funds. Then John mounted Bran again and went the mile or so to Polsloe Priory, to enquire after the well-being of Mistress Clarice. The small Benedictine house was surrounded by a high wall and the gatekeeper was not disposed to admit an unknown man, even though he called himself Sir John de Wolfe. Evidently his reputation had not percolated to this outpost in the woods outside the city.

However, after he had firmly closed the gate on John, he went across to the modest buildings of the priory and soon returned with the forbidding figure of Dame Madge. She was almost as tall as John, though slightly stooped. A long face, with a large hairy mole on one cheek, was usually set in a grim expression, except when dealing with her sick and often frightened patients, who she treated with a gentleness that contrasted markedly with her usual manner.

They stood in the open gateway until John had explained who he was and that he had only called to enquire after the stricken lady's condition. The old nun thawed immediately and invited John to the refectory for a meal, which he gracefully declined.

‘I'm sure your time can be better spent healing the sick, than in talking to an old soldier like me,' he said with a grin. ‘I have a score to settle with whoever did these evil deeds.' He pointed a finger at his coif, still bulging over Nesta's bandage.

‘I wondered if the lady had said anything about who might have assaulted her so grievously?'

Dame Madge shook her head, her veil swaying over the white linen wimple around her craggy face. ‘It is a difficult and sensitive business, asking questions so soon after a woman has been ravished,' she said gravely. ‘All I have learned from her is that the man was large and strong, which I'm sure applies to most of the men in Devon!'