‘How did you get home from there?’ queried Gabriel.
‘I knew from the business we have with Hugh de Relaga that Thorgils the Boatman regularly came to Antwerp with wool. We waited almost a month there until he showed up, then came home to Topsham with a cargo of finished cloth. We only arrived on this morning’s tide.’
After his elaboration on the story had finished, John asked what had been happening here at home.
Ralph rolled up his eyes beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘The West Country has gone to the dogs under that bastard Prince John!’ he declared. ‘I fear we are in for civil war unless someone can bring him to heel.’
Gabriel shook his head in gloomy agreement. John knew that after his coronation in 1189, the Lionheart had rashly — and in many people’s opinion, foolishly — given his younger brother six counties, including Devon and Cornwall, as his own property. Their father, Henry II, had wisely kept his feckless son short of possessions, so that he was known contemptuously as ‘John Lackland’. The overgenerous Richard more than made up for this and as virtual king over a large area of England, John kept all the taxes and ran the administration personally. There were no sheriffs, as nominally he himself held the shrievalties.
‘So who’s in there now?’ he asked, jerking a thumb at the door of the first chamber on the side wall. ‘William Brewer was the sheriff before I left.’
The constable’s face darkened. ‘No, he’s gone on to higher things in Winchester and London. He’s a royal justice and one of the King’s Justiciars. At the moment, I hear he is in Germany negotiating for Hubert Walter over Richard’s ransom. So guess who our dear Count of Mortain has put in as his locum sheriff?’
De Wolfe stared at his friend blankly. ‘Old Henry de Furnellis, perhaps?’ he suggested.
Ralph laughed scornfully. ‘No, it’s your damned brother-in-law, Richard de Revelle!’
John was aghast. ‘God’s blood! I think I’ll turn around and go back to being a mercenary in Germany! Why would the prince want to do that? De Revelle will bleed the county dry to his own advantage.’
Though it was his own domain, Morin looked over his shoulder in an almost furtive way. ‘There’s treason afoot, in my opinion. With our king away for years and now locked up in Germany, Prince John sees an opportunity to seize the crown for himself. Many thought that the Lionheart would be killed in battle or die of a fever; when he didn’t, John began to think of overthrowing him by force, which is why he’s been seeking an alliance with Philip of France and plotting with others at home.’
‘What others?’ demanded John, concerned at this confirmation of the fears the Lionheart expressed on the journey from Palestine.
‘The rumour is that Hugh Nonant, Bishop of Coventry, is his main supporter, along with other senior churchmen, including some of the senior canons of Exeter.’
De Wolfe digested this worrying information with a scowl. ‘And you reckon my dear brother-in-law may also be a traitor, if he is thick enough with the prince for him to be given this chance to milk the county revenues?’
The burly constable shrugged. ‘We all know what a shifty, devious character de Revelle is, John. I’d not trust him an inch, which is why I’m not letting him nibble away at my royal authority over this castle.’
Gabriel leaned forward. ‘I recall that when the king ill-advisedly gave the prince these six counties and a lot more besides, he forbade him to set foot in England for the next three years, as a safeguard while he was on Crusade. But their mother, the old queen, talked Richard out of it, so John has been here most of the time, making trouble from his bases in Gloucester and Bristol.’
De Wolfe jerked his head towards the closed door of the sheriff’s chamber. ‘Is de Revelle in there now? I suppose I had better tell the bastard that I’m home again. That’ll spoil his day, no doubt!’
‘He’s not there, he’s gone to his manor in Revelstoke, probably to count all his money,’ replied Ralph, sarcastically.
John hauled himself to his feet. ‘That’s something I must do myself, go to my manor. I’ve not seen my family for three years, so I’ll be off to Stoke-in-Teignhead first thing in the morning.’
When they heard he would be staying in the Bush until he could find a town house, Gabriel and Morin expressed their concern at the death of the landlord, whom they had both known as a fellow soldier.
‘The place has gone downhill badly since Meredydd died,’ bemoaned Gabriel. ‘Poor Nesta can’t keep it up alone and she’s become short of money.’
‘I heard that de Revelle wanted to buy the Bush, but offered her a paltry price,’ said Morin. ‘I expect if she gets even more desperate, he’ll get it for a pittance in the end.’
‘Over my dead body!’ muttered John. ‘The Bush is about to regain its former glory!’
TWELVE
It was early evening when John arrived back at the Bush and even after only a few hours, the atmosphere there had changed remarkably. Gwyn was there, heartily organizing a couple of men he had got in to clean up and change the rushes on the floor and throw out any broken benches.
Already, two new staff had arrived. Old Edwin was there, eager to earn twopence a day and all the ale he could drink, together with Molly, the girl from St Sidwell who Agnes had claimed was a good cook.
Nesta looked a different woman, with a linen coif over her red-gold hair, a clean apron and a bright-eyed eagerness in her face. John’s promise to help had rapidly transformed both her and the failing tavern and even some of the regular patrons were helping by killing rats and mice that ran from the dirty rushes as it was raked up.
‘Great to have you back, cap’n,’ quavered Edwin, who had served in Ireland years before and still gave John his rank as leader of their company of pikemen. He had a horrible dead eye from an injury during that campaign, the fish-white eyeball rolling up in the socket when he moved his other eye. In addition, he limped badly, as he had lost all the toes and half the foot in the same conflict.
‘Come and sit down for a while, good lady’ John said to the Welsh woman. ‘We must talk about how we restore your fortunes here.’
As they sat across a table while the bustle went on around them, he proposed his plan of action. ‘I’ll clear all your debts and lend you whatever is needed to get this fine inn back on its feet. For the time being, I’ll pay the wages of the three you have working here. I also think you should have a boy as ostler to look after horses in the yard behind, for it’s been a popular lodging for travellers, bringing in much business for you.’
Nesta laid a hand on his and whispered her thanks, her eyes filling with tears of gratitude. ‘Why are you being so good to me, Sir John? I know Meredydd thought the world of you, but he’s gone, God rest him.’
De Wolfe squirmed a little with embarrassment. Emotion and especially a woman’s tears, struck fear into him as much as a dozen Saracen swords. ‘Your man was a good soldier and a good friend,’ he muttered. ‘That’s more than sufficient for me to salute his memory by caring for his wife.’
Gwyn ambled up at this moment, obviously enjoying this new challenge as a change from trekking across half the known world. ‘The brew-shed is mortally short of materials for making ale,’ he rumbled. ‘And the kitchen is equally bare. Can I go out tomorrow and buy enough to stock us up?’
For answer, John reached into the pouch on his belt and slid a leather bag across the table towards the landlady, part of the earnings he had received from Hugh de Relaga. ‘That’s to be getting on with, Nesta. Give Gwyn what he needs for the market tomorrow. Good food and clean mattresses will soon bring back the customers.’
‘And I’ll find a couple of men to start whiteliming the walls, inside and out — and get the thatch repaired,’ promised the big Cornishman, as he stumped off again to supervise the cleaners.