‘But what is there to learn?’ persisted John. ‘In matters of warfare, surely all the action is across the Channel, not in Westminster.’
Hubert Walter rose and paced restlessly to the window and back again. ‘Not everything concerns battle, John. Our treaties and agreements with other countries are of great concern to Philip Augustus, as are matters of trade. How much silver and tin we produce relates to Richard’s ability to wage war — and the current mood of potentially rebellious barons reflects on what support the French might expect if the Count of Mortain comes out of his present suspiciously good behaviour to again foster revolt.’
He sat down again and laced his fingers together over his parchment-cluttered table.
‘As I said, I am glad that Eleanor is coming to add her strictures to her younger son’s ambitions. You ask what secrets might be sought? Well, she has advised me privately that Philip and his son Louis favour an attack upon the south coast of England, perhaps to coincide with any move that Prince John might make to seize power. Philip still controls a stretch of coastline below Boulogne which could be a jumping-off point for an invasion, so we are making defensive plans for Kent and Sussex that would certainly be of interest to any French spy.’
He leaned forward in a confidential manner. ‘In fact, that was one reason why I went to Canterbury during these past few days, spending time with various barons and commanders, to the annoyance of my brothers in the cathedral!’
Then leaning back again he abruptly changed the subject, as if he had been too indiscreet. ‘Now, John, what are we going to do about this damned treasure? Is there any hope of getting it back, for I do not relish the king’s temper when he discovers its loss. He covets every half-penny that could go towards financing his campaigns.’
The coroner’s long face darkened into a scowl. ‘At present, it defeats me, sire! But it is a point of honour for me to retrieve it somehow, for it was in my care almost up to the point when it vanished.’ He angrily rasped his fingers across his bristles.
‘Simon Basset is dead and he is inevitably a suspect in the theft. He cannot now be questioned or even tortured — not that the Church would allow it — so the whereabouts of the gold cannot be extracted from him. His house needs to be searched as a matter of urgency to see if there is any sign of it there — though again I am not sure if there would be some ecclesiastical prohibition on that?’
‘Don’t concern yourself about that, John,’ said Hubert grimly. ‘I know that Abbot Postard considers himself the Emperor of Westminster, but theft of the king’s gold is treason and no one in England can be exempt from investigation.’
Relieved at having the Justiciar’s support, John was still dubious of success. ‘I doubt the treasure will be there, but there may be some clue as to his involvement, if he was guilty. But what about the Constable of the Tower, sire?’
Hubert turned up his hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I really cannot see old Herbert de Mandeville as a thief, John! He has been there for many years and could have stolen before, if that was his inclination. But neither does Canon Basset fit the image of a master criminal — yet it looks as if one of them is the culprit.
‘So take whatever measures you think fit to get to the bottom of this — use the king’s name and warrant freely.’
The archbishop stood to indicate that the meeting was over.
‘Do your best, John, I am depending upon you. We live in treacherous times and there are few such as you that the king can trust. You have proved your worth in the past and God knows that we need you again now!’
He remembered his episcopal status sufficiently to give de Wolfe a brief benediction as he left, then yelled for a clerk to come and set about the documents on his table.
With Hubert Walter’s accolade and exhortation ringing in his ears, de Wolfe strode back to his chamber that Tuesday morning, determined to make progress in this apparently insoluble mystery, even if it cost him his reputation or his life.
It even drove from his mind most of the recollection of the previous evening’s seductive fiasco with Hawise d’Ayncourt. He had been both relieved and frustrated, as his common sense told him that cuckolding a foreign nobleman was unwise, to put it mildly — especially as Renaud de Seigneur was living on the spot. Yet the allure of Hawise was so great that his lust was in danger of defeating his usual wisdom. Though a dour, rational man in all other respects, attractive women were John’s Achilles’ heel and had got him into trouble several times.
However, he now had urgent matters to distract him and as he burst into his chamber, he almost shouted at Gwyn and Thomas to get moving. ‘No need for horses, we’re only going up the street! I want to turn the canon’s house inside out to look for that bloody gold!’
Gwyn hurriedly swallowed the last of his ale, washing down the last mouthful of his morning bread and cheese. ‘Do you want me for such a task?’ asked his clerk timidly, hoping to avoid being party to such desecration of a fellow priest’s domicile.
‘Yes, come along and bring your bag of writing contraptions,’ commanded his master. ‘If we find anything, it will need to be recorded — and you are always useful where priests and chaplains are involved.’
Reluctantly, Thomas followed the two bigger men as they left the palace and went across to the gate into King Street. A few hundred yards brought them to the canon’s dwelling and with a rare touch of sensitivity, de Wolfe sent his clerk in ahead to announce diplomatically that they were there to search the premises. After a couple of moments, he followed with Gwyn and was faced with the doleful faces of the chaplain and steward, who were subdued but obviously indignant at this intrusion.
‘My clerk has explained that there are important issues at stake and that it is imperative that we look amongst the canon’s belongings to check on certain matters,’ said John, his discomfiture making him sound a little pompous.
Martin, dressed in a black tunic as a mark of mourning, nodded his understanding. ‘We cannot prevent you, coroner, we were merely servants of our late master and have no status now.’
‘And though nothing has been said openly,’ added the chaplain, ‘we know full well that this must be connected to the loss of that treasure, which is now common knowledge.’
‘You’ll find nothing here, sir, our master was a fine and honest man,’ added the steward defiantly.
De Wolfe applauded their loyalty, but was firm in his resolve.
‘That’s as may be, but there might be some clue here as to what happened and I am charged specifically, in the name of our king, to leave no stone unturned in seeking the truth.’
The steward sighed, but moved back and with a gesture indicated that the house was theirs. ‘I will tell the servants to give you every assistance in showing you whatever you wish to see,’ he said.
John began in the chamber which Simon used as a sitting room and an office, for there was a table with numerous parchments and a sideboard carrying half a dozen books. He called Thomas in to look through all the written material, while Gwyn searched the servants’ quarters, the stables and various outhouses such as the brew-shed, the laundry and the kitchen. The Cornishman poked into the privy and the pigsty, even putting his head inside the fowl-house to make sure there were no gold candlesticks hidden in the nestboxes.
John found nothing at all in the effects of the late canon, though he was again impressed by the quality and indeed opulence of most of the furniture and fittings in the house. All the floors downstairs were paved, rather than having rush-strewn earth, as was usual. The walls had costly hangings and in the bedroom upstairs there was actually glass in one of the smaller windows, an almost unheard-of luxury.