De Wolfe shook his head. 'She's keeping me in suspense again, damn her! Every time I go back to the house, I half-expect to find her sitting there as if nothing had happened, just as she did last year.'
As usual, the kind-hearted Nesta came to her defence. 'The poor lady must be in very low spirits, bless her. That business with her brother must have been hard to take — and you don't exactly make her life any easier, John,' she added caustically.
He ignored the barbed remark, which was not the first in that vein. 'If she doesn't make up her mind one way or the other very soon, she'll find me gone. Gwyn, Thomas and I are sailing across the seas on Monday, if the weather allows.'
This was the first Nesta had heard of the voyage and, after he had explained all about it, she affected an indignation that John suspected was not all play-acting. 'Not only does the royal coroner neglect his wife but he leaves his lover to fend for herself as well! Will you be back this year, do you think?' she added sarcastically.
He grinned sheepishly. 'Within a couple of weeks, God willing. It's the king's business; I have to go.'
'Well, when you return, don't be surprised if I've run off with the baker or the butcher — or even that nice Welsh stonemason!'
Her tone was light, but John wondered why she had so readily added on the last part. It must have been lying sleeping in her mind, he thought sourly. Yet the pretty redhead prattled on about the lavish present she expected him to bring her from France, and her manner with him seemed as relaxed and skittish as always. After Gwyn had lumbered away to a game of dice with the soldiers in Rougemont and Thomas had slid away to his shared lodging in Priest Street, John stayed to enjoy a supper of boiled mutton, leeks and beans, before enjoying a different experience up in the little room in the loft.
With Matilda away, he stayed the entire night and, in spite of his earlier concerns about Nesta, found her to be even more enthusiastic than usual about their lovemaking. His own responses were similarly uninhibited and afterwards, as he lay staring up into the darkness of the roof beams, he wondered if the frustration he had experienced with Hilda had sharpened his senses, But in that case, he thought darkly, might something similar have stimulated Nesta?
Then he thought of the very public ward in St John's and the fact that the stone carver had one arm in a sling. Reassured, he rolled over to put an arm around Nesta's bare shoulders and was soon asleep.
In Axmouth two days later, it was as if history had slipped backwards two or three centuries to the dark days of the Viking raids, except that this incursion came from the land rather than the sea. The leader of the marauding band was a massive man with a forked beard and, though his round iron helmet had no horns attached, he could have been taken for some Norse chieftain, with his chain-mail hauberk, massive broadsword and a spiked mace at his saddlebow. He was in fact Ralph Morin, the constable of Exeter Castle, and he led a score of mounted men-at-arms in full campaign order. Ralph was well aware that he was unlikely to have to fight a pitched battle with the villagers of Axmouth, but he wanted to show that the authorities took this seriously — as well as a welcome chance to give these idle soldiers a work-out, as few had raised a weapon in anger for years.
As the troop came down the road towards the landward gate, their harnesses jingling, Morin turned in his saddle to look at the, pair behind him. John de Wolfe was riding alongside Gwyn and, behind them, Sergeant Gabriel kept company with Thomas de Peyne.
'Where do you want to start, John?' demanded the constable.
The coroner, who wore a helmet and sword but no armour, pointed ahead. 'Get Gabriel to take your men down to the wharves alongside the river, beyond the further gate. Make sure no one goes in or out of the storehouses, for these crafty bastards might well hide something if they're not watched like hawks.'
They entered the top of the main street of the large village, ignoring the surprised inhabitants who gaped at this sudden appearance of such a show of force. As the grizzled sergeant carried on with his troop down towards the seaward end, the coroner and the constable, with Gwyn and the clerk behind them, peeled off and dismounted outside the house of Edward Northcote. Disturbed by the noise, Northcote emerged from his door, followed by Elias Palmer and a florid faced man in a brown robe, a shaven tonsure marking him as a cleric, presumably in one of the lower orders.
'What in hell's going on?' demanded the bailiff angrily. 'Have the French landed that you need to bring half the army down here?'
Though Northcote was a big man, Ralph Morin dwarfed him, looking even more threatening in his armour. He thrust a parchment under Northcote's nose, a sheet with an impressive red seal dangling from it. Neither could read it, but the bailiff angrily passed it to the portreeve.
'What's this about, Elias?' he snapped. The skinny official rapidly scanned the words. 'It's a warrant from Henry de Furnellis, demanding in the name of the king that all stocks and wares and any documents relating to trade in Axmouth be made available for inspection by the sheriff's representatives, namely Sir John de Wolfe, coroner, and Ralph Morin, castellan.'
Edward Northcote grabbed the parchment from Elias and waved it aloft. 'Holy Mary, do you mean to say you brought half the garrison down here just to go rooting through our store-sheds?' he jeered at the top of his voice. 'Are you all mad up in Exeter, that you waste your time and disturb hard-working folk with your nonsense?'
De Wolfe stepped forward to confront the bailiff. 'The sooner we start, the sooner we can leave you to your important work,' he said sarcastically. 'Let your man Elias Palmer here show us his lists and manifests of what should be in the warehouses. We have brought my clerk here, who can read what is necessary.'
'He's not the only one here who is literate, Crowner, so don't judge all men by yourself.' This scathing remark came from the fat-faced man in the monkish robe.
'And who the hell might you be?' growled the coroner, resenting someone who made public jibes about his lack of education.
'I am Brother Absalom, the assistant cellarer of the Priory of Loders. I am charged by the prior with supervising his interests in this manor, which belongs to the priory.' He swelled up visibly with self-importance, reminding John of one of the bullfrogs that he had seen on his foreign travels. 'In fact, I consider your presence here and this note from the sheriff to be illegal,' he continued. 'This village and port belong to a French religious house and as such is outside the jurisdiction of the civil authorities!'
John moved closer and poked the clerk in the chest with a long finger. 'In relation to your cure of souls here, I agree with you, brother,' he grated. 'But if your religious house chooses to indulge in trade and reap the benefits of that, then you are subject to all the laws and practices of England.' He paused to give the lay brother another jab in-the chest.
'Furthermore, we are seeking a murderer and have good reason to suspect that illegal acts against both property and persons may have been committed or fomented here. So just keep your monastic comments to yourself and stay out of our way!'
The prior's man went even redder in the face and began protesting, but John ignored him and turned to Edward Northcote and his shadow, Elias Palmer. 'I hope you are not going to be difficult over this, or we will have to take you back to Rougemont to question you further in less salubrious surroundings,' he threatened. 'Thomas, go with the portreeve and see that he gives you the right documents relating to the current imports and exports.'
As his clerk followed the reluctant Elias back into the bailiff's dwelling, Northcote's anger seemed to have subsided to a puzzled concern. 'Crowner, I don't understand this! Why this overstated show of force? True, there may be some small irregularities in the way the goods are tallied for the king's Customs levy, but that is a minor matter, mainly due to the inefficiency of John Capie. But a troop of armed soldiers and threats of arrest — that seems excessive.'