'His Grace is fully occupied this evening, Sir John. He has many matters of grave importance concerning the financing of the campaign to discuss with the king and several of his major barons. But I am sure he will see you in the morning.'
Thankful for the prospect of a good night's rest after their continuous journeying for almost a week, John had another good meal in the early evening. Then he spent an hour or two spinning yarns of days gone by with several older warriors in the knights' quarters, before wrapping himself in his cloak and sleeping soundly on a hessian bag of hay purloined by a page from the stables. Gwyn had a similar orgy of reminiscence with the more senior men-at-arms, several of whom he had met in previous campaigns. As for Thomas, he was delighted to curl up in a comer of the administrator's marquee and eavesdrop on the conversations of several canons and archdeacons from Normandy and Poitou.
The morning was blasted alive by trumpets soon after dawn, and there was an hour of sleepy activity as fires were revived, food cooked and animals fed by the couple of hundred occupants of the cliff top camp. The fat canon, reluctantly seconded from the main court at Rouen, appeared at about the seventh hour and summoned de Wolfe to Hubert Waiter's accommodation, a trio of connected tents and a circular canvas pavilion. He took Gwyn and Thomas with him, ignoring the disapproving expression of the canon at the sight of the big untidy Cornishman with wild red hair and drooping moustaches.
The Chief Justiciar was sitting in a folding chair behind a trestle table piled with parchments. A thin chaplain stood protectively behind him, and two clerks worked at a longer table on the far side of the tent. Hubert was a wiry man of medium height, his face lined and leathery, though he had not been on a field of battle since leaving Palestine several years earlier. Only his shaven tonsure betrayed him as a priest, as he wore a leather jerkin over a brown tunic, beneath which protruded legs encased in serge breeches, like any other fighting man. The sole token of his ecclesiastical rank was a small gold cross on a chain around his neck and the large ring of office on his finger.
When John entered, he rose with a smile of genuine pleasure and gestured to a clerk to bring the coroner a stool, which was set for him on the other side of the table. Gwyn and Thomas stood discreetly a few paces behind him, in respectful silence in the presence of this powerful man who virtually ruled England in the king's absence. It was conventional for all those who approached the Primate to kiss his ring, but in these military surroundings he made no move to offer his hand.
'Well, Black John, what brings you all this way? You only visit me when you want something!'
The tone was amiable, almost affectionate, as the two men had known and respected each other for some years, especially during the last Crusade. As John's shadow, Gwyn was also well known to Hubert, but de Wolfe went out of his way to introduce Thomas as his invaluable clerk, which made the little priest squirm with embarrassed pleasure to be noticed by the head of the English Church.
'How is that damned brother-in-law of yours behaving himself?' demanded Hubert, for the last time John had petitioned him was in relation to Richard de Revelle's latest misdemeanours and subsequent disgrace, which had been the cause of Matilda's final lapse into depression.
'He seems to have run out of escapades at the moment, as Prince John also seems to be keeping a low profile these days,' replied the coroner. 'For once, I have come to seek your advice and help on other matters — and indeed to bring you news of a disturbing breach of the law.'
For the next few minutes de Wolfe set out in his blunt fashion a catalogue of the events in east Devon, including the probability of Customs evasion and piracy, culminating in the murder of one of the Justiciar's new Keepers of the Peace.
'The man was one of your appointees, my lord, and, though a rather rash and impetuous fellow, did not deserve such a death, when he was only doing his duty on behalf of our king.'
Even with all the cares and responsibilities that were heaped upon him daily, Hubert Walter looked genuinely concerned at John's news. 'I never met de Casewold, though I recall his name amongst the lists of knights appointed to be Keepers last year,' he said grimly. 'He must be the first to be killed in the course of his duty. They were not intended to be physical enforcers of the law but rather to ensure that crimes were not ignored or tolerated, but always brought to justice.'
For a while they spoke of the significance of the death and the need to appoint a successor, as well as to increase the number of Keepers. The original plan was to install four in each county, but so far the total was far short of that target.
'And you think his killing was linked to this business in Axmouth?' The Justiciar sat with his hands planted firmly on the table, looking intently at de Wolfe.
'I do indeed, as he told me he was intent on tracking illicit goods coming out of that port,' answered John. 'Though we have so far failed to prove it, as I am sure they falsify their records, I'm convinced that they both evade the Customs duty on a large scale and also dispose of loot gained by piracy in the Channel, which is my main concern.
He recounted the disappearance of a number of merchant vessels and the conviction of local shipmen that at least some of these were being deliberately pillaged, then sunk with all their crew.
'I have heard that the king has begun to build up a navy, based on his new harbour at Portsmouth. Surely one vital task for them would be to rid the seas of these murderous swine who prey on their fellow seamen?'
Hubert nodded slowly. 'It is true that King Richard has a great interest in creating a seaborne army and has already commissioned a number of ships. They are really merchant cogs with built-up castles at bow and stern and manned by fighting men and archers. But they are meant to be a support to his army, fighting the French both at sea and in attacks on their ports.'
'But surely some could patrol the south coast to discourage these vultures who prey on our ships?' growled de Wolfe.
Hubert lifted his hands in supplication. 'Money, John, it is always money! Each month our monarch demands more and expects me to find it every time. Ships are expensive, and to build more at present is beyond our means.' He waved an arm to encompass everything around them. 'Why do you think we are camped on this bloody hill, when we could be more comfortable back in Rouen's citadel? Because the king has now decided to build the strongest fortress in Europe here, mainly to spite Philip Augustus!' He shook his head in mock despair. 'And where am I going to get the money? By squeezing the barons and bishops even harder, on both sides of the Channel — and by grinding more taxes from every family in Richard's possessions. No wonder I am the most unpopular man in England!'
De Wolfe nodded sagely, pleased that his forecast about this site was correct. 'It is certainly a perfect place to dominate the Seine and the surrounding countryside,' he said admiringly.
The Justiciar smiled wryly. 'The problem is that we do not own the land here. It is part of a manor belonging to the Archbishop of Rouen, who has taken great exception to Richard's plans. He has placed Normandy under a religious interdict over the issue and appealed to the Pope, but no doubt we can buy him off, if only we can raise the money.'
'But you are not actually fighting at the moment?' asked John.
'No. Both sides are having a respite after a treaty signed at Louviers in January, in which Richard ceded the Vexin to Philip but recovered other lands previously lost. But it can't last and that's why I'm here, God help me! The king summoned me from Winchester to demand more money and troops, as he intends to break the treaty before long and recover the Vexin. In fact, building a castle here is in direct defiance of that treaty, and I'm sure our royal master is doing it to provoke Philip back into conflict.' The Vexin was a small county north-west of Paris, over which the two kings had long been wrangling like a pair of dogs with a bone.