They talked for a while longer, but de Wolfe was getting the sense that, though Hubert Walter was sympathetic to his problems, he was already too overstretched financially to be able to do much to help him. They continued talking about ways to police the Devon ports more effectively, but there was no way in which Hubert could commit more troops to that far west province, given the desperate need for every available man to rally to the royal standard in France. Neither did there seem much hope of diverting part of the small navy to patrol the coast to discourage piracy.
He was beginning to despair at the largely wasted journey they had made when a diversion occurred, one that was of great significance to the coroner's trio — and one that was to change the life of the coroner himself. There was a trumpet blast and then a commotion outside. A moment later a tall figure marched into Hubert's pavilion, followed by a trio of barons and scurrying pages and squires. Over six feet in height with broad shoulders and perhaps a little too much weight around his chest and belly for a man of thirty-eight, Richard Coeur de Lion had a mane of reddish-gold hair, which though shaved up at the back and sides was thick and wavy. Dressed in most un-kingly garments — a white linen shirt open at the neck and a pair of thick woollen hose pushed into riding boots — he radiated a regal presence that was like a blast of hot wind gusting into the tent. Supremely confident to the point of arrogance, he exuded energy, enthusiasm and impatience in equal degrees. He marched into the centre of the space and stood with his long arms akimbo, his big fists jammed on to his broad leather belt.
'By God's guts, it's true! I had heard that Black John was here!'
A startled de Wolfe dropped to one knee and bowed his head before his king, as did Gwyn and Thomas behind him, but Richard bellowed for them to rise and then, as John clambered to his feet, grabbed him and briefly hugged him to his chest. 'And Gwyn, you old rogue, still drinking and wenching, no doubt!' He gave the beaming Cornishman an affectionate punch on the arm. Loyally, the coroner dragged the bemused little priest forward. 'And this is my clerk, Thomas de Peyne, who has done great service in your name, sire. He reads and writes like Aristotle. I would be lost without him.'
The Lionheart, who unusually for a king was highly literate himself, rested a hand on the speechless clerk's shoulder. 'You must be either an angel or a martyr, Thomas, to endure the moods of this terrible master!'
Hubert Walter came around his table and joined the group in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the deferential circle of retainers, one of whom was William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, another of John's old campaign comrades.
'Sire, de Wolfe has travelled from Devon with various tidings, seeking help about various transgressions of the law. One of the new Keepers of the Peace which you suggested we appointed in the counties has been murdered, amongst other problems.'
He briefly outlined what de Wolfe had told him, and Richard listened intently, with the concentration of a man who could hold a dozen problems in his mind at a time and deliver almost instant solutions with supreme confidence.
'He must have more help, Hubert! More men-at-arms in Exeter, more Keepers, and this piracy must be combated by my new navy.'
The Justiciar was used to Richard's snap judgements, which were often not backed up by resources. There was no point in arguing about it and pointing out that if the king was willing to dispatch soldiers and ships — and the money to pay for them — from Normandy to distant Devonshire, then his wishes could be carried out.
Hubert nodded blandly. 'I will see what can be done, sire. Meanwhile, we have much to discuss concerning the state of your Exchequer.'
His broad hint that he needed to clear the tent to get down again to the reasons for his being here was interrupted by two breathless pages hurrying in with trays of wine. One bent his knee to the king and offered a large silver chalice, then passed around to give the barons and senior clerics pewter goblets. One of these came to de Wolfe, though the lesser mortals were ignored until Richard yelled at a page to give wine to Gwyn and Thomas.
'These are our guests, who have braved the seas to visit me,' he boomed in his deep voice. 'They serve Sir John here, who did his best to save me from those bastards in Austria a few years back!'
De Wolfe' s conscience forced him to speak, his voice hoarse with rare emotion. He dropped again to one knee before his king. 'I failed you then, sire, and the memory has plagued me ever since. I ask for your forgiveness, as I should have been there to prevent you from being taken.'
Richard put a hand under the coroner's armpit and hauled him to his feet. 'For Christ's sake, John, you have nothing with which to reproach yourself! If anyone was at fault, it was me! Fool that I was, I should not have flashed my coins so freely in that bloody tavern and should have hidden those gold rings from my fingers — no wonder it was obvious that I was no ordinary traveller!'
'But I should have stayed at your side and fought for you, not left you alone, sire!'
The king gave him a playful but heavy punch on the shoulder. 'What could you have done, except shed your blood uselessly on the ground? That pox-ridden mayor burst in with a score of soldiers — even I was not going to take on that many.'
Hubert Walter was becoming restive at the thought of all the work that needed to be done, and with a heavy sigh of resignation the king abandoned his reminiscences.
'Get you gone, John de Wolfe, and rest your mind easy! You have always been a staunch and loyal support to me and you have nothing whatsoever to regret. I wish that every man in my service was as steadfast as you.'
With this tribute ringing in his ears, the coroner and everyone else bowed their heads as the Lionheart stalked out to return to his own pavilion, followed by the Justiciar, his clerks and the whole retinue of major players.
His conscience cleared for the first time in four years, John felt light-headed at the praise that Christendom's greatest monarch had just laid upon him. As they walked back to the mess tent, his feet hardly seemed to touch the ground and even the imperturbable Gwyn was grinning from ear to ear at the reflected glory that he had shared. As for Thomas, he felt drunk with elation, a sensation he had never experienced before. To actually be in the presence of Richard Coeur de Lion was awesome in itself, but for the great man to speak directly to him in such an amiable fashion was like a dream. Once again he felt a deep affection for the coroner for so pointedly bringing him and his talents to the notice of both the archbishop and the king.
In the mess tent, where some were still breaking their fast and others just quenching their thirsts, Gwyn collected a couple of jars of ale and a mug of cider for Thomas. Both beverages were there in abundance, as an army marching on its stomach needs more than just solid food.
'So what do you think of that, young Thomas?' asked his master as they squatted on the straw-strewn ground.
'I can die content, Crowner, after having met our king and the archbishop. Thank you, sir, for your kind words that brought me to their attention.'
'You were damned fortunate to catch Richard in a good mood, Thomas!' cackled Gwyn. 'He can be terrifying when he is out of sorts or in a temper!'
Inquisitive as ever, the clerk wanted to know more about the dramatic capture of the Lionheart on the way home from the Crusade. 'Is it true that you and Gwyn were part of his bodyguard?' he prompted.
'We were almost all that was left of it at the end!' grunted Gwyn, but it was de Wolfe who took up the tale, his recent euphoria making him unusually talkative.