Gwyn looked at him blankly. 'What has that got to do with us — or, rather, you, Crowner?'
'Here in Normandy, the king has appointed a knight as his own coroner, to deal with all cases amongst the hundreds of people who cluster around him to form his court. When he moves, as he does incessantly, the coroner moves with him, as does 'the Verge' a twelve mile zone around the court within which the coroner's power is paramount. Now the king and Hubert Waiter want to set up the same system in England.'
'But the king is not in England,' objected Thomas reasonably.
'Not at the moment, but he will be one day. And in any case there is a large court based on London and Winchester consisting of his barons, judges, clerks and God knows how many hangers-on that perambulate up and down the country. Hubert Walter is at the head of it, but there is a flock of bishops and earls and dukes, all with their chaplains and knights and squires and pages, to say nothing of the scores of lesser servants they gather around them. Add to that the foreign emissaries and ambassadors that plague them, then you have a crowd the size of a small town.'
It was true that the wanderings of a king or even a prominent baron or bishop was a massive and cumbersome operation, with carts and wagons to transport their wives and families, their arms, documents and even furniture, as they moved from city to city or manor to manor. The descent of a monarch or baron upon a local lord could be a financial disaster for him, as he would be expected to house and feed his unwanted guests for as long as they deigned to stay.
'And now King Richard wants you to be the first court coroner,' said the perceptive Thomas.
'I was the first Devon coroner and it seems he and the Justiciar have been content with my performance of my duties, so they wish me to move to London.' John modestly omitted the fulsome praise that the king had heaped upon him, partly to soften the command, for that was what it amounted to, rather than a request.
'And you agreed?' asked Gwyn bluntly. He was very unsure where this left him and Thomas.
De Wolfe grinned wryly. 'One does not agree or disagree with a king, especially when that king is Richard Coeur de Lion!' he replied. 'I swore fealty to his father when I was knighted and that allegiance applies equally to the son. If he says I must go to London, then to London I will go.'
There was silence for another score of hoof-beats on the hard earth until Thomas ventured the big question. 'And what of us, Sir John?'
That question was not fully answered until The Mary and Child Jesus was once more gliding up on the flood tide of the River Exe towards the quayside she had left over two weeks earlier.
'We have a month yet before I ride for London,' said John as they watched the twin towers of the cathedral slowly rise above the high banks. 'Hubert wants this Axmouth problem dealt with before I leave.'
'This whole idea' was the Justiciar's, I suspect,' growled Gwyn.
John nodded. 'The king is usually led by him in matters concerning the government of England, for Richard is too absorbed by his problems across the Channel. This idea of a 'Coroner of the Verge' is but an experiment of Hubert's. If it proves to be unnecessary, he will abandon it after a year and I'll come back to Devon.'
During the long journey back from Rouen, they had agreed that Gwyn and Thomas would accompany him to his new appointment. Gwyn was married with two children, but as he had spent much of the past twenty years away on campaigns with de Wolfe, being absent in London would be no great hardship, especially as John had promised that he could ride home every three months for a visit. Thomas, who was Hampshire born, had no ties to the West Country and was quite content to go to the great city, especially as there would be frequent opportunities to visit the twin capital of Winchester, where he had been a minor canon until his fall from grace several years earlier. His concern had been that he would lose his ecclesiastical sinecure in Exeter, but Hubert Waiter had assured John that he would find some similar post for him in London.
With his officer and clerk, if not exactly enthusiastic, at least resigned to the move, it was John himself who faced the greatest dilemma. He had a house, a wife, a partnership, a maid, a dog and a mistress in Exeter, not to mention the attractions of a beautiful former lover in Dawlish. There was no question of his refusing the king's command, but what in hell was he to do about his private life?
As Roger Watts coaxed the prow of the cog around to put the larboard side to the bank, the crew broke into an unmelodious version of the hymn 'Praise to the Good Christ and the Kind Virgin', the traditional seaman's chant sung all over Europe in thanks for a safe end to a voyage. Soon, the coroner's trio felt the strange sensation of solid ground under their feet, and with an agreement with Gwyn to meet in the Bush at dusk they parted at the Watergate to go their various ways. John walked up through the town, quieter at this time in the mid-afternoon, but to him still bustling compared with the solitude of the ship, which with unhelpful winds had taken five days to get from Honfleur. He reached his house in Martin's Lane, and as he pushed open the heavy street door he wondered if he would miss its dour familiarity when he left Exeter. Inside, he listened for voices, but there was only silence. Raising the latch of the inner door to the hall, he peered around the draught screens and saw that it was empty and that the fire was unlit. Even though it was now late April, Mary usually kept logs burning for another month.
John went back into the vestibule and was rewarded by the sound of padding feet as Brutus came around the corner from the passage at the side of the house and advanced on him, tail swishing and head low to the ground in affectionate greeting.
Fondling his big head, he looked up and saw Mary standing at the corner, regarding him with a mixture of relief and anxiety. 'You're back from your gallivanting, then?' she said pertly, then came nearer and planted a kiss on his cheek. 'There's food and drink in my kitchen. You look as if you need it — and a good wash and a shave!'
She fried him onions with 'chitterlings' — sausages made from a pig's intestine stuffed with chopped pork and offal — followed by bread slathered in beef dripping. Washed down with rough cider, it was a welcome change from the endless thin stew boiled in a cauldron on the rolling ship. As he ate, seated on a stool in her hut, she stood against the doorpost watching him with concern.'
'Well, woman, tell me all about it,' he said eventually. 'I can see she's not here. Is there any news of her yet?'
Mary shook her thick dark hair, free of the headscarf she wore outside the house. 'Not a word from her directly, no! But her cousin in Fore Street sent a servant to collect all her clothes, which it seems your wife has said she can have. They are much of a size, so she can get them altered to fit.'
The cook-maid said this with an air of defiance, as if it proved her own conviction that her mistress would never return. 'And a groom from Polsloe came with orders to take her chest from the solar back to the priory.
This was Matilda's strongbox, in which she kept her brooches and rings, as well as the money which arrived each quarter-day from the lawyer who doled out instalments of the bequest from her dead father. It certainly looked as if his wife was taking this escape into a nunnery more seriously than she had last time.
Suddenly, Mary's bravado evaporated and she came to kneel at John's side, her hand gripping his arm.
'What's to become of me, John? I've been alone in this house for over two weeks. The mistress will never come home now, and that Lucille has gone to serve her brother's wife. Am I to be thrown out into the street if you sell this house and go elsewhere?'