'Seaton, you mean, Crowner?' he asked eagerly. 'There are certainly ships and shipmen there, though most are fishermen. He could have come from there, I suppose.'
'And equally from Sidmouth or Budleigh — even from Lyme, in the next county!' countered Northcote, intent on being difficult.
De Wolfe next addressed the Keeper, determined to show him who was in charge here. 'I suggest, Sir Luke, that you send your clerk across the river to enquire if any man has gone missing from there in the past few days. The state of this corpse suggests that he has been dead less than a week, even though cold earth slows down the pace of corruption. '
De Casewold looked slightly affronted at being told what to do by a law officer he considered to be of equal status, but he made no protest and sent Hugh Bogge, with one of the villagers, to find his way across the water to Seaton.
'Meanwhile, I and my officer and clerk need some sustenance after the long ride from Exeter,' declared the coroner. 'Where can we be fed and rested for an hour?'
Normally, a king's officer such as de Wolfe would claim hospitality from the local lord in his castle or manor house — or failing that in an abbey or priory. As Axmouth had none of these, it fell to the bailiff to grudgingly offer his own house for the purpose, rather than suggest one of the many taverns that catered mainly for seafarers. 'I can't offer much. I have no wife to cater for me, only an idle servant,' he warned.
John and his two companions followed him from the church back up the short street that lay within the walls to one of the better buildings in the village. Luke de Casewold attached himself to them without invitation, as did Elias Palmer.
Like most of the other cottages, the bailiff's house was built of cob plastered within stout oak frames, but it was in good condition, with fresh whitewash on the walls and new thatch on the roof. It consisted of one large room, the end partitioned off for his bed, a luxury indicative of his position in the community. In view of the mild weather, only a small fire glowed in the clay-lined pit, ringed with stones, in the centre of the floor. What little smoke there was wafted upwards to find its way out under the eaves, as there was no chimney. No cooking was done here, as there was a separate kitchen-hut behind the house, with a larger fire tended by his servant.
A table with benches and a few stools completed the furniture, except for another long table against the wall which bore tally-sticks and some parchments as well as quill pens and an ink-bottle. These caught Thomas's eye as he entered, as it was unusual to find anyone in a village who was literate, apart from the priest. Edward Northcote noticed the clerk's interest and gruffly explained.
'Elias, my portreeve, uses this room to make his manifests, the lists of cargo going in and out of the port. He's the only man who can read and write, apart from the old priest.'
He waved them to the table, and his servant, a toothless old man with a bad limp, brought in clay cups and a pitcher of ale. While they waited for him to bring some food, John enquired about the port. 'I've not been here before. It seems a busy, thriving place.'
The portreeve hastened to broaden the coroner's knowledge, the pride in his voice being almost proprietorial. 'Axmouth has long been an important harbour, sir. We know that the Romans used it, but doubtless it was known before that.'
As usual, the erudite Thomas could not resist airing his own knowledge. 'Indeed it was! The classical writers tell of Phoenicians sailing here to collect tin, long before the birth of Our Saviour.' He paused to cross himself at the mention of the Holy Name.
The bailiff, his own pride in his little town not to be denied, nodded his agreement. 'It is one of the major ports of England, with its estuary safely tucked under the long headland behind the town. We rarely have fewer than half a score of vessels moored here during the sailing season.'
'What is their main trade, then?' asked John. His interest was not prompted by his role as coroner but as a partner in a wool-exporting business with Hugh de Relaga, one of the portreeves of Exeter. They used the Wharves of that city to send their bales abroad, mainly to Flanders and the Rhine.
The portreeve answered him, a frown on his narrow face. 'On the outward voyages, fine limestone from the quarries of Beer, but mostly wool, Crowner, though this tax that King Richard has imposed has begun to stifle the trade.'
De Wolfe caught a warning glance pass from the bailiff to Elias Palmer and assumed it was a hint that it might be undiplomatic to criticise the monarch in front of two of his law officers.
'And what do they bring in to this place?' asked John. The bailiff shrugged his big shoulders. 'All manner of goods, depending on where they come from. French wine from Barfleur or Bordeaux, dried fruit from France — and of course finished cloth from Flanders or the Rhine.'
John nodded. It was the same with the ships he and his partner employed, though much tin was also exported from Exeter, being one of the smelting and assay towns.
Their talk was interrupted by the old servant bringing in a board bearing a haunch of cold mutton, two loaves, butter and cheese. He set it on the table, and Northcote cut thick slices of meat with his dagger, laying them on the board for the others to take. The portreeve slashed the loaves into quarters, and each man started to eat, picking up the food with their fingers or with small eating knives from the pouches on their belts.
'I live simply,' growled Northcote. 'I have been a widower these past five years and live alone, apart from that old fellow in the kitchen.'
'You keep the records and accounts, bailiff?' ventured Thomas, nodding towards the other table with its parchments and writing materials.
'I am the prior's creature in that respect. He is insistent that everything is properly recorded.' Edward Northcote picked up another piece of mutton and held it before his lips before continuing. 'The portreeve here does most of the organising of the town's trade and deals with the shipmasters, and as I am unlettered he also scribes all the records.'
They fell silent as the rest of the food was devoured.
Then the ale-pots were refilled and Sir John returned to the matter in hand.
'My officer and I will finish our examination of the body, then I wish to see that every effort is made to put a name to the victim.'
Luke de Casewold, who had been quiet for the duration of the meal, looked doubtful. 'I doubt my clerk will return this afternoon. By the time he crosses the river, makes his enquiries in Seaton and gets back again, you will not have time to return to Exeter tonight.'
Though the coroner would dearly have liked to get back to the city before the gates closed at the dusk curfew, he accepted that their horses would not relish a forced march after already covering twenty miles that morning. He resigned himself to a mattress in one of the inns, no hardship for such seasoned campaigners as Gwyn and himself, though Thomas would probably whine at the discomfort. He told de Casewold that he would stay over and hold an inquest in the morning, hoping that the corpse's identity would be established by then.
'For now, I will just spend an hour looking at the quayside and questioning some of the shipmen. If this poor lad was a sailor, they may know him.'
The coroner left the bailiff, the parish priest and portreeve together in the house and walked with his assistants and the Keeper of the Peace back to the church. Here Gwyn stripped the clothing from the corpse and, together with John, examined it closely from head to toe. The young man was slim but had plenty of muscle in his arms and legs. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp and forehead by the dampness of his makeshift grave, but there was nothing abnormal to be seen apart from the ligature mark around the neck and the clear signs of strangulation in the face. Gwyn searched the scanty clothing and found nothing useful. 'No belt or pouch, not a coin or badge to help us,' he muttered, as for the sake of decency he pulled the garments back over the corpse.