John knew he would soon have to go down to Dawlish to talk to one of his shipmasters about using the St Radegund for his trap — and he knew that, when he did, the temptation to visit Hilda again would be irresistible.
He hauled his naked body over in the bed with a groan, his head swirling with all these imponderables. As he tried to sleep, his final debate with himself was about moving to London. Would this really be just a trial period or would he never live in Devon again? His mother, sister and brother were not many miles away in Stoke, so how many times would he see them again in this life? In spite of his reassurances to Mary, would he keep his house here? His partnership in the wool trade was no problem — Hugh de Relaga would continue to administer that, as he had done all along — and it seemed that Gwyn and Thomas were resigned to going with him. But what of Nesta — and even Hilda, he dared think? How much of his familiar life would survive the desires of his king? John de Wolfe was a doer, not a thinker, and the effort of juggling these sudden complications in his life made his head ache. Mercifully, sleep eventually overtook him, and in spite of all the problems it was a dreamless coma until the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the shutters.
Next morning saw a number of new cases that needed the coroner's attention, a welcome diversion from his worries. An alleged rape in St Sidwell's, a man stabbed to death in a brawl in the Saracen Inn, the lowest drinking house in the city, and a rotten body fished out of the river at Exe Island occupied the coroner's trio until the evening.
However, with nothing remaining to be dealt with the following day, in the early morning de Wolfe and his staff were once more in the saddle, a place never much appreciated by Thomas. John had decided that they needed at least a week or two to set up their trap and allow the rumours to be spread around Devon. In the meantime he decided to visit the Prior of Loders, the manor-lord of Axmouth. After meeting Brother Absalom, John was suspicious about his activities on the Axmouth scene. He claimed to be the assistant to the priory cellarer, the obedientiary responsible for the material needs of a religious house. John had taken an instant dislike to the man. Though such aversions were nothing new for de Wolfe, he wanted to see Loders for himself and gauge how Absalom fitted into the picture.
So once again they were traversing the east of the county, taking the whole morning to reach Axmouth, where they received a frosty reception. The surly landlord of the Harbour Inn grudgingly provided poor rye-and-barley bread with cheese that tasted as if it had been buried in the village midden for a week.
'My mare passes better ale than this stuff,' growled Gwyn, grimacing over his jug. Thomas, who refused anything other than a slice of bread, asked his master why they had called yet again at Axmouth. 'We seem to learn less at each visit, Crowner,' he complained.
'As we are on the way to Loders, we might as well show our faces here, to show them that we have them under our eye,' replied de Wolfe. 'If I could only catch them out in even one misdemeanour, we could drag them back to Rougemont and shake them a little to see what fell out.'
With this ominous threat, which was largely wishful thinking, they left their poor meal and walked their mounts along the river's edge towards the sea, looking at the vessels tied up there. It was low tide, and five cogs were sitting on the stony mud, leaning against the bank. Three of them were loading wool, a line of men carrying bales on their backs from the warehouses opposite, to trot up the tilted gangplanks.
'That Tiger is not here again,' growled Gwyn as they reached the end of the line of ships. 'Her master seems to be avoiding us, though I suppose that's just chance.'
The coroner was also sorry that Martin Rof, the villainous captain, was not around to be questioned — not that he was likely to admit anything useful.
'Still, we can drop a few hints about our six cases of silver, as long as it's done casually,' he suggested. 'Thomas, you work your charms on that old priest — he looks as if he enjoys a gossip. I'd better not raise the subject myself, but you, Gwyn, could let something slip to that tally-man, what's his name, Capie?'
They ambled their horses back through the lower gate into the village and tied them up at the rail outside the bailiff's dwelling. While his two assistants went off about their business, de Wolfe strode up the path and banged on the door, which was ajar. Without waiting for a reply, he pushed it open and walked in, to find Edward Northcote bending over a table where Elias Palmer was wielding a quill pen over a roll of parchment. Both men turned to face the coroner, but their greeting was anything but welcoming.
'We heard that you and your men had ridden through our village,' snapped Northcote. 'What do you want with us this time?'
Though there was an undercurrent of insolence in his voice, it was muted.
'I want nothing particular, but wish to keep an eye on this manor,' growled de Wolfe. 'I would remind you that a young man was cruelly murdered here and no progress has been made in finding his killer. Neither has your attitude helped my investigation.'
'We have nothing to tell you, Crowner,' replied the bailiff stubbornly. 'You seem unwilling to accept that it was but some violent act of drunken shipmen.'
De Wolfe scowled at the man. 'I have information that suggests otherwise. There is also the matter of the deaths of a Keeper of the Peace and of a pedlar, both of which have features that point in this direction.'
'I don't know what you are talking about, sir!' said Northcote doggedly.
John glowered at him, then shifted his gaze to Elias. 'What is that you are writing, portreeve?' he asked suspiciously.
'Merely a list of the cargo taken from one of those cogs down at the quayside. I am entering the items that John Capie has recorded on his tallies.' He pointed to a collection of knotted cords and notched sticks that lay on the table.
Knowing that he was unable to challenge what Elias said, John wished that Thomas was here to check on the document. Frustrated, he changed the subject. 'I see that ship on which the dead boy Simon sailed is not in the harbour?'
'The Tiger? No, she sailed some days ago for Barfleur. Martin Rof will bring her back in a few days' time,' volunteered the portreeve, whose attitude was less resentful than that of the bailiff.
De Wolfe felt that he was uneasy and slightly apprehensive when in the presence of the coroner. 'Has that monkish fellow from Loders been here recently?' demanded de Wolfe, determined to keep the pressure up and convince the Axmouth people that he was watching every move they made.
'Of course. He is the prior's envoy here, he comes once a week,' said Northcote stiffly. 'I don't know what you could want with him, but if you had come yesterday you would have seen him here.'
'No matter. I will be at the priory this afternoon. I can discuss his functions with the prior,' said John smugly and was gratified to see the other two exchange worried glances.
John gave a final suspicious glare at Northcote and Elias and made his way back to his horse. As he waited for his assistants, he looked past the cottages on the other side of the village street to the wide expanse of the estuary, where a stiff onshore breeze was skipping wavelets far up the valley towards Colyford. Beyond the water, the countryside was a patchwork of bright green pastures, brown strip-fields and darker forest, all sloping up inland towards Axminster and Honiton. Above the village, the high ridge south of Hawkesdown Hill was covered in dense woodland running out towards the cliff at the end of the headland at the open sea. It was a pleasant place, and he hoped that soon any evil that lurked there would be driven out. He also realised with a pang of nostalgia that he would miss this Devon countryside when he moved to London.