'I have heard that the Justiciar was responsible for appointing the coroner in Devon and that they are good friends since their time in Palestine.'
Nicholas looked at her blankly. 'What has that to do with us?'
'Talking with Cousin Gillian these past few weeks, she has told me many things, for she is knowledgeable about all that goes on in Exeter. She says that the coroner, Sir John de Wolfe, is a most upright and honourable man. It so happens that I have become acquainted with his wife Matilda, as she kindly befriended me when I began attending Mass at the cathedral.'
Nicholas was suddenly anxious. 'The coroner's wife! For the Virgin's sake, be careful, Joan! You did not let slip who you really are, I trust?'
His wife shook her head emphatically. 'In Exeter, I am Lady Whiteford, the widow of a minor knight from the far end of Somerset, staying with my dear cousin Gillian here.'
Her husband still failed to see the point of her sudden diversion. 'He might be as upright as the Archangel Gabriel, but what help is that?'
Joan sat up on the bench, suddenly enthusiastic about her idea. 'Two things, Nicholas. He was a Crusader like you — and a very distinguished one, for he formed part of the king's bodyguard on his journey home. But more important, he hates Richard de Revelle and it was he who had him ejected as sheriff a few months back.'
De Arundell scratched at the itching stubble on his face. He could follow the way his wife's mind was working, but failed to see how it could accomplish anything helpful. 'What can I do about it, Joan? For an outlaw to approach a senior law officer would be as good as laying my neck down on the block. Apart from the sheriff, he is about the most dangerous person in England I could fear to meet!'
Although the celebration of Christ's birth was a week away, the Guild of Mercers decided to include some premature Yuletide festivities in their regular quarterly feast. The Guildhall was decked out with holly and bay branches and the traditional mistletoe. The food provided was even more lavish than usual, as was the music and entertainment- The mercers were one of the leading guilds, for although they dealt in most types of cloth, their speciality was the more luxurious fabrics, such as silk and velvet. Though not the most numerous of the Exeter merchants, they were amongst the most prosperous, and they certainly considered themselves the elite of the trading classes. The warden of the guild in Devon was Benedict de Buttelscumbe who, though only the son of a weaver, thought himself the primate of the Exeter burgesses and was eternally resentful of the fact that his fellow members of the city council had not elected him as one of the two portreeves.
John and Matilda arrived at the Guildhall at dusk, as feasts traditionally began early, though the drinking afterwards might last until midnight. John wore his best tunic of sombre grey, with a heavy surcoat of black serge against the cold night air. In stark contrast, Matilda wore her voluminous new mantle of blue velvet over a kirtle of red satin, the knotted tippets of her bell-shaped sleeves reaching almost to the floor. As became all married women appearing in public, her head was swathed in a linen wimple, secured around the forehead by a narrow band that matched her gown.
She clutched John's arm possessively as they entered the large door from the High Street and was gratified to have the guild treasurer meet them inside and conduct them to their places on the top table, enabling her to gesture condescendingly to several of her friends who were seated lower down the hall.
The large chamber, which had recently been rebuilt in stone, had two chimneyed hearths on each side, but there was still a chill in the air which would persist until the sweat and body heat of over a hundred guests warmed the atmosphere. The table for the important personages was set across the full width of the top of the hall, with two more stretching at right angles down the length of the room, leaving a wide space between for the entertainers. Three musicians were already hard at work, trying to make themselves heard above the buzz of talking, laughing and shouting that was already rising in volume. Merry music on sackbut, fiddle and drum helped create a festive atmosphere, but fell a long way behind the effects of the large quantities of ale, cider and wine that were being liberally dispensed.
Sir John de Wolfe and his lady were led down the side of the hall to their seats near one end of the top table.
Matilda had insisted on arriving late so that her entrance could be seen by those already there, and all the other places on the warden's table were filled. Apart from Benedict de Buttelscumbe himself, who occupied a large carved chair in the centre, everyone sat on benches.
They obligingly stood and moved a bench back so that Matilda, beaming at the attention she was receiving, could more decorously slide her skirts around the end.
When they were settled, John found himself between his friend and partner Hugh de Relaga and a man he recognised as a former warden of the Bakers' Guild.
Matilda was on the other side of de Relaga, with the Mercers' treasurer next to her, so John knew that she would be happy in their company. Hugh was one of his few friends that she tolerated, as he was rich, overdressed, jolly and unfailing flattered her, albeit with tongue in cheek. Matilda also found it most congenial to be seated next to a senior official of the most prominent guild in the city.
Serving men arrived with wine and ale, and soon the feasting began. Thick wheaten bread trenchers were loaded with many kinds of meat, whole fowls arrived on platters, and in front of the warden, a roast swan appeared alongside a suckling pig, which was carved for them by one of the cooks. There was goose and woodcock, as well as venison with frumenty, a type of pudding made from wheat boiled in sugared milk, then flavoured with cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg.
The eating went on for almost two hours, with a wide range of delicacies presented that were rarely seen by the lesser mortals of Devon, many of whom had only umble pie as their Yuletide luxury.
As the wine flowed the noise increased, but John was able to engage both his fellow diners in useful conversation. Hugh de Relaga brought him up to date on the latest activities — and profits — of their wool trading. John tried to limit this particular topic to times when Matilda was engrossed in conversation with the treasurer, as any mention of their new maritime venture was apt to revive her jealous disapproval of Hilda's role in the partnership.
Above the hubbub in the hall, his conversation with the guildsman from the bakers and pastry-cooks was of some use. He raised the matter of the death of Matthew Morcok and asked the former warden, a man of some sixty years, if he had any opinions about the murder.
'I knew Matthew quite well,' the man replied, shaking his head sadly. 'He was a queer old fellow, though with an illness like that, who could blame him?'
'Can you think of any reason why he should have met such a violent end?' asked John.
The guildsman shrugged and reached for his wine cup. 'We have all puzzled over this for the last few days,' he said. 'Matthew was such an inoffensive old man there seems no reason at all why he should have been slain.'
'When he was active in his own guild, did anything happen that might have made him enemies?' queried John.
Again the older man shook his head. 'He did nothing out of the ordinary, he went about his business making saddles and kept to himself. He took part in the business of his guild and there was never a breath of scandal, even though he was treasurer, which can sometimes put temptation in men's way.' He took a deep draught of his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'The only other activity he seemed to be involved in was being one of the examiners when journeymen presented their master-pieces. Unless he had some secret that we all knew nothing about, it remains a mystery. I can't see old Matthew being attacked by a jealous husband for making him a cuckold.'