On the third day, now over a week away from Exeter, they rode wearily along the bank of the Thames into Southwark and across the bridge into the swarming streets of London. Both men had been there a number of times before and were not overawed by its size or its frenetic activity, but as they passed over the old wooden bridge, they stared curiously at the new one which was slowly being built nearby. Started a long time before, it was evidently still many years away from completion: only the bases of the nineteen piers showed above the turbulent water.
'Where do we look first, Crowner?' grunted Gwyn as they halted their steeds at the corner of Eastcheap in the city itself. De Wolfe looked downriver to where the grim pile of the Conqueror's White Tower stood high above the city wall. He pondered whether to try there first or make the longer journey in the opposite direction to Westminster.
'Hubert is almost king these days, so let's try the palace,' he said rather cynically. They plodded westwards, passing through the walls near the huge headquarters of the Knights Templar and onwards through the fields along the Strand, around the curve of the Thames until they came to the village of Westminster where the great Saxon abbey stood. Opposite, nearer the fiver bank, was the palace built a century before, its huge hall a legacy of William Rufus. As well as being the residence of an absent king, it was now surrounded by a cluster of buildings to house the ever-increasing bureaucracy of government, making it a bewildering maze for anyone unfamiliar with its layout.
They stopped outside the main gatehouse and stared at the imposing building. 'Can we cadge lodgings here, Crowner?' asked Gwyn, looking doubtfully at the crowded courtyards and the hurrying clerks and monks who were crossing back and forth to the Abbey opposite.
'We can but try, but first I need to see if Hubert is actually in residence,' grunted de Wolfe, kicking his mare into motion again. The gates were open, but guarded by two soldiers wearing tabards displaying the three couchant lions of King Richard's royal arms. John displayed a small parchment roll from which dangled the impressive wax seal of the Chief Justiciar, which Hubert had given him on a previous occasion. Though the sentinels could not read, they recognised the seal and directed the two visitors to a guardroom inside the gates, where in addition to a sergeant-at-arms they found a tonsured clerk sitting behind a table covered in documents.
John explained who he was and proffered the warrant again, which this time the black-garbed official was able to read. It was an authority which Hubert Walter had given de Wolfe when Richard de Revelle needed disciplining the previous year. It ordered every one of the King's subjects to provide John with any aid he required and made it clear that the bearer was well known to both Justiciar and King Richard himself. After scanning it, the clerk rose to his feet and spoke respectfully to the coroner.
'I have heard of you, sir, you have a certain reputation at the court.' He said this without any trace of sarcasm and went on to offer both good news and bad news.
'I regret that the Archbishop has gone to attend to his episcopal duties at Canterbury and will not return until tonight. But I am sure he can give you audience in the morning — and in the meantime, I would be happy to arrange accommodation for you — and your officer.' He looked rather doubtfully at the dishevelled Cornish giant who stood behind the coroner, but wisely refrained from any comment.
An hour later, after seeing that their horses were fed and watered, John and Gwyn were taken into the Great Hall by a servant, who placed them at a table near one of the several firepits and arranged for food and drink to be brought. The place was huge, a double row of columns supporting a vast roof, under which hundreds of people were milling about. Sections of the hall had been partitioned off, and it seemed to be part courthouse, part official chambers. The rest was a turbulent meeting place for those who either governed England or sought audience with those who governed England.
'What the hell do we do now?' queried Gwyn as he started to demolish a platter of fried pork and onions which a serving lad had placed in front of him, along with a jug of ale. John, similarly engaged in tearing the meat from a boiled fowl, peered at his henchman from under his black brows.
'You may do as you wish, Gwyn, but after a week in the saddle, I'm going to my bed and staying there until the morning.'
Though Hubert Walter was the most powerful man in the country, he eschewed ostentation and dressed soberly, unlike many of the popinjays that strutted about the court. With Richard Coeur de Lion absent in France, the Chief Justiciar carried much of the burden of government on his shoulders, especially the task of endlessly finding money.
'Little more than half the 150,000 marks ransom has so far been paid to Henry of Germany,' he confided to John de Wolfe the next morning. 'I have stripped most of the churches of their silver plate, taxed the wool producers until they groan and installed you and your fellow coroners, as well as the new Keepers of the Peace to squeeze all I can from the legal system.' They were sitting in a barely furnished room that Hubert used as his working office when in the palace of Westminster. A good fire burned in the hearth, which was modern enough to have a chimney, and the two chairs on either side of the large table were comfortable enough, but otherwise it hardly looked like the chamber of an archbishop and the virtual ruler of a country.
Hubert was a lean, tanned man with a face like leather, his cropped brown hair greying at the temples. He wore a plain red tunic, the only gesture to his ecclesiastical rank being a small gold cross hanging on a slender chain around his neck. They sat each with a silver cup of wine before them, like old comrades. Hubert had been in Palestine ostensibly as chaplain to the English Crusaders, but his role became more and more military as time went on. He acted as chief negotiator between King Richard and Saladin, and when the Lionheart had left for home on his ill-fated voyage, Hubert was left to command the army and arrange for its withdrawal. When Richard was captured in Vienna and imprisoned first in Durnstein Castle on the Danube and then in Germany, it was Hubert who visited him and arranged the lengthy process of negotiating the huge ransom to get him released. It was during this time that he had come to know and respect Sir John de Wolfe.
Now they sat opposite each other in the chilly morning, at first reminiscing about their dusty, dirty and dangerous days in Palestine, then getting down to the business that had brought de Wolfe to London.
'I guessed it would be de Revelle again,' sighed the Justiciar. 'I suppose it would have saved a lot of trouble if we had hanged the bastard a couple of years ago.'
'He never seems to learn, damn him,' replied John in exasperation. 'But he is my wife's brother and it would be difficult for me to see him swinging on the gallows-tree.'
He explained in detail what had happened over the seizure of the manor of Hempston and the banishment of Nicholas de Arundell.
'So you see the difficulty, that Nicholas was forced into outlawry and is unable to sue for restitution,' he concluded.
Hubert Walter stared at the base of his goblet as he twisted it on the table. 'He was with us in Outremer, you say?'
John nodded. 'I never met him there, but he was at the battle of Arsulf. Who wasn't?' he added rather bitterly, for that was a day of great slaughter on both tides.
'De Arundell? Yes, I remember the name, amongst so many others. That family came over with William the Bastard at the time of Hastings. This is a poor reward for a staunch Crusader, John.'