Read Online Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) by Bernard Knight - Free Book Online Page B

rays of the sun.
    ‘Did he have a scrip on his belt?’ asked de Wolfe.
    ‘A small leather pouch with a purse inside,’ answered the sheriff’s watchman. ‘It held but two silver pennies, so I doubt that he was killed for his wealth.’
    Apart from marvelling that someone had not already stolen the coins since the corpse was recovered from the river, there was nothing else John could do and he turned to the supercilious sheriff.
    ‘Do you still wish to continue with this matter?’ he barked. ‘I fail to see what you can learn here, when the crime was committed almost a couple of miles upriver.’
    ‘I can send my men to Westminster to question you people up there,’ retorted Godard stubbornly.
    ‘I doubt the Chief Justiciar would look kindly on that, sheriff!’ snapped de Wolfe. ‘In fact, I strongly suspect that he will wish to have words with you and your mayor over this apparent conflict of interests.’
    Godard seemed unmoved by this veiled threat. ‘I will record my verdict in the usual way. After you have gone, I will assemble a jury and declare that this man Basil of Reigate was slain at Westminster on yesterday’s date, by persons unknown. That will be the end of the matter.’
    ‘Not for me, it won’t!’ shouted de Wolfe. ‘I will investigate it properly and discover who did this foul act upon a servant of the king. You have been wasting my time, sir – and your own!’
    With a face like thunder, he stalked off across the bailey towards his horse. His three companions trailed after him, leaving the sheriff and his men to their own devices. As John reached Odin and unhitched him from a rail outside the guardroom, the priest, who had remained silent throughout all the exchanges, came hurrying after them, as de Wolfe climbed into his high saddle.
    ‘Sir John, what about the corpse? You said it must be returned to Westminster.’ He was a small man, with a face lined with worry.
    John looked down at him from the back of his patient destrier.
    ‘I will speak to the Keeper and perhaps the Chief Justiciar as soon as I return. They will arrange for the poor fellow to be collected.’ He wheeled Odin around to face the gate.
    ‘Meanwhile, keep him out of this damned sun or they’ll have to collect him in a couple of buckets!’
    That evening, the coroner decided to have his supper in his rented dwelling, rather than in the Lesser Hall. The attraction of the delectable Hawise d’Ayncourt was strong, but he had an uneasy feeling that he might get himself into trouble if he let matters progress too far. He could not quite understand why she still used her own name, when she was married to Renaud de Seigneur, but he decided that was something it was not profitable to pursue.
    Osanna, their obese cook, told them that their meal would not be ready for another hour, so John and Gwyn adjourned to an alehouse on King Street, to quench their thirsts as the heat of the day began to lessen in the early evening. A slight breeze came up the river with the rising tide, bringing with it cooler air, scented with sewage and rotting fish.
    The tavern, alongside the palace gate, had the somewhat irreverent name of ‘The Deacon’, perhaps to offer a weak justification or even an alibi to a number of priests and clerks who often sidled in furtively. It was an old building, built of curved crucks of trees at each pine-end and a lattice of timbers supporting panels made from hazel withies plastered with cog, all in dire need of new limewash.
    There was an upper floor where rooms were let to lodgers, and above that in the loft straw mattresses were rented out at a penny a night for those who wanted cheap communal accommodation. The ground floor was a single large room where ale, cider and cheap wine were dispensed and it was here that Gwyn and his master sat to swallow a quart of a rather indifferent brew. Two stools were placed at an open window, where the shutters were thrown wide to admit the cooler air; a rough plank