Figure of Hate (7 page)

'Are you too busy this evening to climb the ladder, my love?' he whispered in her ear. She jabbed him playfully with her elbow, then pulled herself free from his encircling arm.

'I must go and see to the girls in the kitchen now,' she said, rising to her feet and smoothing down the green kirtle that flowed over her shapely figure. 'But if you can find the strength to walk down again after glutting yourself on Mary's duck, then maybe I can find a few spare moments later on this evening!' She made her way to the back of the room, laughing and making small talk with her patrons along the A popular woman, she had the gift of being pleasant to everyone, yet firm enough with drunks or the few who tried to take advantage of her, as a woman innkeeper was a vulnerable rarity in the many alehouses of the city.

The coroner sat with his pot and also exchanged salutations with some of the regulars in the taproom, They all knew of his long-standing affair with the landlady and most heartily approved and wished them well.

Though there was many a nudge and wink, none ever made any audible jest or comment, as Black John's short temper and strong arm were too well known for any liberties to be taken with him.

De Wolfe was chatting to a carpenter on the next table about the good quality of the repairs to the building, as the man was one of those who had worked on it, at John's expense. Under the table, Brutus was contentedly gnawing on a mutton knuckle that another patron had thrown to him. The scene was one of peaceful serenity, too good to last. The early evening sunlight coming through the open door was momentarily blocked by a large figure as Gwyn of Polruan came in and crossed to de Wolfe's table. The coroner groaned as he saw the familiar look on the big man's whiskered face.

'Tell me the worst, then! I was just getting comfortable,' he grunted.

Gwyn dropped on to the opposite bench, which creaked ominously under his weight. He ran thick fingers through his dishevelled red hair, then waved them at Edwin to summon a jug of ale.

'There's been something found, Crowner. Something that might have a bearing on our corpse.' The Cornishman had a habit, infuriating to his master, of spinning out any story in instalments that delayed the actual facts.

'What "something", damn you? Spit it out, for God's sake!'

Edwin limped up with Gwyn's ale and the officer took a deep draught and gave a sigh of satisfaction before answering the exasperated coroner.

'Garments, that's what. Bloodstained and hidden in a hole.'

Between gulps of Nesta's best brew, the story came out. Two young boys had been playing on the river bank about a quarter of a mile downstream of the wharf, where the Shitebrook disgorged its filth into the Exe.

This was a foul stream that acted as the main sewer for Exeter, most of the ordure draining through culverts in the city walls to find its way into the aptly named brook which trickled sluggishly down a small valley to the river.

'They had a mangy dog with them and they throwing sticks into the river for it to fetch,' explained! Gwyn. 'Then it suddenly lost interest in the game and started digging into the bank, in what seemed like an otter run.'

John waited impatiently for his old friend to get toi! the hub of the matter.

'The upshot was that the cur dragged out a bundle of what the lads thought were rags, but which turned out to be a tunic and surcoat. The upper part of both of these was stiff with blood.'

He went on to explain that when the boys ran back up to the wharf, some of the men there challenged them, thinking they had stolen something. One happened to be the fellow who had found the body earlier in the day. He called Osric, who in turn asked Gwyn to notify the coroner.

'Where's the stuff now?'demanded de Wolfe.

'Osric has it in that shack behind the Guildhall that the constables use for their shelter.'

The two men downed the remainder of their drink and John told Edwin to tell his mistress that he would see her later that evening. They stepped out into Idle Lane, feeling one of the first chill breezes of the autumn as they strode back towards the city.

The Guildhall was in High Street, not many yards from the turning into Martin's Lane. It was newly built in stone, one of the grandest buildings in the city, as befitted the home of the many merchant guilds and the place where the burgesses held their council. In a lane behind it was a small thatched hut left by the stonemasons, which had been appropriated as their shelter by Osric and his fatter colleague, Theobald.

John thrust open the rickety door and went into the shed, almost bare but for two old stools and a bench on which were some cups and pots. Neither of the constables was there, but Gwyn pointed to a jumble of cloth on a shelf nailed to the wall.

'That's the stuff, Crowner. Have a look at this.' He unrolled the clothing on the bench and John saw a long yellow tunic of good-quality cloth, together with a surcoat of blue serge. They were both muddy, but more significantly the areas around the neck and upper chest were stiff with dark dried blood.

De Wolfe felt the material between his finger and thumb. 'Good stuff, though not showy. If this did belong to our corpse, then he was no common labourer, as I thought from the state of his hands.' Gwyn nodded sagely. 'But neither does he seem some foppish fellow with more money than sense. There's no fancy embroidery on the tunic and the surcoat has no brocade or velvet frippery.'

The coroner stood staring down at the soiled garments. 'But no belt, dagger, hose or shoes - nor a pouch or purse.'

'Smells like a robbery to me,' grunted his officer.

'But why take his clothes off and hide them?'
 

'To confound or certainly delay us putting a name to him,' snapped de Wolfe. 'It's the merest chance that those urchins and their dog found this stuff.' Gwyn remained unimpressed by their luck. 'Doesn't help much unless we find someone who knows him and knows what he was wearing!'

His master shrugged and turned to the door. 'Let's see what tomorrow brings. You can tell Osric to take that stuff down to the Watergate. It may as well stay with the body, in case we find someone who can have a look at them both.'

With that, he strode off towards his house, ready to face both Mary's duck and his wife's dour company.

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Everyone in the city seemed to be up and about even earlier than usual the next morning. Even before broke, there were people milling around the five gates, impatiently waiting for them to open. As soon as the porters pulled back the massive oaken doors, there was a scramble in both directions, though most waiting to spill out, especially at South Gate, as the was centred on Southernhay, the expanse of meadows and gardens beyond the south-east wall of Exeter.

Those coming in were the usual crowd who daily brought provisions to the shops and stalls, pushing barrows of vegetables, wicker crates of fowls and ducks, carrying baskets of eggs and freshly caught fish. Others were adding to the confusion by driving pigs, sheep and cattle to the slaughterers in the Shambles at the top of Southgate Street.

Today, however, many merchants were going out to the booths they had erected in Southernhay, to draw in as much profit as they could from the fair. Some were Exeter burgesses and craftsmen, but there were also many strangers who had arrived early and stayed in the city overnight. Some had come from as far afield as London, Lincoln and Chester - and there were even a few who had taken ship from Cologne and Flanders, drawn by the reputation of the October fair. This year, it was an even greater attraction, as the one-day jousting tournament meant that even more people would be attending, some of them wealthy knights and squires who might be persuaded to part with their money more liberally than the cautious townsfolk and peasantry.

John de Wolfe was also up early, determined as a senior law officer to play his part in keeping the peace, especially as he knew that the new sheriff was unlikely to be exerting himself in this direction. The coroner also wanted to see what could be discovered about the previous day's murder - even if there was little hope of catching the culprits, it was essential to try to put a name to the victim, for the sake of his family.

John threw aside the sheepskin coverlets and climbed naked from his feather-filled mattress, set on a low plinth of the floor of-the solar, leaving Matilda snoring on the other side. The previous evening she had been subdued and uncommunicative after returning from her devotions, which John rightly attributed tO the induction of a new sheriff, reminding her again of her brother's fall from grace. After a silent meal, Matilda had retired upstairs for Lucille's ministrations to her hair, then gone to bed. John had slipped out to the Bush and had a satisfactory hour in the new loft, coming home before the cathedral bells rang for midnight matins.

Now he was ready for the new day, and in honour of the fair he pulled out his second-best grey tunic from the heavy chest that held his few clothes. He pulled on his long hose and tied the laces to the under-belt around his waist before shaking down the skirt of his long tunic and buckling on his wide leather belt, complete with scrip pouch at the front and sheathed dagger at the back.

Slipping into house shoes, he opened the solar door and shivered slightly at the chill morning breeze that was chasing dark clouds across the sky. Once down the wooden steps, he made for the cook house and soon was tucking into oatmeal gruel with milk and honey.

By the time he had spooned this down, Mary had a manchet of yesterday's bread for him, piled with three eggs and a thick slab of bacon fried in butter. Half a small loaf and a pint of her own ale completed his breakfast, and soon he was squatting in the odorous privy at the end o£ the yard, before making for the vestibule to pull on his boots.

As he reached for his mottled wolfskin cape to throw over his shoulders, Brutus came loping around the corner from the yard. The big brown dog beseechingly at his master.

'Come on, then, but behave yourself,' he grunted.

'There'll be a lot of horses down there, so keep from under their hoofs!'

John's first destination was the tourney ground at Bull Mead, just beyond Southernhay. As an older and very experienced warrior, he had been asked to act as one of the judges for the contests the following day and, having agreed, wanted to have a look at the arrangements beforehand.

As he walked through the early morning bustle in the streets and lanes, he thought about the amount of organisation that these fairs entailed. The financial returns to the city and its burgesses must be well worth the effort, he mused, as weeks of work preceded each of the four major fairs every year. Because Exeter was a free chartered city, there was no lord to monopolise them, so the fairs were controlled by the two portreeves - his friend Hugh de Relaga and Henry Rifford, a wealthy leather merchant. Together with leading burgesses and guildmasters, they set up a committee, and this delegated all the hard work to others. Clerks dispensed permits to trade at the fair and collected the substantial fees, some of which had to be paid to the King's treasury under the terms of their charter.

Builders and carpenters erected all the booths and the fencing for the tourney ground. Arrangements had to be made with the sheriff and the castle constable for men-at-arms to patrol the fairground and attempt 'to keep some order. Though the substantial ecclesiastical community had no direct part to play - and officially the Church disapproved of jousting activities - they were not reluctant to accept the extra donations and alms from the many visitors who came to gape at their grand new cathedral and leave offerings at the many altars and shrines, as well as paying for Masses to be said for the souls of their relatives.

As the coroner pushed his way through the throng at the South Gate, he appreciated anew the massive increase in population that this week had brought. He hoped that there would not be a similar increase in crime during the next three days. Drunkenness, fights, brawls and assaults were inevitable, but he prayed that there would not be too many deaths for him to deal with, though yesterday's corpse was a poor beginning.

Outside the gate was a straggle of timber houses, where the thriving city overflowed its old boundaries.

To the right, the ground dropped away steeply towards the quay-side, and to the left gardens and meadows stretched around the city wall, forming the acres known as Southernhay.

Just beyond the gate the road forked, one branch going straight on, marching above the river towards Topsham and the sea. The left branch struck off at an angle to form Magdalen Street, a country road that headed out past the gallows to become the main highway east to Honiton, Yeovil and eventually Winchester and London, though these places were too remote for most people even to contemplate. In the angle between the two roads was Bull Mead, common land that was the venue for tomorrow's tournament.

As de Wolfe stepped out towards the mead, he looked to his left and saw that almost the whole of Southernhay was now covered by stalls and booths, mostly flimsy structures under gaily coloured awnings. The majority were little more than a trestle table with four poles supporting a sagging roof of striped cloth, though a few were more substantial with Wattle or planked walls.

The stalls were arranged in lines parallel to the city wall behind them, and stretched outwards for a hundred paces, the rows running for most of the distance between Exeter's south and east gates. As John looked at them, he was reminded of an ant-hill or a hive of bees, for although it was early in the morning the fair was already crowded with people. Many were the traders and their families, but visitors, both local and from far afield, were ambling up and down the rows, hoping for an early bargain. He stopped to watch for a moment, and saw that in the centre of the fairground the rows of stalls had been interrupted to leave a wide space around a raised platform, which had high screens at the back. At the moment it was empty, but he knew that this was where various entertainments would be staged, from jugglers and tumblers to musicians and the miracle plays, which the Church insisted on as an antidote to the otherwise totally mercenary nature of the fair.