The Manor of Death (32 page)

'It will be a number of weeks yet, for there is much to do. Though the present cathedral was begun only eighty years ago, some of the carvings have already suffered badly from weather, wear and tear.'

He looked across at Nesta with a smile. 'Yet I am so comfortable in this lodging that I feel no longing yet to return to Wales. Everyone is so kind and hospitable to me, I feel quite at home here.'

This was not what de Wolfe wanted to hear and he looked down at Nesta and gave her a proprietary hug to emphasise their relationship.

Gwyn, looking increasingly uneasy, clambered to his feet and tapped Owain on the shoulder. 'Let's leave these lovebirds to themselves. We'll go up to the Crown Inn in Fore Street and I'll buy you a quart or two. It's poor ale, but afterwards you'll appreciate the brew in the Bush all the more.'

Though the stonemason seemed reluctant to leave, Gwyn hauled him out.

When they had vanished, John turned again to his mistress. 'And what have you been doing while I've been risking my life on the high seas?' His manner was bantering, but she sensed the suspicion in his voice .

'What I always do, John. Chase my servants, cook a little, clean a little and worry about where you are, if you are alive, dead or in some other woman's arms!'

She, too, strained to be light-hearted, but they both knew they were trying to disguise their real concerns, feeling more like two swordsmen feinting and parrying before the fight began in earnest.

'What of this Welshman - he seems to have settled in very well?' He just managed to stop himself say 'too well'.

'He is a nice man, John. Pleasant and honest and full of gratitude for what we have done for him – especially you and Gwyn.'

De Wolfe gave one of his grunts, his stock response when he could think of nothing useful to say.

'But you, John! Tell me all your news. Did you see the Justiciar?'

His tale was greatly enhanced in her ears when he described meeting not only Hubert Walter but King Richard himself. Nesta seemed delighted when he told her of the absolution that the Lionheart had given him over the Vienna fiasco, as she had long known of John's recriminations about his failure to protect his sovereign. He also recounted the weak promises that he had received about helping to rid the coast of piracy and the crimes in and around Axmouth, but something made him delay telling Nesta about the royal command to leave Devon for London. Intuitively, he knew that this was not the right moment to break the news, and he reminded himself to warn Gwyn and Thomas to keep quiet about it for the time being.

Inevitably, the next question was about Matilda, but it transpired that Nesta knew just as much - or as little - as John did himself.

'I met your maid Mary at the butcher's stall some days ago and she told me that there was little news of Matilda, apart from the fact that she had removed her clothes and money chest from the house,' she said. 'Your wife seems really serious about withdrawing from the world, John. What have you done to her this time?'

Like Mary, there was a censorious edge to her voice.

All these women stuck together like glue, he thought sourly.

'Nothing new,
cariad
,' he said aloud. 'You know well enough that she's known of our affair for several years, so there was no novelty there to drive her away. It was her brother's behaviour that tipped her over the edge, just as it did a year ago. She thought so highly of him for so long that to find yet again that he was a grasping, cheating villain and then a coward into the bargain was the straw that broke the camel's back.'

She pressed herself a little more closely against his side and put a hand on his arm. 'So what's to become of you, John? And what's to become of us?'

He sighed and held up his hands, palms upward. 'I still need to talk to my good friend John de Alençon about the possibility of an annulment if Matilda does indeed stay in that priory. But I am not hopeful that the marriage bonds can be broken.'

Nesta moved away from him a little and looked up into his face, her big eyes serious. 'It would make no difference, John. We can never be wed to each other, you know that. We have ploughed that furrow so often.'

De Wolfe did not answer her directly. Instead, he reached for her hand and held it between his long fingers. 'If I were to go away for good, leaving Exeter and indeed Devon itself, would you come with me?'

She looked at him in surprise. 'Why do you say these foolish things, John? You are the king's coroner here. You have a grand position, a house and a wife. You cannot just leave!'

Her instant dismissal of the possibility made him drop the subject. He had hoped that she might say that she would follow him to the ends of the earth, but although Nesta had always been the more romantic and sentimental of them tonight she clung to practicalities. After a long silence, she excused herself to attend to her supervision of the two cook-maids out in the kitchen-shed and John was left alone to his ale and his worries.

When she came back, he broached a familiar topic. 'With Matilda away, I am alone in the house,' he began. 'My bed is cold and lonely, so I thought I might seek a night's lodging here.' He looked meaningfully at the wide ladder that climbed to the loft and Nesta's small bedchamber. He tried to ignore the fact that a certain Welsh artisan would be occupying a palliasse on the other side of the thin partition.

However, his concerns were irrelevant, as Nesta, with a sudden flushing of her cheeks, shook her head. 'The phase of the moon is against us tonight, John, if you know what I mean.'

He knew well enough what she meant, but after some rapid calculation in his mind he wondered if she was telling the truth or whether she needed to seek an apothecary.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In which Crowner John devises a plan

Next day John broke his usual routine by avoiding his chamber in Rougemont's gatehouse and, instead, again rode a borrowed rounsey up to Polsloe. This time he was more forthright with the taciturn porter and demanded that he would go and ask Dame Madge if she would speak to him. He lingered on the porch of the priory building for a few moments, until the gaunt sister appeared. The angular Benedictine was dressed in her usual black habit and veil, with a white coif and wimple framing her long face. Her front was protected by a white apron carrying some smears that looked suspiciously like fresh blood. Ignoring the scowls of the gatekeeper, who was peremptorily dismissed by the nun, John followed her into a vestibule where there were a couple of benches against a bare wall, a staircase going up to the prioress's parlour above and a corridor disappearing into the recesses of the ground floor. Sitting down together, he began without any preamble.

'I have been abroad for several weeks, sister, and need to know what the situation is with my wife. I know that she has already disposed of her personal belongings and had her money chest brought here. Am I never to see her or speak to her again?'

Dame Madge looked at him sympathetically. 'You have not been a good husband, Sir John, as everyone in the county is aware,' she said with a wry smile. 'But I also realise that our sister Matilda cannot have been the easiest person in the world to get along with. Her arrival here once more is the culmination of years of disappointment and anguish, which has come to a head mainly because' of the well-known behaviour of her brother - though you are by no means exonerated because of that!' she added sternly.

'But can I see her and discuss this with her?' pleaded de Wolfe. 'She did this once before and caused me great concern - then calmly returned home as if nothing had happened!'

The nun shook her head emphatically. 'If it were up to me, you could certainly visit her. But she has given strict instructions that she will see no one from outside this house. I, and indeed the prioress, must abide by that decision.'

Frustrated, John cast about for some other means of communicating with Matilda, if only to get some clue as to her intentions. 'If I were to get a letter written to her, could someone here read it to her?' he asked earnestly. He thought that Thomas could write something at his dictation and one of the literate sisters here could give her the gist of its contents.

Dame Madge shrugged her bony shoulders. 'You are welcome to send one, Crowner - but whether she will be willing to receive it will be up to her.'

John made one last attempt. 'How long would it be before she makes a final decision about taking the veil?' he asked. 'I am soon leaving Exeter for London on the king's business, possibly for a long time. I need to know what to do about my personal affairs: for example, do I keep my house here, if she is never to emerge from Polsloe?'

The nun sighed. 'I see that you have many problems, too. All I can promise is that I will tell Matilda what you have said, and if she has any change of heart I will send you a message.'

There was little more to be gained by staying, and with thanks to the helpful old sister he trotted back to the city little the wiser for his visit. His first stop was the castle gatehouse, where he had his second breakfast with Gwyn and Thomas, sharing a fresh loaf and a slab of hard cheese, washed down with ale and cider.

He interrogated his clerk about one pressing problem. 'Thomas, I asked you some time ago to discover if any of your religious books in the cathedral library - or if any of your clerical friends - had any notion about a marriage being annulled if one partner entered a religious order. Did you learn anything of that matter?'

The little clerk shook his head sadly. 'I pored over every text of canon law that I could find, Crowner. But I found nothing helpful, nor did my acquaintances in the cathedral have any better information to offer. Everything that was written about the dissolution of a marriage confirmed that it is almost impossible to achieve, except on grounds of consanguinity or impotence. '

He looked crestfallen at being unable to help his master in his hour of need.

De Wolfe grunted. 'Neither of those last grounds could be invoked, not after seventeen years of marriage! Could not a Papal Legate or even the Pope himself grant a dissolution, if he was pressed?'

Thomas grimaced. 'I fear such elevated manoeuvres are reserved for kings and princes, sir! I doubt if anyone less could achieve it, especially given such a long-standing bonding as you have enjoyed.' He used the last word with no suggestion of irony and went on to offer some more advice.

'My uncle, the archdeacon, might have the final word on this matter. He is the most learned man in this diocese, and I am sure that his opinion would be beyond dispute.'

De Wolfe nodded, and when he had thrown down the last of his ale he rose to his feet. 'I have asked him before, Thomas, and he had the same pessimistic view as yourself. But I will make one final appeal to him.'

He reached for his cloak, as it had begun to rain outside and spots were flying in through the open window-slits on the back of a brisk wind. 'I am going to see the sheriff again now. If he agrees with what I have in mind, we will all need to meet again this afternoon. There will be much to discuss.'

After a long discussion with Henry de Furnellis, John waylaid his friend, John de Alençon, as he returned from the cathedral to his house in Canon's Row for his dinner. Just before noon, when there was a break in the incessant devotions held in the huge church of St Mary and St Peter, the priests spread out across the precinct and the lower town to take their main meal of the day. The Archdeacon of Exeter, one of the four in the diocese, had a dwelling halfway along the road that formed the north side of the Close, a narrow but substantial house, one of a dozen that accommodated senior clerics. The coroner, who lived but a few hundred paces away, ambushed him as he walked from the small door in the North Tower and was promptly invited for a cup of wine. De Alençon was a very austere man, unlike some of his fellow canons, who indulged in a luxurious lifestyle. His house was simply furnished and he ate sparingly, which explained his thin body and hollow cheeks. However, he had a weakness for fine wines, and the one he gave to de Wolfe when they were seated in his spartan study was a choice red from Anjou. After they had sampled it and made appropriate comments about its excellence, de Wolfe came straight to the point.

'You may have heard about my wife leaving me again, John,' he began. 'Gossip travels with the speed of lightning in this city, and I know that the Close is by no means immune from its spread. I have asked you before and, now that the problem is more urgent, I must seek your opinion again. If Matilda does take her vows in that Benedictine house, how would that affect the legality of our marriage?'

The grey-haired priest smiled sadly at his friend over the rim of his pewter goblet. 'I know that my sharp-brained nephew has been researching this problem in the library. I, too, have made what enquiries I could since we last spoke of the matter. There is little more I can tell you, except to reinforce my opinion that you would not be free to marry again.'

De Wolfe stared glumly into his own cup. 'I had heard that men who enter some religious orders were looked upon as dead. Surely a corpse cannot remain married?'

The archdeacon shook his head. 'That is rare and usually concerns old men who have no living wife. But in any event that applies only to their secular existence - their loss of civil rights and ability to interact with the world. Marriage is a contract before God Almighty - do not the vows say that those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder?'