The Sanctuary Seeker: A Crowner John Mystery by Bernard Knight

Author:Bernard Knight [Knight, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780743492058
Google: JXMDAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0743492056
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2005-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

In which Crowner John meets the Bishop

The coroner spent that night sleeping on the floor of his own hall in the house in St Martin’s Lane. He got home just before the city gates were closed at dusk, having ridden hard from the futile inquest on the second body. When he got back, Mary fed him at the long table in the hall, whispering to him that the mistress had been shut in her room all day.

Dog-tired, he trudged up the outside stairs, resigned to facing Matilda’s icy sulks, but when he pushed the door of the solar, it would not budge. He shoved harder, but it was barred on the inside. He hammered on the door, getting angrier by the second. He called and battered so hard on the stout panels that his neighbour, Godfrey Fitzosbern, a silversmith and master of his guild came out on the step of his own upper chamber.

Fuming, John reluctantly climbed downstairs and sought out Mary in the kitchen. ‘She’s locked me out, damn her eyes!’

The serving woman shrugged. ‘She’s been working up to it for days. You not coming home for three days and two nights has tipped her over the edge.’

‘Am I to leave her, Mary?’

The maid shook her head calmly. ‘No, it’ll all blow over. She’s too fond of being the wife of the King’s Crowner. She’d never survive the sneers of the other fine ladies. Sit tight a while and she’ll come round.’

‘So where can I sleep tonight, now that she has deprived me of my own bed?’ he complained.

Mary stood with her hands on her hips and spoke to him like a mother to her whining child. ‘Not with me, that’s for sure! You’ve got a choice. You can go to the Bush and creep under the blanket with your mistress or you can bed down in your own hall. At least it’s a roof over your head. Given the state your wife’s in, I’d suggest staying here, unless you want another week or two banned from your own bedchamber.’

John saw the sense of this and Mary brought him a spare straw palliasse from the store and laid it in front of the hearth. She stoked the fire with large logs, and threw a blanket over the mattress and a rolled-up cloak for a pillow. ‘I expect you’ve slept in worse places in Palestine and Austria,’ she declared, with what John thought was a lack of feeling. But he sank gratefully into the makeshift bed, pulled the blanket over him and was snoring within ten minutes.

Next morning, he felt obliged to report to the sheriff. Much as John disliked him, he knew that he must keep the man informed of this most recently discovered killing, especially as it might concern another Crusader. After a solitary breakfast, he trudged up to the castle and squelched across the ever-muddy inner bailey to the keep. He climbed the steps above the undercroft to reach the central doorway, men-at-arms and sundry hurrying minions stepping aside respectfully for him.

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