Free Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) by Bernard Knight Page B

authority?’
    ‘He was seeking advice, as he was his best friend,’ said Thomas carefully. ‘Robin Byard told him he must tell either the Guest-Master or the Purveyor – or even the Keeper of the Palace. But Basil said he was afraid he would either be disbelieved or be disciplined for eavesdropping on guests.’
    ‘How did a clerk in the guest house come to be so friendly with a Benedictine novitiate?’ asked John suspiciously.
    ‘It seems they are both of an age and come from the same village in Surrey. This Basil had decided he wanted to enter the abbey as a novice – perhaps to be with his best friend,’ Thomas added with a blush.
    ‘What sort of secrets might justify the risks of stabbing a man in broad daylight?’ queried Gwyn.
    De Wolfe chewed this over in his mind for a moment. ‘Unless this is all a figment of the fellow’s imagination, there’s some palace intrigue behind this. I’ve heard that the place is a hotbed of corruption, embezzlement, theft, adultery, fornication and God knows what else!’
    ‘What about spying?’ added Thomas. ‘I know the king’s directing his war against Philip from Rouen, but it’s from here that England has to defend its coast against invasion. And the French are always trying to stir up the Scots and Welsh against us.’
    ‘Perhaps they were planning to steal the Crown Jewels!’ offered Gwyn facetiously.
    ‘They should be safe enough in the crypt of the abbey,’ replied John seriously, impervious to his officer’s humour. ‘Thomas, tell this new friend of yours that I want to talk to him tomorrow, before I hold the inquest. And Gwyn, in future I think I had better forsake Osanna’s cooking in the evenings and eat in the palace. You never know what we might pick up there.’
    With a picture of a certain lady in mind, an obvious answer came to him, but he managed to convince himself that dining in the Lesser Hall was now part of his duty.

 
CHAPTER THREE
     
In which the coroner meets an old comrade
     
    The next day, though the sun was already warming the lanes, it was still early when the coroner and his officer walked from their house to the palace. As they went from Tothill Street through the rear gate of the abbey precinct and strode across Broad Sanctuary, the sounds of chanting came from the chancel, as the monks celebrated Prime, the first office of the day.
    ‘I suppose our clerk is amongst that lot,’ said Gwyn gruffly, jerking a thumb towards Edward the Confessor’s great building.
    John had never managed to discover the cause of the Cornishman’s disenchantment with the Church. He himself was a reluctant worshipper, especially since he no longer had his wife to drag him to devotions, but compared to his officer he was an ardent believer.
    ‘Let him enjoy it, poor fellow,’ he advised. ‘There’s nothing for him to do until the inquest an hour before noon.’
    They passed the small church of St Margaret, built by the monks for the use of the local population, to avoid interruption of their endless devotions in the abbey. A small gate in the wall between the monastic and secular areas, led them into New Palace Yard, where already clerks, men-at-arms and members of the public were criss-crossing the wide area, dodging ox-carts and mounted men coming and going from the main gate on King Street.
    Up in their chamber, Gwyn threw open the window shutter and leaned out to study the strip of scrubby grass between the base of the wall and the river’s edge. Feet had worn a path of dusty earth along it, the same one along which he had chased the killer two days before. The tide was dropping now and the sullen brown water swirled downstream. Across the wide expanse, he could see more marshes and some farmland visible on the opposite bank at Lambeth, now disfigured by some large building activity.
    ‘Too bloody flat around here for my liking,’ he grumbled, determined to find fault with everywhere that was not his native West Country. Coming from