Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) by Bernard Knight Page A

not something that’s gossiped about much,’ grunted John. ‘No doubt we’ll find out when we bring it back.’
    Thomas spoke up, ever keen to air his knowledge. ‘I recall that in William the Bastard’s time, the royal regalia used to be kept in the Tower, but now it’s locked here in the crypt of the abbey.’
    ‘What’s the royal regalia?’ boomed Gwyn, proud of his ignorance of the high and mighty.
    ‘The Crown jewels, the sacred items used at coronations, you barbarian!’ snapped Thomas. ‘The golden sceptre and orb and the crown of Saint Edward, God rest his soul.’ He crossed himself at the mention of the kingly Confessor.
    ‘The treasure we are collecting is nothing to do with that,’ said John firmly. ‘This is what’s left of the gold and silver collected by the sheriffs from the county farms, as well as some treasure trove. It seems that from now on, many of them will have to make the longer journey to London.’
    ‘Maybe someone will try to ambush us on the way back!’ said Gwyn hopefully. ‘I’d best sharpen my sword, I could do with a good fight, it’s been an age since I blooded anyone.’
    Thomas paled a little and began to regret his enthusiasm for accompanying them to Winchester, but John took pity on the timid clerk.
    ‘He’s teasing you, Thomas, I wouldn’t worry. There’ll be a troop of men-at-arms with us, enough to fight off half an army.’
    ‘Maybe the French will send a whole army!’ said Gwyn mischievously. ‘Most of that treasure will end up in Normandy, paying for our king’s troops who are fighting them, so perhaps they’ll send an invasion force to steal it!’
    Thomas had had enough of his big friend’s efforts to frighten him and got up to leave.
    ‘I’m going back to my tasks in the scriptorium, where there’s no big Cornish idiot,’ he said loftily, as he walked out into the lane.
    After a few moments, when they had finished the ale jug, the coroner and his officer began walking slowly back towards the palace. It was hot and the air was still and humid, but the expected storm had not materialised, the cloud mass having drifted away to the east.
    ‘It’ll come back, mark my words,’ grumbled Gwyn, unwilling to have his fisherman’s forecast proved wrong. ‘Probably just as we set off for Winchester, if that’s going to be in the next few days.’
    That evening de Wolfe ate in the palace, as he had decided that the gossip there might give some clue to the intrigues that were current and perhaps touch on the vague hints that Robin Byard had offered.
    At about the sixth hour, with the sun still blazing, de Wolfe made his way to the Lesser Hall and found the place busier than on his previous visits. The two rows of tables were almost filled, but John saw that the same trio that he had talked with before were there, with a couple of empty spaces nearby. John was uncertain whether he again wanted to risk the flirtatious Hawise d’Ayncourt. He enjoyed the company of an attractive woman, but wanted to avoid both a confrontation with her husband, as well as a struggle with his own conscience. However, he told himself that seeking information was part of his duty and this salved his misgivings sufficiently for him to stride across and slide on to the bench next to the lady. Lady Hawise greeted him effusively and from beyond her, husband Renaud nodded affably. The food came to the table in regular instalments and the drink was already flowing. John tucked in with relish, as there was jugged hare, cooked in its own blood, and pork knuckles, two of his favourite dishes. As they sat close together on the benches, he felt Hawise’s thigh tight against his, and suspected that the pressure she used was more than required by the lack of space.
    Acting the gentleman, this time he was bold enough to cut slices of meat and slide them on to her trencher, though he was careful not to outdo her husband’s duty in carrying out the same task. They made suitable small talk,