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

though as usual in public, this was something of an effort for John, even with a beautiful woman. Everyone was complaining of the sultry heat and like Gwyn forecasting the mother and father of all thunderstorms before many days were out.
    ‘The last time I was here, some two years ago, there was a violent summer storm and at high tide the river had risen over the banks, lapping against the very walls of the palace!’
    The speaker was a heavily built priest, sitting opposite Hawise. He had a long face and a Roman nose, but his features were marred by a harelip. His speech was slightly odd, which John put down to his deformity; even so, there was a trace of accent which John recognised as coming from central France, perhaps the Auvergne. As he chewed his way through the various meats, supplemented by boiled cabbage and carrots, John gathered that the priest was known to the pair alongside him, though he could not guess whether this was from previous residence in France or merely from sitting here for meals.
    So far, the coroner could not think of any way of stimulating conversation which might lead to discussion of current intrigues, but then the empty place opposite was filled by Ranulf of Abingdon. John was glad to see him, as he had enjoyed his company the other night – and possibly he might lead them into more gossip. As a servant filled his tankard with ale, Ranulf greeted John warmly and then introduced the priest sitting next to him, who it seemed was also an established friend.
    ‘This is Bernard de Montfort, archdeacon of Saint Flour,’ he announced, confirming John’s guess that the man came from the Massif Central, as Saint Flour was an important town on the edge of the mountains. They exchanged some pleasantries and de Wolfe began to think he must be on the road to becoming a soft-centred expert in mouthing platitudes, instead of the hard-bitten soldier that he had been for the past twenty years.
    After a few moments, the under-marshal leaned across and spoke in a low voice. ‘We had better meet for a talk afterwards, I have some news for you about our trip to Winchester.’
    Immediately, the sharp-eared Hawise picked up on the remark.
    ‘What plots are you men hatching now?’ she asked archly. ‘Are you off on a hunting trip – or perhaps you are seeking to hunt the ladies of Winchester!’
    Ranulf smiled weakly, wishing for once that she would mind her own business.
    ‘Affairs of state, I’m afraid, nothing exciting,’ he replied dismissively. He winked at John who took the hint and diverted the inquisitive woman. ‘Madam, did you know this poor fellow on whom I held an inquest today? He was one of the staff in your guest quarters.’
    Her husband spoke across the table before Hawise could answer.
    ‘You mean Basil, the little fellow who made sure we all had bed linen and chamber pots?’
    ‘He did a little more than that,’ countered Ranulf. ‘He also made sure that the kitchens were supplied with food for the guests and a host of other tasks to make your stay comfortable.’
    ‘Why on earth should anyone murder such a useful fellow?’ asked Hawise, fluttering her long lashes at the under-marshal, who was handsome enough in a stern sort of way. In fact, she thought, both he and the brooding Sir John alongside her, were very attractive men.
    ‘I wish I knew, there seems no motive for it at all,’ said de Wolfe. ‘He was not robbed and his private life seemed too dull for him to have made enemies.’
    ‘He was in minor orders, I understand,’ cut in the archdeacon. ‘More than just a servant, then?’
    ‘He was a small, but not insignificant part of the palace administration,’ replied Ranulf. ‘He had to be literate and he needed to behave correctly before persons of high rank and quality – such as yourselves,’ he added suavely.
    Hawise preened herself at the compliment, but John had a question for her and her husband.
    ‘On that point, did you ever notice Basil in any kind of