The coroner's officer was not impressed by his learning. 'Then we'll take the opposite direction, which with a bit of luck goes all the way to another alehouse!'
They turned down towards the sea and for a mile or so followed the well-beaten track to the large village of Axmouth, the high ridge close above them on their left. It was virtually a small town, straggled along the edge of the estuary. It existed because the river provided one of the safest harbours along that coast, the tide swelling the river twice a day to allow vessels to beach themselves safely along both banks. It was one of the busiest ports in the west of England, as well as having an active fishing fleet, as did the smaller village of Seaton on the opposite bank.
'A bigger place than I remember,' observed Gwyn as they walked their steeds down the last furlong. Though not actually fortified, it had a substantial wall around the centre of the village, above which could be seen the tower of a stone church. There were two solid gates, which, like the wall, were higher than a man. One faced them as they approached, the more distant one leading out on to the quayside on the seaward side. Cottages, shacks and storage huts straggled along the river bank, showing that the place had expanded beyond the confines of the walls. A small side valley cut into the hill on their left, revealing more dwellings and barns.
'Looks as if we're expected, master,' observed Thomas, pointing at a small group who were waiting outside the landward gate, staring at the approaching horsemen.
'That clerk must have told them we were on our way,' said Gwyn. The man had left Exeter even earlier that morning, and his rounsey would have been faster than the plodding Odin or Thomas's pony.
As they came up to the gate, they saw the clerk, Hugh Bogge, standing alongside another one of the group, a man better dressed than the others. As they approached, he left his fellows and came towards them, his hand held up in greeting. John sat on his horse and looked down at the man, who looked about his own age. He was of average height, but an ale-belly was beginning to push out a good-quality yellow tunic and a sure oat of brown wool. His round, plump face carried a prim, pursey mouth, and strands of straw-coloured hair poked out from under his floppy cap of green velvet.
'Sir John de Wolfe, I presume?' he asked in a rather harsh voice. 'I am Sir Luke de Casewold, the Keeper of the Peace for the Hundreds of Axminster, Colyton and Axmouth.'
He said this in such a self-important manner that the coroner immediately began to dislike Luke de Casewold. However, he held his tongue and cautiously eased himself out of his saddle, feeling relief at being able to stand up. After John introduced himself, the Keeper turned and pointed at the silent group standing a little way off, looking uneasy and sheepish.
'These are people concerned, coroner. I know what the law demands and have made sure that the First Finder and anyone who might have any knowledge of this business have come before you.'
Again, he announced this in such a way as to give the impression that he was doing the coroner a great favour.
'And what exactly is this business?' grated de Wolfe. 'Your servant seemed to have little idea of it, apart from the fact that there is a corpse.'
Sir Luke rubbed his hands together almost gleefully, as if this was a special treat he had arranged for the king's coroner. 'Indeed there is, my friend! I will conduct you to it without delay.'
He made no effort to enquire whether de Wolfe and his assistants needed food, drink and rest after their long ride from the city, but at that moment there was a diversion. Through the open gate under its stone arch, two men came striding purposefully towards them. The first was a powerfully built man with coarse features and a rim of black beard around his fleshy face. He had a mouth like a rat-trap and cold deep-set eyes under brows as dark as the coroner's own. He marched straight up to de Wolfe, completely ignoring the Keeper.
'I am Edward Northcote, bailiff to the Prior of Loders, who holds this manor,' he snapped. 'If you are the coroner, then you have had a wasted journey. You were sent for without my knowledge or consent.'
Within minutes, John now had another person to dislike on sight. He was not disposed to be ordered about by some prior's servant.
'If there is a dead body lying here, then I will be the judge of that,' he growled. 'Unless it died of a sickness, with witnesses to testify to that, then it comes under my jurisdiction, as granted to me by the king and his Council!' He added the last part to give weight to his royal appointment.
The other man who had arrived with the bailiff now spoke up, in a more conciliatory tone. 'We realise that, Crowner, but wished to have saved you a fruitless journey from Exeter. No doubt this is just some poor seafarer washed up from God knows where.'
'Nonsense! The fellow was done to death violently, not drowned,' brayed Luke de Casewold, his podgy features red with anger at being contradicted by Elias Palmer, the portreeve, a rake-thin man with sparse greying hair and a long narrow face. He wore a long tunic down to his calves. It was of a nondescript buff colour and the front was spattered with ink stains. Most manors had a reeve to organise the farming activities, but in Axmouth it was different, as agriculture played a much smaller part in the village economy. Though it was not a chartered borough, it was important enough by virtue of its harbour to have some officials, and Palmer had been appointed as portreeve by the Priory of Loders, which lay some twenty miles away in Dorset, to supervise all trading in the town. The manor itself was in the charge of the prior's bailiff, the aggressive Edward Northcote, so between them they were the effective rulers of Axmouth.