Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) (36 page)

The coroner’s throat, if not his pride and temper, had improved greatly during the few days before the news was received of Queen Eleanor’s impending arrival. A herald on a fast horse had been dispatched from Kingston when she arrived there, so that Westminster could be put on full alert and the next morning the welcoming party set out to meet her entourage on the high road.

Martin Stanford, the Deputy Marshal and his under-marshals, were the prime movers in organising this parade. The previous evening, their sergeants had hurried around all the personages required to take part, to ensure that they would be mounted and ready to go soon after dawn.

Gwyn had cleaned all of John’s equipment, polishing up the harness of his stallion Odin, so that he was well turned out when they assembled in New Palace Yard. It was not an event that called for armour and helmet, so he wore his best grey tunic and a mottled wolfskin cloak thrown back over both shoulders. His broad leather belt and baldric carried his broadsword and his head was uncovered, his black hair sweeping back to the nape of his neck.

Twenty mounted men-at-arms formed the vanguard and rearguard of the escort, with another two-score civilians in their centre. Leading these was Hubert Walter, today in his secular mode as Chief Justiciar, rather than archbishop. He was dressed in similar fashion to de Wolfe, only in a scarlet tunic under his sword belt and a close-fitting linen helmet. Behind him were a number of earls and barons, members of the Curia, accompanied by the High Steward, the Deputy Chancellor, the Treasurer and other senior ministers. John rode in the next contingent, the middle-grade officers of the Exchequer and palace, including the Keeper and the Purveyor whilst a bevy of churchmen were led by the abbot, William Postard.

A dozen outriders, mostly esquires and knights, flanked the procession, carrying gaily coloured banners and pennants that streamed in the wind to display the arms and devices of the most prominent members of the party.

They rode out in fine style through the gates into King Street, the trumpets of the military escort blaring out as they advanced up the Royal Way towards the city, where they were to pick up the contingent provided by the Mayor and his council. A small crowd gathered along the road, always glad of some diversion in their drab lives. Some cheered or even jeered, as the cavalcade trotted past, especially when some of the horses, spooked by the trumpets, shied and skittered while their riders struggled and cursed to control them.

Once through Ludgate, the crowds were denser, as the ant-hill that was the city was penetrated by the vanguard of the troops. The mayor and some of his twenty-five aldermen were waiting at the Guildhall, with the bishop from St Paul’s, his archdeacons, the two sheriffs and an escort of constables. Jealous as ever of their privileges and independence, the Mayor, Henry fitz Ailwyn de Londonstone, led his party into the vanguard of the column from Westminster, settling them by prior arrangement just behind the Chief Justiciar.

The augmented column set off for London Bridge, the crowds now shouting more enthusiastically as the leaders of their own community were seen in a favoured position in the procession.

They crossed the bridge, the weight of the rhythmically tramping horses creating tremors in the old wooden structure built by Peter de Colechurch twenty-three years earlier, and causing several nervous priests to cross themselves and commend their souls to God. Other more hardy men looked over the side at the nineteen new piers for the stone bridge that de Colechurch had started.

Passing through Southwark on the south side of the Thames, the cavalcade crossed the flat, marshy ground to enter farmland and then patchy woodland, as the land rose and the main track to the south-west aimed itself towards Kingston.

A scout had been sent ahead on a fast rounsey to warn of the arrival of the queen’s party and in mid-morning he came galloping back with the news that there was now only a couple of miles between them. After a consultation with the marshals, Hubert Walter held up a gloved hand and the cavalcade came to a halt in a large clearing with trees on either side, near the village of Clapham.

They waited, all mounted on their steeds, some of which were pawing the ground, shaking their heads, neighing and snorting with impatience.

Soon there was a distant braying of trumpets and horns, which rapidly came nearer until the Deputy Marshal gave the order for his own trumpeters to reply. These discordant blasts continued until the head of the approaching cavalcade appeared through the trees, a dozen soldiers with banners flying. John recognised the arms of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke and then the large banner of Eleanor of Aquitaine, a single golden lion on a scarlet ground.

As they came into the clearing, they saw at last two stiffly erect forms riding side-by-side at the head of a short column of riders, which included several ladies and priests, more soldiers bringing up the rear, with outriders guarding the flanks.

They slowed their trotting steeds to a walk and spread out to face the reception party, the two main figures opposite Hubert Walter. One was a tall, stern-faced man wearing half-armour, a short chain-mail hauberk and a round helmet with a nasal guard. A large sword hung from his saddle, with a spiked mace on the other side, emphasising William Marshal’s role as guardian of the queen.

Eleanor also sat as straight as a poker; her handsome face still reflected the beauty she had been in her younger days, though she was now seventy-four. The trumpets ceased and the Justiciar slid from his horse and advanced to her stirrup, going down briefly on one knee, then rising and kissing the hand that she held down to him. They were well-aquainted and spoke together for several minutes, though John was too far down the line to catch anything that was said.

Then Hubert moved across to William Marshal, who dismounted and clasped his arm. Warrior and archbishop, they were old comrades from Palestine and two of the king’s most trusted servants. They moved to each side of Eleanor’s white mare and took her bridle to lead her to the end of the long row of welcoming dignitaries from Westminster. This was a signal for all to slide from their saddles and stand by their horses’ heads as Hubert and William led the queen slowly down the line. As she passed each one, they dropped to a knee and bowed their heads as Eleanor nodded in recognition when Walter murmured their names to her. Many she already knew well, either from her years as Henry’s queen or the sixteen years as his prisoner in various places in England. It was William Marshal who was sent by Richard to effect her release when Henry died.

She did not know John de Wolfe, but had heard something of him and gave him a friendly smile when he rose from his obeisance to her, before moving on to the end of the line. Then the trumpets sounded again and everyone climbed back into their saddles, the procession soon working up into a trot and covering the few miles back to the city in good time.

At Westminster, the old queen was handed down from her horse with dignified gravity and conducted by Hubert and William Marshal to the main entrance and amidst a flurry of her ladies she went up to the royal apartments, no doubt grateful for a well-earned rest.

John made his way up to his chamber to join his officer and clerk and to wash the dust from his now-healed throat with a quart of ale. He regaled Gwyn and Thomas with a description of the journey and told them that they were invited to the great feast on the following evening, as almost everyone was included in the occasion to welcome the Queen Mother back to England. She was a popular figure, both for her proud and regal appearance, her colourful past and for being a bastion of stability in an uncertain world.

The feast next day was a triumph of organisation on the part of the Steward and Keeper and their army of servants. Tables had been set across the dais at the top of the Great Hall, where the Court of the King’s Bench normally sat. These were for the high and mighty guests and were covered with linen cloths. Down the length of the hall, two long rows of bare tables accommodated the several hundred less eminent diners and in the side alcoves behind the pillars other trestles were set for the lowest orders.

When the crowd below had entered and settled in a pecking order that was checked and adjusted by the Keeper’s men, who paraded up and down the lines of tables, a fanfare of trumpets from a gallery above heralded the approach of the queen. Everyone stood as the notables entered from within the palace entrance behind the dais. The chief guests came in, many splendidly dressed, and found their places around the top table, before Hubert Walter courteously escorted Eleanor to the large chair in the centre of the table, looking down the huge hall.

Still more elegant than most women half her age, she wore a gown of blue silk with heavy embroidery around the neck and a light mantle of silver brocade. Her white silk cover-chief was secured with a narrow gold crown and the dangling cuffs of her long sleeves were ornamented with gold tassels, as was the cord around her waist.

There was a roar of spontaneous cheering until the Justiciar held up his hands for silence, when William Postard, Abbot of Westminster, gave a long Latin grace and blessing to the assembly, who stood with bowed heads.

Then with a rumble of benches on the hard earthen floor, they all sat and the eating began. Immediately, a legion of servants appeared from the side doors, bearing trays of dishes and jugs of wine, ale and cider which were rapidly placed on the tables. The trenchers were already in place, though on the top tables, silver and pewter plates lay before the diners, as well as glass and pewter goblets. Two ladies stood behind Eleanor to attend to her every want, but the doughty old lady had little need of them, being well able to fend for herself. As a courtesy – and Eleanor of Aquitaine was the queen and main inventor of courtly behaviour in Europe – Hubert and William Marshal went through the motions of helping her to the choicest morsels of the extravagant food placed before them and pouring her wine.

Compared with the usual fare in the Lesser Hall, de Wolfe decided that this was indeed a memorable feast. The top table had a surfeit of delicacies, from a roast swan which had been re-dressed in its original feathers, to several suckling pigs swimming in platters of wine-rich gravy. There were whole salmon, joints of beef and pork, numerous types of poultry and a range of puddings and sweets to follow, all washed down with the best wine that could be imported into England.

The rest of the hall also did well, if not on such a lavish scale, but no one went away unless sated with many kinds of meat, fish and sweetmeats. There were rivers of ale, cider, mead and wine, more than sufficient to send many diners reeling out of the hall at the end – or even being carried out unconscious by their friends.

John was placed a little way down one of the long trestles, as even the court’s coroner had no chance of getting on to a top table filled with members of the Curia, bishops, earls and barons. He noticed, however, that Renaud de Seigneur and Hawise were seated not far from the queen, perhaps as the lady from Blois was almost the only woman present, apart from Eleanor and her ladies-in-waiting. Even amid the heady company she was with, Hawise still managed to send John a few burning glances, as he had deliberately avoided going to the Lesser Hall for the past few evenings. John saw Archdeacon Bernard a little further down the table and the two under-marshals Ranulf and William were on the next row. Thomas, as coroner’s clerk, managed to slip on to a bench at the extreme bottom of the other limb of tables, but Gwyn was quite happy on a table hidden behind a pillar, together with some of his soldier friends. As long as there was ample food and drink, he did not care a toss for pomp and ceremony.

Five musicians on various instruments had been playing away manfully in the gallery. It appeared a thankless task, as no one seemed to be listening to them, even when they could be heard above the hubbub of voices. After a great deal of food had been consumed, with many a gallon of ale and wine, they were interrupted by another discordant blast of trumpets, as Hubert Walter rose to his feet and waited until more trumpeting and rapping of dagger-hilts on tables managed to bring relative silence.

The archbishop made a short, but eloquent speech of welcome to Queen Eleanor expressing delight at her return to England. When he had finished, there was more boisterous banging on tables and stamping of feet, with thunderous shouts of appreciation from the lower hall. This was a sign for more trumpets and with a radiant smile and wave at the assembled company, the Lionheart’s mother allowed herself to be handed from her chair by Hubert Walter. With her ladies fussing about her, she retired through the door behind, escorted by the Justiciar, the Marshal and a number of the senior bishops and barons, no doubt to take more wine privately in the royal apartments. John noticed that Hawise and her maid also slipped away through another door, leaving Renaud de Seigneur to enjoy the rest of the evening with the men. There was still plenty of food to pick at and the drink flowed endlessly from the jugs and pitchers ferried in by the servants, so the festive evening continued until late, though it was still light when even the most hardy drinkers staggered out of the Great Hall.

John joined the people who were milling around the tables and went over to talk for a while to Ranulf and William Aubrey, then went down to see how Gwyn and Thomas were faring. His clerk, who was no great tippler, was about to slip away to his bed in the abbey dorter, but professed that it had been a good meal and a privilege to be in the presence of the famous queen and the elite of English government, even at a distance. Suddenly weary, John wondered whether age was catching up with him, and together with Gwyn, who was like a shadow to him since the attack in St Stephen’s crypt, they went out into the summer dusk and made their way back to Long Ditch Lane.