Crowner's Quest by Bernard Knight

as far as you can make out?’
    De Wolfe shook his head. ‘He lived a modest life, unlike some of his fellow canons. There seemed nothing worth stealing in his house.’
    De Revelle stood up and paced restlessly to one of the narrow slits that did service as a window. He looked down at the inner ward, where two oxen were laboriously hauling a large-wheeled cart through the mire. ‘Personally I don’t give a clipped penny for the life of some idle old cleric, but the Bishop is going to want answers when he gets back from Gloucester in a few days’ time.’
    Morin pushed himself away from the fireplace on which he had been leaning, the huge sword that hung from his baldric clanking against a bucket of logs. ‘I’ll send Sergeant Gabriel out with a couple of men to twist a few arms – but if nothing was stolen, it’s useless making the usual search for men overspending in the taverns and brothels.’
    John uncoiled himself from his stool and moved to the door. ‘I’ll talk to as many of the holy men as I can today, before the inquest. And my sharp little clerk is trying to ferret out any episcopal gossip for me – he’s picked up a few hints already.’ The coroner looked pointedly at the sheriff, but de Revelle met his eye without a flicker.
    De Wolfe and his two acolytes stood at the great west end of the cathedral as the crowd streamed out after the high mass on this special morning of the year. Matilda had returned to St Olave’s for her devotions. John sometimes wondered if she fancied the parish priest there, even though he was a fat, unctuous creature.
    After the worshippers had dispersed from the cathedral steps along the many muddy paths of the Close, the clergy came out, eager for their late-morning lunch. With black cloaks over their vestments, they walked in small groups back to their various dwellings. Some went towards Canons’ Row, others to houses and lodgings scattered throughout the precinct. Many of the vicars and secondaries walked down to Priest Street 1 on the other side of South Gate Street, not far from de Wolfe’s favourite haunt, the Bush tavern, whose landlady, Nesta, was his mistress.
    The coroner was lying in wait for several of the senior clerics, to question them about last night’s events. The Archdeacon had promised to collect those canons who had best known Robert de Hane and deliver them to him before they vanished for their midday meal.
    ‘What about the inquest?’ demanded Gwyn, whose duty it was to round up a jury, whose members would include anyone who might have information about the sudden departure of the canon from this earthly plane.
    ‘Better let them eat first – half have disappeared already,’ replied de Wolfe. ‘Catch them before the next service begins. That’ll be vespers.’
    The priestly staff of the cathedral were supposed to attend no less than seven services every day, beginning at midnight matins. The longest period free of devotions was between late morning and mid-afternoon.
    ‘There he is, with a few canons in tow,’ piped up Thomas, quickly making the sign of the Cross at such a concentration of senior clerics. Although he had been ejected from the priesthood, he ached to remain accepted as one of the brethren and he never missed an opportunity to be in their company and included in their conversations.
    The Archdeacon came out on to the wide steps, his spare figure enveloped in a hooded cloak, which hid the rich alb and chasuble underneath. As he moved towards the coroner, a trio of cloaked men sailed behind him. First was the Precentor, Thomas de Boterellis, then two other canons talking together, whom de Wolfe recognised as Jordan de Brent and Roger de Limesi. They were all residents of the row of houses where the death had taken place the previous evening.
    John de Alencon greeted the coroner gravely, as did his three companions. ‘Let us go to the Chapter House for our discussion. It will be more private,’ he suggested.
    Before they