about a quarter of a mile downstream of the wharf, where the Shitebrook disgorged its filth into the Exe.
This was a foul stream that acted as the main sewer for Exeter, most of the ordure draining through culverts in the city walls to find its way into the aptly named brook which trickled sluggishly down a small valley to the river.
'They had a mangy dog with them and they throwing sticks into the river for it to fetch,' explained! Gwyn. 'Then it suddenly lost interest in the game and started digging into the bank, in what seemed like an otter run.'
John waited impatiently for his old friend to get toi! the hub of the matter.
'The upshot was that the cur dragged out a bundle of what the lads thought were rags, but which turned out to be a tunic and surcoat. The upper part of both of these was stiff with blood.'
He went on to explain that when the boys ran back up to the wharf, some of the men there challenged them, thinking they had stolen something. One happened to be the fellow who had found the body earlier in the day. He called Osric, who in turn asked Gwyn to notify the coroner.
'Where's the stuff now?'demanded de Wolfe.
'Osric has it in that shack behind the Guildhall that the constables use for their shelter.'
The two men downed the remainder of their drink and John told Edwin to tell his mistress that he would see her later that evening. They stepped out into Idle Lane, feeling one of the first chill breezes of the autumn as they strode back towards the city.
The Guildhall was in High Street, not many yards from the turning into Martin's Lane. It was newly built in stone, one of the grandest buildings in the city, as befitted the home of the many merchant guilds and the place where the burgesses held their council. In a lane behind it was a small thatched hut left by the stonemasons, which had been appropriated as their shelter by Osric and his fatter colleague, Theobald.
John thrust open the rickety door and went into the shed, almost bare but for two old stools and a bench on which were some cups and pots. Neither of the constables was there, but Gwyn pointed to a jumble of cloth on a shelf nailed to the wall.
'That's the stuff, Crowner. Have a look at this.' He unrolled the clothing on the bench and John saw a long yellow tunic of good-quality cloth, together with a surcoat of blue serge. They were both muddy, but more significantly the areas around the neck and upper chest were stiff with dark dried blood.
De Wolfe felt the material between his finger and thumb. 'Good stuff, though not showy. If this did belong to our corpse, then he was no common labourer, as I thought from the state of his hands.' Gwyn nodded sagely. 'But neither does he seem some foppish fellow with more money than sense. There's no fancy embroidery on the tunic and the surcoat has no brocade or velvet frippery.'
The coroner stood staring down at the soiled garments. 'But no belt, dagger, hose or shoes - nor a pouch or purse.'
'Smells like a robbery to me,' grunted his officer.
'But why take his clothes off and hide them?'
'To confound or certainly delay us putting a name to him,' snapped de Wolfe. 'It's the merest chance that those urchins and their dog found this stuff.' Gwyn remained unimpressed by their luck. 'Doesn't help much unless we find someone who knows him and knows what he was wearing!'
His master shrugged and turned to the door. 'Let's see what tomorrow brings. You can tell Osric to take that stuff down to the Watergate. It may as well stay with the body, in case we find someone who can have a look at them both.'
With that, he strode off towards his house, ready to face both Mary's duck and his wife's dour company.
* * *
Everyone in the city seemed to be up and about even earlier than usual the next morning. Even before broke, there were people milling around the five gates, impatiently waiting for them to open. As soon as the porters pulled back the massive oaken doors, there was a scramble in both
This was a foul stream that acted as the main sewer for Exeter, most of the ordure draining through culverts in the city walls to find its way into the aptly named brook which trickled sluggishly down a small valley to the river.
'They had a mangy dog with them and they throwing sticks into the river for it to fetch,' explained! Gwyn. 'Then it suddenly lost interest in the game and started digging into the bank, in what seemed like an otter run.'
John waited impatiently for his old friend to get toi! the hub of the matter.
'The upshot was that the cur dragged out a bundle of what the lads thought were rags, but which turned out to be a tunic and surcoat. The upper part of both of these was stiff with blood.'
He went on to explain that when the boys ran back up to the wharf, some of the men there challenged them, thinking they had stolen something. One happened to be the fellow who had found the body earlier in the day. He called Osric, who in turn asked Gwyn to notify the coroner.
'Where's the stuff now?'demanded de Wolfe.
'Osric has it in that shack behind the Guildhall that the constables use for their shelter.'
The two men downed the remainder of their drink and John told Edwin to tell his mistress that he would see her later that evening. They stepped out into Idle Lane, feeling one of the first chill breezes of the autumn as they strode back towards the city.
The Guildhall was in High Street, not many yards from the turning into Martin's Lane. It was newly built in stone, one of the grandest buildings in the city, as befitted the home of the many merchant guilds and the place where the burgesses held their council. In a lane behind it was a small thatched hut left by the stonemasons, which had been appropriated as their shelter by Osric and his fatter colleague, Theobald.
John thrust open the rickety door and went into the shed, almost bare but for two old stools and a bench on which were some cups and pots. Neither of the constables was there, but Gwyn pointed to a jumble of cloth on a shelf nailed to the wall.
'That's the stuff, Crowner. Have a look at this.' He unrolled the clothing on the bench and John saw a long yellow tunic of good-quality cloth, together with a surcoat of blue serge. They were both muddy, but more significantly the areas around the neck and upper chest were stiff with dark dried blood.
De Wolfe felt the material between his finger and thumb. 'Good stuff, though not showy. If this did belong to our corpse, then he was no common labourer, as I thought from the state of his hands.' Gwyn nodded sagely. 'But neither does he seem some foppish fellow with more money than sense. There's no fancy embroidery on the tunic and the surcoat has no brocade or velvet frippery.'
The coroner stood staring down at the soiled garments. 'But no belt, dagger, hose or shoes - nor a pouch or purse.'
'Smells like a robbery to me,' grunted his officer.
'But why take his clothes off and hide them?'
'To confound or certainly delay us putting a name to him,' snapped de Wolfe. 'It's the merest chance that those urchins and their dog found this stuff.' Gwyn remained unimpressed by their luck. 'Doesn't help much unless we find someone who knows him and knows what he was wearing!'
His master shrugged and turned to the door. 'Let's see what tomorrow brings. You can tell Osric to take that stuff down to the Watergate. It may as well stay with the body, in case we find someone who can have a look at them both.'
With that, he strode off towards his house, ready to face both Mary's duck and his wife's dour company.
* * *
Everyone in the city seemed to be up and about even earlier than usual the next morning. Even before broke, there were people milling around the five gates, impatiently waiting for them to open. As soon as the porters pulled back the massive oaken doors, there was a scramble in both
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