Falconer's Trial (11 page)

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Thomas grinned wolfishly at Bullock’s words.

‘Of course I will help. I want to do nothing less. So, let’s get on with it.’

They were soon at Saphira’s door and Thomas let Bullock knock. He was the official representative of the law, after all. The red-haired woman with the striking features, who he had seen leaving the spicer’s, opened the door to them. Her friendly smile enveloped Thomas in its warmth. Of course, she didn’t know what had happened yet. However, Bullock’s awkwardness soon alerted her to the fact there was a problem. Anxiously, she looked over both their shoulders. A Jew soon developed a sixth-sense for trouble. Bullock tried to put her mind at rest.

‘Don’t worry, Mistress Le Veske. There is no trouble brewing. Not for you at least.’

‘That’s a very strange thing to say, Peter Bullock. You had better come in. And you too, young man.’

She led them through the main hall of the house and into the kitchen. Here, everything was much more comfortable than the bare, chilly hall at the front of the house. A fire burned in the hearth and two high-back chairs were set either side of it. A book and some clean parchment lay beside one chair on a simple table. Saphira clearly spent most of her time in this cosy room. She offered her two guests the chairs and Thomas sat down on one. Then was filled with embarrassment, when he realized that Bullock had remained standing. The constable insisted Saphira take the other chair and he perched on a chest on the other side of the room. Thomas wasn’t sure whether he had done that out of courtesy, or deliberately, so that he was on the margins of the conversation, leaving Thomas to broach the awkward matter of their reason for being here. He coughed nervously and looked at the beautiful woman. For a time, he was so engaged by her emerald-green eyes he could not remember her name. It came as something of a surprise that he could recall his own.

‘My name is Thomas Symon, mistress… errr…’

She smiled easily and offered what his brain could not supply.

‘Le Veske. But please call me Saphira. I may be old enough to be your mother but please don’t make it obvious.’

Thomas felt a hot blush travelling up from his neck and over his cheeks. He could only stammer meaninglessly. Fortunately, Bullock took pity on him and spoke out.

‘Mistress, it is a hard business we are here about.’

Saphira stiffened slightly in her chair. She knew Bullock well enough by now to see from the tone of his voice that this was a serious matter.

‘Then you must speak out plainly. I am no weak maiden, who cannot take the truth when it is presented to her.’

‘It concerns William.’

‘Ahhh.’

Saphira glanced at Thomas Symon, not sure if he knew, as Bullock did, that she and Falconer were intimates.

‘Tell me.’

‘He is arrested for the murder of Ann Segrim.’

The colour drained from Saphira’s face. Her body seemed to lose all its vivacity and she slumped in her chair. She shook her head, looking from Bullock to the boy and back again.

‘William? Taken for murdering Ann? How can that be?’

Bullock explained how Falconer was found at the side of Ann’s body close to her walled garden at Botley.

‘Her maid had only just left her and said she was fine when she departed.’

‘Fine? How could she be fine when William told me that Ann had been very sick only a few days ago?’

Bullock frowned. This was news to him. He had assumed that the death had been sudden. Now it seemed that Ann Segrim had been unwell for some time. Did this mean anything, or was it unrelated? He realized he did not have a clue how Ann had died, merely assuming from the garbled story from Sekston and the serfs from Botley that she had been killed by a blow or a dagger. His embarrassment was spotted by Thomas, who ventured to make a suggestion.

‘Master Bullock, is there any way that I could examine the body?’

The constable looked aghast. He knew exactly what Symon meant. He had been aware of Falconer’s reliance on the little grey master called Richard Bonham. The inoffensive-looking man, now dead, had carried out quite illegal examinations of the bodies of people who had died in suspicious circumstances. Bullock didn’t wish to contemplate the details, but he knew Bonham actually cut the bodies open in the belief that the entrails would tell him something about the murder. It sounded more like necromancy to him than science. But it produced results. And Bullock had turned a blind eye to the breaking of civil and canon law. Now it seemed that this young whipper-snapper was suggesting he carry out the same defiling of Ann Segrim’s body. He was about to deny the request, when Thomas Symon explained.

‘I would not have to cut open… the body. Besides, even if I did, I am not yet as expert at that as Master Bonham was. No, I merely wish to look at her features, the colour and state of her skin and so on. And I need to ask some questions of the servants. This maid of hers, perhaps.’

‘Margery, yes.’

‘Can you take me to Botley and do that?’

Bullock nodded, glad to be doing something positive at last. He didn’t know how he would persuade Sir Humphrey to let an Oxford master see the body of his dead wife. But he would think of something. Having got a satisfactory answer to that part of his investigations, Thomas turned his attentions to the obviously distraught Saphira Le Veske. He put on a solemn air and explained his reason for coming to her house.

‘Mistress Le Veske, I can see that you are distressed by all of this. And I have promised William that I will take care of you. Tell me, is there anything you need?’

Despite the desperate situation, Saphira was amused by Thomas’s funereal face. She glanced over at Bullock, perched on her clothes chest, and winked.

‘You are most courteous, Thomas Symon, but I find that I am not in any immediate need. Other than a report from you as soon as you find out what you think caused Ann Segrim’s death.’

Thomas’s face fell.

‘I don’t think that I should involve you in such a terrible matter. I am sure that was not what William intended, when he said to take care of you.’

Saphira leaned across to where Thomas sat and patted his arm.

‘I am sure that is exactly what William intended. I am no courtly lady lacking experience of the darker side of life. I have seen dead bodies and been in peril of my life. Believe me, I can help you the same way I helped William at times.’

Thomas, uncomfortably aware of the swell of Saphira’s full bosom over the top of her dress and the heat of her hand on his arm, looked across at the constable for support. Bullock merely smiled crookedly.

‘She’s right, Master Symon. Mistress Le Veske has a wit as nimble as Falconer’s.’

‘Better, sometimes, Peter.’

Saphira rose and walked over to a small cask set on its side on the kitchen table. She picked up a pewter jug and held it to the tap, turning it on.

‘Let us toast our success in proving William’s innocence. We may have a hard road to travel over the next few days, or even weeks, but I am sure we will be successful.’

They raised their jugs of ale and saluted the solemn enterprise.

TEN

T
homas Bek was taking a chance by establishing himself as the arbiter in the case of William Falconer. But if his plan came off, he would wield considerably more power over the town as well as the university. Until now, he sat in the weekly Chancellor’s Court deciding on tedious cases which were at the same time petty and convoluted. Two days ago, he had banished from Oxford a friar who had libelled two Bachelors of Theology, and made a vicar swear never again to make suspicious visits to a tailor’s wife. At the same court he had become so intemperate that he had turned on a petitioner from the town. He had made the innkeeper of the Cardinal’s Hat make good the value of a horse he had foolishly allowed two Welsh students to purloin. The innkeeper had left his court fuming but impotent. Now, he sought to try a man for murder. And in order to strengthen his position, he had decided to deal with it in the grand context of the Black Congregation.

This august body was made up of the Regent Masters of the Faculty of Arts, which held sway over the running of the university, much to the chagrin of the other faculties. By holding the trial in front of the Black Congregation, Bek reckoned to legitimize the whole affair. Besides, he knew there were many masters in its numbers who hated Falconer sufficiently to preordain the result. What Bek did not want was an acquittal. That would not suit his purpose one little bit.

Roger Plumpton bustled into his room and interrupted his musings. The fat man was sweating heavily. Whether from his hurried entrance up the stairs, or from the precarious nature of his mission, Bek could not tell. Plumpton did not have the adventurous nature that possessed Thomas Bek and was perturbed at stepping over the boundaries of existing rules. Bek would have to rely more on his counterpart, the proctor of the southern nation, Henry de Godfree. He was a much more pragmatic sort of man, who would see the possibilities of what Bek proposed. Godfree was due back in Oxford tomorrow. He had been on a visit to London on behalf of the Chancellor. It had been on a minor intrigue of Bek’s that was now superseded by a much more important scheme.

Early on the morning after their agreeing to work together, three sombre people met at the small castle gate in the town walls of Oxford. The sun having barely peeped over the walls, the day was still chilly. So the constable had protected his old bones by donning a sheepskin coat over his tunic, as well as putting on thick leggings. The red-haired woman had also taken the precaution of wearing a dark-coloured cloak over her green gown. Besides keeping her warm, she thought it suitably sober for the task ahead. The young teaching master had ignored the morning chill and wore his usual long black robe. He shivered as he shook Peter Bullock’s hand, but felt sure he would warm up as they walked towards Botley.

‘I have sent a boy ahead with a message to ensure our arrival is not unexpected.’

Bullock’s words were the only ones spoken before they passed through the narrow gate. The constable locked it behind them, and they set off. The morning chill was slowly being driven off the low-lying land and mist hung like tattered shrouds across the fields surrounding Oseney Abbey. The abbey itself seemed to float above the clouds, its towers reaching up to the heavens. The long straight road led directly to Botley, and as no one felt inclined to talk, the three plodded on in silence. As they reached the grounds of the manor house, Bullock spoke at last.

‘Leave this to me. I will say that you…’ He indicated Thomas Symon with a horny finger. ‘. . . you are here to represent the interests of the accused. Segrim might protest, but I will say that the King’s Court requires it. And he will not know any better. You…’ The finger pointed at Saphira Le Veske. ‘. . . are with me to ensure propriety when I look at the body.’

The others nodded their agreement with Bullock’s plan. As they approached the door, it swung open and a man of middle years stood squarely in their way. He wore his hair long and curly but was otherwise shaved. Though the shaving had been patchy and areas of stubble were interspersed with nicks and red rashes. His face was puffy and showed all the signs of being that of a drunkard. Bullock guessed this was the half-brother who was supposed to have looked after the manor in Sir Humphrey’s absence. The man confirmed this with his first words.

‘I am Alexander Eddington, brother to Sir Humphrey Segrim. Whatever your business here, it can wait. My sister-in-law is dead and my brother does not wish to see anyone. So be gone.’

Bullock stood his ground, used to the bullying nature of minor nobility and landowners.

‘I fear what I wish to do cannot wait. I am the town constable of Oxford, and as the death of your sister concerns a resident of Oxford, I have jurisdiction over the matter. I have come to see the body. Did you not receive my message?’

‘Yes, but I sent the boy away. You cannot come in. We are in mourning.’

Bullock stepped forward so that his face was inches from Eddington’s.

‘I will come in, and I will do what I am here to do. I have with me Master Thomas Symon of the university and Mistress Le Veske, a widow of good repute in the town. They are here to see fair play in all matters, so you will let me pass.’

Eddington’s eyes dropped to the floor, and grumbling under his breath, he stepped aside and let the three visitors in. At Bullock’s request, he reluctantly led them up the staircase and into the bedroom where Ann Segrim’s body lay. A heavy tapestry was drawn across the window and the room was icy cold. Ann lay on the bed still dressed in the clothes she had been found in. There were dark stains on the neck of the dress, which Bullock took for blood, and other marks around the skirt from where she had lain on the gravel path. Her face was serene but her skin was slack and pale as snow. Her arms had been folded across her chest in a prayerful attitude. Eddington stood in the doorway looking nervous; biting the nails on the fingers of his right hand. Bullock turned back to the door and closed it firmly in the brother’s face. Then he placed a chair against the latch, making it difficult to reopen the door. He looked at Thomas Symon quizzically.

‘Quickly now, what can you tell me?’

Uncertain, Symon stepped closer to the body and took a deep breath. This was very different from practising on a pig in Falconer’s cellar. Looking closely at a dead body, and of a person he had known in life, made him quite ill. He had to swallow hard to prevent himself from retching. But then he took a decision and looked back at Bullock.

‘Can you open the drape? It is hard to examine her in this poor light.’

Bullock did as requested and the morning light flooded into the room. Fortified, Symon once again bent over the body of Ann Segrim.

‘Yes, look here. There is vomit still on her lips – greenish with smears of blood in it. Did you say, Mistress Le Veske, that she had been vomiting earlier?’

Saphira nodded.

‘Correct. For a number of days apparently. That is why I prepared a tincture of opium for William to bring to her. She had been sweating too.’