Falconer's Trial (22 page)

‘You ask me why I followed the university master to that manor house. It was to find a way of exacting revenge on him. And you. Last year you drove me from this very town. And me a fellow Jew.’

Saphira knew that she and Falconer had only questioned Covele because he had been responsible for carrying out a forbidden ritual. If he had fled, it was of his own free will.

‘We were only asking questions, as I am now. If you were innocent, there was no need to run away.’

Covele snorted with laughter, some crumbs of bread spewing from his mouth.

‘Innocent? You are a Jew, too. You know what it’s like. Where does presumption of innocence come into it?’ He hooked a stained thumb at the lad, whose eyelids were beginning to droop despite the tension in the room. ‘I had to flee with my boy for our safety. So then I set myself up as a talisman seller, and in the guise of a German Jew I thought I was safe to come back to this place. When I saw you staring at me in the street, though, I knew you had recognized me. We went back to where we were camped in the cemetery, and began to pack once again. Then I had second thoughts and stayed around, not wishing to be pushed out again. Later, I saw that man of yours and followed him. I thought I could maybe learn something about him that I could use against him. And I did.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you mean?’

He wasn’t looking at Saphira by now, but staring into the embers of the fire. She, for her part, was blushing at his revelation, even though she knew how things had stood between William and Ann Segrim. Covele continued, his hands clasped tight together as though he were squeezing the life out of Falconer.

‘I gave her an amulet in reward for the information she gave me. And that was as far as I got.’

The amulet, no doubt, that Saphira had later seen in Ann Segrim’s solar, which had set off her suspicions of Covele in the first place. It appears he had never even got as far as Ann herself. Margery had probably put it in her mistress’s room hoping to cure her.

‘But the arsenic you bought from the spicer?’

‘Arsenic? What’s that got to do with revenging myself on this man? I bought it to mix with milk to kill the flies in our tent. The weather is hot and the flies are prodigious in numbers. But then I heard tales of murder and mayhem being bandied around town, and found a better place to stay. Those tunnels are cool and safe. I told the boy to take the arsenic back and see if the spicer would return our money. But he chased him off. Ask him.’

She looked at the boy, who was now asleep. She was sure he was the beggar-boy she had seen on the doorstep of Bodin’s shop that day. Covele’s story was plausible. The talisman seller leaned back in the chair and yawned.

‘Now my revenge will have to wait.’

Saphira didn’t tell him that Falconer was already in a worse fix than merely having rumours of adultery being spread about him. She left the pair to sleep in her kitchen and retired to her solar, aware she had not spoken to Falconer all day.

Thomas had also spent the whole day without speaking a word with Falconer. Which was unfortunate as William had some precise opinions about the Templar conspiracy and its impact on the death of Ann Segrim. But Thomas was still determined to uncover the threads of Odo de Reppes’s misdeeds from his end, whilst Bullock tried to talk to his sergeant. In the end, he had no need to go to Botley, for in the afternoon he encountered Margery in La Boucherie – the end of High Street where all the butchers traded. He saw her coming out of a shop and called her name. The maidservant cast a wary eye over towards him and for a moment looked as though she was going to flee. Then, when she saw who it was had called, she sighed, and waited for him to cross the street.

‘What do you want now?’

Thomas ignored her sullen demeanour and smiled sweetly.

‘I was just wondering how your master was. I was planning to go over to Botley and ask him about…’ He realized Margery would know nothing of the high politics of Sir Humphrey’s situation, being a lowly servant. ‘. . . the state of his health.’

Margery took a defiant stance in the middle of the street as people flowed by them on both sides.

‘The master is still very unwell, as you might expect. He has not set foot outside the house for days. In fact, he has told us to tell anyone who calls that he is not at home. That he never came back from the Holy Lands.’ She put on a cute face, which was at odds with her sour look and dark hairs on her upper lip. ‘So, there is no point in coming to Botley. The master is not at home. Now, if you will excuse me, sir, I must buy a potion from Bodin the spicer.’

Thomas realized that no one at Botley could know of the spicer’s murder, that had taken place only that morning. He warned Margery of the situation.

‘You will not be able to carry out your task, I fear. Robert Bodin was murdered this morning.’

Margery went very pale and swayed a little. Thomas reached out an arm in case she collapsed, but she recovered her composure quickly.

‘Who did it, sir?’

‘That we don’t know yet. But we shall find out, and it might throw light on your mistress’s death too.’ He paused, a thought jumping into his head. ‘Constable Bullock told me that when you gave evidence at the Black Congregation, you said you had gone to Bodin for a medicine for your mistress.’

Margery’s jaw clenched tight and she cast her eyes down to the dusty ground. Thomas wasn’t sure if it was because of him reminding her of the scare she had got bearing witness in front of the Black Congregation, or for some other reason. He decided not to pass over the errant idea, however. Here was a tenuous link between the spicer and various people at Botley, after all.

‘What did you fetch, Margery?’

Margery ground the toe of her shoe in the dust.

‘It didn’t matter. The mistress never took it anyway.’

‘What didn’t matter, girl?’

‘I was supposed to get the mistress a preparation of feverfew for her sweats. But when I told Master Alexander where I was going, he said not to bother. The mistress was not all that ill. He said go to the spicer and get something harmless that tasted bitter but would do nothing. So I did. And I gave it to the master when I got back.’

‘You gave it to Alexander Eddington?’

‘Yes, but he could not have passed it on. The Oxford master killed her before she could take it, didn’t he? Either that or she got some murrain from that nunnery she went to almost every day.’ She shuddered. ‘Dangerous places, those nunneries.’

William Falconer was frustrated by a lack of knowledge. He didn’t think he would ever think that, but being locked away in a cell had kept him from knowledge. The accumulation of knowledge about Ann’s murder. Why had no one come to him today, and kept him informed about what had developed? Where was Saphira? He was bursting with questions to ask. But then, he supposed he only had himself to blame. Ann’s death had overwhelmed him, and for a few days he could not even think clearly. Then, when they told him that the chancellor was to try him, he had been scared. Not for himself, but for Saphira, whom he would have incriminated if he had said anything. It had been her potion he was bringing to Ann, and no would believe a Jew was an innocent. Especially one who, it seemed, was now known to have replaced Ann in his affections. Even though he knew the real situation, Ralph Cornish had twisted it to suit the chancellor’s view of the facts. And where did he learn about his relationship with Saphira anyway? Falconer was sure he had been very careful, for Saphira’s sake if not his own.

In fact, he had kept silent about so many matters that it was no surprise now that he was not being consulted. But Saphira had told him last night about some of the threads of truths that had been uncovered. He had spent a sleepless night thinking about them, rearranging the facts and events as he knew them. He had seen a flaw in one set of facts, and needed to find out more before he could tell Bullock what needed doing. It was all to do with the timing of Humphrey Segrim’s arrival in Oxford, and the presumption that the Templar could have murdered Ann to silence her.

He had spent quiet hours in the night recalling what he knew about the sequence of events. Finally, he had convinced himself he was right. Whenever Segrim had arrived in Oxford – and apparently he had closeted himself in the Golden Ball Inn for quite a while – Ann had not encountered him or spoken to him until after she had fallen ill. He was sure of this because, when he had visited her on her sickbed, she had made no mention of Humphrey’s return. If Bullock thought the Templar had killed her because he feared Humphrey could have told her his secret, he was wrong. There might have been other reasons, but that is what he needed to talk to Bullock about. And he had a bee buzzing in his bonnet about Godstow nunnery. That is what Ann had spoken to him about before Alexander Eddington had thrown him out of Botley Manor. And Falconer had some important information for Bullock or Saphira to follow up in connection with that. He didn’t know where it might lead, but it needed investigation. And time was running short. Tomorrow was Sunday, and he didn’t think the Black Congregation would convene until Monday. So there was a whole day to set matters in train. If someone would only visit his cell.

TWENTY-ONE

A
s the bells rang out over the town, the constable of Oxford, Peter Bullock, was called upon by someone unexpected. The commander of Temple Cowley, Laurence de Bernere, had made a rare visit to the town. And he was incognito. He did not wear the white robe of a Knight of the Temple, but a nondescript brown tunic that must have been borrowed from one of his sergeants. The fine black hooded cloak rather gave him away though as a nobleman. That, and his bearing. The Rule of the Order said that brothers should always visit towns in pairs, but Laurence de Bernere was alone. Bullock had heard the clatter of horse’s hooves on the cobbles in the courtyard of Oxford Castle. Full of curiosity as to who would be calling on him so early on Sunday, he descended the spiral staircase inside St George’s Tower and stepped into the watery sunshine of morning. The hooded figure had already dismounted and was pacing the yard. At that moment, Bullock did not recognize the man as his face was hidden. He touched a hand to the dagger at his belt with the instinct of an old fighting man and called out.

‘Hello, good sir. Can I do something for you?’

The man looked over his shoulder and then threw the hood off. The constable recognized the sharp features and big bushy beard of de Bernere immediately.

‘Brother de Bernere, have you any news for me?’

The Frenchman strode over to him and took his arm firmly.

‘May we go inside, Sergeant Bullock?’

Having slipped into the old, Templar ways of addressing each other, the two men felt an intimacy that might otherwise have been lacking between a noble knight and a humble town constable. Bullock smiled more easily.

‘Of course, brother. Come this way.’

He led de Bernere back up the spiral stairs and into his spartan living quarters. He invited his visitor to sit, but de Bernere stayed on his feet, looking around the tidy chamber. He appeared nervous despite their intimacy.

‘I see you haven’t altogether given up on your Templar vows of poverty and humility.’

‘Nor of chastity, brother. Though I confess that is more down to my age now.’

De Bernere laughed gently at Bullock’s self-deprecating jest. Pulling at his beard, he began to explain his mission.

‘What I am about to say I would tell no one but a Templar. And I expect utter discretion in return for my confiding in you.’

Bullock inclined his head in acquiescence to the request. He was intrigued. What was it that the commander was going to tell him? Was it about Odo de Reppes, and would what he say exonerate Falconer? If it did, he hoped he could use it without breaking the confidence of de Bernere.

‘Go on.’

‘When we last spoke together, you were asking about Odo de Reppes. What his business was in Oxford. At the time I was not clear myself and have made it my business to find out. The man himself is incommunicative to the extent he is contemptuous of his duty of obedience to me. But I have spoken to Sergeant Bergier.’

Bullock hoped the Templar had got further with the tight-lipped sergeant than he had done. He listened with interest as de Bernere continued.

‘Odo de Reppes has a sister – a nun of the Benedictine Order – called Marie. She was locked away in that nunnery the other side of town. At Godstow.’

‘Was? Where is she now?’

Laurence de Bernere sighed and cast his eyes to Heaven.

‘I should not have said he
has
a sister, rather that he
had
a sister. She died in the nunnery. Quite recently.’

‘And that is why de Reppes came here?’

‘Well, apparently he decided to come here while she was still alive. Whatever it was he wished to communicate to her, he was unable to pass on. She died before he reached Temple Cowley. Now he is intent on unearthing the facts of her death. I feel sorry for the prioress of Godstow.’

Bullock smiled wryly, thinking of the formidable Mother Gwladys.

‘Don’t. Rather feel sorry for Odo de Reppes. If he thinks he can browbeat her, he will soon learn a salutary lesson.’

De Bernere frowned, sure that no woman could be a match for the hot-tempered de Reppes.

‘Does this help in any way with your murder investigation?’

Bullock was immediately suspicious of de Bernere’s motives. When he had spoken to the man before, he had made no mention of murder in connection with Odo de Reppes. De Bernere saw the look on his face and apologized.

‘Sergeant Bergier told me you were investigating a murder over at Botley. He was very defensive about his master, saying he was with de Reppes at all times in Oxford. And that neither of them had ever been to Botley, and only once to Godstow, when the doorkeeper told them of Sister Marie’s death. Odo is now very disturbed and wishes to know more. I have forbidden him from leaving the Temple.’

Bullock could hear his empty stomach groaning from lack of food. De Bernere had prevented him from taking his usual breakfast of bread and ale. Now, the man still dallied in his chamber, as though he had more to say but couldn’t work out how to start. The constable thrust himself up from the chair he had slumped in as the Templar paced the room.