Falconer's Trial (23 page)

‘Well, if there is no more, brother, I have business to attend to.’

De Bernere looked surprised at Bullock’s abrupt move.

‘Yes, yes of course. I must go and attend the divine offices anyway. Today is the Feast of St George.’

The two men returned to where the Templar’s horse had stood patiently in the courtyard. De Bernere swung up on the saddle, pulled on the reins, and as if having an afterthought, asked Bullock a question.

‘Have there been any rumours about de Reppes?’

‘Concerning the murder?’

‘That, and any motive he might have had for committing it.’

Bullock wondered how far he dare go, bearing in mind the Rule’s proscription on false rumour.

‘There has been… talk… of attacks on the family of King Henry. But it is all speculation and nonsense. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason other than trying to make sense of all this. As you say, nonsense, indeed.’

De Bernere swung his horse’s head round and he cantered out of the courtyard. Bullock would have dearly loved to know what was going through the Templar’s mind. For Laurence de Bernere had other reasons for locking de Reppes in the Temple than merely stopping him from bothering the prioress at Godstow. Yesterday, he had received a curious letter from none other than the Templar Preceptor in the County of Tripoli. Guillaume de Beaujeu was a man known to Bullock and his friend William Falconer as a quiet but determined righter of wrongs. But he was also an ambitious man who some said would be, after the death of Thomas Bérard, the next Grand Master of the Templar Order. And his ambition had caused him to ask questions about a faction within the Templars who had supported the Lusignan, King Hugh of Cyprus, in his bid to be King of Jerusalem. De Beaujeu supported Charles of Anjou, and so did the King of England. Laurence de Bernere had been asked by the Preceptor to find out the truth about Odo de Reppes. And he already had his doubts about the man’s loyalty. As he raised a hand in farewell to the old man at the gates of Oxford Castle, he turned his mind to ways of dealing with de Reppes.

Saphira carried some good Rhenish wine she had decanted from the barrel into a stone flagon across Carfax and up to North Gate, where the Bocardo jail stood. It was both a treat for William and a peace offering for not having visited him the night before, as she had promised. She was glad he was now taking an interest in the murder of Ann Segrim, and didn’t want him lapsing into the morose state he had descended into immediately after her death. She need not have worried. As she turned the corner into Bocardo Lane, she heard peals of female laughter coming from the direction of the prison cell. A short, middle-aged woman with an overlarge and overexposed bosom was leaning against the bars of the cell-door window. She was the source of the loud laughter, and she turned her cheerful face towards Saphira as she approached. Her face showed signs of age, and Saphira wished she could describe her as ugly. But she wasn’t. On the contrary, she was really something of a beauty, despite her years. Falconer’s face was pressed to the bars on the inside and he wore a wide grin.

‘Ah, Saphira. There you are at last.’ He was quite unashamed at having been discovered with this woman. ‘Say hello to Agnes. She is the owner of the best bawdy house in Grope Lane, and an excellent cook too. If it wasn’t for her, I would have starved in here.’

Saphira was embarrassed that she had not thought to bring him some food, and that it had been left to some brothel-keeper to supply Falconer. However, she smiled sweetly at Agnes, thanking her for her kindness. Then she turned a severe look on William.

‘I hope you don’t describe it as the best bawdy house from personal experience.’

Agnes’s infectious laughter pealed out again and Saphira found herself laughing too. She passed the flagon through the bars to Falconer.

‘I did remember to bring you some good wine.’

Agnes saw the look that passed between the two and coughed gently.

‘I think it is time for me to go, Master Falconer. There is enough in the pot I gave you for dinner today and to break your fast tomorrow. After that, I have no doubt you will be released.’

‘Perhaps, Agnes, perhaps.’

The brothel-keeper swayed seductively off down the lane, leaving Saphira to talk freely to Falconer. Saphira had already decided she would say nothing about the attack on her. Nothing had come of it, after all. In fact, it had helped her to discover Covele’s hiding place. Her rescue, by way of the tunnels under Fish Street and through the cellars of Jewry, had pointed the way to the talisman seller. She began her presentation of the facts for Falconer by explaining why she thought Covele innocent of Ann’s murder.

‘He was never in her chamber, nor in any position to poison her food. And no matter how vindictive I think he can be, I don’t believe he is a murderer.’

‘I believe the same can be said of Odo de Reppes too.’

Saphira was startled by William’s assertion. How could he deduce that from his prison cell? She asked him, and William explained.

‘Ann did not know of her husband’s fears and opinion of the Templar. Not even after she had found him hiding in the Golden Ball. He could not have killed her to shut her mouth.’

‘But what if he killed her to frighten Sir Humphrey into silence? He couldn’t trace Segrim, so his wife was the next best target.’

Through the bars, she could see Falconer shaking his head.

‘If he wanted to scare Segrim, why poison her slowly? It is not the way of the Templars – they are fighting men. He would have scared Segrim more if he simply cut her head off. Besides, the Rule of the Templars makes it difficult for knights to work alone. They do not have a private life, and much of what they do is open and visible to their brothers. Unless there is another reason for de Reppes to have killed Ann, I would discount him.’

Saphira felt downhearted. With Covele no longer suspected, she had put her hopes on the Templar, and Thomas’s and Bullock’s investigations.

‘Then where do we go from here?’

Falconer smiled in the gloom of his cell.

‘I want you to go to a nunnery for me.’

The ashes in the grate of Colcill Hall were as grey and lifeless as Thomas Symon’s theory about the Templar conspiracy being the cause of Ann’s death. Peter Bullock sat next to Thomas having described his conversation with Laurence de Bernere. Thomas, who had heard rumours that Chancellor Bek was to produce a final witness to Falconer’s guilt the next day, had hung all his hopes on Sir Humphrey Segrim’s story. Now it appeared to be a threadbare cobweb of half-truths at best. He still wanted to be clear about the Templar’s motives though.

‘Odo is here because his sister died in Godstow?’

Bullock shrugged.

‘Not precisely. He came because she was alive at the time and he wished to see her. He is still here now because she died.’

‘But she cannot have died in suspicious circumstances, or you would have known surely. She must have died a natural death.’

The constable shook his head.

‘Not necessarily. Mother Gwladys is a dragon of a woman and fiercely protective of the nunnery’s reputation. I recall a long while ago there was a murder at Godstow. She would not let me in to investigate. It took me ages to persuade her to even let Ann carry out an inquiry on my behalf. Which was just as well. The unpleasant business was soon resolved, and Gwladys was grateful to Ann that she could get on with the smooth running of the place.’

Thomas nodded, poking the cold ashes with the toe of his boot.

‘That is probably why Mistress Segrim was still welcome there.’

‘Ann still called there? How do you know that?’

‘Margery, her maidservant told me. She said her mistress was a regular visitor there right up to before she died.’ Thomas paused, stirred by Bullock’s interest in his chance remark. ‘You don’t think there is any connection there, do you?’

Bullock leaned forward, his mind once more working hard.

‘What? Think about it. Ann Segrim is a regular visitor to Godstow nunnery, even perhaps confiding in the prioress or the nuns. One of those nuns is the sister to Odo de Reppes, who has reason to keep a secret he thinks Ann’s husband knows. The sister dies. Ann dies. No connection? You know what Falconer would say. We may not be sure of Segrim’s claims about the Templar, but there is a link there that demands investigation.’

Both men were now reinvigorated by the idea of continuing their quest. But Thomas had a question for his senior partner.

‘Should we not tell Master Falconer all of this?’

Bullock shook his head vigorously.

‘Not yet. Let us not get his hopes up before we know more for a fact. I will go to Godstow tomorrow.’ He raised a hand to stop Thomas’s protest and grinned. ‘You are too young. Gwladys will refuse you entry for fear you will inflame the passions of her sister nuns. This is work for an old and ugly man long past the carnal urges of youth.’

TWENTY-TWO

S
t Mildred’s Church was once again filling with black crows, eager to feast off the carrion that was William Falconer. It was Monday morning, and Chancellor Thomas Bek was content with his preparations for what he imagined would be the final day. And the final nail in the regent master’s coffin. A guilty verdict would seal his power as chancellor of the university, and lead to greater power in the realm. He deliberately waited until all the regent masters had seated themselves in the main body of the church, before making a triumphant entrance from the side chapel, flanked by his two proctors. Henry de Godfree had carried out his task well, and swore he had schooled the next and final witness to perfection. Roger Plumpton was still dragging his heels, and Bek resolved to see him ousted at the next annual election of officers of the university. There was no place in Bek’s world for antagonism to his way of doing things.

He settled in the throne-like chair, front and centre below the altar, and cast a glance at the humbled figure of Falconer. After his attack on Ralph Cornish he was closely guarded by one of Bullock’s watchmen, though Bek noted that the constable himself was not present. That pleased Bek, as the rumours of treason that he was going to build on today had apparently begun with Bullock. He did not want the man around to claim prior knowledge. The regent master was seated as usual on a low, small chair below Bek’s eye level. It was a chair Bek had deliberately selected to make the tall and normally imposing figure of Falconer seem small and uncomfortable. However, this morning the accused man looked more at ease than before. He even had the nerve to smile cheerfully at the chancellor. Angrily, Bek nodded at de Godfree to get on with the business at hand. The skinny proctor smiled obsequiously and rose.

‘Since the adjournment of this trial due to the…’ He turned to cast an accusing look at Falconer. ‘. . . the violent attack on one of his fellows by the accused, William Falconer, Chancellor Bek has learned that rumours are circulating concerning a treasonable conspiracy at the root of Ann Segrim’s murder.’

He waited whilst cries of disbelief and horror echoed round the church. A proper sense of outrage was expressed by all present before he continued. As the bedlam died down, de Godfree pressed on.

‘Chancellor Bek was aware of this conspiracy many days ago, and has spent time verifying if this exonerates the accused.’ Another susurration travelled through the throng. And Bek smiled knowingly, accepting his proctor’s lie as truth. ‘He has discovered that, on the contrary, it ties Falconer in more firmly to the murder of Mistress Segrim. I call to witness Regent Master Edward Skepwith.’

There was a murmur of surprise from the assembled masters. Skepwith was known to be an undistinguished scholar, who despite some wildness in his student days, had settled down to a steady but unimaginative career as a teacher. He was deemed to be reliable, if a little boring. There was a certain nervousness in his bearing as he walked the length of the aisle, his shoulders stooped and his head bowed. When he finally stood in front of de Godfree, the proctor clicked his fingers and made him look up at his colleagues.

‘Master Skepwith has something to tell which will horrify, but which needs to be revealed nevertheless.’

De Godfree stepped back and sat down. Skepwith coughed, shuffled his feet, and glanced nervously at the chancellor. Bek for his part smiled encouragingly, though his heart was thumping at having to rely on this weak man for the final piece of evidence. Edward Skepwith took a deep breath and began. It was a tale that went back nearly ten years to the Barons War, when King Henry was opposed by Simon de Montfort, and for a brief period lost his throne. The university at Oxford was divided in its allegiance and bitter disputes rocked its foundations. Skepwith’s face became flushed as he recited his story.

‘You will recall that Smith Gate in the north of the town was locked against us, and it took a concerted effort by the students, myself included, to pull down the gates and gain access to the fields beyond. King Henry was outside the town, and whoever locked those gates wanted to stop us showing our support. I was later told that William Falconer was instrumental in having the gates locked.’

Falconer smiled ruefully. There was some twisted truth in what Skepwith said. He had arranged for the gate to be locked, but it had been to stop a murderer escaping, not to keep the students inside. The near riot had been an unfortunate result of his decision. Some had even seen the event as the opposite to what Skepwith was suggesting. That the students had been locked in to prevent them showing their support for de Montfort. But time and the defeat of de Montfort by Henry had distorted the view. Half-truths could be used to support both sides of an argument. As a scholar, Falconer was used to this. He waited with resignation as Edward Skepwith concluded his accusation.

‘William Falconer supported the barons against his rightful king. And now he has murdered the wife of the man who was in a position to reveal this latest treason to us. He was involved in conspiracy before, and is besmirched with it again.’

Bek smirked as Skepwith made his way back to his seat at the rear of the church. It had all been well arranged by Henry de Godfree, and he was sure of the verdict he would get from the assembled masters. He could have concluded matters there and then, but wished to give his bid for power the best possible chance of legitimacy. Besides, he felt like savouring the feeling of control for a while longer. He rose to speak.