Falconer's Trial (26 page)

‘I was wondering if the chaplain might help me.’

‘Ralph Cornish?’ Thomas couldn’t help being surprised at Saphira’s suggestion. ‘But he was a witness against Falconer.’

‘Then I shall appeal to his Christian charity. But that is all for tomorrow. Tonight I propose to talk to William, and see if he has any more insights to offer. You know, he seems to work best in isolation. His mind does not get diverted by other mundane matters. Perhaps after this is all over, I should lock him away permanently.’

She shared a secret smile with Bullock, who saw the undertones in her words. But he could not be amused by her wanton suggestion. He was afraid his friend might not survive to enjoy the undoubted pleasures offered by Saphira Le Veske.

Sister Margaret could not sleep for the demons. They assaulted her senses as soon as darkness came. She kneeled by her bed in prayer, but they mocked her. They accused her of licentious and unholy acts with other women.

‘No, I did not. There is nothing evil in an act of love.’

She spoke in a whisper, scared that others might hear and report her. She could be accused of being possessed. Of witchcraft. But they poked and prodded her, the voices. Hissing like a serpent in her ears until she tried to stop them with her hands pressed either side of her head.

‘I loved her. And she loved me. But she was not strong enough. You broke her, not me. It was not my fault.’

She threw herself on the cold, damp floor of her cell, her arms stretched out in the shape of Our Lord’s Cross. She mumbled prayers. But they would not go away. One voice silenced all the others. It whispered to her in the darkness. A voice no longer disembodied, coming from the dark shape lingering in the gloomy corner of her cell.

‘You killed her. You alone killed her.’

‘No. No. NOOOOO!’

Her voice wailed too loud to be unheard. She buried her head in the dirty rushes on the floor, feeling rather than seeing a shaft of light falling on her. Then as suddenly as it had come, she was in darkness again. Until the sister from the next cell pushed her door tentatively open.

‘Are you having a nightmare, sister?’

Sister Margaret sobbed, and scratched at the stone floor until her fingers bled.

Saphira thought that Falconer looked remarkably calm for a condemned man. When she had arrived at the Bocardo with a supply of cold meats and a flagon of Rhenish, he had pressed his face against the grille and smiled cheerfully. He had taken the provisions, placing them carefully on the floor of his bare cell, before returning to the grille.

‘I shall eat the meat tonight before the rats get to it. And the Rhenish will ensure a good night’s sleep, I don’t doubt.’

Saphira was astonished at his equanimity. She had dreaded this meeting, thinking she would have to be the one to be cheerful, when she felt everything but. He saw the surprise on her face.

‘Don’t worry about me. Peter has sent a letter to the sheriff, and he will not allow Bek to get away with it.’

‘But you know Peter is not the greatest of scribes. And, as he would admit himself, nor is he persuasive when it comes to niceties of law. He only knows the power of the sword and a threat of bodily harm. Why would the sheriff listen to him?’

‘Because I drafted the letter myself. And exercised all my subtle skills in ensuring the sheriff, as the representative of the king, sees how his master’s law is being undermined. Along with his revenue from fines.’

Saphira could not help laughing, despite the desperate situation.

‘So the convicted murderer has written his own letter to the justices pointing out the error of the ways of his judge.’

‘Something like that. It would not surprise me to find that the king’s justices were already riding hot-foot towards Oxford even now. I think Chancellor Bek’s days are numbered, along with anyone who has aided and abetted him. So, tell me what you found out at Godstow nunnery, and perhaps we will have an alternative view on the murder to present to them when they arrive.’

Saphira laid before him her discovery concerning the poisonous herbs seen in Sister Marie’s cell, which were cleared away before anyone could question their presence. Falconer’s eyes lit up.

‘Birthwort. Could the poor girl have been with child, and seeking to get rid of it?’

‘It’s possible. But no man can get into the nunnery, and the nuns do not come out beyond its walls.’

‘What of Odo?’

‘No, he was her brother, and besides this was his first visit in years apparently.’

‘Hal Coke? I recall he is something of a rogue and he keeps the key to the nunnery gate.’

‘He is a drunk and an old man.’

Falconer eyed Saphira ruefully through the grille that separated them.

‘I am not much younger than he is. And if it were not for this cell door, I would prove to you that old men can still…’

Saphira hushed him and glanced around. The lane in which the jail stood was dark and narrow, but it was still a thoroughfare where anyone might pass.

‘Be serious for a moment. The nun may have been with child, or merely imagined she was. We women are quite hysterical creatures, you know.’

Falconer played along.

‘And prone to fainting fits when they cannot have their own way.’

Saphira pressed her body against the door.

‘What? Like now.’

There was a quiet cough behind her and she started back from the cell door, blushing. Peter Bullock stepped out of the darkness, jangling some keys on a ring.

‘I don’t want to interrupt your sweet blandishments, but I have a plan to ensure William’s safety.’

Saphira looked worriedly at the constable, then at Falconer.

‘I thought you said you were confident the verdict would be overturned, William?’

‘I am. But Peter seems to think otherwise.’

Bullock inserted a key in the cell door, jiggling it to make it turn.

‘I do. I do not subscribe to your naïve trust in justice prevailing. No good you being exonerated later, if your neck is already stretched from a gallows tree. I just want to make it difficult for Bek to find you, should he take it into his head to hang you before the king’s justices arrive.’

He swung the door open and Falconer went to step out. Then he stopped in his tracks.

‘Saphira, you said that there was evidence of henbane in Marie’s cell.’

‘According to Sister Margaret, yes. I think the girl was suggesting her fellow nun took her own life. Even though in the very next breath, she insisted Marie did not.’

‘But why would someone seek to abort their child and kill themselves at the same time? Self-murder would achieve both ends in one. This Margaret needs to be spoken to again. She knows something she is trying to hide.’

‘I think so too. That is why I am going to speak to the chaplain of the nunnery tomorrow. You know him as one of your colleagues – Ralph Cornish.’

‘Cornish? I knew he had a living locally, but I did not know it was so close. Bearing in mind how hard he worked to convict me, it will be quite an irony if he can help me prove my innocence in the end.’

Bullock pulled Falconer clear of the door and swung it closed behind him.

‘Now, if you have finished your philosophizing, I would like to hide you away in St George’s Tower before daylight reveals you are missing. And that I have committed a most heinous crime. Come.’

He hurried his prisoner and co-conspirator, Saphira, down Bocardo Lane, past Trillock’s Inn, and through into the courtyard of the castle. They met no one on the way, but he was still not happy until Falconer was safely ensconced in the uppermost room of the tower that formed his quarters as constable. It would be very hard for the chancellor, whatever he might suspect of the constable’s complicity in Falconer’s disappearance, to insist on searching there. He did make Saphira return to her own house, though, and exhorted her to behave as though she did not know William’s whereabouts. He could not be sure how far Bek might push his luck, after all.

TWENTY-SIX

S
aphira made sure she was in Sumnor’s Lane first thing in the morning. The narrow lane ran close under the northern ramparts of the town walls. If Ralph Cornish were to be going to the nunnery, or to the schools nearby, he would pass along this lane. The early morning sun had not risen high enough to warm the lane, and Saphira shivered with the cold. Clouds heaving themselves darkly across the sky warned of rain. A break in the hot dry weather would be welcome, but she was not prepared for a downpour, if she had to wait too long. She need not have worried. Promptly on the sound of the terce bells, a stern-faced man garbed all in black emerged from Black Hall. A bruise marred his left cheek, and Saphira could tell it was the same man who had passed her and Bullock on Port Meadow yesterday. He walked briskly towards her, but as he went to pass, she stepped from the shadows.

‘Master Cornish? May we speak?’

‘I am a busy man, mistress. What is it you want?’

‘It’s a rather delicate matter concerning the nunnery.’

Ralph Cornish suddenly showed more interest in this apparently chance encounter. His eyes narrowed.

‘As you clearly know that I am chaplain to Godstow, then you must also realize that any business concerning the nunnery is private. Or even subject to the confidentiality of the confessional. I cannot answer your question.’

He made to push past Saphira, but she grabbed his arm and stopped him. Surprised at this woman’s firm action and vice-like grip, Cornish hesitated. Saphira continued.

‘Don’t you even want to know what the question is before you refuse to answer?’

Cornish gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, as if this nuisance was a mere fly that could be swatted and forgotten.

‘Ask it.’

‘Did you speak to Ann Segrim when she was at the nunnery the last time?’

‘Before William Falconer poisoned her, you mean? I am afraid I didn’t. I was engaged on my teaching duties here and had not been to the nunnery for a few days. I regret that now, for I feel I neglected the poor unfortunate child who died. She might have been alive if she had been able to confess her sins to me. Mistress Segrim’s… involvement… in seeking the causes of her death were no doubt well meaning, but fruitless. It was an accident.’

‘Do you know if Ann spoke to all the nuns?’

Cornish was beginning to get restless at Saphira’s enquiries.

‘No. I do not know for sure, though the prioress told me later that she had.’

‘So, she must have spoken to Sister Margaret, for example. Perhaps she noticed something odd in her behaviour. Did Mother Gwladys mention that to you?’

‘Sister Margaret? No, she did not say anything. And I am sure as her chaplain I would have noticed anything strange in the sister’s behaviour myself. Now if you will excuse me.’

Saphira still held on to Cornish’s arm, so he could not break away without using force.

‘Then, do you not think there is something amiss with Sister Margaret now?’

‘Just who are you?’ Cornish wrenched his arm free of her grip, an angry look on his face. ‘You are that Jew, aren’t you? Falconer’s whore.’

Saphira raised her arm, aiming to slap his face, but he quickly grabbed it. Then suddenly all the heat seemed to go out of him. His face, which had become a mask of anger, once more slipped into the solemn mien he had worn when he emerged from Black Hall.

‘Mistress. Forgive me, but these events have disturbed me, and I feel guilty at neglecting my care for the nuns. You have touched a sore point. Though I am convinced of Falconer’s guilt still, I will speak to Sister Margaret. If there is anything burdening her soul, I will help her. I can say no more than that. Whatever she tells me will be in confidence.’

Saphira, thrown off course by Cornish’s swift turnabout, could only acquiesce. At least Margaret would get an ear to listen to her troubles. Saphira would have to find another way of discovering what those troubles were, though. With a godly smile on his face, Ralph Cornish took his leave of her, and she turned back towards Jewry. She had only got to the end of Jewry Lane, when she became aware of a commotion outside Samson’s house. An old man, holding on to a steaming nag with one hand, was beating on the old man’s door with the other. Knowing Samson’s fear of abrupt and noisy hammerings on his door, she hurried over to see what the problem was.

‘What in heaven’s name are you doing?’

The old man turned to her and she recognized him as one of Segrim’s servants. His face was pale and his breathing was heavy and irregular. She thought perhaps he was ill and was seeking Samson’s aid. But she was wrong. Between rasping gulps of air, Sekston gasped out his mission.

‘It’s Master Eddington. He’s took ill. Bad.’

Saphira was at once scornful of the urgency of the situation, recalling Alexander Eddington’s propensities for drinking too much.

‘Tell him to drink less and he will recover. Now stop disturbing good men in their own homes.’

She went to walk away, but Sekston called out after her.

‘No. It’s not that. He is sorely ill. The same as the mistress was. Please can you help?’

The same illness as afflicted Ann? Then Eddington’s life was in danger. She made an immediate decision.

‘Go to the Golden Ball Inn, tell them to saddle me a rouncey, and bring it here. I will gather some necessities.’

She went into her house and quickly scanned her notes made from Rabbi Maimonides’s treatise on poisons that was Samson’s trusted guide on such matters. The celebrated Spanish Jew recommended an emetic, and Saphira placed a stone jar of oil in a convenient box, along with some dried anethum, and some asafoetida, natron and cabbage seed. The rest of her needs could be supplied at Botley Manor. By the time she emerged from her front door with the precious box in her arms, Sekston was back with a sound horse, saddled and ready for her. They mounted up, and picked their way through the crowds that were beginning to throng the streets of Oxford. Once out through North Gate, they were able to encourage their horses to a greater speed. But despite the urgency of the errand, Saphira suddenly reined her rouncey in and slipped to the roadside. Sekston, who was barely keeping pace on his old nag, called out in horror.