by Ian Morson
‘Pope Alexander IV is dead. A dispute broke out at Oseney between the Papal Legate and some students. The Legate's brother has been killed and the students imprisoned at Wallingford. ’
He paused, then in the margin scrawled himself another note. It read simply,‘Falconer?’
The person in question was now on his way back to Oxford in the company of a refreshed Peter Bullock. Falconer was tired and irritable, and each stumble of the horse on the pitted road caused him to curse. Bullock thought he was perhaps jealous of the constable's effective interrogation of the warden. Falconer did so like to take the lead in their investigations. But Bullock fancied he knew his man, and the results with the warden had proved it. He was not going to apologize.
As they passed the point where yesterday they had turned off for Abingdon, Falconer heaved a great sigh and reined his horse in. Aghast, Bullock thought they were once again to embark on a wild-goose chase. But before he could remonstrate, Falconer spoke up.
‘I am sorry for being so taciturn, my friend. It's so difficult to weave the strands together and come up with a satisfactory picture.’
Bullock was not sure what his comrade was talking about, but knew better than to interrupt him. He merely grunted an acknowledgement. They continued their journey side by side, and as the horses plodded at a pace to suit the constable's docile mount, Falconer explained what he had discovered as the greater truths so far.
Assuming that the Welshman had fired the shot, something that Bullock would have avowed as fact not assumption (but then he was keeping quiet), Falconer proposed the following theory. It was too much of a coincidence that this assault on the Bishop's life was brought about by a hot-headed student on the spur of the moment. There had already been several carefully planned assassination attempts and this had to be seen as another. The question was, who would wish to kill the Bishop and why? He was the representative of the Pope - and more than that, a candidate for the Papacy at a time when all knew the Pope was dying. Who in general condemned the venality and opulence of the Papacy? (Bullock would have said most English landowners and clerics seeking preferment.) Falconer supplied his own answer - the Dominicans. Who in the order had most recently expressed his views on what should happen to the Pope in the coming Apocalypse? (Bullock did not know, for he had not seen the Friar Preacher.) Again Falconer supplied the answer - Friar Robert Fordam.
Bullock could restrain himself no longer.
‘The Welshman still pulled the bow string and loosed the arrow, not the friar.’
Falconer's face lit up with a huge smile of satisfaction.
‘That's where you're wrong. The Welshman was just as much a weapon in the friar's hands as the bow was in his own.’
The constable shook his head in bewilderment, and Falconer continued to explain. He summarized the theory of the waking trance as expounded by his friend, Roger Bacon. It was his conviction that the friar used the technique when he preached, and he spoke of the people in London he had seen under the spell of Fordam. Falconer had seen the same look in the eyes of John Gryffin on his way to Oseney Abbey. Clearly the Welshman had been entranced into shooting an arrow at the Bishop when he emerged to see the students. Unfortunately, matters had gone awry when first the Bishop had refused to see the students, and secondly the Bishop's own brother (with a close family resemblance) had appeared with fatal consequences for himself.
The two men were now approaching Grandpont over the Thames and the city walls of Oxford were in sight. Falconer eased his aching back and finished off the weaving of events as he saw them. It only remained for the friar to kill John Gryffin and to make it look like a self-inflicted death in order to tidy up the whole affair. Perhaps the friar had aimed to do his killing in Oxford, but had happened upon the removal of his intended victim by the soldiers. So why not go with them? The figure Bullock had seen accompanying the soldiers and student-prisoners out of Oxford must have been Fordam. Who would have objected to a spiritual comfort for the poor youths? It only remained to place the friar in Wallingford yesterday.
‘And that I intend to do today. Of course, there are still one or two little problems that don't add up.’
Falconer let a small frown cross his features.
‘But I am sure I can explain them logically.’
Aethelmar, the Archbishop of Winchester, was resting after a tiring journey from London to Abingdon. Pursuing his half- brother, the King, around the country seemed to occupy most of his waking life. And his overweight frame was not designed to sit for many hours on the back of a horse. Well padded he might be, but the journeys on England's awful roads always made him bone-weary. He longed for the warmth of Provence, but politics prevented his return. He was obliged to remain in Henry's wet and windy domain, and even the current spell of dry days had not endeared the land to him. He supposed he should be grateful to his sister-in-law, the Queen, for obtaining him his lucrative position, but he could not bring himself to be thankful for second best.
While he always seemed to be one step behind his half- brother geographically, now perhaps he could get ahead of him politically - and provide himself with the leverage to remain in his post, when all around him his fellow countrymen were being forced out by the barons of England, led by that renegade Frenchman, Simon de Montfort. Aethelmar had been quick to see the value of having the King and the Papal Legate in the same place. How many times had he tried to broker alliances, only to have the King load his baggage on wagons and leave before the other party could speak to him? Even here, the King could strike out in any direction. From Abingdon, roads led to Woodstock and Tewkesbury, Wallingford and Windsor, and Marlborough, whence he could travel to Winchester, Salisbury or Bristol. In a few days, he could be anywhere in his kingdom collecting his taxes and living off his subjects. He had to act fast in pushing Henry towards a decision on Otho and the papal contest.
He decided to arrange a meeting as soon as decently possible. In the meantime he needed to get a message to Segrim and the others of his faction, so they could silence the rumours about the death in Oxford immediately. It would not do for inquisitive meddlers to arouse the suspicions of the Bishop.
The sun was already setting when Falconer returned through Little Gate after a fruitless interview with the head of the Dominican order in Oxford. Falconer had been at first distracted by the old man's pale and strained appearance, but had been reassured by details of the treatment he was receiving. He much respected old Richard de Sotell. In spite of his attitude towards the Jews, he was in all other matters a man of learning. He was also canny, and had not given away anything about Robert Fordam's whereabouts.
This last frustration had come on a day of frustrations. After the journey back from Wallingford, Falconer had hurriedly stabled the borrowed horses, only to find himself embroiled in a dispute with a neighbouring hall over the conduct of his students the previous night. It would appear he could not trust them to behave themselves in his absence. Drunkenness and high spirits could be excused, but not when they resulted in the singeing of a valuable book. Naturally Hugh Pett claimed they were merely trying to set light to the purse of a particularly tight-fisted Scottish clerk to teach him a lesson. It was not their fault that the purse, still round the Scot's waist at the time, had also held a copy of Priscian's Grammar. Falconer had had to compensate the Scot, and vowed that the culprits would go hungry for a week to recoup the lost money.
This had delayed his pursuit of Friar Fordam, and his interview with the Friar-Senior had got him no more than an assurance Fordam was not in the friary. Still, the thought occurred to him that Fordam could not be far away, and would have to return to the friary soon. He decided that, despite the late hour, he would wait at Little Gate to see if Fordam came by. At this hour, the physical danger from nightwalkers usually prevented honest citizens from being abroad. However, the Regent Master was used to late-night walks to soothe his often racing brain, and he depended on his size and presence to deter any would-be robbers.
Th
ere was a narrow alley just north of the gateway. It led to Beef Hall and Falconer settled himself in the doorway of the hall, close to the corner of the lane. From there he could see Little Gate and was protected from the cold evening breeze that whistled down the alley. The city's gates were normally locked at night, but Falconer knew the Dominicans had a key to this gate, which led on to their island on the Thames. If Fordam was in the city, he would come this way.
In the end, Falconer did not have long to wait, for which he was grateful. He had underestimated the drop in temperature this cool spring evening. The gloomy alley had lost the sunlight early, and the iron rivets studding the door pierced his clothes like spears of ice. His thin shoes did little to protect him from the freezing slab of stone under his feet. Just as he was thinking of moving in order to warm up, the oak door of Little Gate creaked. Falconer blinked. Surely he had not dozed off and missed Fordam leaving through the gate? Then he realized the door was not closing but being hesitantly opened. Someone was entering the city. Falconer was disappointed at first - the slight, habit-clad figure was clearly not that of Friar Robert Fordam. The fresh face that turned towards him, after the friar relocked the gate, confirmed that. It was full of apprehension at being in such a dangerous place. Then Falconer realized this young novice would not be abroad on his own initiative. He must have been sent by de Sotell, probably to find Friar Fordam. If he followed the youth, he might find his quarry.
But first he pressed himself even further into the rough wooden timbers of the doorway he was using to spy from. The young Dominican was walking straight towards him. He held his breath and prayed the youth's eyesight was as bad as his own. Fortunately the friar scurried past, intent on reaching the safer open space of Pennyfarthing Street. Giving him a few seconds' start, Falconer emerged from his hiding-place and peered cautiously round the edge of the building. The figure of the Dominican was already turning right at the top of the lane, and Falconer hurried to keep up with him.
Reaching the wider street himself, Falconer turned in the same direction and followed in the shadows. The Dominican crossed the main street leading to South Gate, and hurried up to the door of the building opposite. It was the House of Converts, endowed by Henry III to accommodate those unfortunate Jewish souls who were harried into adopting Christianity. Their conversion effectively rendered them destitute, as they could no longer practise usury and were barred from the support of their former family and friends. They spent their miserable days learning handicrafts and were totally dependent on charity. If that was where Fordam was, Falconer was not surprised - he could envisage the friar taking the opportunity to gloat over the misfortune of others.
He stayed at the entrance of the street opposite and kept his eyes on the doors of the house. A few minutes after the young novice had entered, the doors were flung open and Fordam emerged, with the young man in frightened pursuit. Falconer just had time to dive through an archway leading into the precincts of St Aldate's Church before the two Dominicans flew past him, their sandals slapping on the hard earth. He followed their hasty flight back towards Little Gate, and called out as the young novice fumbled with the key to the door.
The older man turned around, prepared to defend himself from attack, then recognized the man in drab but obviously clerical garb. It was the Master who had snatched the young seeker for truth away from him yesterday. He looked back at the fearful novice, and asked for the key. Once the trembling youth had given it to him, he told him to return to the friary and said he would lock the gate himself. He waited until the youth had disappeared through the dark archway and into the night, then turned his glaring eyes on Falconer.
‘I would guess you are the Master Falconer, about whom Friar Richard sent the warning.’
‘That is my name. But why do you need to be warned about someone who is merely seeking a little truth?’
Truth? You are no truth-seeker. Your actions at this very gate yesterday betray you as a hider from the truth, who is destined for the sulphurous pit.’
Falconer snorted.
‘Spare me the harangue. I heard it in London and it did not impress me then. The Lord will make his Last Judgement in his own time. Your sort were predicting the end of the world after a thousand years of our Lord's rule. And no doubt you'll still be predicting it after two thousand years.’
Falconer expected the other man to explode at this, but strangely he didn't. Fordam merely stood calmly in the open doorway of Little Gate, gently swinging the key he held in his right hand. As he spoke, Falconer was more aware of the soothing tone of his voice than what he was actually saying. The soft light of the moon sparkled from the swinging key in the friar's hand, and his eyes were drawn to it. He began to wonder why he had been so angry, and felt more relaxed than he had done since the death at Oseney Abbey. The friar was beckoning him to follow through the open gate, and Falconer could see no reason not to acquiesce. The stars seemed so bright through the archway and the prospect beyond so inviting. He had forgotten entirely about the icy wind that blew down the narrow alleys between the houses.
He stood counting the stars as the friar locked the gate behind them. The friar's voice liltingly drew him along. He seemed to be floating as he followed the friar along the enticing track that led - where? He could not recall, but it seemed so alluring. The friar led him to a grassy bank and encouraged him to lie down. It seemed so cool and comfortable, and he dropped to his knees. He felt so tired and in need of rest, and the bank was so soft. He put his hands down and they seemed to push through the downy surface of the bank.
‘Enough!’
The harsh voice cut like a knife into Falconer's brain, and he suddenly felt cold. He looked down and realized he was kneeling in the icy waters of Trill Mill stream. His robes were soaked. He shuddered and snatched at the gnarled hand that was thrust down at him. Richard de Sotell helped him out of the bottom of the ditch, and Falconer gained the top of the grassy bank gasping. If he had lain down in the water, he did not doubt he could have drowned, even though it was only shallow.
Friar Fordam hovered behind his Friar-Senior, his face like thunder, but evidently cowed. Falconer still felt bereft of control over his own actions, and just stood shivering, water dripping from his soaked clothes. It was de Sotell who broke the awkward silence.
‘Come, you will freeze here. I have a warm fire in my room at the friary. Anyway, you deserve an explanation.’
Chapter Eight
Waking up the following morning safe in his own chamber at Aristotle's Hall, Falconer could almost have imagined that the events of the previous night had not taken place. But, sitting up in bed, he saw his robe from yesterday hanging over the back of his solitary chair, a pool of water underneath it. Falconer rose and doused his fuddled head in a bowl of cold water left inside the door by one of his students. As the water dripped off his face, he was reminded of last night - a night that might have been his last. He rubbed some life back into his cold features with a piece of coarse sacking. Only when his cheeks glowed with the rough treatment did he feel he was truly awake.
The papers sent by Bacon still stared at him from the table. On the top of the stack was the handful of sentences on the waking trance. He now had first-hand experience of its reality. Could Friar Fordam have used the technique on John Gryffin to induce him to attempt to kill the Bishop? Richard de Sotell had tried to convince him last night that he could not. He did not think that anyone could be forced to act against their natural instincts so totally as to kill. Even by someone with the skill of Robert Fordam. Falconer had insisted that he himself had nearly died, thanks to that skill. The old man was sceptical that, when it came to resting his face in the water, Falconer would have continued, even in a trance. Whatever might have happened, he gave thanks to God that the young novice had had the good sense to report back to the Friar-Senior. His anxious search for Falconer and Fordam had meant that Fordam's powers had not been put to the ultimate test.
Still Falconer clung on to his theory of
Fordam's culpability.
He just needed to be able to show that the preaching friar could have been in Wallingford at the right time, and could have had the opportunity to entrance John Gryffin prior to the murder of Sinibaldo. At first de Sotell's words had given Falconer some sort of optimism.
‘I cannot say where he was before the death of the Bishop's man. He was travelling, and was first seen on the streets of Oxford the following day, preaching in the market. Yes, he could have been here the day of the murder and could have met John Gryffin.’
Falconer grunted with satisfaction. But then the old man continued.
‘But I still have not seen his entrancement make someone act contrary to their nature. And after that first day, including the time you say the student was killed, Friar Fordam was always within the confines of the friary.’
It was at this point that Falconer's fine theories, expounded to Bullock on the journey back from Wallingford, had fallen apart. Fordam could not have been the mystery figure with the students when they were moved to Wallingford. Nor could he have been present at the castle in order to commit the murder. From the time he had returned from London until last night, Fordam had been undertaking a penance for de Sotell. He had been under the Friar-Senior's eyes at all times, and had been released only that evening to assist at the House of Converts. He simply had not had the time to get to Wallingford and back. The penance had been imposed for preaching the Apocalypse too vehemently, and because de Sotell had become worried about his influence over people's actions. His use of those powers over Falconer had now convinced de Sotell to put him securely in a solitary cell in the far north of England, where he might ponder on his errant ways. The friar would shortly make his journey thence. That was the end of Falconer's fine theory.