by Ian Morson
‘Joshua has much to forget. As a little child he lived with his parents, Isaac and Belassez, in the Jewish quarter in Amiens. They were wealthy, and apparently a happy family. Joshua was doted on by his parents, at two years a solemn baby who they both thought would grow up to be a rabbi. But I suppose a wealthy Jew is a provocation to some …’
Jehozadok hesitated, and in deference to his audience avoided saying the word ‘Christians’. He continued.
‘Some people. When the child of a local merchant disappeared, it was claimed that Isaac had, with the connivance of his wife, tortured and crucified the boy. I can see from your looks that it strikes a chord. I am afraid it is a common crime laid at our door. In this case it went further – perhaps one evil deed was not thought enough for such a wealthy man. The deaths of three other boys over the previous year were laid at Isaac’s door. The whole family were dragged to prison and Joshua witnessed the torture of his parents. I will spare you the detail that he has poured out to me.’
Thomas could no longer look into the anguished face of the old man, and turned away in shame at all the stories told by his father that he had believed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannah where she huddled in the darkest corner of the room. She was trembling, and it occurred to him that she and all those like her lived in daily fear of such events being visited upon them. Jehozadok took a deep breath and continued.
‘I am afraid that Belassez could not bear the pain. Or perhaps she could not bear to see the evils inflicted on her husband. Anyway she chose to confess to all the crimes, hoping perhaps for some respite from the torture. For her persecutors that was not enough and a promise to convert to Christianity the following day was wrung from her poor lips. The official story then goes that Isaac was so enraged at Belassez’s conversion that he slew her in the cell that night then took his own life. The truth was that they were dispatched by the prison guard in a drunken rage.’
‘And Joshua – how did he escape?’
‘The guard was sober enough to realize that the baby was a valuable commodity. He sold his safety to another Jewish family who brought him to England. You see Joshua is haunted by the torture and murder of his parents, all carried out before his two-year-old eyes. He is plagued by nightmares and sometimes needs relief.’
The rabbi let the leaf drop from his fingers and spiral into the flames, where it sizzled briefly and was gone.
‘Where is Joshua now?’
Falconer’s question roused everyone out of the silence imposed by the telling of the unfortunate youth’s story. Jehozadok stroked his beard thoughtfully.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘If he was present in the kitchen that afternoon, perhaps he saw something that might help us find my imaginary Devil.’
The old man paused, then admitted he did not know where Joshua was. Indeed he had not been seen since Samson had sent the youth to the chancellor’s cook with the herbs and spices he required urgently. Joshua had not returned home the night before.
‘But that is not unusual if he was chewing khat. He might not even know where he is himself until he recovers.’
‘Nor know what he had done?’ enquired Falconer gently.
Hannah began to protest Joshua’s innocence, but the rabbi stopped her with his raised palm.
‘Our friend, Falconer, is only asking the obvious question. And I cannot answer it except to say my heart cannot believe he would kill.’
Thomas thought of the stranglehold Joshua had had on him when they struggled on the brink of the half-built tower of St Mary’s, and had a mind to refute that. But looking at Hannah, who was imploring him with her eyes to believe in Joshua’s innocence, he maintained his silence. Falconer, however, persevered.
‘But under the effects of the leaf, he might behave … unnaturally?’
Jehozadok sighed and nodded. The Master chose to leave that line of questioning there.
‘There is something else you can help me with, knowing your love of old texts.’
He drew from his pouch the torn book cover he had removed from Fyssh’s dead but grasping fingers and passed it to Jehozadok. He turned it over in his hands, a flat board covered in red leather with a bare few pages attached. As he peered closely at the few pages with some text, a voice behind Falconer said excitedly,
‘I know what it is.’
It was Hannah who had spoken, and now she turned to Thomas, pointing at the torn book.
‘Look, it is Margaret’s book, Thomas. There is that blood stain on the inside.’
It was Thomas’s turn to be excited now, snatching the cover from Jehozadok’s grasp.
‘She’s right, Master. I am sure it’s the same book. Or at least what’s left of it. But Master Bonham told you he had burned it.’
‘It certainly proves one thing,’ murmured Falconer. ‘Fyssh could not have killed Margaret. If the reason for her death was that the murderer wanted the book back, or the knowledge of its ownership lost, he would not have been waving it around in the cellar last night. No, he was threatening the killer with exposure. But why the book is so important escapes me.’
‘I think I can explain that, my friend,’ interrupted the sage Jehozadok. ‘Unless I am mistaken, that is the beginning of a Cathar Bible.’
Thomas and Hannah looked puzzled.
‘A version of your Christian faith declared heretical.’
Bullock was nervous. His squat figure and bent back seemed out of place in the rich quarters of the chancellor of the university. That old fool, Halegod, whose family was no better than his own, had even looked down his nose when the constable asked to see the chancellor. His stubborn persistence had at last forced the old man to fetch his master. In the meantime, Bullock examined his surroundings. To his eyes the brightly coloured drapes depicting hunting scenes hanging against the yellow stone walls were the height of opulence. Falconer had told him that the chancellor was an ascetic, and then had explained what that meant, embarrassed at confusing the town constable with unfamiliar words. Bullock was sure that he understood what the word ascetic meant and this was not it.
‘What is it? I do not have much time.’
Bullock turned to face the chancellor, already garbed in his richest robes. No doubt in order to meet with Prince Edward again. In contrast the man’s face was ashen and dark rings circled his eyes. The chancellor had obviously had a sleepless night, or had drunk too much of his best wine at the banquet. Perhaps both.
Bullock came immediately to the point.
‘I have a student who claims he killed your Master Fyssh.’
‘And did he?’
Bullock was startled by the directness of the question. He had expected de Cantilupe simply to insist on the freeing of the student. The university jealously guarded its independence from the town authorities.
‘Well?’
‘I think not. He is, well, too soft for such a deed.’
‘Then what is your problem? Release him.’
‘I am afraid if I do that I will shortly be dragging his body from the river.’ Bullock could be equally blunt.
‘I see.’ The chancellor paused, his eyes downcast.
‘In whose hall does this poor unfortunate stay?’
‘Master Falconer’s.’
At that de Cantilupe’s eyes brightened, and a smile crossed his lips.
‘Then I insist you place the boy immediately in Master Falconer’s care. And tell him that I am entrusting the boy’s life to him.’
He took Bullock by the arm and hustled him towards the archway and out. Bullock therefore missed the final statement.
‘That should keep him out of my hair.’
* * *
The day was cold, but unusually bright, and the sun sparkled off the hoar-frost before it began to melt. Thomas hurried to keep up with the strides of the long-legged Falconer. In the shadow of the new tower of St Mary’s the ridged ground splintered under their feet, and Thomas glanced nervo
usly up. Workmen were swinging from the scaffolding, lashing new poles into the place where Joshua had plunged through. It somehow did not seem so high in daylight, but he still marvelled that Joshua had survived. The stonemasons were clearly glad to have a break in the weather and were industriously hoisting large blocks to the top of the tower. The crude pulleys creaked ominously, but the men were glad of the hot work, and strained at the ropes.
‘Why does watching other people work attract the young so?’
There was more than a touch of irony in Falconer’s voice, and Thomas suddenly realized the Master was yards ahead. Hands on hips he was squinting into the sun facing the laggardly Thomas.
‘Perhaps you would prefer to leave this meeting with Master Bonham to me and return to the hall and your studies?’
Thomas protested and hurried to Falconer’s side. He did not wish to miss the confession of the little grey man, whom he had suspected all along. The existence of at least part of the book that Bonham had claimed to burn after stealing it from Thomas must proclaim his guilt. Master Fyssh must have found it and, knowing it for a book belonging to the murdered Margaret Gebetz, used it to torment Bonham. That provided a reason for Bonham to have also killed Fyssh in the cellar that night. Thomas began to think this deductive work was simple once you got the hang of it.
There was no answer to Falconer’s insistent knocking on the sturdy oak of Bonham’s door. The Master sighed and was about to resign himself to waiting, when Thomas dodged in front of him and turned the handle. The door gave to his push, and he looked eagerly at Falconer.
‘This is becoming a habit for you,’ groaned Falconer. ‘However …’
He squinted both ways down the lane and pushed Thomas ahead of him through the door. Once in he closed it silently behind him, alert for any sound from the lodgings. Immediately in front of them a cramped wooden staircase twisted to the upper floor. The rickety steps did not hold any promise of keeping silent under his heavy tread. He motioned Thomas to go and check upstairs, signalling that he would try the door at the end of the passage he knew led to Bonham’s cramped study. He watched Thomas tiptoe up the stairs and round the twist in the flight, then went to press his ear to the study door. It was partially open, and Falconer fumbled in his pouch until he found his eye-lenses. He held them up and peered through the crack. He could see the familiar jumble of books, and one large tome on one end of the table. He could not hear anything, but if Bonham was beside the fireplace, beyond the range of his view, he might have some difficulty explaining this unorthodox arrival. He pushed the door gently with his bony fist, and the arc of his vision widened. There was no one in the room. He swiftly crossed to the table and examined the book that lay open. It was the Arab, Avicenna’s, medical work, Qanun. Falconer had never before seen such a good copy. He resisted the temptation to scan it further.
There was still no sound in the house – Falconer could not even hear Thomas upstairs. The way the book was opened, it was as though Bonham had only just left the house. But neither Falconer nor Thomas had seen him in the lane. So where was he? Leaving the study, Falconer was aware of a faintly unpleasant smell, and peered into the shadows under the stairs from where it seemed to come. There was a wooden door, slightly ajar, under the bend of the stairs. Falconer pushed it gently and could see a flight of steps leading down to a cellar. The smell was stronger, reminding him of the butchers’ quarter of Oxford. He shuddered at the thought, and at his discovery the last time he descended into a cellar.
Peering around the banisters of the winding stairs, he hissed out Thomas’s name. There was no response, and Falconer cursed the inattentive boy. He would have to proceed on his own. He pushed the cellar door wide open and felt his way down the steps in the semi-gloom. There was no handrail and he slid his hands down the walls. They were cold and damp to the touch. The unpleasant smell made him suddenly imagine he was descending into a grave, and he had to stop and steady his nerve. Next thing he would be imagining the Devil again, and without the help of a drug. He smiled at his foolishness and continued down the steps.
There was a turn at the bottom of the steps, so he could see nothing but a blank wall. But the light of a candle flickered on the wall accentuating the uneven brickwork that held back the cold earth. Someone or something was in the cellar, and it stank. At the foot of the stairs, Falconer cautiously peered around the buttress. At first there just seemed to be a jumble of rags spread on a table, puzzling Falconer. He held the eye-lenses up to his face and the scene sprang into focus, and he gasped.
It was truly a scene from hell. On the table lay a naked body, but how it had met its end was impossible to tell. The torso was split from neck to privates and the flesh flayed back in two great flaps. The innards had been scooped out and were spread on the table around the corpse in purple and grey mounds. The stench was appalling and flies hovered and crawled over the gory mess. Falconer held the sleeve of his gown to his nose and approached the abomination. One hand of the man – at least he could still tell it was a man – was flayed to reveal muscle and bone, and was pinned to the table with a nail. Almost gagging, Falconer turned away and was confronted by the figure of the little grey Master standing at the bottom of the stairs, a large and bloody knife in his hand. Wriggling in his clutches, a hand held firm over his mouth, was the unfortunate Thomas.
Chapter Thirteen
Falconer knew this was going to be difficult. Bonham had a secret he could not possibly allow to be revealed. Falconer now knew it, and he could not hide it from the boy. Thomas’s eyes fell on the body on the table and his face turned chalky white. He stopped struggling and went almost limp in the little man’s firm grasp, all fight gone. Bonham stood as if transfixed, not knowing what to do next. Gently, Falconer tried to resolve the impasse.
‘I am sorry to have disturbed you in this way. We should have announced our presence,’ he began conversationally, as though he and his student had merely dropped in on Bonham to discuss some text of Plato. ‘I should not have let my curiosity get the better of me. It was unforgivable. Thomas, we should leave.’
Thomas’s eyes revealed his astonishment at Falconer’s calm manner, but Bonham’s hand still stopped his mouth. Falconer edged past the table and waved his hand desultorily at the mess.
‘This is of no importance after all. Oh, by the way …’
He delved casually into his pouch and produced the little knife he had taken from Bonham’s drawer the other day. Bonham tensed and Thomas flinched in his grasp. The knife was laid on the bloodied table-top and Falconer continued.
‘When I borrowed this I knew, you see.’
To Thomas’s surprise, Bonham relinquished his hold on the boy and sighed.
‘I suppose I will have to trust you,’ said Bonham, lowering his own knife.
Thomas could not believe it – his Master had made a pact with this murderer – and looked from one man to the other.
‘But what about the boy?’
‘Oh, he still thinks you are a murderer. So the truth will appear as nothing to him. Thomas, take a closer look at the face of the corpse.’
Thomas flinched but did as he was told, with curiosity. Trying not to take in the mound of vital organs spread around, which he could hardly believe could come from one body, he crossed to the table. The head was turned away from him, and, gagging, he leaned over the body and gasped in recognition.
‘Isn’t it …?’
‘Indeed. Young master Moulcom, who already died some days ago, and therefore could not be killed again today.’
‘But how—?’
‘Really, you must learn to frame your questions properly, Thomas.’
Falconer explained that, after he had taken the knife and realized it was a surgeon’s blade, he had suspected Bonham’s true secret. The butcher he had seen at work in the town using the same sort of blade helped. And the confirmation came from the many texts in Bonham’s study, including the medical one of Avicenna’s.
‘You see, Master Bonham is purely interested in the science of the body. And as any good scientist will, he wishes to confirm theory with observation. No lesser man than Friar Bacon recommended this approach, and I agree with it.’
Thomas still looked puzzled, and continued to gaze suspiciously at Bonham.
‘By dissection of a corpse, Master Bonham seeks to verify the matters propounded by Avicenna on the structure and workings of the human body. Unfortunately less enlightened people, and the Church, disapprove of such activity. Master Bonham would be in great trouble if his little secret were known. As scientists ourselves, we will ensure no such trouble occurs.’
Falconer’s firm grip on Thomas’s shoulders left him in no doubt as to what he expected of the boy.
Bullock was having difficulty finding Master Falconer to inform him of the chancellor’s wishes. At Aristotle’s some students said he had gone into Jewry. Bullock had few contacts amongst the Jews – he thought them guilty of arcane and murderous rituals – and hesitated to follow Falconer there, but his duties required it. His peremptory enquiries led him to the rabbi, only to be told that Falconer and one of his students had gone off in search of a regent master. No name was forthcoming, even though Bullock was sure the rabbi knew, nor was any reason given for this flurry of activity on Falconer’s part. Bullock knew his friend well and was sure this was the process leading to one of Falconer’s deductive conclusions. He equally knew that Falconer was always more secretive than usual at this time – even their friendship would not be enough to extract the name of a murderer before he was prepared to reveal it.
In the meantime Bullock had the problem of a guilt-ridden youth to deal with. A youth who seemed incapable of murder, but who insisted he had committed one. He was angry that the chancellor of the university had brushed him off so easily. Wasn’t this a university problem after all? He growled in annoyance, and lurched down Pennyfarthing Lane to return to his quarters and a good jug of ale. If the university wasn’t interested then the boy could rot in his lock-up until he was missed.