Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

He got up from his bed and crossed the room in the dark. He cursed as he bumped his shin against a stool that stood in an unexpected place, and grabbed the door handle. Looking out, he could see lights flickering from inside the cloisters, with big shadows sliding down the walls and across the floor. He walked barefoot down the corridor from the guest quarters towards the disturbance, the slabs striking cold on the soles of his feet. As he got closer, he was surprised to hear Thomas’s voice raised in anger. The young man was usually so measured and temperate that he wondered what was agitating him so. The candlelight and voices were now coming from one of the small cells that lined that side of the cloister. Falconer peered in through the open doorway.

Lit by two candles, the scene was confusing. Two monks were restraining a skinny youth on a bed. The youth, with his lank, dark hair plastered across his skull, was wriggling under the monks’ grasp. His wail was in counterpoint to Thomas’s staccato call for calm and understanding. One monk turned his head from his task and replied breathlessly.

‘He has the Devil in him and should be restrained. We shall have to drive the demons from him, but in the meantime he must be tied down.’

Thomas tugged at the monk’s arm.

‘He is merely overexcited. If you left him alone, he would recover. That is why I brought him here. For some calm and reflection. With you here that is not possible.’

The monk turned away from Thomas and uncharitably punched the boy in the face. He slumped into silence. His assailant stood up, a look of triumph on his face.

‘This is our abbey, and you are merely a guest here. You should not have brought this filthy creature to us. But seeing as you have, then we will deal with him. Now if you will please go, I will lock him in.’

Thomas groaned and, seeing Falconer for the first time, rushed over to him.

‘Thank God. William, you must help me. This is John Fusoris — he can help us with Hebborn’s murder.’

Looking back into the room, where the youth lay prostrate on the bed, and the two monks stood over him menacingly, Falconer drew Thomas aside.

‘Let them get on with it, Thomas.’

‘But…’

‘The boy is in no fit state to answer any questions now. If it is peace you want for him, then it will do no harm for him to be locked in the room for a while. Come away and tell me what you have found out. Anyway, my feet are freezing on these slabs and I could do with warming them up. Bring one of those candles.’

They left the monks to their task and retreated to the privacy of their chamber. Falconer tucked his legs under his bedclothes to warm his feet, while Thomas slumped down exhausted on his bed. The wine and his encounter with the mad youth suddenly began to tell on him. He felt drained of all energy. But Falconer wanted to know what he had learned while it was still fresh in his mind.

‘If you go to sleep now, you will forget something, or you will embellish the facts to fit your opinion of what did happen.’

Thomas groaned but sat up. This is what he had wanted, wasn’t it? William’s attention? He began to tell Falconer all about the medical school and the students who gathered themselves around Geoffrey Malpoivre and his groaning purse. About their drinking, and regular teasing of Paul Hebborn for being English and having a stammer.

‘But not all of them were cruel to Hebborn. I get the impression that Jack Hellequin, whom I know the best, had a regard for the outsider.’

‘Hmm. The name of the Devil’s horseman.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You are perhaps not familiar with French passion plays. In them, the hellequin is a black-faced emissary of the Devil. Mind you, his role is to roam the countryside chasing the damned souls of evil people to Hell. So your Jack may be a useful ally.’

Thomas ignored Falconer’s jest and carried on.

‘Then I was told of John Fusoris, who had befriended Hebborn. But I could not speak to him at the school because, since Hebborn’s death, he had locked himself away in his lodgings. That is why I sought him out. He lives close by the river, across from the towers of Notre-Dame.’

‘Not a happy presence for the friend of someone who fell from that very spot.’

‘Or was pushed.’

Falconer leaned forward, interest etched on his lined face.

‘You have new evidence?’

Thomas hesitated.

‘I may have.’ Hearing Falconer sigh, he pressed on eagerly. ‘That is why I brought John Fusoris here. Though his story was confused, he insisted that the Devil came for Hebborn, tempted him and led him to his death.’

‘But you only have the words of a mad boy to base your opinions on.’

‘No.’ Thomas was emphatic, and rummaged in his purse. He drew out some dry leaves of an oval shape. ‘I have these. I found them in his room, scattered on the floor. They look to me like bay leaves, which do have magical properties and are said to be emetic. Fusoris had fouled himself.’

Falconer took the leaves, sniffing them and rolling them in his fingers. He was assailed by a half-forgotten memory of involuntarily eating these leaves himself. He had descended into a mental Hell due to them. He shook his head.

‘No. These are not bay leaves. They are Catha edulis , known as khat in Arabia, where they are eaten to produce feelings of euphoria. It is said the ancient Egyptians used them to release human divinity. If Fusoris ate these, it is no surprise he is unstable and fearful. They can affect you in that way.’ He shuddered at his own experience of descending into a cellar that became a hallucinatory Hell due to the leaf. ‘Were his pupils dilated?’

‘Yes, they were.’ Thomas was excited, forgetting his exhaustion. ‘I knew he wasn’t possessed. There had to be another explanation for his behaviour.’

He remembered the thoughts he had had about Fusoris being mad or owned by the Devil, and blushed at his naivety. It was something he would not admit to the sceptical Falconer. Instead, he brought one of the leaves to his lips and sucked it. Falconer pulled his hand away, though, before he could experiment further.

‘Don’t. It is not easy to stop once you have started. I know I recommend practical experimentation. But take it from me, in this case leave it to second-hand knowledge to inform you. If Fusoris has been eating these leaves, then I suggest we leave him to recover from their effect. Get some sleep and you can tackle him in the morning, when his mind will be a little sounder.’

Thomas gladly lay back on his bed.

‘You are right, William. I will sleep well tonight.’ He closed his eyes as Falconer snuffed the candle out. ‘Oh, and remind me never to drink unwatered French wine again.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t journey to Castile, darling. You are, after all, heavy with child.’

Edward was holding his wife’s hand and gazing anxiously into her beautiful eyes. She patted his hand and reassured him, a pert smile playing across her lips.

‘My dear husband. As you well know — for you were responsible for them all — this will be my ninth child. He or she will slip out hardly without me knowing.’

Edward ignored her sauciness this time. He so loved their sexual banter, but this was important to him.

‘Yes, and of the eight you have brought into the world, only three are still alive. So many have died so soon after their birth that I wonder if it is wise for you to be travelling at such a time.’

‘You have no cause to be worried so. Oh, I know you were downcast by the death of little Johnny. It is natural to mourn the loss of your firstborn son and heir. But you have Henry now, and he is five already…’