Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

‘How did you do that?’

Bacon tapped the side of his nose.

‘That is a secret between me and the thief who taught me. But I have for too long been subjected to incarceration not to want to find a means of escape now and again. It is also why I had no objections to my great works being locked away. I learned how to pick locks a long time ago. It is a useful skill.’

He bent down and eased the chest’s lid open. Inside was a cornucopia of pots, glass vials, little wooden boxes and folded leaves. The leaves themselves were simply protective layers wrapped around various dried plants. Bacon unfolded a few and was quick to identify each, pointing to them one by one.

‘He has adderwort, beewort, lions’ foot, great wort, woodruff, horehound, yarrow, elder, and this-’ he picked up a dried root ‘-is mandrake.’

Thomas looked at the dried and blackened object.

‘Yes, I have seen that, though I have not learned its uses.’

‘Hmm. I am not surprised. Its usefulness owed more to magic and superstition than practicality. It is supposed to ensure conception, but take too much of it and you will be poisoned.’

‘Then what is it doing in the chest of a university-trained physician? It sounds more like it should belong to a folk-healer. What else is there in the chest?’

Bacon rummaged around, peering closely at the glass vials, some of which had faded labels attached to them with cord.

‘Cateputria, bryony, laurel berries. This is more interesting, as they are all poisons.’

Thomas was disappointed. Many physicians had poisons to hand, for they could be used in small quantities for quite innocent purposes such as to kill flies. Pliny himself recommended the careful use of belladonna as a specific against earache.

‘Is there nothing else?’

Bacon ignored Thomas’s impatient question and continued to calmly delve through the pots in the chest. He opened one after the other, examining the contents.

‘Ah, what do we have here?’

He held up a small circular clay pot, from which he had removed the wooden lid for Thomas to see. Inside were what looked like several small whitish stones. They were a perfect match for the one Falconer had found in Paul Hebborn’s scrip. Thomas was curiously relieved by the discovery.

‘Hashish. Then Morrish is the source of the opium the students are using.’

‘If no one else has a key, I suppose he is.’

Bacon closed the lid of the chest and jiggled the lock so that it snapped shut again. Thomas pushed it back under the table. But the efforts at concealment seemed pointless.

‘Who do you think that was outside the door? Morrish, or one of the students?’

The friar smiled gently.

‘We shall know soon enough. In fact, it may have helped precipitate matters nicely. Though I would advise you to watch your back over the next few days, Thomas Symon. If it was the killer of the two boys, he will not hesitate to kill again to keep his secret.’

Thomas felt a shiver run up his spine.

‘But what about you, Master Bacon? Your safety is at risk too.’

‘Oh, I shall be safe enough in the friary. It is a virtual prison — as I know only too well. What successfully keeps people in will also be well able to keep others out.’ He grasped Thomas’s arm to emphasize what he was saying. ‘But you must be altogether more careful. Keep to the abbey tonight, and tell William what has happened. It is as well you sleep in the same room at St Victor’s.’

Thomas refrained from saying that he wasn’t sure if Falconer would even be in the abbey tonight. That Saphira’s charms might keep him elsewhere. But he nodded his head.

‘I will do so, sir.’

‘And another thing, Thomas. I think we behave as normal tomorrow. If we meet here and I lecture, and then we carry on with the preparation of the compendium, we will be in the best position to see who is absent or troubled in any way.’

‘Agreed.’

They trooped downstairs, and Thomas locked up. Then, with a fearful look over his shoulder, the younger man hurried down the street towards the St Victor Gate. Bacon, though just as concerned about every shadow and sound, took a deep breath and made himself calmly walk back to the sanctuary of his friary.

Thomas Symon, hastening back to the abbey before it got too dark, was surprised to see Falconer standing in the Place Maubert. And with him was the comely person of Saphira Le Veske, locks of her lively red hair escaping from her snood as they always did. Falconer touched her arm and spoke as Thomas approached them.

‘There, I told you that, if we waited long enough, Thomas would pass by.’ He winked at her. ‘I think he can’t resist the charms of the tavern of the Withered Vine.’

Thomas fell into the trap before realizing he was being teased.

‘I most certainly can do without the filthy vinegar such a place sells in pretence it is wine. I…’ He took a deep breath, and began again, bowing his head to Saphira. ‘I am most pleased to see you again, Mistress Le Veske.’

‘Oh, please, Thomas, we don’t need to be so formal, do we? William was only just saying how much more relaxed you had become since discovering the joys of unwatered red wine.’

Thomas began to blush, and would have protested had he not seen the broad smile on Saphira’s face. He was not going to be caught out again.

‘Indeed, Saphira. Though I cannot compare in consumption of such a treat as my good drinking companion, Master Falconer. Do you know the gentleman?’

Saphira gave a little curtsey.

‘I believe I have heard of the fellow. A ruffian, by all accounts.’

Falconer held up his hands in defeat.

‘Very well, I am rebuffed. But there is a purpose in our waiting to intercept you, Thomas. We need to talk, but I think here is too public to discuss what I have in mind.’ He cast a glance at Saphira. ‘Perhaps you can accommodate us in Pletzel?’

Saphira nodded her agreement.

‘That would be acceptable, good sir. Though I have not got enough wine on tap to satisfy two such great topers as I see before me.’

Falconer waved his finger at her.

‘Take care or what you jest about may come to pass. This errand of the king is becoming more and more exasperating. It is enough to drive a pious cardinal to drink.’

They all three walked back the way Thomas had come towards the bridges across the Seine. The young man was curious.

‘Pletzel? Where’s that?’

Falconer smiled at him.

‘You will see.’ Noticing they were passing Adam Morrish’s school, he asked Thomas about his progress. ‘Have you determined if the clerks have been dabbling with substances they shouldn’t?’

‘Yes, we have. Friar Bacon helped me find hashish stored in Master Adam’s chest.’ He gazed at Falconer as they crossed the Petit Pont. The sun was dipping below the buildings either side of the bridge, and it felt suddenly cold. ‘He’s an extraordinary fellow is Friar Bacon. For a pious man, he has much devilment in him.’

Falconer burst out laughing at Thomas’s bewilderment.

‘Roger is an enigma and a genius rolled into one. Never underestimate him.’

Having crossed to the Right Bank, they walked through the hiring square, which was now almost empty of people. Falconer and Thomas then followed Saphira through a maze of lanes until they stood in a neat courtyard hard under the walls of Paris. Saphira held her hands up.

‘Pletzel.’

‘The Jewish quarter,’ explained Falconer, indicating that Thomas should follow Saphira into the house outside which they stood. The kitchen fire was already lit, and it banished the chill of the encroaching evening. Saphira broke some bread and poured three goblets of red wine.