Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

‘And it seems Amaury was implicated in it as the prime mover. Whoever I speak to tells me to seek out Amaury de Montfort.’

‘Then your case is proven, and you can go to the king and tell him so.’

Thomas was emphatic, but Saphira still had a question for Falconer.

‘And what of the king’s son, John? Have you learned anything of his death? After all, it was that death that seemed to have affected Edward most strongly from what you have told me. That is what started off this enquiry of yours.’

Falconer pointed a finger at Saphira in triumph.

‘Exactly. Everyone I have spoken to has given me just what I wanted in the case of the other three murders — or attempted murder, in Edward’s case — but no one has yet spoken a word about Prince John. I should like to learn more about his death, and whether Amaury was involved in that too, before I go to Edward. And where is Amaury now? I have never before been unable to speak to the chief suspect in a murder. If I could trace him, I might learn the truth finally.’

Thomas was hesitant about speaking up now. He had a dread that the seed that had been growing in his mind was nothing more than a fantasy. But then he could not ignore it, could he? What if he didn’t say what he thought and it turned out to be true? He had been leaning back in his chair, almost in shadow, while Falconer and Saphira eagerly debated points about the other killings. He was deeply involved with Paul Hebborn’s death, and more recently John Fusoris’. Did he now see a link between them and the heady matter of the death of kings that obsessed Falconer so much? William had begun by asking him about his enquiries, but he had soon enough got sidetracked back on to his own investigation. As if the deaths of a few noble-born men were more important than those of a couple of simple students. A few years ago, William would not have thought so, but it seemed to Thomas as though his mentor’s head had been turned by his association with kings. He resolved to determine the truth of his growing fears before he risked Falconer’s derision if he were wrong. So he just smiled when Falconer spoke to him.

‘Thomas, you are very quiet. Thinking about what you will do next about your own case, I would guess. Listen to Roger; he will come up with something, I am sure. And when I have unburdened myself of Edward’s case, I will help you too. Saphira has persuaded me to tell the king what I have learned so far, so that I can find out more about his son from him. So we are going to the Royal Palace tomorrow.’

Saphira sat up with a start.

‘We? I didn’t say I would come with you. Don’t you recall what happened last time I met the King of England? I almost got accused of murder myself.’

Falconer waved his hand dismissively.

‘That was Henry. His son is younger and more open-minded. Besides, I need you to talk to Eleanor, if it can be arranged.’

Saphira laughed out loud at Falconer’s nerve.

‘So we are to walk into the palace of the French king and ask to have a word with their royal guest from England. And while you chat with Edward, I am to get up and say, “Just going to have a gossip with your wife”?’

Falconer looked at her with wide, innocent eyes.

‘What a good idea. I wish I had thought of that.’

The next day the sun was shining brightly, and the streets of Paris were teeming with people. Last night Thomas had returned to the abbey to sleep, leaving Falconer and Saphira in Pletzel. Now he wished he had remained in the city, for it was well-nigh impossible to negotiate the crowded and narrow lanes. At least the flow of people was in the direction he was going. If he had had to force his way against the crowd, he reckoned he would have failed to make headway. Everyone was funnelling on to the Petit Pont, and he was glad to turn down the quieter tributary of Rue de la Bûcherie. But when he got there, he found Friar Bacon and a small huddle of students standing uncertainly outside the medical school. Bacon strode up to him.

‘I am glad to see you, Thomas Symon. It seems that Master Morrish has abandoned us for the market.’

Thomas’s puzzled look drew a response from Peter de la Casteigne, who had followed the friar.

‘It is market day in Les Halles today. That is why everyone is anxious to cross the bridge and get to the Right Bank, where the markets are to be found. It is one of the days when the Flanders weavers come to sell their wares.’ He grinned sneeringly. ‘Perhaps the master has gone to buy some scarlet.’

Thomas glanced down at his own drab robe, knowing that Morrish too invariably wore black. In contrast to de la Casteigne and some of his noble compatriots, who favoured particoloured surcoats and bright stockings. He had no reply to the youth’s jibe, but walked over to the group of students, noticing that Hellequin was not among them. He suggested they take the day off from their studies.

‘It seems that Master Adam is indisposed. But I suggest you pay close attention to the next section of Johannitius, so that you are ready to…’

He was unable to finish his discourse before Malpoivre and his hangers-on took him at his word and began to walk away. Thomas heard a few disparaging comments about the unlikelihood of Johannitius being opened and sighed at his apparent lack of authority. Bacon patted him on the shoulder.

‘Never mind, Thomas, they are a lost cause. Besides, we have much to do today. I reckon our best defence is attack.’

Thomas watched as the last of the students filtered into the crowds of people passing the end of the lane, obviously intent on enjoying their unexpected free day. He turned to the friar.

‘Yes. I had the idea that we could confront Adam today, but it seems he has anticipated me. If he is hiding from us, then we shall have to go and seek him out.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

Thomas shook his head.

‘No. I followed him as far as the Ile de la Cité, but then lost him. However, I am sure the rector of the university knows. Or Master Gérard de Osterwiic, dean of the medical schools. We will start with him, as he knows me already.’

It turned out that locating Adam Morrish was not going to be as simple as Thomas thought. In fact, having met de Osterwiic, the mystery of his whereabouts began to get stranger. The dean explained that a master who had the right to teach could open a school wherever he pleased, and there were several schools on the Ile and the Left Bank.

‘But how does a master get the right to teach?’

De Osterwiic answered Thomas’s question in the vaguest of terms.

‘There are age limits and courses of study to be undertaken to teach arts or theology, and the courses must be under the tuition of an existing master. Of course, purity of morals is just as important in issuing a licence.’

‘But what about medicine?’

Thomas was becoming more and more exasperated as de Osterwiic prevaricated.

‘A licence is granted gratuitously without oath or condition. Masters’ rights are defended strongly in Paris.’

Thomas wondered about students’ rights to be taught well. He was about to press Gérard to be more specific about Morrish, but Bacon touched his arm. He fell silent, and the friar bowed courteously, thanking the dean for his clarity of explanation. Once they had left the room, Thomas could contain his anger no longer.

‘Clarity? He told us nothing.’

Bacon nodded.

‘Exactly, and there must have been a reason for that, don’t you think? There is something he wanted to keep secret concerning Adam Morrish.’

Thomas’s doubts and concerns from yesterday began to rise to the surface again.

‘I was thinking that Adam Morrish is not who he claims to be.’