Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

‘He will never find Amaury in this way. In fact, he has probably warned him off, and the man will lie low for a while in a safe place. Heaven knows where that will be.’

Thomas grinned in delight at knowing something William didn’t.

‘I think I can help you with that conundrum, William.’

He began to explain his suspicions about Adam Morrish’s identity. How his history matched up with that of the youngest de Montfort brother through his education at Padua medical schools, and his disdain of the value of books.

‘It was your remark about his not caring about returning those medical texts that put me in mind of the discarded books in Adam’s solar. And Friar Bacon and I were able to confirm my suspicion with a man called Siger of Brabant. He had been rector of the university when Adam proposed opening up his school. It seems it was known to only a few that using the name Adam Morrish was a way of Amaury concealing himself.’

As the two of them entered Pletzel, Falconer became quite excited by the revelations.

‘Perhaps he was not just hiding away from Edward but lying in wait for him. It was inevitable that the king would come to Paris on his way back from Outremer. It would offer Amaury another chance to attempt to kill him.’ He stopped abruptly in the little alley that led to Saphira’s house. ‘You said you might know where he could be hiding. Where would that be?’

‘I know where Adam… Amaury… is living.’ His face fell. ‘But he was not there when Bacon and I went round.’

‘We have to assume that Edward’s closing of the gates has kept him in the city, though. He doesn’t know yet that we have discovered who he is pretending to be. He is most likely to have gone back to the house to wait for the hue and cry to die down.’ He grasped Thomas’s shoulder in a firm grip. ‘We have to try it. Show me where this house is.’

‘It is close by Notre-Dame. But shouldn’t we speak to Mistress Le Veske first?’

Thomas pointed at the house before he realized it was in darkness.

‘Or at least leave a message.’

Falconer waved his hand dismissively.

‘I am afraid Saphira has other more important matters to attend to. It appears she is assisting in the birthing of a child for Edward. If it is a boy, he is to be called Alfonso.’

Thomas stood stock-still, dumbfounded at this unusual turn of events. But Falconer was already walking back down the winding lane. He beckoned impatiently at Thomas.

‘Come, Thomas, show me where this house is. We will loiter in the precincts of the cathedral and see if our quarry turns up.’

As it turned out, Falconer and Thomas Symon had no need to hide away when they reached Notre-Dame. The great arched entrance to the cathedral, topped with the new rose window, was thronging with people. Thomas wondered if it was because of the trouble at the gates to the city. Would the angry crowd turn into an uncontrollable mob? But the mood of those passing in and out of the cathedral was of joy and calm, not anger. Falconer stopped a cheerful-looking matron, who was bustling towards Notre-Dame, and asked her in French what the occasion of all the activity was. She grinned broadly and replied in an English that placed her as coming from the Essex marshes, east of the English capital.

‘Bless you, sir. Haven’t you heard? Our king, Edward, has another child. I am going like all these others to pray for his soul. Poor Eleanor has lost children before. We must ensure this little boy survives.’

As she scurried away to light a candle for Alfonso, Falconer turned to Thomas.

‘Then Saphira truly has had her hands full today. The boy is born, and Edward will be mightily pleased.’

A voice called out from behind them.

‘Another English prince, then, Master Falconer. Your king is hedging his bets over breeding an heir.’

Falconer and Thomas looked around and saw a figure outlined against the yellow glow of the candles inside the cathedral. As he stepped towards them, his features resolved themselves. It was the youthful face of Jack Hellequin, and his eyes seemed quite on fire.

‘This is his second male child.’

Falconer nodded in agreement.

‘A king cannot be too careful when it comes to ensuring his line. One day, we may have a King Alfonso.’

Hellequin cocked his head to one side.

‘He is to be called Alfonso? After Eleanor’s half-brother, I suppose. Let us hope he will be as wise.’

Alfonso of Castile was known as ‘the Wise’ and had indeed wisely ceded Gascony to the feisty Edward, along with his half-sister, Eleanor, in an arranged marriage. Which unusually had become a love match. Hellequin spoke to Thomas.

‘Are you here to seek out Master Adam?’

‘We are.’

‘Do you really think he will return? Is he not far away by now?’

Falconer smiled.

‘Not if King Philip’s soldiers have had their way. All the gates to the city are barred to all but the elderly and women.’

Hellequin looked as though the information was news to him.

‘Really? Then would you mind if I waited with you? We students are keen to recover our money from our former master.’

Falconer held out a hand in welcome, which Hellequin grasped.

‘You are welcome to share our vigil. Though it may not be a long one after all. Look.’

Falconer pointed to a shadowy figure skulking in the darkness cast by one of the churches opposite. His eyesight was not of the best, but even he could see whoever it was did not want to be spotted. If they had not been on the lookout, the man may have been able to gain access to the narrow-fronted house that was Adam Morrish’s without being seen. The three observers moved gently back into the crowd milling around the entrance to the cathedral and watched as the figure slid across the front of the church and into the house next to it by the front door. Falconer whispered in Hellequin’s ear.

‘There is no other way out?’

The young man shook his head.

‘Then I want you to go to the Royal Palace and alert King Edward to this man’s presence.’

Hellequin’s eyes widened in shock and surprise.

‘I am to go to King Philip’s palace and speak to your English king? How am I to do that? And why should he want to know about Master Adam anyway?’

Falconer calmed him down immediately.

‘They will listen to you. You have only to say that you have been sent by me, William Falconer, and that I know where the man we seek is to be found.’

‘Can’t Thomas Symon go in my stead?’

‘No. I need Thomas here to bear witness to what we may find in the house. We will not let the man go until you have returned.’

Hellequin had a worried look on his face but did not see how he could refuse Falconer. Reluctantly, he left the precincts of the cathedral and made for the river bank and the palace at the other end of the island. Thomas looked puzzled as they watched Hellequin leave.

‘Are we going to go into the house and confront Amaury? What if he resists us, as he surely will if he knows he is cornered?’

Falconer patted Thomas’s shoulder.

‘Don’t worry. We are not going to go in until Edward or his men arrive. I just did not want Jack Hellequin to become directly embroiled in a confrontation. That is all. Now let us settle down and wait.’

Falconer tucked himself into the corner of one of the grand doorway arches, leaning unceremoniously on the feet of one of the apostles. Thomas began to pace anxiously backwards and forwards, until Falconer grasped his sleeve and pulled him into the shadow of the arch alongside him.

‘You will give the game away, Thomas. Now relax and wait for the endgame to start.’

The time slipped by, and Falconer was beginning to wonder whether Hellequin had carried out his task or not. A beam of candlelight had flared briefly behind one of the window shutters of the house opposite. But that had been the only sign of anyone being inside. Falconer was getting anxious. If Amaury escaped by another route, he would look a fool. Worse than that, he would appear incompetent in the eyes of the king, who might not tolerate such a failure. But just as he was about to suggest to Thomas that they enter the house after all, a familiar figure appeared on the pathway beside the river. Despite the black cloak Sir John Appleby was wearing, his gaudy clothes stood out in the gathering gloom. And his jaunty stride made him look like a cockerel in a pen of dowdy scratching hens. Behind him loomed four heavily armed English soldiers.