Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

Falconer groaned and told Thomas to wait where he was. He hurried across the open square that was now emptying of people. In the developing circumstances, he did not want the occupant of the house alerted by such obvious and unusual activity. He managed to stop the small invasion before it could come into view from one of the loopholes in the shuttered windows. He hissed at the courtier.

‘Sir John, I see you have come prepared. But we must not alert our quarry, in case he flees.’ He cast a glance around. ‘Is the king not with you?’

One of the men-at-arms tilted his helm back off his face, and Falconer recognized the droopy-eyed visage of Edward. The king put his finger to his lip to silence Falconer.

‘I could not resist being present at such an event as the capture of Amaury de Montfort. But it is safer for me to be unrecognized, don’t you think?’

Falconer nodded and beckoned for the group to follow him. Across the square he could see Thomas nervously hovering by the cathedral doors. He held his hand up to indicate that the young man should stay where he was. And out of any danger. Unfortunately, Thomas must have misunderstood his signal, for he ran over towards Falconer and the little knot of soldiers. A few people in the square glanced with curiosity at the group. But as soon as they saw the weaponry being wielded by the men-at-arms, they soon scuttled away. Falconer realized that if Amaury-Adam was looking out through the shuttered windows, he would now be aware that something was wrong. There was no more time left.

He led the soldiers up to the door of the house, leaving Appleby and Thomas Symon in his wake. He pushed at the door, but it resisted his effort. It must have been barred since the occupant had gone inside. One of the soldiers — Falconer thought it might have been Edward himself, but he could not be sure — eased him aside. He charged the door with his shoulder, and the wooden bolt gave, splintering the door in the process. The soldier winked at Falconer and forced the door open on its broken hinges. All four large men squeezed through the gap created and pushed into the house. Falconer clambered over the shattered door after them.

Inside, the dark hall was eerily silent except for the sound of heavy breathing coming from the soldier who had forced the door. He turned back to Falconer and lifted his helmet. It was Edward, and his face was contorted in a grimace.

‘I swear my shoulder must be broken, it aches so much. I should leave this sort of work to those who are better built for it. However, now we are in…’

He drew his sword and swung it experimentally. Satisfied that his sword arm was not as hurt as he first thought, he motioned for his three companions to search the house. With a swish of steel three more swords were drawn, and the men crossed the darkened hall, poking under tables and toppling chairs with the tips of their weapons. Edward laughed quietly, then called out.

‘Amaury? Come out now. We will find you.’

The men moved into the back of the house, where the kitchen was located. Soon, the sound of breaking pottery suggested that their search out there was unsuccessful too. The three men returned, shaking their heads. Edward sighed and slashed at a water jug standing on the table in the centre of the room. It shattered, and water splashed over the tabletop. Falconer felt a hand clutch at his arm, and he spun around only to be confronted by a wide-eyed Thomas. He had slipped in through the door just in time to see Edward’s petulant swordplay. Though he was used to the sight of dead bodies, and had cut several open to examine them, he wasn’t so used to the violence that usually caused them. Falconer gave a whispered reassurance.

‘Just stay back and let them get on with it.’

Edward was pointing grimly at the staircase that led up to the upper part of the house. The steps creaked as the chain mail-clad men crept up them. Falconer stood in the hall for a moment, then he could not resist it. He crept up the stairs too, followed closely by a frightened Thomas. They got to the top of the stairs just in time to hear a wail and scuffle from the solar at the top of the house. The triumphant Edward came out on to the landing, followed by a soldier dragging a body across the floor by one leg. If the prostrate figure had not been wriggling, Falconer might have thought that Edward had had Amaury dispatched there and then. But he was very much alive, though he was face down, and his cries of fear were muffled. Edward smiled at Falconer.

‘We have him. The coward was hiding under the bed. Now let us see him face to face.’

One of the other soldiers emerged from the room with a lighted candlestick in his fist. Edward kicked out with his leather boot, rolling the captive over, as his fellow soldier thrust the candle in the man’s face. Edward groaned.

‘Damn it all. This is not Amaury de Montfort.’

Adam Morrish lay pinned down on the table in the ground-floor hall of the house in Paris. His tearful face was bloated with fear, and Edward was pacing up and down beside his prostrate figure. Falconer leaned over him and asked him to tell the truth about himself.

‘The rector of the university, and the Church authorities who pay you, think you are secretly Amaury de Montfort. Why do they think that, Adam?’

Morrish sucked in a deep breath, but, before he could reply, Edward grabbed his right arm and extended it over the side of the table. He forced it down, making tears start in Morrish’s eyes. Edward pushed his face into Morrish’s.

‘I swear I will break your arm, and then I will have one of these men with me chop it off, if you do not speak.’

Morrish looked wide-eyed at the soldier who stood at Edward’s shoulder. He was grinning and lifting his double-edged sword into the air. The captive wailed.

‘I meant no harm. I was a student of medicine at Padua when de Montfort became a master. I was envious of him despite his family history. I did not have the money to continue, you see.’

Edward snorted in derision.

‘You did not have the brains, you mean. So you stole his credentials and purported to be him here in Paris. The Pope and the Church, which pays your wages, were taken in. You knew they favoured his family over mine, so were inclined to keep the secret, weren’t they?’

Morrish nodded, his features contorted with fear and pain. Edward did not release the pressure on his arm, however.

‘But the Church didn’t know what secret they were keeping, eh? They thought they were hiding Amaury from me, when in reality they were colluding with a charlatan. A faker who passed himself off as a master for his own vanity.’

Edward bore down on Morrish’s arm, and the man shrieked in agony.

‘Yes, yes. It’s true.’

Falconer stepped in and lifted Edward’s hand from the defeated Morrish.

‘This is pointless, Majesty. If you should punish anyone, it should be me. I said I had found Amaury right under your nose, and I was wrong. All we had was Adam Morrish after all.’

Edward kicked the table in his frustration, and Morrish flinched, nursing his aching right arm. Thomas drew Falconer to one side and whispered in his ear.

‘William, do you think we could ask Master… er, well… Morrish whether he was responsible for giving his students potions, or if they stole them?’

Falconer frowned and glanced at the angry figure of the king, who was now conferring with Appleby. The courtier had stood in the background while Morrish had been savagely interrogated, and even now had a greenish cast to his face.

‘I am not sure this is the right time, Thomas.’

‘But look at him. He still has something to hide. He looks so shifty.’

At Thomas’s insistence, Falconer took another look at Morrish. The man’s agonized face did indeed look strained, and he could not bear to look his captors in the eyes. Was it because he was merely in fear for his life, though? He shrugged.