Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

‘I would like to examine a sample of your urine as soon as possible, Majesty. In the meantime, I want you to take these pills regularly, as they will give you strength.’ He lay the pot with the arsenic pills on the bed at Eleanor’s elbow. ‘And this paste you can put on the end of your finger and let the baby suck. He is a little thin, and this will help his growth.’

The pot of laurel berry paste was placed beside the arsenic. Hellequin rose from where he had perched on the edge of the bed and stared solicitously at the baby.

‘In fact, you could try him with a little now. I can see he is desirous of suckling.’

Eleanor dipped her finger in the paste and held it up before her face. She thought the concoction looked most unpleasant. But the doctor smiled encouragingly. Saphira, who had been discreetly clearing the mess caused by the birth, came back just as Eleanor was easing the baby into a position where it could suck her finger. She paused and looked up at her new friend.

‘Saphira. This is the doctor sent by Philip to see if I was well. Have you located Edward yet?’

Saphira nodded an acknowledgement to the young physician and stepped towards the bed.

‘Not yet, Eleanor. It would seem he has been called away on an urgent matter.’ She went to sit on the bed and moved the eye-lenses that lay there. Then she spotted the two pots. ‘What are these?’

The physician smiled indulgently.

‘Mistress, it is nothing to bother your head about. I have suggested some potions for the mother and child.’

Saphira, who had learned much about herbs and medicinal preparations from a fellow Jew, was not to be put off by the man’s supercilious nature. Besides, she was suspicious of him for another reason. The eye-lenses were fakes. William Falconer had need of lenses for his poor eyesight, and the curved glass distorted things when she looked through them. These lenses were clear glass. She picked up the pot of paste and held it to her nose.

‘This is laurel berry.’ She looked at Eleanor. ‘You have not taken this, have you? It’s poisonous.’

Eleanor paled and drew her finger sharply from the child’s lips. Fortunately, little Alfonso had not sucked it yet, and she wiped her finger clean on the edge of the bedlinen. Hellequin snarled and took a step towards the bed, but Saphira stood in his way, preventing him from reaching Eleanor and her newborn. She slid the little knife that she kept hidden up her sleeve from its sheath and brandished it in the doctor’s face. When Hellequin saw it, he backed off towards the door. Opening it, he spun around and fled the room, leaving Eleanor trembling and clutching Alfonso so tightly to her that he began to bawl.

The sight of heavily armed men lumbering through the narrow streets of Paris caused the few who were out and about to scatter. It had been a strange day, with gates closed to all but women and the old, and now soldiers were barging their way towards the Ile de la Cité. Some wondered if an English invasion was in the offing, but consoled themselves with the thought that the English king was safely tucked up in King Philip’s palace. Those who saw the soldiers would have been shocked to know that one of their number was that very king. Edward was deathly afraid for the safety of his wife and newborn, whom he had not yet even seen. Having left Morrish in the custody of one of his men-at-arms, he and the two other soldiers ran as fast as their chain mail allowed them to. Edward’s battle-hardened legs almost kept pace with the unencumbered Falconer and his assistant Symon. In the end, though, he had to give best to the Oxford masters, who, accompanied by Sir John Appleby, ran on ahead.

Falconer reached the Royal Palace first and had to wait while Appleby caught up with him. The guards on the gate would only allow them access once the well-known face of the courtier had arrived. Appleby was exhausted and waved Falconer and Thomas on once they were through the gate.

‘The guest quarters are on your right.’

‘Yes, I remember where they are.’

Falconer and Thomas rushed onwards, driven on by the fear that Saphira might also be in danger from whatever Hellequin intended for Edward’s family. They need not have been afraid. The passageways of the guest quarters were now teeming with servants and soldiers, all in the garb of King Edward. In fact, they found themselves barred from penetrating very far into the warren of rooms, and coming under suspicion themselves of being would-be killers. It was only when one of the guards recognized Falconer as someone who had been in the presence of the king earlier that they were allowed under escort to proceed. The bedlam of noise and feverish activity spoke more of servants being seen to be doing something than actually being effective. But they finally passed through the chaos into a quieter enclave at its centre. It was like being in the eye of the hurricane. The door they knocked on was opened cautiously, and Saphira stood before them. Falconer was relieved.

‘Thank goodness you are safe.’

As he and Thomas were allowed in to the room, he noticed the flash of a blade disappearing up Saphira’s sleeve. He said nothing, happy in the knowledge that she was well able to take care of herself. He grinned at her and squeezed her arm, feeling the blade in its secret sheath. She smiled back, understanding his acknowledgement of her self-assurance.

‘He was here — whoever he was — but I persuaded him to leave. The king should know that Eleanor and his child are safe.’

Falconer realized for the first time that there were others in the room. On a large and comfortable bed, propped up on cushions, reposed the Queen of England. And close to her bosom, in a bundle of fresh linen, lay the new prince, Alfonso. Falconer bowed.

‘Majesty, the king is on his way. It is only his armour that has made him a little slower than me or Thomas Symon.’

Thomas blushed at being introduced to the queen and bowed low, unsure of how to behave. Eleanor smiled sweetly.

‘I thank you for your attentions. And I am relieved to know that Edward is coming soon. Do you know who this madman was? And what his intentions were?’

Saphira broke in, holding the two pots left by the intruder in order to show Falconer.

‘He purported to be a physician sent by the French king. He tried to persuade Eleanor to take these pills.’ She held out the first pot. ‘They are a preparation of arsenic, and very poisonous. They would have killed Eleanor slowly but surely, and before she died she would have transmitted the arsenic in her milk to the child. That was evil enough, but to be sure of his purpose he gave Eleanor this pot for the boy to suck off her finger.’ She produced the second pot. ‘It is a paste of laurel berries. Equally poisonous. William, who would do such an awful thing to a child?’

‘He calls himself Jacques or Jack Hellequin.’

Saphira, French by birth and aware of the legend, frowned.

‘Hellequin? Jack the Demon?’

‘Yes. I took it as a coincidence at first. An unwelcome family name that he made a joke of. But now I am convinced it was a joke on us.’

Outside the room there was a clatter, then Edward burst into his wife’s chamber, tossing his helm away as he crossed the room. He discarded his chain mail gloves and tenderly stroked his wife’s head, gazing fondly for the first time on his newborn son.

‘Thank God you are both safe. So this is little Alfonso, eh?’

Saphira touched Falconer’s sleeve, and all three of them slipped out of the queen’s chamber together, leaving the regal family to console each other. Outside in the passageway, they spoke in hushed tones, Saphira asking the first question.

‘What did you mean in there about the man’s name being a joke on us?’