Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

‘True, it is busy, and he may be able to hide in the crowd. But the Left Bank is more familiar to him, and fewer boats mean fewer people are likely to see him. He also knows some of the sailors who drink in the Withered Vine, which is close by where they moor up.’

Saphira agreed.

‘Thomas is right. A hunted animal will always run to ground in familiar territory.’

Falconer flung up his hands in defeat.

‘We have no more time to debate this. You are probably right. Let’s try the Left Bank.’

They crossed the Petit Pont, pushing past the two men-at-arms on the southern side. The soldiers, taxed with looking for Amaury, gazed suspiciously at Thomas. But they let him pass when Saphira smiled and professed that the boy was her son, and not who they were looking for. Thomas blushed in embarrassment, mumbling to Saphira that she needn’t have said that. She pinched his cheek.

‘Are you ashamed to be taken for my son, Thomas?’

‘If that makes me in some way William’s stepson too, yes I am.’

Falconer aimed a swipe at Thomas, who quickly led them along the narrow lane running parallel to the river and past Morrish’s one-time medical school. They first tried the tavern where the ships’ captains often passed their time waiting for the right time to sail down to Rouen and catch the tidal flow. The Withered Vine was unusually quiet, so Falconer asked the landlord if he had seen Jack Hellequin recently. The landlord was a cheery, red-faced man, who obviously imbibed too much of his own stock. It also made him incautious with his knowledge.

‘Why, yes, as a matter of fact. But you have missed him. He went with Georges Fouarre on La Sylvie some time ago. That is why there’s hardly anyone in here. He and his crew have set sail for the coast and Antwerp.’

All three companions rushed down to the sandy river bank, close to where the body of John Fusoris had been found. But when they got there the strand was bare, and the river empty of craft. Amaury de Montfort had flown the city.

Falconer sat on the quayside at Honfleur staring across the water that separated France from England. The compensation of his short-sightedness was that his long vision was good. But still he could not see the cliffs of his native land. His shoulders slumped, and he peered at the rough cobbles at his feet. He felt that his time in France had been wasted. Not only had he signally failed to understand the attack on Aristotle initiated by Bishop Tempier, which had been supported by the lily-livered tutors at the University of Paris, but he felt he had failed in bringing the true killer of the king’s family members to justice. He had caused the apprehension of the perpetrator of the Paris murders — Adam Morrish — and the unfortunate man had been hanged for his crimes. But Amaury de Montfort had escaped, and it was now rumoured that he was under the protection of the Pope. So he was also beyond the grasp of King Edward. Falconer’s only consolation was that he had found Saphira again.

Arriving like a mummer picking up a cue in a miracle play, Saphira came up behind him. He knew it was she because he could smell her scent. She placed her warm, soft hands on his dejected shoulders and squeezed.

‘You have done all you could, William. One killer is hanged and another is only safe courtesy of your Christian Pope. He is as good as in prison, and should he dare to venture beyond the papal reach he will suffer the consequences.’

Falconer was not consoled. Amaury had been made a papal chaplain, and he had even persuaded the Pope to withdraw the sentence of excommunication that had been passed on his father, Simon, Earl of Leicester, for his rebellion against King Henry. It would take a bold monarch to stand up against the Church. Saphira tried to rouse William from his torpor. She pointed along the quay at a sturdy, round-bellied cog that bobbed eagerly on the lines that held it to the quayside. The boat looked anxious to be on its way.

‘Look, the ship is ready and waiting. It is loaded with good red wine from Bordeaux. And it will soon carry us both across the Channel and back home.’

Falconer smiled, liking the sound of that. It would be good to get back to Oxford, especially as Saphira was accompanying him thence. He was missing Thomas, though.

‘Do you think Thomas will be safe in Paris?’

Saphira laughed heartily with that strong, bubbling laugh that had first attracted Falconer to her. That and her shapely figure that he had first been able to admire coming down a drainpipe. The girlish act had been carried out to escape from a locked room in Bermondsey Abbey, and the wind had caused her dress to cling close to her curves. Her pretty calves had been on view too. The breeze off the sea caught her dress now and flattened it against her belly and hips. She stared at William, knowing what was going on in his mind.

‘Thomas is a grown man now and is quite capable of finding his own way in the world without your help. In fact, you have not been much of an example to him, breaking your vows of celibacy as you frequently do.’

Falconer grinned.

‘Yes, but I blame this temptress with red hair for my frequent falls from grace.’

As if summoned by his comment, the wind caught Saphira’s hair and tugged it loose.

‘Thomas Symon will learn much from Friar Bacon and will probably make a finer scholar than you ever could be, William Falconer. You chase your dreams too much to be a serious scholar.’

‘You are right. Thomas will do very well. And he has promised to return to Oxford, should Roger ever be allowed to come back to the university.’

He saw the black-bearded captain of the ship waving at them.

‘Look, it is time to go.’

Eleanor was finally able to leave Paris for Castile and her family. Edward still did not like the idea, however. His fussing was beginning to annoy her.

‘First, you do not want me to travel because I am about to give birth. Now you do not want me to travel because I have given birth. Edward, dear, I have been giving you children year after year since we married, and in that time we have travelled to the Holy Lands and back.’

Edward stroked his wife’s face with the back of his hand.

‘I don’t want to be apart from you.’

‘Don’t become all silken-tongued now, my dear. You go away when it suits your warrior instincts. Tell me exactly where you will be going soon whether I stay or not.’

Edward grinned sheepishly.

‘I must go and put down this revolt by Gaston de Béarn in Gascony. If I do not show my face, we stand to lose the territory. And I can tie it closer to us by making treaties for the future marriages of our children.’ He chucked the baby on his wife’s lap under the chin. ‘Even for little Alfonso here.’

Eleanor was not to be diverted from her argument.

‘And may I remind you that, if I had travelled to Castile before your new son’s birth, I would not have been here and at the mercy of Amaury de Montfort. So I am going before anything else goes wrong.’

Edward paced anxiously back and forth across the chamber. The shaft of morning sunlight coming through the window sparkled on the chain mail shirt that he still wore. He was in warlike mood and found it difficult to be countermanded by his own wife. But in the end he sighed and gave in.

‘Very well. But you must take care. Amaury may have scuttled off to hide under the Pope’s skirts, but he is quite capable of having others carry out his tasks. As we have seen so clearly.’

Having triumphed, Eleanor now looked a little wistfully at her husband.

‘I will take care, my darling. I just wish Saphira was still here. I felt so safe in her company.’

She was thinking of the dagger hidden up the woman’s sleeve that had sent Amaury scurrying off. But Edward was of a different opinion about Mistress Le Veske.