Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

John Zellot was a young courtier, who had been eagerly making his way in King Henry’s court a few years ago. He had been sent to bring Falconer to the king with a rare stone that the king coveted. Falconer had taken Saphira with him, and Zellot had earned due reward for services rendered. But now it looked as though he had fallen out of favour with the old king and his son, Edward. Banished to this backwater, he had lost some of his shine. When they entered the dark, dusty hall in search of Zellot, they heard the clatter of metal on metal and an accompanying curse. Beyond the fireplace, they found a rather drunken figure swinging his sword at an array of battered goblets standing on a long oak table. Some lay on the floor and had obviously been hit by the swinging sword. The rather bloated-looking man’s next effort, however, missed and took a gouge out of the already savaged table. Another curse rent the air.

Falconer called out to him.

‘John Zellot, you are ruining the edge on an otherwise perfectly serviceable sword.’

The figure turned and almost fell over. He clutched at a chair, then slumped into its embrace. Zellot peered drunkenly at the two intruders.

‘Why, it’s the Oxford sage and his paramour.’

Falconer took a step towards the young man.

‘Have a care how you speak of Mistress Le Veske, Zellot. I am not too old to tip you up and spank you, especially when you are in this state.’

Zellot waved a tipsy arm at Saphira, who was finding the male posturing quite amusing.

‘My apologies, sweet mistress. You are evidently not who I thought you were. I did not see you clearly.’

John Zellot had not fared well in his new role. Boredom had turned him into a drunkard, who was beginning to neglect himself. When he and Falconer had first met, he had been elegantly dressed and trim around the waist. His clothes were now grubby and torn in places. And his waist had expanded, stretching his shirt and surcoat to their limits. His once-trimmed beard was long and straggly. Nervously, he began to pull at it, twisting strands of it around his fingers.

‘I must apologize for my appearance. I rarely see anyone these days. You see me reduced to the role of a caretaker who has nothing to take care of.’

‘Hence your game with the goblets.’

‘Yes, Master Falconer. But now you are here, I shall tidy myself up and provide you with the hospitality you deserve. And you too, Mistress Le Veske. See, I do remember your name. How could I forget one so beautiful, after all?’

Saphira laughed gently at Zellot’s tipsy attempt at chivalry and at righting the wrong of his earlier comment.

‘Unless you can supply me with some decent red wine, I think I must say no to your invitation, John Zellot.’

Zellot leaped to his feet and begged his visitors to stay a while, a pleading look in his red-rimmed eyes.

‘Good wine is the one comfort I can supply. Don’t go away.’

Falconer and Saphira stood for a while, and then a while longer. Zellot was taking a long time, and they were uncertain what to do next.

‘William, what are we doing here? Zellot will know nothing about Richard’s death, or John’s. He could not have been here then.’

Falconer grimaced.

‘I had hoped that we could speak to some of the servants who might have been around at the time. But there does not appear to be any.’

There was no sound from outside the hall, no noise of the normal bustle you would expect at a lord’s castle. No sound of horses being cared for and saddled, or the smells of food being prepared. The only sound was the dull and monotonous thud as the two men outside dug their hole. It was a dead, brutish noise that made them both imagine that the castle was indeed cursed. They were about to give up their quest and leave, when Zellot came hurrying back into the hall followed by two old women, one bearing a flagon of wine and the other some cuts of cold meat on a large trencher.

‘Forgive me, but I had to tidy up, and it took longer than I expected. Meg, Annie, serve our guests.’

The two women, happy to have something to do for once, cleared the battered goblets from the table and laid out the food and drink. Saphira could see that Zellot had indeed taken care with his appearance, even to the extent of wetting down his formerly tangled hair and beard. He waved them to the table, and they sat down together. To Saphira’s surprise, the wine was sweet and full of flavour. The women fussed around like mother hens, sharing the cold meat out on pieces of the bread trencher. Zellot would have sent them away, but Falconer stayed his hand.

‘With your permission, John Zellot, I would like to ask a question or two of Meg and Annie.’ The two women blushed and giggled, exposing their toothless mouths. Zellot looked puzzled, but he acquiesced.

‘By all means, Master Deductive.’

Falconer recalled the name he had been saddled with at Henry’s court, and he nodded his head in wry acknowledgement. He was indeed going to play the part of deductive, seeking facts and comparing them in order to come to the greater truth. The two old servants gaped open-mouthed at him, not at all sure what the title he was given meant, but certain it was very significant.

‘Meg, Annie, I want to talk to you about Lord Richard.’

Their looks suddenly became very solemn, and their eyes flickered between the two men and the red-haired woman. Falconer thought they looked scared.

John Zellot ran his fingers through his thick, unruly hair, teasing away nervously at the tangles. He stared at Falconer and drew his tongue slowly across his lips.

‘What are you going to do with this information?’

Falconer laughed softly and exchanged a look with Saphira.

‘Why, nothing, of course. It is meaningless without corroboration. And I strongly suggest you do nothing with it either.’

He could imagine Zellot making use of what they had learned from the two old women in order to further his career at court. But it was a very dangerous piece of information that might explode in his own face like one of Roger Bacon’s gunpowder firecrackers. Falconer had once nearly lost his fingers with one of the real items, mixed from a recipe provided by Bacon. Zellot could lose his life, if he misused the story the women had told. Somehow, though, Falconer knew he would have to delve further. And if he ascertained the truth, he would be obliged to tell Edward. Saphira looked at him, knowing what was going on in his head, and gave her tacit approval for what he was bound to do.

‘What else can we do, William?’

It was Zellot who cut in with a warning.

‘You must leave well alone, Falconer. God knows what you will learn if you delve any further.’

Falconer ignored the advice, speaking instead only to Saphira.

‘The king must know the truth. He charged me with investigating the instigator of several murders and attempted murders. But the start of all this was the death of his son, John. That is what began the cycle of events I was supposed to look into. And my conclusions led to the accusation of Amaury de Montfort as being the guiding hand. Now it looks as though he had nothing to do with the act we supposed was the first in the sequence.’

A gloomy silence descended over the room as all three people reconsidered the testimony of the two old serving women.

It had begun quite innocently with Meg being bold enough to suggest that their former lord had been a hard taskmaster. Annie had screwed up her wrinkled face and snorted in disgust.

‘Hard? He was unfair, and that’s the truth.’

‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, Annie.’

‘The truth is the truth.’

Annie saw that neither Zellot nor the two visitors were about to reprimand her, and she was emboldened enough to go on.