Ian Morson - Falconer and the Death of Kings

Falconer’s blue eyes bored into the king’s visage.

‘You had your uncle killed, didn’t you? You couldn’t do it with your own hand, but you arranged it to happen. Strangely, it was on the very night that Odo de Reppes turned up in Berkhamsted to kill him on behalf of Amaury de Montfort.’

Edward snarled in frustration.

‘Yes, damn him. If I had waited another day or two, I would not have needed to kill him myself. Still, it was sweet to be the cause of his death. That was my revenge. For John.’

The rage that had flooded over Edward was as suddenly gone, and the king was once again calm. He rearranged his cloak and ran his fingers through his thick black hair.

‘Now, Master Falconer, I must thank you for your persistence, but I have a coronation to attend.’

Falconer sat brooding over a goblet of sweet red wine that Saphira had put before him. They were lodging in London’s Jewry in a house on the corner of Milk Street and Cheapside. The streets outside were quiet, as almost everyone was thronged around Westminster Hall, where Edward and Eleanor were feasting. The coronation had been a great event, and everyone had welcomed Edward as a great and noble king. Falconer groaned.

‘I have failed completely. I unearth one murderer in Jack Hellequin, who turns out to be Amaury de Montfort. And he disappears into the protective folds of the Pope’s skirts. And then I unmask another murderer in the shape of the new King of England, who is far out of my reach.’

Saphira put an arm around his shoulders.

‘You did catch Adam Morrish, and he has been hanged for the murders of Paul Hebborn and John Fusoris. And you were brave enough to confront the king with the truth. I know of no other man who would dare do that.’

Falconer picked up the goblet and drank deep.

‘Tomorrow we escape this mad city and return to the small and safe world of Oxford, where all that matters is the debate over the number of angels on the head of a pin.’

Saphira nibbled Falconer’s ear, whispering in it.

‘And tonight?’

Falconer turned to look at her beautiful face, framed by her tumbling red hair.

‘Tonight I will lecture you on anatomy.’

Towards the end of 1275, Amaury and his sister — another Eleanor — set sail for Wales, where she was to marry Llewelyn. They travelled by sea to avoid England and Edward, but passing Bristol the expedition was caught by four ships led by a knight called Thomas the Archdeacon. Amaury and Eleanor were captured and handed over to the king. Edward treated Eleanor kindly, allowing her to marry her Welsh prince once he had settled a peace with England. He bore no such sympathy for Amaury.

The last de Montfort brother was imprisoned in the grim fortress of Corfe Castle until 1282. Banished from England then, he never regained his family lands, though styling himself Earl of Leicester still. He made a sad figure, wandering through France and Italy, laying claim to lost titles and privileges. Sinking into obscurity, by 1300 he was dead.