by Ian Morson
‘Go to the North Gate and warn the guard. No one must enter or leave, even if they claim to be the King himself.’
Thomas dashed out of the room, almost bowling over the startled Halegod hovering in the doorway.
‘We must try to stop him. He may not have gone straight there. Perhaps he has gone back to his rooms for a weapon, or the poison he got from Samson. And if he intends to use poison, he will be working secretively. After all, he has waited this long to be in the right place at the right time.’
He turned to Bullock.
‘Have you got the key to Smith Gate?’
Bullock jangled the bunch at his waist.
‘I always carry it.’
‘Then let’s try and head him off and lock him inside the city.’
Halegod knew this time to stand well clear of the doorway as the two left with haste, the bent back of Bullock lumbering alongside the long stride of the Master.
De Stepyng cursed his ill-luck. He had gone from the chancellor’s rooms to his own to collect the sweetmeats he had poisoned, even though this meant going out of his way. He had stopped long enough also to reverently finger once again the Bible he had wrenched from Fyssh’s dying grasp. It was mutilated – the front cover gone. But with it had gone the stain of his father’s blood, splashed on the Bible when the elder Belot had been slaughtered by de Montfort’s Crusaders. Somehow it was now almost purified. There only remained one more act to perform. He would stick to the scheme that had been so successful dispatching Amaury de Montfort twenty years before. It had been more subtle than the violent and chancy deaths he had wrought upon the Earl’s other two brothers. He did not imagine he would have much success bursting in on Earl Simon with a knife. No, he would be more likely to achieve his purpose by presenting himself as a trusted supporter with something to please Simon’s sweet tooth.
As he came up Schools Street, he saw there was a swirling mass of drunken students shouting incoherently to each other. They were going to delay him, and he began to push through them angrily. He soon realized that was a mistake. In their sodden state they were no respecter of his office, and began to jeer and jibe. He was pushed and pulled by the sleeves of his robe, the material tearing as he was buffeted first one way then the other. He tried to back out of the crowd, but suddenly there was a shout from two ringleaders at their head and the whole mob surged forward. De Stepyng was carried along with them.
Thomas too was delayed by the mob of students. But he had stayed on the fringe, trying to decide whether it was better to push through them or detour around them. He realized the press of bodies ahead of him was getting ever tighter, and knew his only hope of getting to North Gate quickly was to go around the pack. He, was about to turn down the narrow alley that ran off Schools Street parallel to the city walls, when he thought he saw an older man in the midst of the mob. The man was dressed in the robes of a Master, and suddenly his face, flushed with anger, turned towards Thomas. The hawklike features told him it was de Stepyng.
Abandoning his mission to North Gate as irrelevant, he began to worm his way through the mass of jostling students towards where he had seen Margaret’s killer. The faces around him were red and sweating, their breath laden with ale fumes. Calling encouragement to the ones ahead of them, they pulled Thomas into their midst and surged forward. For what seemed like an age de Stepyng and Thomas bobbed along like two pieces of flotsam on a surging ocean. Now and then Thomas rose on the crest of a wave of bodies to spot de Stepyng, and each time he was slightly nearer. At last he saw that the Master had squeezed himself up against the city walls and was no longer being carried along in the mob. Flailing his arms as though he were swimming, Thomas cut through the crowd of students, and suddenly found himself face to face with de Stepyng. Then it struck him he did not know what he was going to do. Merely getting to de Stepyng had been uppermost in his mind, not how to stop him.
De Stepyng looked piercingly at Thomas, knowing that this blond-haired bumpkin was one of Falconer’s band of students, and could tell from the wary look in the boy’s eyes that Falconer knew. He grasped him tightly by the arm and pulled him close.
‘He knows, doesn’t he?’
The boy nodded defiantly, unsure of his fate.
‘We will wait until most of these idiots are through the gate, then just stroll through ourselves.’
He pulled Thomas closely up against him, twisting his arm painfully.
‘The chaos they are causing may even make it easier for me. No one will be able to get through to King’s hall for some time.’
He turned Thomas towards the gate and began to move along the edge of the crowd. Suddenly he stopped with a gasp and Thomas saw that the surge had stopped, and there were angry cries coming from the head of the mob. Thomas was tall for his age, and could peer over the heads around him to see what had stopped de Stepyng in his tracks. And what angered the mob of students.
The gate was closed, presumably locked because the ringleaders were rattling the handle and beating on the stout oak. Pressing through the crowd towards them were the figures of Bullock and Falconer. They were finding it slow going, even though Bullock was waving a heavy club. Falconer stopped and raised some device to his eyes, checking where he had last seen de Stepyng and the boy. There was something nightmarish about their progress towards Thomas, and he could not imagine them reaching him in time. Indeed de Stepyng yanked on his arm and began to drag him away. They were in a thinner part of the press and could make better progress. For a moment Thomas lost sight of the other two men and despaired. He began to call for help from the students around him, but without letting go of the boy’s arm de Stepyng wrapped his forearm around Thomas’s throat stifling his cries. Anyway, the other students were concentrating too much on the efforts to break through the gate to be concerned about a minor squabble in their midst.
Thomas was pulled backwards on to a flight of steps, stumbling as de Stepyng pulled him upwards.
‘Stay on your feet,’ the man snarled.
Thomas saw they were going up steps cut in the side of the wall, leading to the postern over Smith Gate. Soon they were above the press of jostling bodies, and it was getting dark. Could Falconer or Bullock see them? As he swept his gaze over the crowd, he saw the lumbering figure of Bullock and managed a squawk before de Stepyng stopped his throat again with a savage wrench. Looking down he could see Bullock anxiously casting his gaze around the crowd, and Falconer was shouting and pressing the device to his eyes. They had lost him.
Chapter Fifteen
The din in the lane was deafening, and Falconer had to shout with his face inches from Bullock’s to be heard.
‘Can you see them? Can you see them?’ Anxiety was written all over his features.
‘They’ve just disappeared,’ yelled Bullock, his legs spread apart to steady himself in the jostling throng. He was like a rock in a raging sea, and Falconer clung on to his shoulder for safety. He spun round, scanning over the heads of the crowd with his eye-lenses, but could not see them. He groaned.
‘The man is mad. He has killed three people in the last few days. We must find him for Thomas’s sake.’
‘And Earl Simon’s.’
Behind them someone had found a stout bench and it was passed over the head of the throng in willing hands. The students nearest the gate began to batter the locked door with it. From elsewhere an axe was found and someone began to swing it at the oak panels.
‘They were near the wall when we saw them last. Where could they have gone?’
Bullock suddenly looked upwards at the reinforcement over the gate.
‘Of course, the postern. The steps to it are cut into the wall near by.’
He began to thrust his way through the students, careless of the heads he broke with his club.
De Stepyng estimated that by going along the top of the wall to the North Gate, through and then doubling back along Candich outside the walls he could still reach King’s hall before Fa
lconer. They would be trapped in the turmoil of the rioting students for a long while yet. He would of course have to rid himself of the boy immediately. If he threw him over the parapet to the back of the mob, his body would not be noticed for some time. Just another foolish student killed in the affray.
He pushed Thomas roughly to the inner edge of the wall and forced his head out over the void. Thomas grabbed at the stone of the parapet, tearing his fingers in a desperate bid to keep his balance. The dark lane below spun in his vision, the bobbing heads of the students oblivious to his plight. De Stepyng released the hold on his throat and grabbed his legs, heaving Thomas off balance. He began to slide down the canted lip of the parapet with nothing to grasp. He locked one knee around the upright stones to his left, and gained some control over his slide. But de Stepyng was using all his force to prise his leg away from his only hold on survival. He began to weaken, his leg slowly being torn from the stone, when suddenly the force was no longer there.
Thomas heard an unearthly squeal and the scuffling of feet. The muscle in his thigh was almost numb with strain, but he pulled himself back from the brink. He slid back over the ridge of the parapet and collapsed to his knees, trembling. Looking up, he saw de Stepyng lurching backwards, clawing at something at his throat. He seemed to have a demon on his back, uttering hellish curses. His sallow face turned red and his eyes bulged in his head as he struggled to release himself from the Devil’s clutches.
Thomas saw that it was Joshua hanging on de Stepyng’s back, and was for once glad the Jew had been dogging his footsteps. He drew breath to thank him for his assistance, only to realize Joshua’s face was a mask of white with blazing eyes. He was clearly drugged. As if in confirmation the Jew hissed into de Stepyng’s ear.
‘Jew-killer. You won’t murder my parents.’
In his maddened state he imagined de Stepyng was his parents’ jailor. And this time he was old enough to fight back. He tightened his grip on de Stepyng’s throat, his fingers like claws, and screamed again.
‘Violator of my mother!’
For himself, de Stepyng had other visions. The demon on his back was a familiar of the terrible knight, who was himself de Montfort incarnate. He swung around in terror, looking for the figure that had haunted his life. He saw him appear by magic over the parapet, dismounted from his horse at last. There was horror in the regent master’s eyes, and he crashed backwards against the outer parapet, trying to dislodge Joshua from his shoulders. It didn’t work, and he staggered forward to try again. Almost into the arms of the knight, whose form was clad in shining steel, ornately worked in gold. De Stepyng could discern every curlicue that spiralled across his chest. Behind the lattice of the helm there was only darkness. The Master stood transfixed.
Thomas dared not move as the battle between de Stepyng and Joshua seemed poised in time. Neither moved as their efforts seemed to balance out. A ray of light from the sun, setting over his shoulder, flashed on a glass panel in the King’s hall outside the city walls. Thomas raised his hand to shade his eyes.
De Stepyng flinched as the deathly knight raised his metalclad fingers to his helm. The face-plate was raised and revealed nothing but an awful void. Had there never been anything to sate his revenge after all? The screeching demon clawed at his face, tearing the flesh, and blood coursed down his cheek. Lurching backwards to knock it off his shoulders, he thrust not against the wall but the open space of an archery point. He scrabbled hopelessly for balance, but the weight of Joshua on his upper body carried him inexorably backwards. He saw his own father’s face in the knight’s helmet, lecturing him about how the souls of the wicked were cast over the precipice by demons, and understood.
Thomas saw the utter fear on de Stepyng’s face, and the exultation on the mask that was Joshua’s. Then they were gone.
On trembling legs Thomas staggered to where they had gone over and peered into the gathering gloom. The two bodies lay motionless at the foot of the wall, and Thomas turned away to face Bullock and Falconer appearing at the top of the steps. At that moment there was a great cheer, and the students burst through Smith Gate into the fields beyond.
The Jewish cemetery outside East Gate was a cold and eerie place to be. The white shroud of mist hung over the group gathered around the graveside. All sound seemed to be deadened, and Thomas was reminded of his first day in Oxford and the unearthly shriek that had started this curious sequence of events. Rabbi Jehozadok was wrapped in a heavy shawl to protect himself from the cold, and he wiped away a tear with the end of it. Samson and Hannah stood either side of him and he put his arms around them for mutual comfort.
‘Poor Joshua. He was never happy in life. Perhaps he has found something better now.’
They each thanked Falconer and Thomas, then as a group walked away into the mist. Thomas looked for a while at Hannah until she disappeared from sight, then turned back to Falconer.
‘I still don’t understand why you checked de Stepyng’s story about Joshua, if you knew he was the killer.’
‘I thought he was the killer,’ Falconer reminded the boy.
‘I already had some truths. De Stepyng said he did not know Margaret, and yet you remember Hannah telling us she had once had to read a message Margaret was delivering for Fyssh?’
‘Yes. Margaret had forgotten who it was for, and couldn’t read herself.’
‘Hannah remembered who it was addressed to – Master de Stepyng. So he must have seen her at least once. Of course that is not conclusive, and I needed more. His not eating at the banquet was curious but not important. Until we established the link with Catharism. Remember Bonham telling us that the Perfecti did not eat meat?’
Thomas shook his head, bewildered.
‘Then there was the fact de Stepyng supplied which was more important than the story about Joshua – he said he had no connection with France. Even though his own mother was French.’
Seeing Thomas’s look of uncertainty, Falconer reminded him that the chancellor had told them so in de Stepyng’s very presence.
‘And he did not refute the fact. You see all these truths by themselves are small but, with the name on the book and his purchase of the poison distilled from bracken, supply the greater truth. What angers me, however, is that on the day after the murder of the girl de Stepyng seemed to know her throat had been cut even before the facts were common knowledge. He said as much to me, and I put it from my mind. I might have prevented other needless murders.’
He sighed.
‘As for checking his story about Margaret and Joshua – I confess to simple curiosity.’
He saw Thomas had a long way to go to understanding his method and the workings of his inquisitive mind. He patted the boy on the back.
‘Come, we have some packing to do.’
Thomas looked puzzled.
‘I understand that the King wants to use Oxford as his military base. After the events at Smith Gate, he is not going to want a disloyal student rabble under his feet. I understand we are going to move to Northampton.’
Thomas protested.
‘But I’ve only just got here!’
Epilogue
The events of the student riot at Smith Gate are recorded in history, but the actual reason for the locking of the gate has not been recorded, and is only the subject of surmise on the part of historians.
In March 1264, King Henry did indeed enter Oxford and many students left for Northampton. Perhaps it was predictable then, due to the old warning which boded ill to any king who entered within Oxford’s walls, that Henry lost the Battle of Lewes to Simon de Montfort on 14 May of that year.
Simon held sway over a divided nation for fifteen months, before himself being killed and mutilated at the Battle of Evesham. King Henry ruled until his death in 1272, and Edward succeeded him while on Crusade.
Thomas de Cantilupe achieved his ambition, and was appointed Chancellor of England by Earl Simon. In the latter part of his life he was also a close
adviser to King Edward.
Richard Bonham died of typhus only a few years after the events described here. It is thought he contracted the disease from an infected body he was anatomizing.
Both Rabbi Jehozadok and the apothecary Samson died of old age and lie buried in the Jewish cemetery next to Joshua. Nothing is known of Hannah, who was expelled along with all the other English Jews in 1290.
Peter Bullock was killed in 1274 in the midst of a pitched battle between Northern and Welsh students. Whilst trying to separate two fighting students, he accidentally stepped in the way of a blow from a rusty sword.
Hugh Pett returned to run his father’s estates in Essex when his older brother died during Edward’s Crusade in the Holy Land. He married and had three sons.
Thomas Symon returned to Oxford with others from Northampton, and remained there, becoming in his turn a regent master of the Faculty of Arts. He later played a part in the founding of University College.
William Falconer was to have many further adventures, occasioned by his insatiable curiosity. He travelled abroad, corresponding regularly with Thomas Symon, and it is believed he died in what a later traveller would call Cathay and we would call China. It was always his belief that the world was a globe.
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Edward Marston The Wolves of Savernake
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Edward Marston The Ravens of Blackwater
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Edward Marston The Dragons of Archenfield
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Edward Marston The Lions of the North
ISBN: 978-1-906288-18-1
Edward Marston The Serpents of Harbledown
ISBN: 978-1-906288-40-2
Edward Marston The Stallions of Woodstock
ISBN: 978-1-906288-41-9
Edward Marston The Hawks of Delamere
