by Ian Morson
‘I questioned the Dagvilles concerning de Wolfson’s movements, but I fear I could not get much information from them. When he was in the inn, he kept pretty much to himself, which is lucky for the drunkards who usually frequent that place. But Thomas Dagville did say that de Wolfson was complaining of aches and pains, and he told him to consult Will Spicer in Kepeharm Lane.’
Samson grunted in a way that showed his low opinion of the apothecary.
‘I would rather suffer in silence from whatever ailment had cursed me than ask Spicer for a cure. I have seen some of his work brought me by his long-suffering patients. One who complained of shortness of breath was told to put the lung of a fox in sweetened wine and drink it. He was sick. Another had a pricking sensation in his left eye and consulted Spicer. As a result, he walked around for days with a left eye plucked from a dog bound to his own. It took a lot of ointment to salve the resultant soreness. Spicer is such a danger that I might even have hoped that de Wolfson did infect the man to rid us of such a fool.’
Falconer shook his head.
‘He didn’t. I spoke to Spicer, and he couldn’t recall anyone like the crusader coming to consult him recently.’
‘A pity.’
‘The only thing that Dagville could tell me was that de Wolfson returned to the inn later in the day, and made a contented comment about …’ Falconer glanced at Saphira furtively. ‘… about satisfying his lusts in Grope Lane.’
Saphira grinned at William’s obvious embarrassment. But Samson was not happy about the revelation.
‘Then not only could he have spent the day wandering around the market passing on the red plague to almost anyone, he is sure to have given it to a poor doxy in one of the establishments there. Such an intimate contact would be certain to pass on the disease. We should get the constable to check with all the brothels for signs of illness. If men are still going there, the pox could easily be passed on again and again.’
Falconer nodded in agreement.
‘I will see Peter immediately. We should have thought to have him close such places down straight away, but we only thought about public places not such houses of personal contact.’
Saphira rose from her chair.
‘I will come with you, and perhaps Peter will allow me to examine the women for signs of the disease.’
Falconer’s lipped tightened, but he knew there was no use in forbidding such a dangerous act. Saphira was a woman who knew her own mind, and they had argued before about his protectiveness. He could only hope that Bullock would forbid her, or that the brothelkeepers would deny her access. No madam would want her place to be seen as a home of the pox. Leaving Samson to plan what could be done should the red plague spread, Falconer and Saphira Le Veske hurried through the quiet streets of Oxford towards the castle.
*
Inside St George’s Tower, which was hardly illuminated by the fire and a few candles even though it was bright daylight outside, Aldwyn knelt in prayer. His book of prophecies was close at hand still. Doukas was sitting at the large table that he had appropriated for making his notes. When he saw Falconer and Saphira enter, he dipped his quill in the ink pot, as if making ready to record the events of the morning. Bullock stared at him, a defeated look in his eyes. Whatever the outcome of this strange time in the life of the town, he had a feeling in his bones that it would not be a good one for him. In fact, he saw no future for himself — nothing but a dark, yawning pit. He closed his eyes and wished it all would just disappear — his worries, his fears, the town and all the responsibilities it loaded on his shoulders.
‘Peter, did you hear what I said?’
Bullock sighed, and turned to Falconer, who had been telling him something that he felt sure he didn’t want to hear.
‘Something about the brothels in Grope Lane.’
Falconer’s face had a look of deep concern.
‘Yes. We think that de Wolfson went to one of them the day after he arrived in Oxford. If so, there could be a woman there who will pass on the plague to any other man who lies with her.’
‘I don’t think any man has been down Grope Lane since I set the curfew. Anyone with a wife would not be able to escape his lady’s gaze when everyone’s movement is closely observed in case they show signs of the plague. But it would be wise to find this trollop, and seal her off from human contact.’
Saphira spoke up, as Falconer had expected her to.
‘I could go down the lane and check the women for the signs of red plague. It would be easier for me than a man.’
Falconer was about to suggest to Bullock that Samson would be a wiser choice, but he was too late. Bullock patted Saphira’s shoulder gratefully.
‘I agree. And you know how to protect yourself from the dangers of the plague. I saw how you masked your face when you attended the crusader. I accept your offer with gratitude.’
Falconer gritted his teeth, thinking that a few years ago Bullock would never have put a woman in the way of any danger. But today his friend looked tired, and ready to accept any help. Not that he blamed him. The whole situation was a great burden. He just wished it was not Saphira who was the logical choice. Bullock made another suggestion about how to isolate the woman, if she were found.
‘I have been thinking about where to put those who we find are infected with the plague. Brother Aldwyn, here …’ He indicated the monk, who had finished his prayers and was once again attending to the conversation. ‘… suggested that we use Bartlemas hospital.’
The old monk nodded his head eagerly.
‘Yes, the last time I was there, there was only one inmate, who can be moved easily to make way for the infected. After all, it once served as a place for lepers, and is outside the walls. Those who remain inside the town will be pleased to see any potential source of infection being moved away from them.’
Bullock slapped a hand down on the table, causing Doukas to steady his ink pot and glare.
‘Good. It is settled then. I can get someone from outside the walls to take a message to Oseney Abbey to let them know. And I shall get Thomas Burewald to accompany you, Mistress Le Veske. He will ensure that none of the brothel madams object to your work, and I can trust him not to get … distracted. His wife is a ferocious woman.’
He smiled at his characterisation of Mistress Burewald. But he was lucky he didn’t say what he did a few moments later, for Burewald himself suddenly burst in the hall. His face was aghast, his lips tight.
‘Constable Bullock. The Grey Friars have put word out that they are holding a prayer meeting in their friary for anyone in the town who cares to attend. They are going to defy your curfew, and I have seen several people on their way to their church already.’
Bullock groaned and prised himself up from the comfort of his chair. He saw the dark pit opening up before him.
*
It was but a few hurried steps from the portico of the castle to the entrance of the Franciscan friary. The church, built in the very walls of the town, had a large nave that was a public preaching hall for the friars. Their own services were conducted in the greater calm and intimacy of the choir to the east. When Bullock, accompanied by Doukas and Falconer, arrived at the town entrance, the assembly had already begun. Some fifty people from the town had gathered, and were seated on benches listening to a sermon from a young Franciscan. Falconer recognised him immediately. It was Friar Fulbert, and his sermon — more of a harangue really — followed closely the tenor of the harsh words he had used when Falconer had last seen him.
‘St Francis told his first followers — “I admonish and exhort the brothers in the Lord Jesus Christ to beware of all pride, vainglory, envy, avarice, worldly care and concern, criticism and complaint. And I admonish the illiterate not to worry about studying but to realize instead that above all they should wish to have the spirit of the Lord working within them.”’
Bullock was about to move forward into the main part of the nave and put a stop to this, but Falconer’s curiosity got the be
tter of him. He put up a hand to restrain the constable, having in the back of his mind the thought that Fulbert might incriminate himself over the thefts and murders.
‘Let us hear what he has to say first.’
Bullock grunted in irritation, but held back. Fulbert, his burning eyes suddenly staring directly at the small band of men who had just entered the church, carried on.
‘He also said that a day would come when men would throw their books out of the window as useless. That time has come. This plague has been sent as a punishment on the town for those who set themselves up against God, priding themselves in knowing more and more about God’s world. The constable will not tell you, but even now an avenging angel is walking the streets destroying those who imagine themselves cleverer than God.’
There was a buzz of shocked comment from the assembly of townsfolk, who never needed much provocation to launch an attack on the members of the university. So many hard-working people resented what they saw as the privileges enjoyed by the students and their mentors. Some now followed Fulbert’s eyes and turned in their seats to see what he was staring at. They saw Bullock at the back of the church along with a master of the university and a swarthy foreigner, who might well be a Jew. The mood of the townsfolk was changing, and the Franciscan was relentless.
‘But God has said that the deaths of a few are not enough. He has sent the red plague in order to clean out the whole town. Two killers stalk the streets of Oxford — the plague and an avenging angel. Your only salvation lies in driving the vainglorious and the foreigners out.’
Fulbert’s gaze was pinned precisely on Falconer, when he said those final words. The buzz of whispered comments rose to a scandalised rumble, and Falconer could see a few of the men present were ready to rise up and riot. Someone needed to act quickly, and Bullock responded in the only way he knew how. Even though they were in church, he drew his sword from its sheath, causing a frightening hissing sound. For added emphasis he struck it on the stone slabs of the church floor. It rang ominously — a clear warning to all those assembled. Everyone’s eyes were now on him, and not on Fulbert. Though Falconer knew how soul-weary his friend was, the constable’s body seemed to grow in stature, and his voice rang out firmly and loudly.
‘Everyone here is in breach of my curfew, and is risking not only his own life but the lives of others. I have seen the red plague, and I know how it leaps from one man to the next. Any one of you could be infected and even now be passing the pox on to the person sitting next to them.’
Falconer could see people shifting nervously on their benches, trying to edge themselves away from those either side of them. One or two men and women at the back of the church were already getting up and making for the door out into the street. Bullock called out to them as they sneaked past him.
‘Will Mossop, Agnes Brown, Peter Withey, I see you.’
He turned to glare at the rest of those present, and cocked a thumb at the dark-skinned man next to him.
‘Isaac Doukas, here, is a scribe and will note down all your names, and if the red plague comes to your door, we will know why.’
Doukas made a play of getting his quill and ink out of his satchel, and began to scratch out on the parchment’s surface. He didn’t know anyone of course, but Bullock began calling the names out one by one. Soon enough, the once agitated congregation melted away like ice on a pond when the sun strikes it. When his congregation had disappeared, Fulbert glared at the trio of Bullock, Doukas and Falconer, then descended the steps, and stormed away into the gloom of the distant choir. Relieved of scrutiny, the constable’s shoulders slumped visibly, and because his hands were shaking, Falconer helped him return his sword to its sheath. Doukas returned a perfectly blank sheet of parchment to his satchel, along with the tools of his trade. He laughed harshly.
‘I hope you weren’t serious about taking their names, constable. I’m not that swift with my penmanship.’
Bullock looked him in the eye.
‘I don’t need them written down, Doukas. They are in here.’ He tapped his forehead with a stubby finger. ‘I shall know them all again. Now, let us return to the castle and await Mistress Le Veske’s investigations in Grope Lane. Are you coming, William?’
Falconer was looking off to where Fulbert had disappeared.
‘You go, Peter. I have matters to discuss with Friar Gualo.’
Bullock saluted his friend, and he and Doukas left the church. Falconer stood pondering for a while, then followed Fulbert into the friary.
Chapter Eighteen
Saphira stepped out of the little cubicle where Peggy Jardine lay, and unwound the linen mask from her nose and mouth.The wrinkled face of Sal Dockerel fell when she saw how solemn the Jewess looked.
‘Has she got it, mistress?’
Saphira nodded slowly.
‘Yes. When did Peggy start complaining of muscle pains and headaches?’
‘Yesterday morning. She was sick too, but we just thought that she had fallen for a child. An occupational hazard, you understand, mistress.’ Sal’s sad eyes pleaded with Saphira. ‘It couldn’t be just that, could it? Pregnancy, I mean?’
‘I’m afraid not. There are already reddish spots in her tongue and throat. In another day or two, large red spots will appear on her body, just like I saw on the carrier of the disease.’
Sal shook her head sorrowfully.
‘Why has this happened to Peggy? She’s a good girl.’
Saphira wasn’t about to point out that the Christian church wouldn’t see it that way. Peggy Jardine was a doxy and a sinner to them. But to Saphira she was just a poor girl who was fighting for her life. Now she had to ensure that Peggy had not and would not infect any others.
‘I will arrange for her to be taken to Bartlemas hospital.’
Sal began to protest, but Saphira stood firm.
‘She will be best cared for there.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Can you tell me if Peggy … entertained any other men since laying with the knight?’
The brothel madam looked stricken.
‘Well, of course she did. As I said she was a good girl and men liked her. But it was only a day or two after that the constable closed the town gates. Business has been non-existent since then. Can Peggy have passed on the pox to others, then?’
Saphira tried to look on the bright side.
‘It is possible but unlikely, if it was only a day or two after de Wolfson lay with her. She would not be infectious until much later.’
Sal Dockerel slammed her fist down on the table.
‘Damn that crusader knight. I wish now I had turned him away. But his gold was good, so why should I? I even bit it to make sure.’
Her wrinkled face suddenly fell as she recalled her transaction with de Wolfson. She looked fearfully at Saphira, thinking how she had put the coin that the crusader had handled into her mouth.
‘I’ve been feeling a bit off colour lately. Do you think I could have …?’
Saphira held the linen mask over her mouth, and told Sal to open hers.
*
Falconer followed Fulbert into the Franciscan friary beyond the church that was physically located outside the walls of Oxford, and accessed from the town through the church. The entire friary was an anomaly, being part of Oxford but not of it, because it was not strictly within the walls rather it was a fat boil growing out from the walls. Bullock had had to rely solely on the word of the friars that they too would observe the rule of isolation imposed on the town as a whole. Falconer wondered if someone like Fulbert felt obliged to obey that proscription. He could after all simply walk out of the southern gate of the friary, and disappear.
The cloister stood immediately beyond the church to the south, and the choir door led straight into it. When Falconer opened the door, he saw Fulbert walking in the southern range of the cloister directly opposite him with the open square between both men. Fulbert appeared oblivious to Falconer’s presence, his head down and his steps hurried. Falconer knew the la
yout of the friary quite well. Not only was it like the normal plan of every friary in England, he had visited his friend Roger Bacon here when he had been imprisoned. He guessed that Fulbert was making his way to the dormitory, and the small number of individual cells beyond. One of which had housed Bacon when he had been out of favour with the pope. Unlike the usual cloister, which had four sides, this had only three, the fourth being the old exterior town wall. So the only way to follow Fulbert was to go the long way round, and he had to hurry. It would not be long until the whole friary would be assembling in the church to observe the liturgical office of compline, so he knew he did not have much time. And he didn’t yet know what he might find wherever Fulbert was making for. Though he almost hoped it was lots of stolen books.
After leaving the cloister, Fulbert walked past the archway leading to the dormitory, and made for a row of doors. Falconer had been right — it was one of the cells the friar had been making for. He was in time to see Fulbert opening the third door in the row and entering the cell, closing the door behind him. Falconer now ran the rest of the way, knowing Fulbert was trapped in the small room beyond. Approaching the door, he placed his ear to it and heard a muffled conversation going on. Fulbert was with somebody, and Falconer was left in a quandary. Should he go in and confront Fulbert? Was this his cell, or that of another friar? What would he find inside? He might only succeed in alerting Fulbert to his suspicions, but not have enough to prove his guilt. But, hearing the sound of sandals slapping on stone close by, he finally took a decision, and pushed the door open.
*
‘Then both Sal Dockerel and Peggy Jardine have the red plague?’
Saphira nodded a confirmation to Bullock’s question. Doukas took up his pen and scratched his notes on a new scrap of parchment. In a darker corner of the castle hall, Aldwyn knelt and began to pray. A mood of gloom had descended on the hall as Saphira was giving her report. It was little consolation for the constable that there had not been any reason to suspect more of the denizens of Grope Lane were infected. Bullock pulled a face, and scrubbed at his whiskery chin with his stubby fingers.
