by Ian Morson
‘The Assassins’ drug!’ blurted Thomas.
‘If the stories are to be believed.’
The friar was more dubious than Thomas about the rumours circulating concerning the clique that had formed around Hassan, the Old Man of the Mountain. Especially as their fortress at Alamut had fallen to the Tartars many years previously.
‘I am not convinced that they needed drugs to carry out their tasks. Though it is true that the sect still survives and will work as mercenaries for outsiders as well as Muslims. In fact, some say that Richard Lionheart himself commissioned them to kill Conrad de Montferrat. But we are not talking about Assassins in Outremer now, but young students in Paris. And of them we have only tales, and no proof.’
‘But we do have proof.’ Thomas eagerly broke in on Bacon’s lament, before recalling what Falconer had made him do with the hashish stone. ‘That is, we did have. Only the proof now lies at the bottom of the Seine.’
He explained to Bacon what he meant. How a lump of hashish had been found by Falconer in Paul Hebborn’s scrip, and how it had been placed beyond use in the river. He looked glum, but the friar was more optimistic.
‘It matters not that you no longer have the evidence, only that both you and William saw it. And that you know John Fusoris chewed on khat leaves.’ He paused, thinking through what that all implied. ‘Of course, if we have evidence that both the dead boys were eating drugs that would affect their judgement, it draws into question the very premise that they were murdered. Hebborn may have been in much the same state as a drunk and simply fallen off the tower. And Fusoris could have fallen in the river and drowned while still befuddled by khat.’
Thomas shook his head.
‘No. I cannot be certain about Hebborn, for I never saw his body. But if he was fuddled by drugs, why was he high up on Notre-Dame’s tower? However, I can be certain of Fusoris. After I left William at the Petit Pont the other morning, I went back to where his body lay at the convent, and I examined it again. Before, I had seen only his face cleansed of the river mud. But once his whole body had been washed, it was obvious how he died. There were bruises all around his neck. If I had been able to anatomize him, I would no doubt have found that the little bone in his throat, which is shaped like a Greek upsilon, was broken. He had been strangled for sure.’
Bacon nodded, convinced by this serious and studious young master that they were indeed embroiled in a double murder and not simply wilful wrongdoing. He pointed at the chest now lying at Thomas’s feet.
‘Is this where Master Morrish keeps his potions?’
‘I would guess it is. I have searched this room and have found nothing else. But it is locked, and even though the lock is scratched as if someone has tried to open it and failed, I cannot see how Malpoivre, or anyone else, might have gained access to its contents.’
Bacon knelt on the floor and examined the lock closely, seeing the scratch marks that Thomas referred to. They radiated from the keyhole, suggesting someone had indeed tried with the end of a knife to prise the lock open. He rubbed them with the end of his index finger.
‘These are old marks. They feel smooth to the touch. If they had been made recently, their edges would be rough. And their very presence would have alerted the owner of the chest that a thief had been at work.’
Thomas blushed at having missed the obvious, and knelt beside Bacon. He was embarrassed that the clue had been picked up by someone like the friar who was a novice at deduction of a crime instead of himself. Bacon, though, seemed unconcerned by the young man’s error. He rubbed a hand over his tonsured pate.
‘It does, however, tell us one thing. That whoever took the potions from inside – if potions there be – had the key. And that means that someone knew where the key was hidden. Or that Master Morrish was complicit in the deed.’
This revelation from Roger Bacon had two immediate results. The first was predictable – Thomas rose to his feet and nodded with excitement. Bacon was right about his suppositions. The second result was unexpected. Just as Thomas was about to speak, both men heard a crash from outside the door. Thomas ran across the room and opened it, peering down into the darkness. The front door stood wide open, and whoever had been there had gone. Bacon appeared at his side.
‘Too late for us to know who it was who was spying on us now. However, I think we need to speak to our disappearing master, Thomas. But first let us open the box of delights for ourselves.’
Bacon was hugely pleased by the look of puzzlement on Thomas’s face that was caused by his suggestion. He took Thomas by his arm and led the young man back into the upper room. The chest still stood in the centre of the floor, locked and untouchable. Or so Thomas assumed.
‘What do you mean? How can you open it without the key?’
Bacon grinned mischievously.
‘Did you not know that I was an alchemist and in league with the Devil? Or so my detractors would have it. Well, then, let me perform a little magic.’
He dug into his purse and produced a long, thin bar of metal bent at right angles at the end. Its dull yellow colour suggested to Thomas it was made of brass. Bacon waved it in the air, and Thomas truly began to think the eccentric friar was indeed an alchemist and magician. But then Bacon knelt down before the box and poked the rod into the keyhole. He jiggled one way and then the other, his ear cocked as if he was listening for a particular noise. Eventually, it came. With a heavy clunk, the lock was opened. Thomas was astonished.
‘How did you do that?’
Bacon tapped the side of his nose.
‘That is a secret between me and the thief who taught me. But I have for too long been subjected to incarceration not to want to find a means of escape now and again. It is also why I had no objections to my great works being locked away. I learned how to pick locks a long time ago. It is a useful skill.’
He bent down and eased the chest’s lid open. Inside was a cornucopia of pots, glass vials, little wooden boxes and folded leaves. The leaves themselves were simply protective layers wrapped around various dried plants. Bacon unfolded a few and was quick to identify each, pointing to them one by one.
‘He has adderwort, beewort, lions’ foot, great wort, woodruff, horehound, yarrow, elder, and this—’ he picked up a dried root ‘—is mandrake.’
Thomas looked at the dried and blackened object.
‘Yes, I have seen that, though I have not learned its uses.’
‘Hmm. I am not surprised. Its usefulness owed more to magic and superstition than practicality. It is supposed to ensure conception, but take too much of it and you will be poisoned.’
‘Then what is it doing in the chest of a university-trained physician? It sounds more like it should belong to a folk-healer. What else is there in the chest?’
Bacon rummaged around, peering closely at the glass vials, some of which had faded labels attached to them with cord.
‘Cateputria, bryony, laurel berries. This is more interesting, as they are all poisons.’
Thomas was disappointed. Many physicians had poisons to hand, for they could be used in small quantities for quite innocent purposes such as to kill flies. Pliny himself recommended the careful use of belladonna as a specific against earache.
‘Is there nothing else?’
Bacon ignored Thomas’s impatient question and continued to calmly delve through the pots in the chest. He opened one after the other, examining the contents.
‘Ah, what do we have here?’
He held up a small circular clay pot, from which he had removed the wooden lid for Thomas to see. Inside were what looked like several small whitish stones. They were a perfect match for the one Falconer had found in Paul Hebborn’s scrip. Thomas was curiously relieved by the discovery.
‘Hashish. Then Morrish is the source of the opium the students are using.’
‘If no one else has a key, I suppose he is.’
Bacon closed the lid of the chest and jiggled the lock so that it snapped shut again. Thomas pushed i
t back under the table. But the efforts at concealment seemed pointless.
‘Who do you think that was outside the door? Morrish, or one of the students?’
The friar smiled gently.
‘We shall know soon enough. In fact, it may have helped precipitate matters nicely. Though I would advise you to watch your back over the next few days, Thomas Symon. If it was the killer of the two boys, he will not hesitate to kill again to keep his secret.’
Thomas felt a shiver run up his spine.
‘But what about you, Master Bacon? Your safety is at risk too.’
‘Oh, I shall be safe enough in the friary. It is a virtual prison – as I know only too well. What successfully keeps people in will also be well able to keep others out.’ He grasped Thomas’s arm to emphasize what he was saying. ‘But you must be altogether more careful. Keep to the abbey tonight, and tell William what has happened. It is as well you sleep in the same room at St Victor’s.’
Thomas refrained from saying that he wasn’t sure if Falconer would even be in the abbey tonight. That Saphira’s charms might keep him elsewhere. But he nodded his head.
‘I will do so, sir.’
‘And another thing, Thomas. I think we behave as normal tomorrow. If we meet here and I lecture, and then we carry on with the preparation of the compendium, we will be in the best position to see who is absent or troubled in any way.’
‘Agreed.’
They trooped downstairs, and Thomas locked up. Then, with a fearful look over his shoulder, the younger man hurried down the street towards the St Victor Gate. Bacon, though just as concerned about every shadow and sound, took a deep breath and made himself calmly walk back to the sanctuary of his friary.
TWENTY-TWO
Thomas Symon, hastening back to the abbey before it got too dark, was surprised to see Falconer standing in the Place Maubert. And with him was the comely person of Saphira Le Veske, locks of her lively red hair escaping from her snood as they always did. Falconer touched her arm and spoke as Thomas approached them.
‘There, I told you that, if we waited long enough, Thomas would pass by.’ He winked at her. ‘I think he can’t resist the charms of the tavern of the Withered Vine.’
Thomas fell into the trap before realizing he was being teased.
‘I most certainly can do without the filthy vinegar such a place sells in pretence it is wine. I…’ He took a deep breath, and began again, bowing his head to Saphira. ‘I am most pleased to see you again, Mistress Le Veske.’
‘Oh, please, Thomas, we don’t need to be so formal, do we? William was only just saying how much more relaxed you had become since discovering the joys of unwatered red wine.’
Thomas began to blush, and would have protested had he not seen the broad smile on Saphira’s face. He was not going to be caught out again.
‘Indeed, Saphira. Though I cannot compare in consumption of such a treat as my good drinking companion, Master Falconer. Do you know the gentleman?’
Saphira gave a little curtsey.
‘I believe I have heard of the fellow. A ruffian, by all accounts.’
Falconer held up his hands in defeat.
‘Very well, I am rebuffed. But there is a purpose in our waiting to intercept you, Thomas. We need to talk, but I think here is too public to discuss what I have in mind.’ He cast a glance at Saphira. ‘Perhaps you can accommodate us in Pletzel?’
Saphira nodded her agreement.
‘That would be acceptable, good sir. Though I have not got enough wine on tap to satisfy two such great topers as I see before me.’
Falconer waved his finger at her.
‘Take care or what you jest about may come to pass. This errand of the king is becoming more and more exasperating. It is enough to drive a pious cardinal to drink.’
They all three walked back the way Thomas had come towards the bridges across the Seine. The young man was curious.
‘Pletzel? Where’s that?’
Falconer smiled at him.
‘You will see.’ Noticing they were passing Adam Morrish’s school, he asked Thomas about his progress. ‘Have you determined if the clerks have been dabbling with substances they shouldn’t?’
‘Yes, we have. Friar Bacon helped me find hashish stored in Master Adam’s chest.’ He gazed at Falconer as they crossed the Petit Pont. The sun was dipping below the buildings either side of the bridge, and it felt suddenly cold. ‘He’s an extraordinary fellow is Friar Bacon. For a pious man, he has much devilment in him.’
Falconer burst out laughing at Thomas’s bewilderment.
‘Roger is an enigma and a genius rolled into one. Never underestimate him.’
Having crossed to the Right Bank, they walked through the hiring square, which was now almost empty of people. Falconer and Thomas then followed Saphira through a maze of lanes until they stood in a neat courtyard hard under the walls of Paris. Saphira held her hands up.
‘Pletzel.’
‘The Jewish quarter,’ explained Falconer, indicating that Thomas should follow Saphira into the house outside which they stood. The kitchen fire was already lit, and it banished the chill of the encroaching evening. Saphira broke some bread and poured three goblets of red wine.
‘It is watered a little, Thomas. Though, as it is Le Veske wine, it is far superior to the vinegar purveyed at the Withered Vine.’
Thomas took the proffered goblet and sipped cautiously. It was a delicious wine. Falconer settled down in a chair by the kitchen fire and drank deeply of Saphira’s wine. The others sat too, and a companionable silence ensued while they drank. Finally, Falconer spoke.
‘I would like to hear about your findings, Thomas. And any conclusions you may have come to. I have ignored Hebborn’s and Fusoris’ deaths too long. And Saphira may have some insights to offer too.’
Thomas might have been offended at William’s suggestion that he couldn’t solve the case on his own. But truth to tell, he was floundering and was glad to have someone else examining the evidence. It may help to unravel the knots. He repeated all he knew about the deaths, concluding with his suspicions about the students with whom Hebborn and Fusoris had consorted.
‘There is a group of them who definitely ate potions that affected their minds, and perhaps their actions. The same type of opium was in Master Adam’s chest as that which we found, William, in Hebborn’s scrip. But whether the master allowed the hashish to be used, or it had been stolen from him by Malpoivre, I don’t yet know.’
It was Saphira who leaned forward first to throw a question into the ring.
‘Hashish, you say? The Assassins’ drug?’
Thomas nodded. After all, that was the very response he had made to Bacon a little earlier. Saphira turned to Falconer, a quizzical look on her handsome face.
‘And you still say these cases are unrelated?’
Falconer frowned and stared hard at Saphira.
‘I still cannot see it.’ But yet there was something that troubled him, and he decided to tell the others what he had learned from Odo de Reppes. ‘It is true that Edward was attacked in Outremer by an Assassin behaving wildly. However – and this is almost certainly a false direction to go in concerning the students – let me tell you what I know, and what the Templar said to me today.’
He told them all he had learned before speaking to Odo de Reppes about Edward’s close encounter with death at the hands of Anzazim. He then summarized all that de Reppes had said about the de Montfort brothers.
‘He said that he and the brothers had drunk too much wine before the murder of Henry of Almain. That afterwards it all seemed to happen in a dream.’
‘Could they too have been drugged?’
It was Saphira’s question, and it demanded an answer. But Falconer was not certain enough what the answer should be.
‘I once ate khat leaves by accident. I don’t think I could have killed a fly in the state I was in afterwards. Besides, why would the brothers need to eat hashish in order to carry out the mur
der, if as is said they were angry enough anyway?’
Thomas threw his question in then.
‘Would they have been so incensed as to do something so openly outrageous and stupid? Why kill Henry so publicly? Would they not have needed someone or something to egg them on?’
Falconer remembered Odo de Reppes’ final words before Guillaume had returned with his water. The warning about the other brother – Amaury de Montfort.
‘I keep coming back to the thought that someone has been manipulating things without revealing himself.’ He looked at Thomas. ‘What do you know of Amaury de Montfort?’
‘The youngest brother?’ Thomas racked his brains – he had been a youth during the Barons’ War ten years earlier. ‘He must be thirty years of age by now. He was a clerk, not a warrior, certainly, and his father made him treasurer of York. But it was an empty appointment, for soon after the Battle of Evesham King Henry denounced it and replaced him. When he fled to the Pope to plead his case, I believe he continued his studies, but I don’t know where.’
Falconer filled in the gaps.
‘I do. It was at Padua, and he went in for medicine. The rumour in Oxford was that he was so lazy it took him two years to get round to returning three medical treatises he had borrowed from the abbot of Monte Cassino. But the name of de Montfort was not a popular one in university circles by then.’
This piece of information gave Thomas an uneasy feeling in his gut, but before he could speak out Falconer carried on.
‘Talking of names, Odo de Reppes told me something else that would have meant nothing to him, but struck a chord with me. He was telling me of the disinherited – those families in England that lost everything due to siding with Earl Simon – and one of them was Hebborn.’
Thomas was startled by the revelation.
‘Paul Hebborn’s family lost everything during the Barons’ War? No wonder he was struggling to finance himself at the university here.’
Saphira chipped in too.
‘And from what you tell me, it is no surprise, then, that he allied himself with the young moneybags, Malpoivre, despite being bullied unmercifully by him. He did it just to survive.’
