Falconer's Trial

by Ian Morson

  De Godfree stepped back and sat down. Skepwith coughed, shuffled his feet, and glanced nervously at the chancellor. Bek for his part smiled encouragingly, though his heart was thumping at having to rely on this weak man for the final piece of evidence. Edward Skepwith took a deep breath and began. It was a tale that went back nearly ten years to the Barons War, when King Henry was opposed by Simon de Montfort, and for a brief period lost his throne. The university at Oxford was divided in its allegiance and bitter disputes rocked its foundations. Skepwith’s face became flushed as he recited his story.

  ‘You will recall that Smith Gate in the north of the town was locked against us, and it took a concerted effort by the students, myself included, to pull down the gates and gain access to the fields beyond. King Henry was outside the town, and whoever locked those gates wanted to stop us showing our support. I was later told that William Falconer was instrumental in having the gates locked.’

  Falconer smiled ruefully. There was some twisted truth in what Skepwith said. He had arranged for the gate to be locked, but it had been to stop a murderer escaping, not to keep the students inside. The near riot had been an unfortunate result of his decision. Some had even seen the event as the opposite to what Skepwith was suggesting. That the students had been locked in to prevent them showing their support for de Montfort. But time and the defeat of de Montfort by Henry had distorted the view. Half-truths could be used to support both sides of an argument. As a scholar, Falconer was used to this. He waited with resignation as Edward Skepwith concluded his accusation.

  ‘William Falconer supported the barons against his rightful king. And now he has murdered the wife of the man who was in a position to reveal this latest treason to us. He was involved in conspiracy before, and is besmirched with it again.’

  Bek smirked as Skepwith made his way back to his seat at the rear of the church. It had all been well arranged by Henry de Godfree, and he was sure of the verdict he would get from the assembled masters. He could have concluded matters there and then, but wished to give his bid for power the best possible chance of legitimacy. Besides, he felt like savouring the feeling of control for a while longer. He rose to speak.

  ‘Regent Masters of the Black Congregation of the University of Oxford, you have heard all the evidence available. Your decision should not be hasty, however. We shall reconvene after the dinner hour at nones in the afternoon.’

  Peter Bullock decided to ride out to Godstow nunnery as it was too distant for his ancient legs. As he cleared the ramshackle outskirts of town, and the White Friars monastery at Beaumont, he could see clearly all the way across Port Meadow to the north. The sun was already making the view hazy, but he detected a figure dressed in green crossing the meadow on foot in the same direction. He thought he recognized who it was and spurred his rouncey on to a canter. As he closed the gap between them, the shimmering figure soon resolved itself into the shapely form of Saphira Le Veske. When he was a few yards behind her, she took note of the advancing horse and stopped. She turned to see who it was, tucking her burnished, unruly locks more firmly into her snood. Bullock reined in beside her and dismounted.

  ‘Mistress Le Veske. What are you doing out here so early in the day?’

  ‘I might ask the same of you, Constable Bullock.’

  ‘I have business in the vicinity. And you?’

  Each was aware of the guarded tones of the other, though Saphira was not clear why Peter Bullock had recently clammed up on her. If he was reluctant to be open with her about his investigation, she decided he would not have the chance to accuse her of the same. While he hesitated, she explained her business.

  ‘I am here, Peter, at the behest of William. He is otherwise engaged, after all, and has asked me to go to the nunnery on his behalf.’

  Bullock was puzzled. How did Falconer know about Odo de Reppes’s sister having died in the nunnery recently?

  ‘The nunnery? Then we are both going in the same direction. Shall we walk together?’

  Saphira nodded, and side by side they walked along the footpath across the meadow, Bullock leading his nag by the reins. It took only a few moments of studied silence on Saphira’s part to get the constable talking.

  ‘How did William find out about the death of Odo’s sister?’

  Odo’s sister? This was news to Saphira, but she didn’t let on to Bullock that neither she nor William knew that. This was getting more and more interesting.

  ‘Ann Segrim told William of Sister Marie’s death. I think she wanted confirmation that she had made the right deduction in calling it suicide. But you know William. Any death following close on another is cause for deep suspicion.’

  For his part, Bullock was now intrigued. He hadn’t known that Ann had looked into the death of Odo’s sister on Gwladys’s behalf. How did this fit in with Odo’s possible involvement in Ann’s death? His mind was whirling and he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Saphira walked on a few paces before she realized her companion was transfixed. Turning back, she knew they both had to be honest with each other, if they were to help William. She took Bullock’s arm and squeezed it firmly.

  ‘Peter, we must share our knowledge, if we are to get anywhere.’

  Bullock cast his eyes down to the dusty track unsure what to say.

  ‘Do you still trust me, Peter?’

  He took a deep breath and voiced his fears.

  ‘I did not know what to think when I discovered you were learning the art of poisoning. And then Falconer told me it was you who prepared the potion he took to Ann. I even have a message you wrote telling Falconer you knew all about poisons and for him to beware.’

  He pulled the scrap of parchment he had found in Falconer’s solar from his purse. It was crumpled and stained from his regular rereading of it, but the writing was still legible. Saphira, who had forgotten all about the note, read it out loud.

  ‘Take care! This preparation is dangerous. I should know, because I now have learned how to poison someone!’

  She laughed uproariously.

  ‘And you think I poisoned Ann based on this piece of parchment?’

  Bullock’s face went red, and he began to bluster his way out of an embarrassing situation. Saphira put her warm fingers over his lips.

  ‘Peter. I wrote this half as a joke when I found William had taken something very dangerous simply to see if he could tell what it was. It was henbane, if I recall, and he might have killed himself. But he was always the empiricist.’

  Bullock didn’t know what she meant by the word, but he now believed that William trusted her. And therefore so should he.

  ‘Saphira, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Then say nothing. Except to tell me what you know about Odo de Reppes’s sister. Because neither I nor William knew who she was. Only that a nun had died recently. And Ann thought she had killed herself.’

  They walked on, sharing what they knew. Bullock explained that he understood that Odo de Reppes had only learned of his sister’s death after arriving in the area. Laurence de Bernere knew little about Odo, but thought his desire to speak to his sister must have been occasioned by a deep need. Here, Bullock quoted part of the Rule of the Templar Order by way of explanation.

  ‘“Let them not have familiarity with women. We believe it is dangerous for any religious to look too much upon the face of woman. For this reason, none may presume to kiss a woman, be it widow, young girl, mother or sister… ”.’

  ‘Perhaps he felt he was too deep in whatever conspiracy he had become involved in, and needed someone to confide in who could not or would not speak to others.’

  ‘You may be right, Saphira. But only Odo knows that, and his sister is now dead.’

  ‘Then what do you hope to find out at Godstow?’

  Bullock gave a deep sigh.

  ‘To be frank, I do not know. I confess I am out of my depth here. What I need is Falconer’s guidance. Thomas is willing, but he is as lost in this maze of half-truths and lies as I am.’

>   ‘Then I can help. I told you that I spoke to William yesterday. And he has been thinking about this. I give thanks that he is almost back to his old self.’

  Bullock grinned.

  ‘You mean he is driving everyone around him mad with his damned incomprehensible logic?’

  ‘That too, Peter. That too. But between us we have eliminated Covele the talisman seller from consideration.’

  She explained to him how she had come to that conclusion, and he gladly accepted her opinion. Then she went on to describe what William knew about the death of Sister Marie. What Ann had told him before she died.

  ‘She said she had spoken to all of the nuns, and examined the means of access to Marie’s cell and the nunnery generally. As you probably know, the nunnery cloister where the cells are located can only accessed by the main door from the outer court, which is kept locked. There are two other doors apparently – from the days when nuns from rich families used to entertain their relatives – but these have long been closed and barred. No man is allowed into the inner cloister. Sister Marie must have died by her own hand. Or at the hands of another nun.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘I think that is what left a little doubt in Ann Segrim’s mind. She did not see the body, but was told the nun had been found when she failed to attend the Night Office in the early hours of the morning. They found her with her bedclothes cast aside and lying face down on the floor. Her eyes were wide open and she had a look of fear about her, apparently. There were some local herbs amongst the rushes on her cell floor, but these had been cleared away before Ann could look at them. She concluded that Marie had taken something poisonous quite deliberately, at a time when she would not be missed for several hours. The prioress had admitted that she was probably doubting her vocation.’

  Bullock wondered if that was why Odo had come to Oxford. Had his sister got a message to him somehow asking him to free her?

  ‘Does Falconer think Ann got it wrong? That the girl was murdered after all?’

  ‘He simply doesn’t know. And that is why he asked me to come here. Not knowing is an unacceptable situation for William. Until he knows why and how Marie died, he cannot tell if Ann’s involvement in the sad business had any bearing on her death. And as we didn’t know until now that Marie was Odo de Reppes’s sister, I am not sure if that has anything to do with it either.’

  They now stood at the rickety bridge that led over the stream towards the nunnery gatehouse. They paused for a while, staring at the stone archway.

  ‘As a woman, Peter, it may be possible for me to gain access to the nunnery, where you cannot. Can I suggest we divide our resources. I will speak to the prioress, and you see if you can glean anything from the gatekeeper.’

  ‘If he is sober. Very well, I must admit I was not relishing crossing swords with Mother Gwladys this morning. Hal Coke is by far a preferable witness to tackle. So let’s get on with it.’

  They crossed the bridge over the stream which sparkled and rippled under their feet, and entered the nunnery under the imposing stone arch. Bullock pointed Saphira towards the large door across the interior courtyard set with its own grille at head height.

  ‘Knock there and someone will come. I’ll deal with him.’

  He tipped a thumb at the gatekeeper, Hal Coke, who rather belatedly was lumbering out of his office at the side of the gateway. Saphira strode across the yard, while Bullock grabbed the protesting Coke by the arm and steered him back to his office. She knocked tentatively on the door, and when there was no immediate response, hammered loud enough to waken the dead. The stony face of an old crone, wrinkled and disapproving appeared at the grille. It peered short-sightedly at Saphira and then, apparently unsatisfied with the inspection, it spoke through thin, sour lips.

  ‘You have no need to hammer down the door, I am not deaf, you know.’

  A quieter, firmer voice came from behind the crone.

  ‘Oh, yes you are, Sister Hildegard. That is why you are my constant companion when I speak to people outside the confines of this nunnery. You offer me an unenviable discretion based on your infirmity. Remember?’

  Hildegard’s sour face turned red and disappeared from the opening. It was replaced by an almost equally old, but much more serene visage. Saphira guessed this would be Mother Gwladys, and detected a Welsh lilt in her voice. It reminded her of the Bretons far to the north of her old homeland.

  ‘Forgive me for disturbing your contemplation, Mother Gwladys, but I need to speak with you. Confidentially.’

  The eyes on the other side of the grille looked hard at Saphira, examining her carefully. They took in the shape of her face and the colouring of her skin which, despite the tint of Saphira’s hair and her green eyes, was a darker, richer hue than that of the normal, pale-skinned ladies of England. She felt as though the prioress was weighing her very substance, assessing the nature of her soul. An attribute which no doubt stood Gwladys in good stead when it came to seeing to the heart of the nuns she mothered. The prioress smiled wryly.

  ‘I do not suppose you are here to convert to our faith, are you?’

  Saphira smiled back, seeing the woman knew her for a Jew.

  ‘Your supposition is correct. I am here at the behest of the constable of Oxford to talk to you about the death of Mistress Segrim.’

  ‘Then you had better come in, so that we can talk privately. Hildegard, dear, will you unlock the door. I think Master Coke is busy.’

  The crone’s face reappeared at the grille, a look on it betrayed extreme disapproval of both Saphira the Jew and the subject she had come to discuss. A key grated in the lock and the door swung open.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Mother Gwladys’s chamber was austere but smelled sweetly of dried herbs. Saphira, even with her newly acquired medicinal knowledge, could certainly detect lavender, but was not sure of the other scents. The prioress invited Saphira to sit, and then sat down opposite her, leaving Hildegard to hover at her shoulder like some grotesque gargoyle.

  ‘We were all shocked to hear of Mistress Segrim’s death. She had been a friend to us all here. But tell me, why is the constable enquiring into her demise? Our chaplain told us that the university was trying one of its regent masters for her murder.’

  ‘William Falconer, yes. But he was… very close to Ann Segrim. He is innocent of her murder.’

  Gwladys nodded wisely.

  ‘Ah, yes. It was no doubt him she spoke of once when she called on me. Nothing by way of a confession, I hasten to add, or I could not talk of it. But she said they had been estranged for a while, and blamed a certain person who had arrived lately in the town.’

  Gwladys’s look was directed straight at Saphira at this point. She blushed, knowing the prioress had correctly divined her own part in this triangle of disaffection. She looked down at her lap while Gwladys continued.

  ‘I reminded Ann of her wifely duties and we said no more of it.’

  ‘Yes. But I believe that there was another matter you discussed with Ann at the time. The death of a nun.’

  Hildegard hissed like a snake roused from its slumbers. Gwladys, however, merely raised her hand to silence her companion.

  ‘There was a confidential matter we discussed concerning the good running of the nunnery. Mistress Segrim was good enough to give us some advice from her point of view as a more… worldly woman.’ Gwladys smiled ruefully. ‘Sometimes our communion with God blinds us to the goings-on of the outside world.’

  Hildegard crossed herself, as if warding off any evil Saphira might have brought from the world her prioress made reference to. But it was an evil that Ann had detected already lurking inside these walls that had caused the nun’s death. Saphira was about to press the matter, revealing that she knew the circumstances of the nun’s death, when a pale face was thrust round the door of the prioress’s chamber. If she had been feeling uncharitable, Saphira might have assumed the nun, who now enquired if any sustenance was required, had been eavesdropping at the
door. Hildegard would have waved her away, not wishing to waste good Christian food and drink on a Jew. But Gwladys suggested some watered wine. The girl ran off to fetch it, and was soon back fussing around Saphira. Gwladys gave her a hard stare, but continued her conversation nevertheless.

  ‘Mistress Le Veske, I will be frank with you. Ann Segrim talked to the nuns here, and came to a conclusion that was most unpalatable concerning a poor member of our community who died recently.’

  ‘That it was self-murder.’

  The young nun serving Saphira her watered wine almost dropped the jug she was holding at this brutal statement. The wine splashed on Saphira’s dress and the nun gasped out her apologies. She tried to wipe the stain away with her hand, her big, brown eyes filled with horror. Whether at the accident or the mention of suicide, Saphira could not tell. She lifted the nun’s hand from her dress. It was trembling.

  ‘It is of no importance, dear. Do not worry.’

  She looked into the nun’s eyes and detected a deep pain in their depths. What had frightened the girl so? Gwladys broke in and motioned for the girl to leave the room.

  ‘Sister Margaret, do get a grip on yourself. Calm and contemplation on your misdeeds is what you need now. Go.’

  Mumbling her apologies, the pale nun left. Gwladys continued the conversation as if nothing had happened, a homely smile on her face.

  ‘Self-murder was too extreme an opinion, though we were grateful for Mistress Segrim’s views. I am sure it was an unfortunate accident. The girl drank some concoction of her own, while confused about her state of mind. She was no doubt seeking a cure for some imagined ill, and took something that had the opposite of a curative effect.’

  Saphira could tell that Gwladys was hiding the truth from her. She made one last attempt to uncover whatever it was the prioress was unwilling to reveal.

  ‘There is a most pleasant scent in the room. I can detect lavender, but what are the other herbs you use?’

  Gwladys, a little surprised at the change in the conversation, relaxed and detailed the aromatic herbs she liked to use. Saphira smiled and carried on her indirect inquiry.