by Ian Morson
‘What? Like now.’
There was a quiet cough behind her and she started back from the cell door, blushing. Peter Bullock stepped out of the darkness, jangling some keys on a ring.
‘I don’t want to interrupt your sweet blandishments, but I have a plan to ensure William’s safety.’
Saphira looked worriedly at the constable, then at Falconer.
‘I thought you said you were confident the verdict would be overturned, William?’
‘I am. But Peter seems to think otherwise.’
Bullock inserted a key in the cell door, jiggling it to make it turn.
‘I do. I do not subscribe to your naïve trust in justice prevailing. No good you being exonerated later, if your neck is already stretched from a gallows tree. I just want to make it difficult for Bek to find you, should he take it into his head to hang you before the king’s justices arrive.’
He swung the door open and Falconer went to step out. Then he stopped in his tracks.
‘Saphira, you said that there was evidence of henbane in Marie’s cell.’
‘According to Sister Margaret, yes. I think the girl was suggesting her fellow nun took her own life. Even though in the very next breath, she insisted Marie did not.’
‘But why would someone seek to abort their child and kill themselves at the same time? Self-murder would achieve both ends in one. This Margaret needs to be spoken to again. She knows something she is trying to hide.’
‘I think so too. That is why I am going to speak to the chaplain of the nunnery tomorrow. You know him as one of your colleagues – Ralph Cornish.’
‘Cornish? I knew he had a living locally, but I did not know it was so close. Bearing in mind how hard he worked to convict me, it will be quite an irony if he can help me prove my innocence in the end.’
Bullock pulled Falconer clear of the door and swung it closed behind him.
‘Now, if you have finished your philosophizing, I would like to hide you away in St George’s Tower before daylight reveals you are missing. And that I have committed a most heinous crime. Come.’
He hurried his prisoner and co-conspirator, Saphira, down Bocardo Lane, past Trillock’s Inn, and through into the courtyard of the castle. They met no one on the way, but he was still not happy until Falconer was safely ensconced in the uppermost room of the tower that formed his quarters as constable. It would be very hard for the chancellor, whatever he might suspect of the constable’s complicity in Falconer’s disappearance, to insist on searching there. He did make Saphira return to her own house, though, and exhorted her to behave as though she did not know William’s whereabouts. He could not be sure how far Bek might push his luck, after all.
TWENTY-SIX
Saphira made sure she was in Sumnor’s Lane first thing in the morning. The narrow lane ran close under the northern ramparts of the town walls. If Ralph Cornish were to be going to the nunnery, or to the schools nearby, he would pass along this lane. The early morning sun had not risen high enough to warm the lane, and Saphira shivered with the cold. Clouds heaving themselves darkly across the sky warned of rain. A break in the hot dry weather would be welcome, but she was not prepared for a downpour, if she had to wait too long. She need not have worried. Promptly on the sound of the terce bells, a stern-faced man garbed all in black emerged from Black Hall. A bruise marred his left cheek, and Saphira could tell it was the same man who had passed her and Bullock on Port Meadow yesterday. He walked briskly towards her, but as he went to pass, she stepped from the shadows.
‘Master Cornish? May we speak?’
‘I am a busy man, mistress. What is it you want?’
‘It’s a rather delicate matter concerning the nunnery.’
Ralph Cornish suddenly showed more interest in this apparently chance encounter. His eyes narrowed.
‘As you clearly know that I am chaplain to Godstow, then you must also realize that any business concerning the nunnery is private. Or even subject to the confidentiality of the confessional. I cannot answer your question.’
He made to push past Saphira, but she grabbed his arm and stopped him. Surprised at this woman’s firm action and vice-like grip, Cornish hesitated. Saphira continued.
‘Don’t you even want to know what the question is before you refuse to answer?’
Cornish gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, as if this nuisance was a mere fly that could be swatted and forgotten.
‘Ask it.’
‘Did you speak to Ann Segrim when she was at the nunnery the last time?’
‘Before William Falconer poisoned her, you mean? I am afraid I didn’t. I was engaged on my teaching duties here and had not been to the nunnery for a few days. I regret that now, for I feel I neglected the poor unfortunate child who died. She might have been alive if she had been able to confess her sins to me. Mistress Segrim’s… involvement… in seeking the causes of her death were no doubt well meaning, but fruitless. It was an accident.’
‘Do you know if Ann spoke to all the nuns?’
Cornish was beginning to get restless at Saphira’s enquiries.
‘No. I do not know for sure, though the prioress told me later that she had.’
‘So, she must have spoken to Sister Margaret, for example. Perhaps she noticed something odd in her behaviour. Did Mother Gwladys mention that to you?’
‘Sister Margaret? No, she did not say anything. And I am sure as her chaplain I would have noticed anything strange in the sister’s behaviour myself. Now if you will excuse me.’
Saphira still held on to Cornish’s arm, so he could not break away without using force.
‘Then, do you not think there is something amiss with Sister Margaret now?’
‘Just who are you?’ Cornish wrenched his arm free of her grip, an angry look on his face. ‘You are that Jew, aren’t you? Falconer’s whore.’
Saphira raised her arm, aiming to slap his face, but he quickly grabbed it. Then suddenly all the heat seemed to go out of him. His face, which had become a mask of anger, once more slipped into the solemn mien he had worn when he emerged from Black Hall.
‘Mistress. Forgive me, but these events have disturbed me, and I feel guilty at neglecting my care for the nuns. You have touched a sore point. Though I am convinced of Falconer’s guilt still, I will speak to Sister Margaret. If there is anything burdening her soul, I will help her. I can say no more than that. Whatever she tells me will be in confidence.’
Saphira, thrown off course by Cornish’s swift turnabout, could only acquiesce. At least Margaret would get an ear to listen to her troubles. Saphira would have to find another way of discovering what those troubles were, though. With a godly smile on his face, Ralph Cornish took his leave of her, and she turned back towards Jewry. She had only got to the end of Jewry Lane, when she became aware of a commotion outside Samson’s house. An old man, holding on to a steaming nag with one hand, was beating on the old man’s door with the other. Knowing Samson’s fear of abrupt and noisy hammerings on his door, she hurried over to see what the problem was.
‘What in heaven’s name are you doing?’
The old man turned to her and she recognized him as one of Segrim’s servants. His face was pale and his breathing was heavy and irregular. She thought perhaps he was ill and was seeking Samson’s aid. But she was wrong. Between rasping gulps of air, Sekston gasped out his mission.
‘It’s Master Eddington. He’s took ill. Bad.’
Saphira was at once scornful of the urgency of the situation, recalling Alexander Eddington’s propensities for drinking too much.
‘Tell him to drink less and he will recover. Now stop disturbing good men in their own homes.’
She went to walk away, but Sekston called out after her.
‘No. It’s not that. He is sorely ill. The same as the mistress was. Please can you help?’
The same illness as afflicted Ann? Then Eddington’s life was in danger. She made an immediate decision.
‘Go to the Golden Ball Inn, tell them to
saddle me a rouncey, and bring it here. I will gather some necessities.’
She went into her house and quickly scanned her notes made from Rabbi Maimonides’s treatise on poisons that was Samson’s trusted guide on such matters. The celebrated Spanish Jew recommended an emetic, and Saphira placed a stone jar of oil in a convenient box, along with some dried anethum, and some asafoetida, natron and cabbage seed. The rest of her needs could be supplied at Botley Manor. By the time she emerged from her front door with the precious box in her arms, Sekston was back with a sound horse, saddled and ready for her. They mounted up, and picked their way through the crowds that were beginning to throng the streets of Oxford. Once out through North Gate, they were able to encourage their horses to a greater speed. But despite the urgency of the errand, Saphira suddenly reined her rouncey in and slipped to the roadside. Sekston, who was barely keeping pace on his old nag, called out in horror.
‘What are you doing, mistress. The master is dying.’
Saphira pointed to a feathery plant beside the track.
‘Look. Fresh dill. It will be much more effective than the dried anethum I have brought.’
She grabbed up a handful of the aniseed-smelling herb, and climbed back on her mount. When they galloped into the courtyard at Botley, an anxious Sir Humphrey already stood at the door to let her in. She left Sekston to deal with the horses, and grabbing her box, ran up the steps to the manor house door. The old knight, trembling with shock, led her directly to a small solar at the back of the raised gallery above the old hall. Eddington lay on his bed, pale and still. For a moment she thought she was too late, but then he groaned and threshed his limbs.
‘Please help him. He is my brother. I cannot bear the thought that he will die as Ann did.’
Sir Humphrey’s face was grey and his shoulders bent, as if with a heavy burden. He had clearly been deeply disturbed by what had been happening around him for a long while now. This could be the final straw that broke him. Saphira murmured reassurances, even though she could not be certain she was in time to save Eddington. She opened her box and issued firm orders to the servants who stood, mouths agape, in the doorway.
‘Fetch me fresh milk and cream if you have it, but first take this dill and steep it in warm water.’
Sir Humphrey turned to his servants, who were stupefied by the events. He growled out a peremptory set of commands.
‘Sally, take the dill and boil it in the water on the fire in the kitchen. Margery, you go to the dairy and bring milk and cream. Now.’
It was not long before Sally returned with a cauldron of water smelling strongly of aniseed. She set it down on the floor and Saphira poured a good dose of oil into it, stirring it with her hand.
‘Now. Give me a drinking cup.’
Segrim picked up a pewter goblet from the floor, tossing the dregs of red wine from it on to the rushes. He passed it to Saphira. She filled it from the cauldron, and sat beside Alexander Eddington. She lifted him easily with her right arm and held the goblet up to his lips.
‘Here, drink this. All of it.’
Alexander groaned, shaking his head. But Saphira persisted.
‘Imagine it is a fine Rhenish.’
Alexander opened a bleary eye and Saphira saw the redness in them. Like devil’s eyes. This was a clear sign of arsenic poisoning. He drank deeply, spluttering a little at the taste. She replenished the goblet and forced him to drink again. He did so, and then began to heave and groan. She stepped back from the bed, just as Eddington lurched upward and vomited noisily over the side and on to the floor.
‘What have you done?’ cried Segrim. ‘He is worse.’
Eddington himself now saw who had been treating him and raised a shaky finger to point at Saphira.
‘She is Falconer’s accomplice. Why have you let her in here to finish the deed?’
Saphira stayed calm and smiled as the patient once more vomited over the floor. She steeled herself to observe what he had brought up. He obviously had had much red wine in his stomach from the watery spew that was spreading across the floor. But there were also semi-digested lumps of food. She explained what she had done.
‘No, I have not finished you off.’ She looked at Sir Humphrey. ‘It is essential first to rid his stomach of whatever has poisoned him. That much we have achieved already. Then he will drink plenty of milk and fats to neutralize the poison and line his stomach, so there is a barrier between the poison and his tissues. I dare say he will begin to feel better soon.’
Eddington flopped back on his bed, holding his head.
‘I am dying.’
‘On the contrary, you are going to survive. Now you have rid your body of what poisoned you. Can you say what you have been eating recently?’
Sir Humphrey butted in.
‘That is what is curious. He eats at my table, of course, and drinks of my wine. We have all shared the same food. What could have caused this?’
Eddington groaned.
‘I know. The sweetmeats. Ann came back from the nunnery one day with a supply of dried dates and figs that the prioress had given her. I love sweet things. I could not bear to see them wasted after Ann… passed away. I have been eating them the last few days.’
There was a cry behind them and the crash of a heavy bucket hitting the floor. Margery had only just returned from the dairy with warm, creamy milk to hear Eddington’s admission of greed. The bucket had fallen from her grip and the rich milk was running across the floor in a bluish river.
‘Oh, Lord. The sweetmeats. The mistress ate some every day. I even tempted her with some when she was ill. I took some to her on the day she died.’
She looked in horror from one startled face to another.
‘I poisoned her.’
Having sent Sekston back to Oxford to summon Thomas and Bullock, Saphira rode as swiftly as possible up the river bank towards Wytham woods. She hoped that Cornish had not already said something that would send Sister Margaret over the edge. As she galloped, her mind was in turmoil trying to figure out what had driven the nun to poison Ann Segrim. It obviously had to do with Ann’s questioning of the nuns about the earlier death. If Margaret was guilty of causing Marie’s death, she would then have wished to silence Ann Segrim. But once Ann had come to the conclusion she did about the cause of Marie’s death – that is, self-murder – was there any point? Margaret had seemed ambivalent about the slur on Marie’s name when she spoke to Saphira. She had hinted to it as a possibility because of the herbs she had found. But then she had been vehement about Marie’s purity. Self-murder was a terrible sin before God. Mother Gwladys had concealed the possibility in order to spare the dead girl, and the nunnery, the shame. But it appeared more likely now that Margaret had killed Marie herself, and then tried to kill Ann before she spoke to the prioress about her conclusions. It was unfortunate that the arsenic hadn’t worked in time. Margaret must then have been horrified that Ann hadn’t revealed her complicity, and she had been in the clear. More so because she saw she couldn’t prevent Ann later eating the poisoned sweetmeats without giving away her guilt.
Saphira had barely reached this conclusion when she was in sight of Godstow nunnery. Her horse clattered over the bridge and she pulled on the reins in a strangely silent courtyard. There was no sign of Hal Coke and, more alarmingly, the door leading into the nunnery was ajar. She slipped off the horse’s back and strode over to the entrance. Suddenly, Ralph Cornish appeared in the doorway, his face a ghastly grey, and shock showing in his deep-set, brown eyes.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sister Margaret was hanging from one of the beams in her cell, a stout cord round her neck. Peter Bullock looked up at the way the cord was pinched tight round her throat, and at her bulging eyes speckled red with broken blood vessels. He cast a glance at Thomas Symon, who stood in one corner of the cell transfixed by the sight.
‘No doubt, then?’
‘What? Oh…’ The young scholar tore his horrified gaze from the unfortunate nun’s purple face, an
d the protruding tongue. ‘No, Master Bullock. I am sure she died from asphyxiation caused by the cord.’
Bullock contained his impatience, knowing this was new territory for the youth.
‘I mean, she inflicted it upon herself.’
‘Ah. I cannot say for sure, but there does not seem to be any signs of violence.’
In fact, Symon had not inspected the body closely. Nor did he think it appropriate for him to do so. She was, after all, a nun who had dedicated herself – body and soul – to God. Bullock sighed and climbed on to the bed. He took his dagger out to saw through the cord. As he did so, the body rocked and began to swing.
‘Thomas, take hold of her, for God’s sake. I only have one pair of hands.’
Thomas blushed, and stepping forward, held the still-warm body around the waist. He was very conscious of her female form, though she felt a little bony. He prayed silently for God’s forgiveness for any unclean thoughts. Suddenly the cord was sundered by Bullock’s dagger and the corpse slumped over Thomas’s shoulder. He felt her breasts pressing against his back and almost dropped her there and then. Quickly, he stepped forward and tipped Margaret’s dead form on the bed of her cell. He wondered if he would ever be able to dissect a female in the same way his predecessor in Falconer’s service, Richard Bonham, had. At that moment, he doubted it. Hearing a gasp from the doorway of the cell, he stood away from the body. Mother Gwladys hurried over to the bed and arranged Margaret’s hands in a prayerful attitude.
‘However will we recover from this? Two deaths in a few weeks, and this one self-harm without a doubt.’
Bullock refrained from reminding the prioress that the previous one – the death of Marie – had probably been no accident, as Gwladys had asserted at the time. In fact, it was now likely that the one had led to the other, together with the murder of Ann Segrim. Ralph Cornish was even now sitting in his office in the outer courtyard of the nunnery, after intimating that Margaret had as much as admitted to him that she had been responsible for Ann’s murder. The constable would not be surprised if the girl had killed Sister Marie too. Though he was past caring about that. Leave that for the prioress to sort out, as she attempted to clear the midden that was Godstow nunnery. It was far more important for him to carry the news of Margaret’s confession and suicide to Oxford, and the sheriff, in order to free Falconer.
