Falconer and the Face of God

by Ian Morson

  ‘Yes, I am the fool who took Roger at his word.’

  ‘Come in, quickly.’

  Zerach grabbed Falconer's arm and drew him through the half- open door, slamming it securely behind him. With a trembling hand, he threw the bolt back into place, only then relaxing and allowing himself a tentative smile. He ushered Falconer into the large room where the regent master had seen all Zerach's texts and bade him sit where he could. Falconer moved a pile of books from a chair and sat down. The Jew remained standing, pacing back and forth in front of the dead ashes in the grate. It was as if he was in conflict with himself - fearful of what might have happened to him, yet full of anger at the ones who had put him in that predicament. Falconer could not blame him, and sought to calm the man with inconsequential conversation on the nature of his experiments with flying devices. At present he had to admit they were no more than a child's toys, that could glide to earth if projected from one of the towers that dotted the city walls.

  Eventually Zerach was sufficiently in control of himself to enquire why Falconer had called.

  Falconer rose and drew a stiff package from the folds of his robe. He offered it to Zerach. 'this is from our mutual friend.’

  ‘Bacon?’ Zerach hesitated, then eagerly grasped the package and broke the seal on its outer surface. He stood transfixed and read the spidery scrawl that filled the surface of the paper. A frown clouded his features.

  ‘What has he to say?’ asked Falconer gently.

  ‘Oh. He commends the bearer of this letter to me - but then is anxious that I no longer waste my time on what he calls speculative alchemy. No matter that I have spent every year since he was bundled off to France in seeking the quintessence at his instigation.’

  Zerach sounded a little peevish. But Falconer knew the speed at which Roger Bacon's mind moved on from one concept to another, far outstripping the mortals who surrounded him. It was perfectly normal for him to be denigrating that which he was most interested in but a few years earlier as his understanding of the universe grew. Zerach read on.

  ‘He suggests I investigate so-called practical alchemy, and maintains he has blended a pure metal, for which he has no name, with iron and produced a plate of unusual hardness which could be used for armour. He also supplies a recipe for a black powder that explodes when set afire and bids me replicate his trials. Hmm ...’

  Falconer saw the spark of excitement ignite in Zerach's eyes. He had soon overcome his annoyance at Bacon's initial comments, and was obviously eager to try these new experiments for himself. For the moment, thoughts of those who had denounced him, and the face from the past he had seen the day the actors arrived, were suppressed in Zerach's zeal to pursue his scientific goals.

  Glad to have carried out the friar's wishes and learned something of the contents of the letter, Falconer was content to leave the man to his science. Promising to return and hear how he progressed, he took his leave of the distracted alchemist and returned to the chill of Pennyfarthing Street. Although all he desired now was to return to the warmth of Aristotle's Hall, he could not put the bungled attempt on de Askeles's life out of his mind. Nor the associated death, as he saw it, of Solomon the Jew. Indeed, he could now concentrate solely on them, and even though he was convinced the murderer of the monk was still at large in the form of Ralph the carpenter, he decided it would do no harm to observe the actions of the troupe of players. He therefore made his way back to the courtyard of St Frideswide's Church.

  Will Plome had lighted the torches that were strategically placed around the stage. The scenes would carry on late into the evening, and de Askeles wanted to ensure that every gesture was visible to the crowd, and the King and nobles who watched from the Prior's raised dais. Though he would not admit it, Stefano was nervous. As Robert Kemp, playing Herod, questioned the three kings about the baby Jesus, he peered out from the side of the stage at where the King of England sat. Henry's grey head and forked beard stood out from those who surrounded him. The lights around the stage cast deep shadows in the wells of his eye sockets, making his gaunt face even more starkly lined. So old and yet so powerful. De Askeles wondered if his son, Edward, ever chafed to be King and dreamed of regicide to remove this ancient impediment from his path. He knew what he would do in the same circumstances. In the meantime, it was this old man he would seek to impress in order to wheedle his way to the riches he so eagerly craved. Scanning the crowd, he spotted Petysance the priest in the front row of those standing in the yard. He took another swig from the flagon of wine at his side.

  The ill-shapen form of the shaven-headed Will Plome lumbered up the steps at the side of the stage, and went to poke his fingers through the bars of the cage that held the green monkey. The creature chittered happily at the attention it was receiving and pressed its black furry head against the bars, allowing Will to scratch it. A malicious thought crossed the drink-fogged mind of de Askeles, and he moved to where Will stood. Dressed as the Devil in long black robes, with the great horned mask held under one arm like a second head, de Askeles was a commanding figure. He leaned over Will and hissed in his ear. ‘Give the monkey to me.’

  Will looked fearfully into de Askeles's glittering eyes. He knew the man hated the attention he paid Ham, and thought him capable of any evil. The fact he was dressed as the Devil only seemed to confirm that feeling. But why should he want Ham now? The worry that twisted his ugly features urged de Askeles on.

  'the monkey - give it to me now.’

  ‘Why?’ Will was sure he didn't want to know the answer, but could not stop himself asking. De Askeles laughed.

  ‘Because the next scene is the Slaying of the Innocents, and I am tired of sticking a knife into a rag doll only to have it sewn together again for the next time. This time the monkey shall be the innocent, and we shall see some real blood.’

  Will Plome's squeal of distress was cut across by a woman's harsh voice.

  'stop that.’

  Agnes Cheke strode out of the darkness and put herself between Will and his tormentor. She pulled the distraught fool to her bosom like some grotesque, oversized baby, muffling his cries in the ample folds of her dress. De Askeles raised his fist to hit her, but was stopped by an urgently hissed whisper from the edge of the stage. It was Simon Godrich, dressed as one of the women who was due to have her innocent babe slain.

  'stefano, you should be on stage now.’

  De Askeles lowered his arm. ‘You two are a fine pairing. I will have you as a side-show - the Ugliest Woman in the World and her overgrown babe.’

  With that he crammed the Devil mask on his head and strode off to make his appearance through the trap-door, having blown the glowing embers of vengeance in Agnes's and Will's souls into a raging fire.

  *

  ‘I now see fiends in great swarms

  From Hell coming for me.

  I have done so much harm,

  I now see coming my great foe,

  To fetch me off to Hell.

  I bequeath here in this place

  My soul to be with Satanas.

  I die, I die, alas, alas! Here I may no longer dwell.’

  Herod, with his pointed Saracen's beard, fell to the ground as the form of the Devil rose out of the trap-door with smoke issuing around him. De Askeles raised his arms and masked off the figure of Herod from the audience milling in the courtyard. Spontaneous cheers arose as the Devil descended and the smoke cleared revealing an empty stage - Herod had been transported to hell.

  ‘Come,’ whispered Falconer, and he took Peter Bullock by the arm, drawing him to the edge of the crowd. The constable protested.

  ‘But the plays haven't ended yet.’

  ‘I am not leaving. But I am curious as to how the effects are achieved. We will see more of the artifice from the side of the stage.’

  Bullock grumbled that he did not wish to see how things worked - it would only spoil the magic. But Falconer persisted and the constable followed him to the right side of the stage, where the regent master pee
red with curiosity underneath the staging. He was rewarded with the sight of de Askeles and Robert Kemp making their way in the constricted space to the opposite side of the stage. There, squatting on her haunches, was the plump figure of Agnes Cheke, holding a candle to guide the actors out of the maze of timbers. Above their heads the Betrayal of Christ had begun with the mellifluous tones of Simon Godrich reciting Jesus's words at the Last Supper.

  ‘For now you see the time has come,

  When signs and shadows all are done.

  A great sacrifice begin I shall,

  To save mankind from his sins all.’

  The constable followed the unfolding of the Betrayal with rapt attention, but Falconer's gaze was drawn to a figure at the edge of the stage. He poked around in his pouch and drew out his eye- lenses to see the figure better. It was John Peper and he was beckoning to someone in the audience, but it was impossible for Falconer to distinguish who it was in the sea of faces. He bent down to peer under the stage in case this afforded him a better view. The candle, left by Agnes just beneath the stage, lit this nether world better than that of the upper. But it only afforded him the sight of a curious moving tableau of bodies cut off at the waist, making him guess at the identity of those who passed before his eyes.

  First he saw the plain linen skirt of a woman, probably Agnes, as he knew she was on that side of the stage. Nevertheless, in his frustration he realized it could equally have been Margaret, or even one of the men playing the part of a woman. Whoever it was moved to the back of the stage. He decided on Agnes until something told him otherwise. Then two other figures came from the direction of the crowd. One wore plain hose and his legs were stocky. Will Plome. The other wore a black robe that fell to the ground and almost hid the soft leather boots on his feet. The robe could have belonged to monk, priest or Jew, or even one of the actors dressed ecclesiastically to represent an angel. The two men paused at the steps to the far side of the stage.

  Straightening, Falconer twisted the metal frame of his eye- lenses as he strained to make out the two figures, but they were hidden in darkness. On stage, de Askeles, now acting the role of Peter, swung a sword and appeared to cut off the ear of one of the amateur actors playing the part of Malchus. The crowd gasped as Simon Godrich in the role of Jesus bent down and picked up the ‘ear’ from the stage and restored it to the unfortunate Malchus's head. From his vantage point, Falconer could see Simon palm the fake ear as he rubbed the side of the actor's head, and transfer it to a pocket in his robes. Stooping, he returned to his half-world. The legs of Will Plome had gone, and the other man paced back and forth in the tiny area off stage. His pacing stopped as someone came down the steps from the stage, and both men stood facing each other, toe to toe. For a while they stood motionless, then one stamped his leather-clad foot and turned his back.

  Falconer stood up and grabbed Bullock's arm.

  ‘Who was it left the stage last?’

  ‘Judas. Why do you want to know?’

  Falconer was exasperated by the constable's obtuseness.

  ‘Yes, but who played that part?’

  ‘John Peper,’ replied Bullock, puzzled.

  Falconer quickly rehearsed in his mind what he knew of everyone's position around the stage. Agnes (or was it Margaret?) was at the back of the stage. Will too had gone in that direction. Someone had come out of the audience and spoken to John Peper. But who was it, and why did Peper call him forth?

  At that moment the scene ended and actors rushed hither and thither, the more amateur ones falling over each other in their rush to dress for the next scene. Some even returned to their friends in the courtyard, their part in the plays over. When Falconer's view of the stage side was next clear, both John Peper and the other man were lost in the melee. The stranger could be back in the crowd and the actor anywhere.

  Several of the performers were now wearing black gowns on which were tablet-shapes of yellow cloth. This was the garb the law demanded the Jews of England wore to identify them to the Christian community they lived within. Wearing grotesque parodies of the Jewish elders' long beards, the actors pushed Simon Godrich to that part of the stage that was set up as Pilate's palace. The crowd booed and hissed as the fake Jews acted out their part in Christ's Passion. Falconer just hoped this enactment would not revive the anger of those who had witnessed the young hotheads defiling the cross earlier in the day. He still anxiously scanned the other side of the stage area through his lenses.

  For a moment he could not see de Askeles anywhere - he certainly was not on stage. Then he saw a shaft of torchlight playing on a head of long blond hair at the side of the stage. De Askeles stood alone with the white and gilded robe of God in his left hand, his head tilted back and his right hand holding something to his lips. He obviously was not in the present scene, and was making ready for the Ascension scene that must follow. Falconer had no doubt that de Askeles would be playing God.

  Just then, a shadow seemed to free itself from the deep gloom on the far side of the stage, and Falconer thought be saw de Askeles turn sharply round. Next the actor was tumbling down the steps that led down off stage. Ducking down, Falconer was in time to see a booted foot kick over the candle that had stood there, plunging the understage into darkness.

  ‘Hey! Where are you going?’ shouted a startled Bullock, as a resolute Falconer dived under the stage and, bent low, scuttled beneath the performers' feet as they began enacting the Resurrection and Ascension.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LUCIFER: Some of my charge shall it be

  To make mankind all to do amiss.

  Ruffian, my friend, fair and free,

  Look that you keep man from bliss.

  The Fall of Lucifer

  Reaching the other side of the stage with nothing worse than a sharp crack to the head as he emerged, Falconer peered around in the gloom. He fully expected to see a body, and maybe the retreating figure of Ralph the carpenter, having carried out the murder he had bungled days earlier. But there was nothing save a pile of discarded clothes on top of a large chest. He rummaged through the robes, thinking to uncover the body of Stefano de Askeles. He uncovered nothing save the smell of sweat.

  ‘What are you doing back here? You're not one of the performers.’

  Agnes Cheke, her face flushed, bustled out of the darkness and began to tidy the robes that Falconer had tossed about in his fruitless search. As she stacked them in a neat pile, she peered at him through the gloom.

  ‘You're that nosy master who was with the constable. Always prying and asking questions. Well, there's nothing for you to find. You shouldn't even be here.’

  But she did not make him leave, merely scurried around tidying up like a mother hen, with half an ear to what was occurring on the stage. Suddenly she started, paying more attention to the words being uttered by Simon Godrich, and mumbling along with the actor.

  ‘My drops of blood I will present

  To my Father with all good intent .’ Then she craned her neck to see behind the backcloth and gasped. ‘He's not there.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Falconer, curious.

  'stefano. He is supposed to be God, and in a few moments Jesus - Simon - ascends the ladder into his arms. Stefano should be on that upper platform already.’

  Falconer followed Agnes's gaze, just discerning a raised platform reached by a ladder behind the backcloth. He felt sure now that de Askeles was in no fit state to carry out his role, and wondered what the King and the rest of the people crowded into the courtyard would think of the absence of God. At that very moment, the imposing form of de Askeles, clad in gilded robes and with the mask of God firmly fixed upon his head, appeared from the gloom at the back of the stage. With no more than a grunt to acknowledge their presence he scuttled up the ladder.

  Agnes breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘He must have forgotten what came next. He came from where God's throne is set for the Last Judgement. That's what drink does for you.’

  Falconer, convinced fro
m over the other side of the stage that the stumbling de Askeles had been stabbed and was dying, had to accept that the man must merely have been drunk. It was possible to assume a murder without a body, but not when the body was walking around and acting. He did notice a strange look in Agnes's eyes, but whether it was shock or puzzlement he could not decide. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and she returned to tidying the sweaty robes. On stage Simon sang ‘Ascendo at Patrem Meum’, then fell into the arms of God.

  Henry bowed his head and mumbled a quiet prayer to himself at the sight of the face of God towering over the group of actors on the stage. King of England he might be, but he was also a devout man, who had caused a golden shrine to be made for the bones of St Edward, and had presented a vial of Christ's blood to Westminster Abbey. Around him, Roger Mortimer, Thomas de Cantilupe and the other nobles in his entourage, ever mindful to imitate the actions of their better, also bowed their heads. On the King's throne, Thomas Symon, Lord of Misrule, sat oblivious of the devotions around him. The plays were mesmerizing and he had never had the opportunity to actually see such a presentation. Before coming to Oxford, his life had been restricted to the boundaries of his father's farm. Not even the local lord's manor house had been part of his experience. At Christmastide entertainment had been limited to the rustic humour of a mummers' play. Even the first few years he had spent in Oxford had not provided him with such a spectacle. Now he was witnessing it from the loftiest of viewpoints.

  He wriggled in his seat as the plays reached their climax. The night was cold, but the coursing of blood in his body made him feel hot. After Christ's Ascent into Heaven, there only remained to depict the overcoming of Antichrist and the Last Judgement. He waited impatiently through the interminable pause as the stage was set. From inside the church could be heard the voices of the monks intoning ‘Quem queritis?’. The eternal question - whom do you seek in the manger, O shepherds? - hardly penetrated the excited buzz of the common crowd in the courtyard. But suddenly, over this noise, a voice rang out. A priest Thomas immediately recognized as Edward Petysance of St Aldate's Church was emboldened to approach the rostrum on which the King and his court sat.