by Ian Morson
There came a rumbling noise from out in the lane, which to Falconer sounded like a distant peal of thunder. Then the door to the hall burst open and a red-faced Thomas Symon entered pursuing a small barrel that rolled to a stop at Falconer's feet. Placing his foot on the barrel to steady it, the regent master allowed Thomas to catch his breath before remonstrating with him over the damage that such violent activity would have done to the good ale it contained. The youth grumbled that nothing could make Kepeharm's ale any worse than it was, and that they would have done better to buy a good Poitou or Rhenish wine such as he had drunk at the King's court. Falconer grimaced. ‘Will we never hear the end of your exploits as King of England? I wish I had never suggested the mad idea.’
Thomas threw his hands up in concession to Falconer's annoyance. ‘I promise never to say another word about it.’
Between them they lifted the barrel on to the table, Thomas biting back a comment about finding a servant at court to carry out such a task. He did not think the regent master would appreciate his jest. Sweating from his exertions, the student offered to tap the barrel and test its contents. He skilfully hit the tap home and though the ale seethed out when he drew some off, in protest at its mishandling, the result was sweet and brown. He poured it greedily down his throat, and Falconer suggested that he leave some for the visitors.
‘Who is coming?’
Falconer's face was impassive. ‘You will have to wait and see.’
The constable fussed over the folds of his best tunic, buckling on his sword so that it did not damage the material. The only other time he wore this tunic was when he presented his annual report to the burghers who employed him to keep the peace. He somehow felt it was appropriate for this occasion too, and extracted it from the bottom of the chest where it lay for the rest of the year. Yet the event he was attending was pretty much a mystery to him. All Peter Bullock knew was that he was invited to watch the presentation of a mummers' play at Aristotle's Hall, and that he was to arrive at nones. He knew that the troubadours formerly led by Stefano de Askeles - or should he now call him Stephen Askey? - would be performing it. And that did not fill him with relish. With their leader murdered, and one of their troupe the murderer, he could not imagine a very festive atmosphere would prevail. What did pique his curiosity was that he knew Regent Master Falconer always had some devious purpose for mounting such staged events. The man had ulterior motives for the most innocent of actions. Bullock had seen it time and again. Nor did he ever vouchsafe a hint of what he planned to the constable, friend or not. Cynically, Bullock thought this was sometimes because Falconer himself did not know in advance what the results of his actions would be. Then he could claim that he knew all along what would happen without fear of contradiction. On the other hand he had flushed out many a truth, and many a murderer, in this way. Bullock was sure that today's apparently innocent revel was just such an occasion. That was why he wore his best tunic, flattened his unruly grey hair with water, and hurried off to Aristotle's Hall.
Will Plome could not understand why the other troubadours were so glum. Wasn't Stefano out of the way? And everyone had wanted that, all for their own reasons. There was no one now to stand in his way over Ham. He would give him the best food he could buy, not the rotten fruit that Stefano insisted he have. And he would let him loose from his cage more often, though Agnes had told him to take care or the monkey might run away and never come back. He didn't believe Ham would do that - not like John Peper. He still could not work that out, and went over to Margaret.
‘Margaret, why did John run away?’
Margaret's big eyes seemed to overflow with tears, and Agnes quickly led Will away from the sobbing woman. Robert and Simon looked up in embarrassment from the pile of costumes they were sorting through, selecting those that would do for the mummers' play. Herod's costume would do for the Saracen knight, of course, and the storyteller often dressed as the Devil. As for St George, any of the soldier's costumes would do, and their weapons .
Simon went grimly over to the wagon and reappeared waving two wooden swords.
We always used to use these before Stefano ... before we ...’
He had no need to finish the sentence - everyone knew it had been at de Askeles's insistence they used real blades. And they had been the cause of two deaths now. It was agreed they would use the wooden swords. As for the parts, Agnes could dress up in the Devil's costume, Robert would be the Saracen knight, and Simon St George. The mock fight would take place over Margaret, playing the part of the King of Egypt's daughter. Agnes hoped she would not notice the irony of a death resulting from two men fighting over her. What a pity they could not resurrect Stefano as they did the knight in the mummers' play. Of course the Doctor, who carried out the resurrection, was the part they had inevitably given to Master Falconer. Will, as ever, would simply play the Fool.
‘Come on. We need to hurry if we are to be there before nones.’
Zerach de Alemmania could not imagine why Master Falconer wanted him to go round to Aristotle's Hall that afternoon. The invitation had been brought by a breathless youth who hammered at his door like a second visitation from the King's soldiers. He had been surprised when he peered fearfully through the shutters that screened the interior of the house from the lane to see a skinny youth waiting impatiently on his threshold. There was no sign of any soldiery, so Zerach unbolted his door and peeped out of the gap, holding his shoulder against the door to resist any attack. The skinny youth had merely recited a request from Falconer to come to his hall immediately after nones. Having got the Jew's startled confirmation that he would indeed go, the youth thrust a note into his hand and sped off down the lane. The note, which was also from Falconer, puzzled him even more, but it was worded so insistently, calling on their common friendship with Friar Bacon, and asking for complete secrecy, that Zerach hurried down to his cellar to comply with the request.
Edward Petysance and the Prior of St Frideswide's were embarrassed to meet each other at the head of the lane leading to Aristotle's Hall. Since their acrimonious encounter in Fish Street a few days before, they had studiously avoided each other. Petysance's flaunting of his holy relic outside the very doors of St Frideswide's Church had angered the Prior, and he had secretly exulted at the fracas with the Jews. For his part, Petysance had been delighted that the Prior's funding of the plays cycle had been sullied by the murder of de Askeles. Neither wished to speak to the other now, but the presence of the Prior's porter, bearing a lantern to light the prelate's way, required they publicly acknowledge each other's presence. The Prior spoke first as they proceeded down the gloomy alley.
‘Regent Master Falconer sent a message that he had urgent business appertaining to the . er . incident at the end of the plays. And that I should arrive shortly after nones. Some scrawny youth brought his request and ran away before I could even think of declining. So I thought it best to come and discover what it was all about.’
Petysance's response was equally terse. ‘It would seem the same skinny youth delivered the same message to me. Arrive after nones - but it was to do with the outrage perpetrated on me by the Jews. Though I don't know how he proposes to resolve the matter, when such sacrilege has occurred.’
The Prior muttered a formal concurrence with Petysance's sense of anger at the desecration. The formal niceties observed, they proceeded in tense silence side by side towards Falconer's door.
‘I don't know why you could not have got Cressant to do this for you. He seems willing to do your every bidding.’
Deulegard was fuming at being made to assist the ancient Jehozadok to call upon his friend Falconer. In fact he was astonished that the old man wanted to stir out of doors at all, least of all when night was falling. Jehozadok had not left his house for months, and now he wanted to make some mad excursion to some student hostel. No explanation was forthcoming, other than that it was necessary to go, and that Deulegard was his chosen aide. The journey, nothing for a fit young man, was proving an ar
duous campaign for the old rabbi. He leaned heavily on Deulegard's arm as they negotiated the mud that threatened at each step to rob Jehozadok of his footing. Every so often they stopped to allow the old man to regain his breath, and Deulegard fumed even more at each delay. The rabbi should not be out at such a time; even he should not be out at such a time. But Jehozadok hobbled stubbornly on. What Deulegard didn't know was that the rabbi could have walked much faster, but his friend Falconer had stipulated that they should be the last to arrive, and he wanted to ensure that that was what happened.
Simon and Robert carried the chest with their costumes and properties out to the back room in Aristotle's Hall. It had been a kitchen, but the pans that remained were dusty and unused, the hearth cold and piled with logs stored for the fire in the main hall. Falconer could not afford to employ a servant, and the students had little inclination to cook for themselves. What meals were eaten in hall were cold and frugal - when the students could afford it they ate in the taverns they frequented in the evenings. It appeared that little thought had yet been given to the cooking of the pig's head for which they had paid. It sat glassy- eyed and forlorn in the coldest corner of the room.
For now, the kitchen space was a quite satisfactory dressing room for the troubadours. With something familiar to concentrate on that took their minds off the last few days, their spirits rose a little and Agnes felt for the first time that the proposed entertainment might pass off well. Will had brought the little monkey with him - the pair were inseparable now - and it clambered over his shoulders, sitting on his bald pate like some Eastern potentate. Even Margaret raised a smile at Ham as she dressed in the long flowing robe with crescent moons stitched on to it that represented her character - the King of Egypt's daughter. Agnes had no doubt that her acrobatic skills would hold the gaze of the men and boys present, even though her limbs were decorously hidden. There was something about the way even the heaviest gown clung to her figure as she twisted and spun that drew lascivious looks. Robert and Simon stood at one end of the room going through the motions of the sword fight they would shortly present. Like good troubadours, it seemed it was possible for them all to put the matters of the everyday world to one side for a short time at least.
Agnes pulled on the thick black robe that her character, the Devil, required. However, this was not the Devil of the mystery plays but a comical Devil belonging to the older, darker traditions of rural life. Agnes had seen such plays performed in her village as a child, and the Devil had never been an object of fear to her. Even his name was different in the mumming play - Beelzibuz. She still wore a mask for the part, but it was not the awesome mask the crowds had seen at St Frideswide's Church, with its enormous horns and sharp teeth. Today she would wear a mask resembling a skull - a timely reminder of death at this low point of the year. She wondered where John Peper was at this moment - whether he felt that he was at the lowest ebb of his life. And what would happen to him, if he were caught. This Master Falconer seemed a very clever man, and if John had not already escaped Oxford, then she thought Falconer was bound to catch him. She pondered again on what Falconer had said to her when they had arrived at the hall. He had asked for a few changes in the text of the play, and returned the book they had given him with some scrawled writing in the margins. He also warned her there might be a surprise at the end. When she had asked what that might be, he had merely smiled enigmatically and left the kitchen.
When Peter Bullock arrived, he marvelled at the rearrangement of the hall, and the drapery of ivy that Thomas Symon had insisted be hung from the roof beams. He recited a half-forgotten adage from his youth.
‘At Christmas they do use that
Bacchus-weed, Because they mean, then, Bacchus-like to feed.’
His eyes took in the barrel of ale that stood prominently on the table, and he sighed when Falconer warned him there was serious business to attend to first. But there was a twinkle in his eye when be added that he fully expected something to celebrate later. The constable was about to ask what when someone knocked at the door of the hall. Falconer winked at Bullock and went to receive whoever had arrived. The constable wandered down to where the students, under the guidance of Thomas Symon, were tying a backcloth from the beams above their heads. He recognized the cloth - a depiction of blossoming trees - as the one from the mystery plays that had represented Paradise. Close to, the painting was crude and the surface cracked where the cloth had been rolled and unrolled countless times. The cloth was arranged in such a way that it hid the door through to the kitchen area. From behind the door came the sound of wood being hit upon wood. Bullock was about to look through the doorway when Falconer returned with his new guest, a lean and elderly Jew.
‘Peter, I would like you to meet a respected doctor and scientist, Zerach de Alemmania. We have a mutual friend in Friar Bacon.’
Bullock nodded his head at the Jew, and wondered if scientist meant magician, especially if the man knew Bacon as well as Falconer did. Zerach clutched a paper tube twisted at both ends as though it held some contents he did not wish to spill. Zerach glanced nervously at the constable, knowing who he was, and whispered anxiously to Falconer.
‘I have brought what you asked of me. I only hope we can trust the friar's recipe.’
He held the tube out to Falconer, who took it gingerly, and stowed it carefully behind the barrel at one end of the room.
‘I am sure that Roger was precise in his specifications. Now, you know when to act?’
The Jew nodded and shuffled to stand in one corner of the hall, as though seeking to be invisible. The next arrivals only confirmed him in his wish not to be conspicuous. A thunderous knocking at the door announced the advent of the two priests, the Prior of St Frideswide's and Edward Petysance, priest of St Aldate's. Ushered into the room by Falconer, they looked with distaste on the cadaverous Jew who hovered in the corner of the room, and demanded simultaneously of the regent master why he had summoned them to Aristotle's.
‘Please. All will become clear, if you will just allow me a moment. There is someone else I would like you to talk to. Then I have a little Christmas entertainment planned. Not as elaborate as your mystery plays, Prior, but presented by the same troupe. I expect my final guests to be here very soon.’
As if prearranged, there came another knock at the door of Aristotle's Hall at that precise moment.
‘If you will excuse me.’
Falconer went to welcome the new arrivals, leaving Bullock, Zerach, and the two priests standing in stony, awkward silence. The constable offered up a mute prayer that whatever Falconer had planned would be over soon.
It was very nearly finished there and then. When Falconer entered the hall followed by the ancient Jew Bullock knew to be Rabbi Jehozadok, and some angry-looking youth he did not know, Petysance and the Prior both poured forth expressions of outrage and almost fell over each other in their attempt to escape this den of Jews. One had been bad enough; now Falconer was seeking to surround them with Christ's persecutors. Falconer simply stood squarely in the doorway and prevented their exit, his piercing blue eyes causing the priests to subside like unruly students.
‘I have asked Jehozadok here to say something about the unfortunate incident in the street the other day.’
Petysance could not restrain himself and pointed an accusatory finger at Deulegard. 'that is the very youth who defiled my holy relic, and you expect me to listen to him? What possible excuse can he have for his actions?’
Deulegard in his turn waved a finger at the priest, but the rabbi placed a surprisingly strong hand on his arm, and spoke first. ‘Much harm has been done here by those whom I had thought to have taught better.’
Deulegard's face turned bright red, but no words would form, so incoherent with rage was he. Leaving him to splutter infuriatedly, Jehozadok blithely continued his prepared speech. ‘But we all know the recklessness of youth, and I beg of you to find it in your Christian hearts to forgive their ill-considered act. It is my fault that thei
r guidance has been so poorly handled.
Alas, my advanced age has meant I have not been as strict as I should have been. I know you will forgive them, and in recompense for any damage done I am sure my community will be willing to make handsome reparation.’
Petysance's eyes lit up at the thought of payment from the Jews. Perhaps now he could build a tower as great as or even greater than the one the Prior had funded for his own church. However, it would not do to be seen to give in to the old Jew so easily, and he couched his reply in the frostiest of terms.
'such desecration as occurred cannot easily be forgotten. And if any price is to be exacted it will only be to the greater glory of Our Lord.’
Jehozadok knew that any price Petysance exacted would be huge, and out of all proportion to the deed, but was resigned to having to pay it. He humbly nodded his head, and turned his milky-eyed gaze on Falconer. He had done what the regent master had asked of him, and now he wondered what he had planned that required the presence of Deulegard. After all, the youth could have ruined any negotiations with the Christian priests - indeed had nearly done so. So Falconer must want him here for another as yet unspecified purpose. And why on earth was Zerach here too?
‘I thank you all for your restraint. Now allow me to present that little diversion I promised you.’
Falconer waved his arms, and before anyone could protest and escape Agnes Cheke stepped from behind the backcloth at one end of the hall to start the play. Bullock groaned at the apparent crassness of his friend in imagining that he could hope to entertain such an ill-matched group of people, some of whom would wish not to be in the same town as the others, let alone the same room. This was going to be the most joyless celebration he had ever attended.
