Falconer and the Death of Kings

TWENTY-SEVEN

The sight of heavily armed men lumbering through the narrow streets of Paris caused the few who were out and about to scatter. It had been a strange day, with gates closed to all but women and the old, and now soldiers were barging their way towards the Ile de la Cité. Some wondered if an English invasion was in the offing, but consoled themselves with the thought that the English king was safely tucked up in King Philip’s palace. Those who saw the soldiers would have been shocked to know that one of their number was that very king. Edward was deathly afraid for the safety of his wife and newborn, whom he had not yet even seen. Having left Morrish in the custody of one of his men-at-arms, he and the two other soldiers ran as fast as their chain mail allowed them to. Edward’s battle-hardened legs almost kept pace with the unencumbered Falconer and his assistant Symon. In the end, though, he had to give best to the Oxford masters, who, accompanied by Sir John Appleby, ran on ahead.

Falconer reached the Royal Palace first and had to wait while Appleby caught up with him. The guards on the gate would only allow them access once the well-known face of the courtier had arrived. Appleby was exhausted and waved Falconer and Thomas on once they were through the gate.

‘The guest quarters are on your right.’

‘Yes, I remember where they are.’

Falconer and Thomas rushed onwards, driven on by the fear that Saphira might also be in danger from whatever Hellequin intended for Edward’s family. They need not have been afraid. The passageways of the guest quarters were now teeming with servants and soldiers, all in the garb of King Edward. In fact, they found themselves barred from penetrating very far into the warren of rooms, and coming under suspicion themselves of being would-be killers. It was only when one of the guards recognized Falconer as someone who had been in the presence of the king earlier that they were allowed under escort to proceed. The bedlam of noise and feverish activity spoke more of servants being seen to be doing something than actually being effective. But they finally passed through the chaos into a quieter enclave at its centre. It was like being in the eye of the hurricane. The door they knocked on was opened cautiously, and Saphira stood before them. Falconer was relieved.

‘Thank goodness you are safe.’

As he and Thomas were allowed in to the room, he noticed the flash of a blade disappearing up Saphira’s sleeve. He said nothing, happy in the knowledge that she was well able to take care of herself. He grinned at her and squeezed her arm, feeling the blade in its secret sheath. She smiled back, understanding his acknowledgement of her self-assurance.

‘He was here — whoever he was — but I persuaded him to leave. The king should know that Eleanor and his child are safe.’

Falconer realized for the first time that there were others in the room. On a large and comfortable bed, propped up on cushions, reposed the Queen of England. And close to her bosom, in a bundle of fresh linen, lay the new prince, Alfonso. Falconer bowed.

‘Majesty, the king is on his way. It is only his armour that has made him a little slower than me or Thomas Symon.’

Thomas blushed at being introduced to the queen and bowed low, unsure of how to behave. Eleanor smiled sweetly.

‘I thank you for your attentions. And I am relieved to know that Edward is coming soon. Do you know who this madman was? And what his intentions were?’

Saphira broke in, holding the two pots left by the intruder in order to show Falconer.

‘He purported to be a physician sent by the French king. He tried to persuade Eleanor to take these pills.’ She held out the first pot. ‘They are a preparation of arsenic, and very poisonous. They would have killed Eleanor slowly but surely, and before she died she would have transmitted the arsenic in her milk to the child. That was evil enough, but to be sure of his purpose he gave Eleanor this pot for the boy to suck off her finger.’ She produced the second pot. ‘It is a paste of laurel berries. Equally poisonous. William, who would do such an awful thing to a child?’

‘He calls himself Jacques or Jack Hellequin.’

Saphira, French by birth and aware of the legend, frowned.

‘Hellequin? Jack the Demon?’

‘Yes. I took it as a coincidence at first. An unwelcome family name that he made a joke of. But now I am convinced it was a joke on us.’

Outside the room there was a clatter, then Edward burst into his wife’s chamber, tossing his helm away as he crossed the room. He discarded his chain mail gloves and tenderly stroked his wife’s head, gazing fondly for the first time on his newborn son.

‘Thank God you are both safe. So this is little Alfonso, eh?’

Saphira touched Falconer’s sleeve, and all three of them slipped out of the queen’s chamber together, leaving the regal family to console each other. Outside in the passageway, they spoke in hushed tones, Saphira asking the first question.

‘What did you mean in there about the man’s name being a joke on us?’

Despite their lowered tones, Falconer drew his two companions further away from the door. He didn’t want Edward to overhear what he was about to say.

‘I have been thinking about Jack Hellequin, and how he is always around when things go wrong. He seems to chase death around just like his name suggests.’

He was about to tell Saphira of his mishap on the bridge, and how he now thought Hellequin was the perpetrator before becoming his saviour. But he didn’t want her to hear how close he had come to death. He was now convinced that the fleeting glimpse he had got of a youthful face inside the hood of the man who barged into him was that of Hellequin. No one had seen his attacker leaving the bridge for one very good reason. Hellequin had turned back to check that his actions had resulted in Falconer falling into the river. Confronted with his victim hanging on for dear life, and surrounded by witnesses, he had had no alternative but to save the man he had wanted to kill. And as the attack had been close on Falconer’s visit to the Paris Temple and his request to speak to Odo de Reppes about the Templar’s foul deeds in Viterbo, there had been good reason to try to kill him. Falconer also wondered if his uncanny feeling of having been watched while leaving the donjon tower was to do with Hellequin lurking in the vicinity. It occurred to him that even Odo de Reppes himself may be at risk from such a demon. Saphira interrupted his reverie.

‘William, explain yourself.’

‘Hellequin was hiding himself in Paris. Such a youthful-looking person would find it easy to secrete himself in the student community. It is a chaotic assemblage, with young men coming and going without too much scrutiny. He probably attached himself to Adam Morrish’s medical school because he knew much about medicines already. I think he wanted access to the drugs Adam stored in his medical chest. And he found he had a hold over Adam, thereby gaining access to the chest. With it, he amused himself by dispensing some of the more interesting drugs to the other students. It was something he had done before.’

‘What do you mean?’

Falconer shrugged in response to Thomas’s question.

‘I am only surmising. Perhaps he took the drugs only in order to confuse the mind of Paul Hebborn, so that he could arrange for Morrish to kill him more easily.’

Thomas gave a yelp that Falconer quietened with an admonitory finger to his lips.

‘Quiet. Edward must not hear us.’

‘But why do you think Jack Hellequin arranged the death of Paul Hebborn? Why would he want him killed? And what about John Fusoris?’

‘Oh, yes, he certainly had Fusoris killed too. And for a similar reason.’

Saphira’s face broke into a soft smile of realization. She could see where Falconer was going with all this, but she let him continue. She did not want to steal his thunder.

‘He had a hold over Morrish and got him to kill Hebborn because of a curious coincidence.’ He grimaced. ‘You know how I hate coincidences. But in this case they form the cause and origin of all this mess. Paul Hebborn was just unlucky to have been caught up in it.’

‘It has to do with Hebborn’s family being one of the disinherited ones after the Barons’ War in England, doesn’t it?’

Falconer nodded eagerly at Saphira’s supposition.

‘Exactly. Not only did Hebborn know who Hellequin really was, but Hellequin also knew who Adam Morrish wasn’t.’

Thomas could contain himself no longer.

‘This sounds more complicated than the Gordian knot. Do I have to cut through it myself, like the great Alexander? Tell me what you mean by it.’

Falconer patted Thomas on the arm.

‘Hellequin knew Adam wasn’t Amaury de Montfort, despite the rumours, for a very simple reason. Hellequin himself is Amaury.’

Thomas took a deep breath and continued Falconer’s line of thinking.

‘And poor Paul Hebborn knew Hellequin was Amaury because he had seen him, albeit at a distance, in the medical school in Padua.’

‘Yes. Maybe he wasn’t sure at first. It may have taken him a while to figure out why he recognized Hellequin. But when he realized, he must have inadvertently let Hellequin know the truth. If the game of taking opium had already begun, it would have been easy for Hellequin…’

‘Amaury.’

‘. . For Hellequin-Amaury to feed Hebborn opium and lure him to the tower of Notre-Dame for a secret meeting. He was hoping Hebborn would merely step off into space while his mind was befuddled.’

‘But he made sure Morrish was there, just in case he didn’t fall. And when he didn’t, the faker pushed him.’

‘Either way, Hellequin… Amaury… damn it, I have known him as Hellequin too long to change now… he was responsible for Hebborn’s death. And he was equally responsible for Morrish killing Fusoris. He no doubt feared that Hebborn had spoken to him and told him his secret. If Hebborn had a friend among the students, it was Fusoris. And sadly that was his death warrant.’

Thomas’s face looked as though it had been carved in stone. He remembered that Hellequin had known of Thomas’s interest in Fusoris, because he had asked Jack how to find him. A sense of guilt hung over him like a dark cloak. He had been duped by Jack Hellequin, whom he had liked. Amaury de Montfort’s youthful looks had stood him in good stead in his guise as a student of medicine, who would have already spent several years studying the arts. As Thomas had done so recently himself. It turns out he was thirty years of age and adept at dissimulation and deceit. From what William was suggesting, his distribution of opium had not begun with the students of Adam Morrish.

‘When you said Amaury had done this before in relation to using opium, what did you mean?’

‘I was recalling what Sir Humphrey Segrim had said to me before we left England. He had sworn that Odo de Reppes had been wild-eyed when he saw him in the church in Viterbo.’

‘At the murder of Henry of Almain.’

‘Exactly. Odo said the same thing when I questioned him. He said he had felt euphoric both before and during the foul deed. And the two other de Montfort brothers had apparently behaved wildly too. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that Hellequin made them feel quite reckless with opium then incited them to do what they did. It was a bloody and a crazy act. He then made sure he was well out of the way when it all came to a head, and therefore innocent of complicity. It was the same with Adam Morrish. He kept his own hands clean and had someone else perpetrate the deeds we have been investigating.’

Saphira touched William’s arm.

‘But if Hellequin is indeed Amaury de Montfort, do you not want to tell the king and let him deal with it?’

Falconer shook his head.

‘Edward is too engrossed in his feud with the de Montforts to use a clear head. He will blunder around, throwing men-at-arms at the problem. Meanwhile, Amaury will slip away. No, we must try to find him ourselves, quietly and discreetly.’

‘Where do we start?’

It was Thomas’s question, and Saphira answered it.

‘If the gates of the city are still closed, and there are guards on the bridges, then the only way out of the city is by the river itself.’

‘Exactly.’ Falconer shepherded them further down the passageway. ‘And we should get to the river bank as soon as possible. Hellequin has had a head start on us already.’

They hurried along the labyrinth of corridors in the Royal Palace and out into the street. There they stopped, realizing the enormity of their search. Boats lined both sides of the Seine, though it was from the Right Bank that most of the craft plied their trade. The area around La Grève was where many seagoing vessels loaded and unloaded. Falconer suggested that would be where Hellequin would make for. But Thomas disagreed.

‘True, it is busy, and he may be able to hide in the crowd. But the Left Bank is more familiar to him, and fewer boats mean fewer people are likely to see him. He also knows some of the sailors who drink in the Withered Vine, which is close by where they moor up.’

Saphira agreed.

‘Thomas is right. A hunted animal will always run to ground in familiar territory.’

Falconer flung up his hands in defeat.

‘We have no more time to debate this. You are probably right. Let’s try the Left Bank.’

They crossed the Petit Pont, pushing past the two men-at-arms on the southern side. The soldiers, taxed with looking for Amaury, gazed suspiciously at Thomas. But they let him pass when Saphira smiled and professed that the boy was her son, and not who they were looking for. Thomas blushed in embarrassment, mumbling to Saphira that she needn’t have said that. She pinched his cheek.

‘Are you ashamed to be taken for my son, Thomas?’

‘If that makes me in some way William’s stepson too, yes I am.’

Falconer aimed a swipe at Thomas, who quickly led them along the narrow lane running parallel to the river and past Morrish’s one-time medical school. They first tried the tavern where the ships’ captains often passed their time waiting for the right time to sail down to Rouen and catch the tidal flow. The Withered Vine was unusually quiet, so Falconer asked the landlord if he had seen Jack Hellequin recently. The landlord was a cheery, red-faced man, who obviously imbibed too much of his own stock. It also made him incautious with his knowledge.

‘Why, yes, as a matter of fact. But you have missed him. He went with Georges Fouarre on La Sylvie some time ago. That is why there’s hardly anyone in here. He and his crew have set sail for the coast and Antwerp.’

All three companions rushed down to the sandy river bank, close to where the body of John Fusoris had been found. But when they got there the strand was bare, and the river empty of craft. Amaury de Montfort had flown the city.