Dalyson inclined his head in deference to the King’s righteous annoyance. But his tone of voice still betrayed his own irritation. ‘Forgive me, Majesty. I had thought you wished to know about the matter I have come to advise you of. But as I can see that your conversation with the bishop is concerning greater matters of state, I will wait until a more… propitious time to tell you of the sky-stone.’
Dalyson knew that his final word would attract the attention of the King, but he was surprised to hear a gasp from the lips of the bishop, too. And then to witness the exchange of looks between the two powerful men. Had they been talking about the very item he had at last tracked down? He had thought it a distraction — a bauble to amuse the King in his dotage. Did it have more significance than he had first imagined? He stored the thought away in his head for further consideration.
‘You have found it? Is it here?’
Dalyson shook his head. ‘Not yet, Majesty. It appears that some Jew took it from Norwich and sold it to a teacher at the university in Oxford. Envoys have been sent to bring it to you, and it should be no more than a week before you will have it.’
Henry’s piping, old-man’s voice rose in horror. ‘A week? I could be dead before then.’
Dalyson refrained from saying he hoped so, and shook his head in obsequious denial. ‘No, no, Majesty. You will live for ever, I am sure of it. Do you wish me to call your… doctors over?’
Henry’s face fell. ‘No need, Dalyson. Look behind you. They anticipate my demise sooner than you do.’
Indeed, all three quacks had hurried over to the King’s bedside at the first sound of pain and horror in their patient’s voice. Brother Mark made it to the bedside first and asked his patient to show his tongue. As the King meekly stuck the aforementioned appendage out, the Dominican hovered like an angel of death, sucking in his breath. He clearly did not like what he saw. Dalyson left Mark and his colleagues to it, and turned to speak to the Bishop of Narbonne. But the man was no longer present, having silently left the bedchamber already. Dalyson felt a shiver run down his spine. The man was unnatural in his ability to appear and disappear so quietly.
Pierre of Narbonne was angry, but he did not show it. His emissary to the Norwich Jews had failed by a whisker, and now he was reliant on an old and petulant monarch. He prided himself on never showing any feelings, and knew how still and impenetrable his eyes were. But back in the sumptuous rooms he had been allocated in Westminster Palace, he picked up a silver platter and gave in to the pure pleasure of throwing it across the room. It thudded into the tapestry that hung on the wall and fell to the stone floor with a clatter. A whey-faced servant appeared at the open doorway, and the bishop, his temper spent, waved for him to clear the dish, now bent on one rim. When the man had left, his task complete, Narbonne knelt at the improvised altar in his room, lifting his palms so the purple sleeves of his tunic fell away from them. He began to pray, playing with the ancient words of Pope Leo the Great.
‘ “But this Nativity which is to be adored in heaven and on earth is suggested to us by no day more than this when, with the early light still shedding its rays on nature, there is borne in upon our senses the brightness of this wondrous mystery.” ’
Only he knew to what mystery he was referring, and he intended to keep the secret in his heart. Until the day he could lay his hands on the sky-stone.
The sacred stone.
Unconcerned by the scandalous nature of their relationship, Falconer and Saphira Le Veske walked through the streets of Oxford, exchanging opinions on all sorts of matters. Neither could say who was the tyro and who the dominie, for they could vie with each other in different areas of knowledge. At the moment they turned into Kibald Street, where stood Aristotle’s Hall, Saphira had the upper hand. They were discussing medicines, and she had learned her trade from old Samson in Jewry.
‘Belladonna may be a poison in itself, but it can be used in small quantities as an antidote to poisoning by amanita mushrooms.’
Falconer nodded, then came back with a rejoinder that he hoped would silence her. ‘It is also written that cat’s brain is a poison. As is menstrual blood.’
Saphira’s laughter was like a peal of sweet-sounding bells. ‘Do you think to shock me into submission, William? It will take more than a reference to a woman’s curse to do that.’
She was about to continue when Falconer laid a hand on her bare arm. She looked at him, then followed his eyes down the lane. At the entrance to Aristotle’s Hall stood a little knot of students, evidently in some sort of quandary. Saphira recognized the Mithian brothers, and one or two others who were William’s students and lodgers in his hall.
‘What is going on, William?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think we are about to find out.’
He nodded his head in the direction of Peter Mithian, who, having spotted his master, was hurrying towards the couple. His eyes were wide with shock, and as he approached he waved his hand behind him. ‘Master, they have come for you.’
Falconer grasped the older Mithian brother by the arm and tried to calm him down. ‘Come for me? Who have come for me?’
The boy could hardly contain himself. ‘They have. Envoys from the King, they said. They wanted to know where you were. And when we said you were not home, they went upstairs nevertheless. They are in your solar.’
‘Are they indeed.’
Falconer’s face was grim, and he made to go towards the hall, and its intruders. Saphira held him back, though.
‘Think first, William. Why are they seeking you out? Would it not be better to retreat? You may be going into danger.’
It was not long since Falconer had been on trial for murder thanks to a trumped-up charge laid by the chancellor of the university. If this was more mischief of a similar type, she feared for Falconer’s safety. But he refused to consider the danger.
‘Chancellor Bek has been ousted from his post, and my reputation is unstained. Well, no more stained than it was before. No, I think I should find out what this is all about.’
‘Then I shall come with you.’
He smiled at Saphira. ‘With you to protect me, I cannot be in any danger. Come. Let us see what the King wants of me.’
Pushing through the group of students in the doorway, Falconer and Saphira crossed the communal hall and ascended the creaky wooden stairs up to the private room under the rafters. Falconer almost expected his solar to be in chaos, ravaged by a band of careless soldiers. What he found was an elegantly garbed young man seated at his oak table flanked by two armed soldiers. Falconer had been a mercenary in his youth, and he knew signs of good discipline when he saw them. The impassive look on the soldiers’ faces barely flickered when he entered. The elegant youth, however, rose and smiled pleasantly.
‘Please forgive this intrusion on your privacy, regent master, but I come on urgent business.’
‘The King’s business, I am led to believe.’
The courtier inclined his head slightly and almost blushed at the perceived compliment made to his importance.
‘I must admit I am honoured to serve our King. My name is John Zellot. But may I first ask… these texts-’ he indicated two scrolls that Falconer had pushed aside when he had placed the sky-stone on the table ‘-this is in Hebrew, and this in Arabic, yes?’
Falconer was surprised at Zellot’s knowledge, for the two texts were indeed in the languages he ascribed to them. They were translations of the same treatise originally written in Greek by the great physician Galen. Falconer had been comparing them to come to a clearer understanding of the subject.
‘Yes. They concern the medical practice of bloodletting.’
Zellot nodded, as if he was familiar with the topic. ‘Ah, yes. His Majesty is well acquainted with that practice.’ He could do little more than recognize the scripts but had deliberately used his limited knowledge of languages to seek a rapport with the master. Now he could move on. ‘But I have come on another matter. It concerns this stone.’