‘The bishop, of course.’
‘And where was he bound?’
Saphira had to admit she had no idea, so William enlightened her.
‘He wasn’t going back to his quarters. He was hurrying off in the opposite direction, towards the-’
‘Towards the servants’ quarters. And who would have been at Ralph’s side just before the bishop, but the grieving widow.’
Falconer nodded eagerly. ‘We didn’t see her, but it was certain she had been there. And her presence may have given the bishop an idea. If he didn’t steal the stone himself, he was so eager to possess it that he would have been pursuing the one who he thought had stolen it.’
Ralph’s widow, Megan, was packing a small bundle with her possessions. With her husband dead, she had no further purpose in being in the palace of the King. Her reddened, round face was framed by a white cloth head veil that was wound under her chin. She seemed stoical, cheered only by the little boy who played happily around her feet. In reply to Falconer’s questions, she confirmed that the bishop had been to speak to her.
‘The French priest? Yes, he came here the morning Ralph was… was… died. But he seemed interested only in the stone.’
‘The stone?’
‘Yes. Ralph had this stone he said he had found in the outer courtyard. He insisted on little Robin playing with it, though the child showed little interest. The boy has been ill, you see. But look at him now. He is so happy. It is a shame his father could not have witnessed the change in him. So I gave the priest this stone, and he gave me some coins for it, though it was worthless. I shall need them to see me through, until I can find work. And little Robin is so hungry now.’
William and Saphira left the widow to her packing, and the happy boy to his play. He had learned all he needed to know, hinting to Saphira that it was her action of holding the King’s hand that had clarified everything. She was puzzled, but he said it only remained for them to make his second enquiry of the court scribes before they reported back to the King. By the time they had done that, it was late, and Henry looked wan and tired. But he insisted on sitting up in his bed, and hearing Falconer out. When he had finished telling the King everything, William was sure he had enough evidence to unmask the murderer. But this was the King’s case, and he was merely the assistant.
Uncertain, Henry fixed him with a wary eye. ‘Do I need more truths?’
Falconer shook his head. ‘You have all you need to know. So now it may be useful to get Sir Thomas to round up your servants and physicians and bring them here.’
‘So do you think it was one of the servants? Or a quack?’
Henry was trying to delve into Falconer’s mind in an effort to uncover his conclusions. But the master kept a stony face and merely smiled non-committally at his monarch. Peevishly, Henry called out for Sir Thomas Dalyson, who clearly had been hovering close to the bedchamber door all this time. He hurried off about his task, and soon the bedchamber filled with some ten servants without whom the King’s existence was clearly intolerable. Falconer marvelled how he had managed to look after himself so long, if it took this number to minister to just one man, be he King of England or not.
The faces, whether young or old, long or broad, slim or rounded, had one feature in common. They all exuded the sweat of fear — a helpful tongue-loosener the King was going to use to his benefit. He began with a bold statement.
‘In this room stands the killer of my wardroper.’
Before anyone could protest, the King pointed a bony finger at his usher, Godric. ‘You are accused of being cuckolded by the dead man. Reason aplenty to kill him. And you…’ his finger moved on to one of his stewards ‘-envied his position, lusting after it. You-’ again the accusing finger moved and landed on poor Tod ‘-owed him money, more than you could afford to repay.’
One by one, he pointed out the reason why each servant present might have wished the wardroper dead, until everyone marvelled at the King’s insight into the dark secrets of those who surrounded him. But then who was the murderer? Were they all? The King came to his conclusions.
‘But all these reasons have long existed. Why would any of you kill Ralph now? And so precipitately? My three physicians had more urgent reason to murder Ralph, for he may have witnessed one of them taking the stone for his own purposes.’
All three physicians blanched as all the eyes in the room turned on them. A flood of protest fell from their lips, which the King stilled with a peremptory lifting of his hand.
‘However, laying the murder at the feet of my quacks…’ Henry used the word with great pleasure, and enjoyed the pinched look of horror on Megrim’s face at being so named. He pressed on. ‘Laying the murder at the feet of my… physicians would depend on one of them having been the thief of the stone. And I know none of them was, because Ralph himself was the thief.’
A gasp escaped the lips of all those in the room. This was a complete turnaround from what had been supposed. But the King was the King, and he knew best. Henry lay back on his heap of pillows and smiled at Falconer, revealing the jagged points of his worn teeth. Falconer nodded his encouragement, knowing the King had seen the trail of evidence he had carefully laid before him. Ralph had been killed not because he witnessed the theft of the stone, but because he had seen something much more serious happen in the King’s bedchamber. And he had been in the bedchamber in order to steal the stone to cure his ailing son.
Henry’s eyes glittered, and his breath came in great gasps.
‘I have a syllogism. My seal ring was missing between the twelfth and fourteenth days of this month. There is on record a document dated the thirteenth, and sealed with my ring, whereby Sir Anthony Ledsham was deprived of his lands by my authority. I did not have the ring then; therefore this action was a fraud.’
There was a confused muttering in the bedchamber, and those present glanced nervously at each other. If the King was correct, and not confused, such a misuse of the seal was treasonable.
‘I have another syllogism.’ The King’s voice was firmer and more penetrating than it had been for some months. ‘He who possessed my ring on that day is a thief and fraudster, who sought to gain Ledsham’s land illegally. Second, anyone who saw that ring in the thief’s possession on that day needed to be silenced. Ralph, in the process of… borrowing the sky-stone, saw the secretive returning of my ring while I slept. Therefore, I deduce the person who had the ring and placed it in my bedclothes so that I might think it had fallen off my finger is both a thief and a murderer. Is that not so, Sir Thomas?’
Sir Thomas Dalyson blanched and leaped towards the door. William Falconer swiftly blocked his path, the smile of satisfaction on his face matching that of his monarch.
Historical Note
King Henry III of England peacefully gave up his soul to the Lord on the sixteenth day of November 1272 after a reign of fifty-six years and twenty-nine days. But not before he had seen Sir Thomas Dalyson dance on the gibbet for his treasonable misdeeds.
Act Five
London, 1606
This was the worst hangover ever, no question. It was not only the sour taste in my mouth or the pulse throbbing in my head or the cast-iron sensation in my limbs. It was the way the bed kept swaying. I was lying on my back, and I feared that if I opened my eyes — something I wasn’t planning to do for a year or two — then I would see the dingy ceiling of my bedchamber in Tooley Street swooping and plunging above my head like a giant, demented bird.
Fortunately, I had no reason to open my eyes. No reason at all since it was night-time. There was a deep blackness beyond the glow-worms flitting across my inner eyelids. I felt justified in sinking back into a fume-filled slumber with the hope that when I awoke again, after a millennium or two, I might feel more like myself, more like Nick Revill.