she nudged him only to find that he rolled over on his side and continued snoring. She poked him vigorously with her finger. He was suddenly alert, his distant past life as a mercenary asserting itself once again.
‘What is it?’
She lay back on the too-soft pillow, her red hair spilling all over it. ‘Tell me about Elagabal.’
Falconer groaned and propped himself up on his elbow, staring at her glorious profile. ‘You have woken me up for a lesson in history?’
She sternly refused to respond, so he continued. ‘Let me think. In ancient times the sun god Elagabal was worshipped as a black stone that was protected by an eagle. Herodian said it came down from Zeus, hence the connection with it being a meteorite. Such stones have been known by the name bethel, or baitylos. The Irish even have a word for them. Both-al.’
‘The Irish? Was that where our stone came from? Covele, the talisman seller, reckoned it came from far beyond Ireland. But then he might have been inflating the story to get more money from me.’
Falconer shrugged. ‘Who knows where it came from? But the truth is I don’t imagine it was the actual stone the cult in Rome worshipped. Though some may think so. And it was a pretty nasty cult, by all accounts.’
Saphira sat up, holding the slipping blanket over her bare breasts, much to William’s regret. ‘Do tell.’
‘The Roman emperor Heliogabalus was its high priest, and there were tales of castration and human sacrifice levelled against him by more conservative historians.’
Saphira frowned. ‘Just the sort of accusations thrown at us Jews now, then.’
Falconer nodded. ‘And probably for the same reasons. To denigrate and destroy the religion. It is said that the cult of Sol Invictus did not survive the death of Emperor Heliogabalus. Others say it was driven under ground. So who knows if it survives to this day?’
Saphira was about to respond when a great cry was heard far off in another part of the palace. Running feet could soon be heard pounding along the corridor outside their door. Saphira tensed and held the blanket close to her with clenched fists. Falconer stroked her bare shoulder to assuage her fears.
‘It’s all right. They are going elsewhere in the palace. Wait here. I will get dressed and see what is happening.’
He swung his legs out of the bed, half forgetting how high it was off the ground compared with the familiar pallet in his solar back in Oxford. Saphira grabbed his arm as he steadied himself.
‘Take care.’
Falconer nodded his reassurance and quickly donned his old black robe and boots. Cramming his pileum on his head, he opened the door a crack and slipped through. After he had gone, Saphira could still hear cries of anger and alarm echoing down the corridors of Westminster. She sat on the bed for as long as she could bear, then she, too, got up and stepped into her gown. Curiosity overcoming her fears, she followed the sound of loud voices in the same direction Falconer had gone.
Falconer found that the babble of sound was leading him towards the King’s chamber. He wondered if Henry had at last died, and the noise was the confusion associated with his passing. Henry had been King for so long that few people alive could recall anyone else ever being on the throne of England. And Henry’s son and heir, Prince Edward, was in the Holy Lands on crusade. Such a situation could lead to total chaos. However, as Falconer turned the corner of the corridor that led to Henry’s private bedchamber, he heard the piping voice of the King. He was still alive, and very perturbed, it seemed.
‘Where is it? Where is it?’
Falconer could hear a note of panic in the tones as he approached the door. A bodyguard, who had clearly donned his coat of mail too hastily and was still struggling with it, made to prevent his entry. Then suddenly the King’s cries turned into a hacking cough that went on and on without cease. Dalyson appeared at the door, dressed in a white and voluminous nightgown, damp at the edges. His hair for once was dishevelled. He stopped abruptly in front of Falconer.
‘Get in there and try to calm him, for God’s sake. I must call his physicians.’
The bodyguard reluctantly stepped back and allowed Falconer to pass. But before he entered the room, the regent master asked Dalyson a question. ‘What is it the King has lost that perturbs him so?’
Dalyson grimaced. ‘Not lost. Stolen, he says. It is that damned stone you brought him.’
As Dalyson retreated down the corridor in search of the three physicians, Falconer took a deep breath and went into the presence of the King.
Saphira had to admit her sense of direction was not as unerring as William’s, and after the initial turmoil had died down there was nothing to guide her. She wished she had paid more attention when Sir Thomas Dalyson had led herself and Falconer to the King’s chamber earlier. But she had been so wrapped up in her own fears that she had ignored which way they had turned. So when she came to the end of a narrow corridor and found a locked door before her, she paused. Turning back, she began to retrace her steps. At an unfamiliar junction, she realized she was lost and, thinking she heard the soft sound of bare feet, called out. ‘Hello? Can you help me? I am lost.’
There was a moment’s silence, then once again what sounded like bare feet hurrying away. She walked slowly in the direction the sounds had come from, suddenly cautious and alert to danger. She had called out loudly, so whoever it was had made the noises must have heard her. So why had they run away? Peering around a corner, she saw that she was entering an unlit room filled with large barrels. She must have found her way to the kitchens, or some storage room. The nearest barrel was almost chest high; whatever the contents were, some of it had splashed out very recently. Pools of liquid darkened the flagstones on the floor around the barrel. She crouched down and dipped her fingers in the puddle. Touching her fingers to her lips, she realized the liquid was merely water. Other equipment she could now discern in the gloom told her this was a brewhouse. She guessed that a palace the size of Westminster required prodigious quantities of ale. No one would drink plain water out of the river, so weak ale was required for everyday consumption. She hoped she had not caught anything by sucking on her wet fingers. She reasoned that it probably was not the case from such small quantities, even though there were many rats swimming in the Thames and its tributaries. Idly, she peered in the open top of the barrel. The dead eyes of Ralph Wardroper stared back up at her from under the water. She gasped and ran back down the dark corridor to call for help.
The man dressed in chain mail whom she ran into in the maze of corridors leading from the brewhouse took her for a dangerous intruder. Dressed as she was in a simple green gown, barefoot, with her thick red hair, uncovered and sticking out in tangles from her head, he assumed she was no lady. In fact, her wild claims of dead men in barrels made him think she was a madwoman. He called for assistance, and he and his two companions overpowered the lunatic, dragging her to the brewhouse to confront her delusion. The sight of the drowned man in the water barrel changed their minds. They now decided she was not only a madwoman but a murderer, too. Saphira soon sat shivering in a cold cell deep below the King’s rooms. It was what seemed like an eternity before rescue came.
Sir Thomas Dalyson soon heard the reports of a madwoman loose in the palace and thanked God that she had been apprehended. When he heard that she had red hair, he knew who she was, and he knew he would have to look into the matter further. He didn’t care about what William Falconer might say. But the regent master’s whore had found a place in the heart of the King, and the King would probably want to know where she was. Especially when Megrim, Rixe and Brother Mark failed to calm him down over the loss of the stone. He then pondered the possibility of killing two birds with one stone, and ensuring that the woman was found guilty of the murder she stood accused of. He thought he could arrange that before even the King and Falconer heard of the matter. But before he was able to set the matter in train, he was summoned to the King’s bedside. Entering the dark and stale-smelling room, he saw the familiar trio of physicians, heads together, arguing, as always. Close by the bed of the King sat the tall, calm figure of the regent master from Oxford. Shockingly, Falconer seemed to be laughing at one of Henry’s tantrums. Did the man not know who he was mocking?
Falconer leaned towards the King as the figure of the chamberlain strode over. He whispered in Henry’s ear. ‘Here comes your trained monkey, Majesty. Too late, as always.’
The King momentarily forgot the gravity of the situation and sniggered. Then he put on his most serious face. ‘Sir Thomas, what have you done to get my stone back? This is a most serious affair.’
He could not help a whine growing in his voice. He was scared that without the sacred stone his health might deteriorate once more. Someone who wanted him dead must have taken it. He even suspected that one of his physicians might have secreted it away out of jealousy.
Dalyson bowed low. ‘The matter is being looked into, Majesty. But many strange things are happening at the
