‘And no doubt that will result in several confessions as the pain becomes unbearable. Which one will you choose then?’
The King flapped his bony hand disdainfully in the air, as if that were not a problem. ‘Then I would execute them all, and that way be sure of retribution falling on the true killer.’
Falconer and Saphira exchanged worried looks. If this was the King’s way of dealing out justice, then heaven help the innocent. Falconer tried another tack. ‘Majesty, you have cleverly winkled out several possible truths here. Perhaps you could leave it to myself and Madam Le Veske to verify them, while you continue to examine the larger scheme of things.’
Henry smiled broadly, glad to have his own superior cunning acknowledged in the presence of this Oxford master. But still he wasn’t sure how to proceed as Falconer had suggested. What other possibilities were there? He had to plunder the master’s brain without revealing his ignorance. ‘If you were me, what other people would you suspect?’
‘Anyone present in the palace at the time must be a suspect. Sir Thomas, Roger Megrim, John Rixe, Brother Mark…’
Before he could stop her, Saphira eagerly added to Falconer’s list. ‘And Pierre, Bishop of Narbonne.’
Henry snorted in amusement. ‘And Master William Falconer and Madam Saphira Le Veske, too.’
Falconer nodded gravely, agreeing with the King’s assessment. ‘As Your Majesty wishes. But we can vouch for each other’s innocence, if you take my meaning.’
For a moment Saphira felt that Henry’s eyes, boring into her soul, had taken on his legendary lynx-like stare. She blushed and looked down at her feet. When she looked up again, the look had once again faded into a clouded blue. But the King’s quiet smile showed he knew exactly what Falconer had meant by his profession of their lack of involvement in the murder. He turned his gaze slowly on to Falconer.
‘I shall speak to all those you have mentioned.’
Hastily, Falconer interposed with a bit of advice. ‘May I suggest you do it as part of your normal daily proceedings? Truths often emerge when suspects are lulled into believing they are above suspicion.’
Henry chortled, wiping away the saliva that had dribbled from the corner of his lips and down his jutting and whiskery chin. ‘You mean to say that I should not subject any of them to torture. I wonder what would happen to our relationship with Philip of France if it emerged I had put one of his bishops on the rack. Of course, I have often thought of applying torture to my three physicians in return for all they put me through. Especially as I have often heard it said that doctors should have three qualities: to be able to lie cleverly, to seem to be honest and to be able to kill without caring.’
Falconer refrained from saying the same qualities could be said to be the prime attributes of being a monarch. He still needed Henry’s cooperation to solve Ralph’s murder. And besides, the King had rallied in health somewhat at the thought of playing at being a deductive. A game that had taken his mind off the loss of the sky- stone, for a while at least.
Having taken their leave of the King, Falconer’s thoughts returned to the stone. Did its theft have a part to play in the murder? Had Ralph seen someone take it, and lost his life for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? If so, who had reason to steal it? The physicians all had cause to envy the place of the sky-stone in their patient’s belief in a cure for his ills. Falconer tested the idea on Saphira. ‘Do you think one of the doctors stole the stone because they thought it replaced the trust the King may have had in their own power to cure him? Or did one of them steal it to be able to use it himself on those who believed in its powers?’
Saphira squeezed his arm. ‘Either possibility may be the truth. But why come up with a theory about the doctors, when we have someone who is proven to have had a desire to possess the stone?’
‘You’re back to the bishop again, aren’t you?’
‘Well, you haven’t yet been able to convince me he is not involved. And if he did steal it, and Ralph happened to see him…’
Falconer reluctantly nodded his agreement. ‘Then Narbonne would have had cause to kill him. That is just what I was thinking. But what about the doctors? They have reason, too. It seems we cannot agree who to pursue first, so let us try to eliminate the servants. Let’s see if those whom the King has cast doubt on can explain where they were when Ralph was killed. And let us do it without resorting to torture.’
As the day progressed, Henry was getting more and more frustrated. He had followed Falconer’s advice and resolved to question his physicians without them knowing they were being interrogated as a murder suspect. First he wrapped a shawl around his shoulders, then he burrowed fully dressed under his bedclothes. He proposed to feign illness. Which was no great problem, because he soon began to feel hot and feverish, encumbered in clothing as he was. He called his physicians into his bedchamber one by one, rather than having them beside him bickering all together. Of course, he gave precedence to John Rixe the apothecary, knowing this would perturb both Brother Mark and Master Roger Megrim. When he came to speak to them, they would be worried about their position in the pecking order. Henry reckoned he could teach Master Falconer a thing or two about putting suspects on the wrong foot.
Rixe, when he entered, looked particularly solemn. He hurried over to the King’s bedside. ‘Majesty, you look very hot and fevered today.’
Henry put on a croaking voice, playing his part. ‘Yes, and I think I have a toothache, too.’
John Rixe’s chubby face broke into a wide smile. He looked over his shoulder, making sure he was free of the ridicule Megrim might pour on his ancient remedies. Then he leaned close to the King, and whispered his advice. ‘You must say the words argidam, margidam, sturgidam, and then spit in the mouth of a frog and ask it to make off with your toothache. My grandam swore by this.’
‘ Ardigam…?’
‘ Argidam, margidam, sturgidam. Do you wish me to obtain a frog for you? There will be many in the margins of the river.’
Henry looked into the innocent round eyes of John Rixe. ‘I think not, Master Rixe. I only…’
But before he could continue, the apothecary was making use of this rare time alone with the King to expound on his knowledge. ‘Words are very powerful remedies. For a fever, I only have to say agodes, platino, placete into your right ear, and your recovery is guaranteed. Shall I do that, Majesty?’
Henry held up a firm hand to stop Rixe’s eager stooping towards his ear. He was so close, Henry could see the beads of sweat on the fat man’s brow. ‘No. Stop, man.’
Rixe reared up, startled by his patient’s peremptory, and loud, tones. Just now, the King had been weakened, and his voice had been hoarse. Now he seemed more robust. Perhaps his incantations had had the desired effect after all. He beamed cheerfully at his patient. ‘Is there anything else Your Majesty wishes to ask me?’
Henry frowned. ‘There is, actually. This sky-stone that has gone missing. Do you think it can have any curative powers?’
‘Undoubtedly, Majesty. I am a firm believer in the powers of stones, herbs and animals.’
Henry poked a finger at the fat man. ‘So you might have stolen it yourself to use on others.’
John Rixe paled, and the room swam around him dizzyingly. He could hardly get his words out. ‘Ma… majesty?’
The interviews with the two other physicians went just as badly. Brother Mark, whom Henry called in next, insisted on intoning a prayer over the hot and sweating King. He fidgeted in his bed as Mark went on and on.
‘I adjure you, ye fevers, by the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, by Emmanuel, Sabaoth, Adonai and the Mediator, by prophet and priest, by the Trinity and the Unity, by Almighty God, King of all, by Jesus Christ and in virtue of his blood, by the purity of the angels and archangels-’
Henry became impatient. ‘Will this take long, Brother Mark?’
The Dominican’s voice rose and continued inexorably.
‘-by patriarchs, prophets, apostles, matrons, confessors and virgins, and because you have no power to hurt. For Christ was made obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.’
Henry sighed with relief. Now he could begin his real task. ‘Brother Mark, as a man of God, do you believe in the powers of the sky-stone?’
The monk’s brow furrowed, and he began to expostulate on the Church’s attitude to graven images.
Henry cut in. ‘So could you have stolen it to remove me from its bad influence?’
