Falconer's Trial by Ian Morson Read Free Book Online

Coke led her through this door, having used a large key to open it. Inside, Ann marvelled once again at the calm that prevailed. The inner walls of the cloister bore paintings with religious themes on the white plasterwork. Three sides led into houses where the twenty nuns had their quarters. A slender but dominating figure stood at the northern end of the cloister. Sister Gwladys had anticipated Ann’s arrival it seemed, as she always did.
    She had one of those smiles that was a result of the corners of her mouth turning down rather than up. But Ann knew she was pleased to see her, nevertheless. At her shoulder stood the familiar figure of Sister Hildegard, who conformed precisely to the nunnery’s requirement of a companion when any nun spoke to an outsider – that of being ‘an ancient and discreet nun’.
    Gwladys took a step forward and raised a hand as if in a benediction.
    ‘Welcome, Mistress Segrim. I am glad you came. I have something quite disturbing that I need to discuss with you.’
    Sir Humphrey Segrim guzzled yet another jug of the cheap ale and settled into the cosy corner he had established for himself in the nameless tavern in Berkhamsted. He had given the innkeeper the impression that he was a knight returning from the Holy Wars in Outremer, where he had experienced hard times and cruel battles. In fact, he had got no further than the island of Cyprus, once ruled by King Richard, but now in the hands of the French Lusignan family. King Hugh of Cyprus was an obscure offshoot of that family, who also laid claim to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, though this was disputed. Prince Edward, son of Henry of Winchester, was trying to revive the stumbling Holy War, which had been slowed down by the death of Louis of France. So when Segrim and the Templar had arrived at Famagusta harbour, they found that Edward had already set sail for Acre with a handful of his followers. The knights of Cyprus had refused to fight on the mainland due, they claimed, to a conflict in feudal laws. The Templar cursed them for cowards and immediately sought passage for himself to Outremer. Segrim circumspectly chose to see what developed over the water first and stayed in Famagusta. Besides, he had become uneasy about his travelling companion. There had been the strange incident in Viterbo in March of that year that had worried Segrim. And still worried him now.
    He was about to call for another jug of ale, when the door of the inn burst open and a man in rough clothes soaked to the skin rushed in. His face looked grim and the pallor of his skin was made all the more marked by his black hair that was plastered down by the heavy rain.
    ‘He’s dead! Lord Richard is dead!’
    A cry of horror was wrenched from the lips of all who, until that moment, had been noisily carousing one with the other. The innkeeper hustled over to the messenger of the bad news and thrust a jug into his hand. The uneasy silence that then descended on the inn was only gradually broken by a growing murmur of worry. All those present depended for their livelihood on the lord of the manor who had just apparently died. Segrim guessed it had to be Richard of Cornwall himself, brother to the King of England and lately elected King of Germany. He leaned towards a sturdy yeoman who sat near him.
    ‘Is it Richard, Earl Cornwall, he speaks of?’
    The red-faced farmer nodded sagely.
    ‘Yes. And mark my words, there is evil afoot here.’
    ‘Evil? Did he not fall ill with the half-dead disease last December? Though I was abroad, I heard he was paralyzed down his right side and had lost the power of speech. Was not his death inevitable?’
    The yeoman shook his head vigorously.
    ‘Not so soon as this. It was said he was much recovered and paying attention to his affairs as though he were whole again. No, his death, coming so soon after his nephew’s, who was in his care at the time, is a cause for concern.’
    Segrim knew what the man was referring to. Prince Edward’s