response.
‘And a Jew, if I’m not mistaken. So you can wait outside the gate till tomorrow. Then we will see.’
The seller of cures cursed under his breath and turned to his little familiar.
‘Come, boy, we will camp out in the cemetery. We’ve done it before, and it is most comfortable and dry to have a tomb for a bed.’
Pady watched as the two of them walked across the road to where the Jews’ cemetery was located close by East Gate. He crossed himself.
‘I knew they wasn’t of this world. They’ll find company with their own kind, I reckon.’
He wasn’t quite sure himself if he meant by that merely with other Jews, even if they were dead, or with similar unholy souls that he knew roamed the graveyard after dark. To be on the safe side, he closed the wicket-gate and barred that too.
Despite being only a few miles from home, and at the end of a long, exhausting journey from the Holy Lands, Sir Humphrey Segrim secreted himself in the Golden Ball Inn in the centre of Oxford. The innkeeper, Peter Halegod, had been puzzled by Segrim’s desire for a room, and by his fearful demeanour. The ageing knight had appeared in his doorway, his clothes travel-stained and the hair on his balding, bare head in disarray.
‘Halegod! A room and don’t tell anyone I am here. Understand?’
‘Certainly, sir. I have plenty of room with times as hard as they are at present.’ He looked at Segrim, who stood before him with only a saddlebag slung over one shoulder. Out in the yard, he could see Segrim’s horse being handled by his ostler, but no evidence of further baggage. Hadn’t the man just returned from Outremer? ‘Where is your baggage, sir? Have you travelled light?’
Segrim, who had ridden hard, spurring his destrier ever onwards, had outstripped his new servant Osbert Smith for once. He wondered if he would ever see his armour again, but the need for urgency had been compelling. The sight of the Templar in Berkhamsted had terrified him. It was as if the man was more a demon than a human being, who knew exactly where Segrim was by some sort of necromancy. And death and mayhem followed wherever the Templar went. Lord Richard’s death was further proof of that. He squinted suspiciously at Halegod.
‘Never you mind about that, man. Just show me to my room, and keep your mouth shut.’
Halegod had a mind to turn the discourteous knight away, such was his rudeness, but business was business and it had truly been poor of late. Muttering about the wheel of fate’s downward turn and having to put up with ungrateful wretches, Peter Halegod led Segrim to his best room. He would have his revenge by making him pay through the nose for his night’s stay.
SIX
O n the Sunday of that week, the bells of Oxford’s many churches called the good citizens to prayer as normal. The Franciscans and the Dominicans both had their own friaries in the town, and the friars had been long up and about their devotions when Falconer rose bleary-eyed from his bed. For those in holy orders proper, the day began at midnight with Matins and Lauds, though the monks and friars were then allowed back to bed until daybreak. That was the first Mass of the day for them, followed by breakfast. Falconer’s day was altogether more congenial, even though Regent Masters and students of the university were also nominally in holy orders themselves. Falconer yawned and splashed some cold water in his face from the bowl one of his students had left outside his door. His black robe, when he pulled it on, felt damp and his boots chilly, and he hurried down the creaky stairs to the communal hall where he hoped someone had managed to stir the fire into a semblance of life.
Unfortunately, all he found was a pile of cold ashes. He ventured to the back of the hall, where a ramshackle arrangement of wood and cheap cloth divided off the sleeping areas. In there were small cubicles with bedsteads provided by the abbey landlord. The rest of the bedding was the
‘And a Jew, if I’m not mistaken. So you can wait outside the gate till tomorrow. Then we will see.’
The seller of cures cursed under his breath and turned to his little familiar.
‘Come, boy, we will camp out in the cemetery. We’ve done it before, and it is most comfortable and dry to have a tomb for a bed.’
Pady watched as the two of them walked across the road to where the Jews’ cemetery was located close by East Gate. He crossed himself.
‘I knew they wasn’t of this world. They’ll find company with their own kind, I reckon.’
He wasn’t quite sure himself if he meant by that merely with other Jews, even if they were dead, or with similar unholy souls that he knew roamed the graveyard after dark. To be on the safe side, he closed the wicket-gate and barred that too.
Despite being only a few miles from home, and at the end of a long, exhausting journey from the Holy Lands, Sir Humphrey Segrim secreted himself in the Golden Ball Inn in the centre of Oxford. The innkeeper, Peter Halegod, had been puzzled by Segrim’s desire for a room, and by his fearful demeanour. The ageing knight had appeared in his doorway, his clothes travel-stained and the hair on his balding, bare head in disarray.
‘Halegod! A room and don’t tell anyone I am here. Understand?’
‘Certainly, sir. I have plenty of room with times as hard as they are at present.’ He looked at Segrim, who stood before him with only a saddlebag slung over one shoulder. Out in the yard, he could see Segrim’s horse being handled by his ostler, but no evidence of further baggage. Hadn’t the man just returned from Outremer? ‘Where is your baggage, sir? Have you travelled light?’
Segrim, who had ridden hard, spurring his destrier ever onwards, had outstripped his new servant Osbert Smith for once. He wondered if he would ever see his armour again, but the need for urgency had been compelling. The sight of the Templar in Berkhamsted had terrified him. It was as if the man was more a demon than a human being, who knew exactly where Segrim was by some sort of necromancy. And death and mayhem followed wherever the Templar went. Lord Richard’s death was further proof of that. He squinted suspiciously at Halegod.
‘Never you mind about that, man. Just show me to my room, and keep your mouth shut.’
Halegod had a mind to turn the discourteous knight away, such was his rudeness, but business was business and it had truly been poor of late. Muttering about the wheel of fate’s downward turn and having to put up with ungrateful wretches, Peter Halegod led Segrim to his best room. He would have his revenge by making him pay through the nose for his night’s stay.
SIX
O n the Sunday of that week, the bells of Oxford’s many churches called the good citizens to prayer as normal. The Franciscans and the Dominicans both had their own friaries in the town, and the friars had been long up and about their devotions when Falconer rose bleary-eyed from his bed. For those in holy orders proper, the day began at midnight with Matins and Lauds, though the monks and friars were then allowed back to bed until daybreak. That was the first Mass of the day for them, followed by breakfast. Falconer’s day was altogether more congenial, even though Regent Masters and students of the university were also nominally in holy orders themselves. Falconer yawned and splashed some cold water in his face from the bowl one of his students had left outside his door. His black robe, when he pulled it on, felt damp and his boots chilly, and he hurried down the creaky stairs to the communal hall where he hoped someone had managed to stir the fire into a semblance of life.
Unfortunately, all he found was a pile of cold ashes. He ventured to the back of the hall, where a ramshackle arrangement of wood and cheap cloth divided off the sleeping areas. In there were small cubicles with bedsteads provided by the abbey landlord. The rest of the bedding was the
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