say the treasury is empty.’
Corbett paused for effect. Everything he said the Constable knew. Both he and Corbett had fought in Scotland, where the Scottish princes refused to bow to Edward. More and more armies were being sent north, more treasure drained away.
‘And so we come to Friar Roger Bacon. He was born in the last years of King John, our present King’s grandfather, at Ilchester in Somerset. He proved to be an outstanding scholar, studying at Oxford and Paris. While in Paris he came under the influence of Pierre de Marincourt. People claim that Marincourt was a magician who had discovered secret knowledge.’
Corbett glanced at his two companions; Ranulf was listening intently, as he did to anything on education or knowledge. Bolingbroke had roused himself, eager to discover the true reasons for his flight from Paris, and Ufford’s hideous death.
‘Bacon became a Franciscan,’ Corbett continued. ‘He wrote a number of books, Opus Maius , Opus Minus and Opus Tertium . He also disseminated a number of treatises, such as The Art of the Marvellous and How to Prevent the Onset of Old Age . At first Friar Roger was supported by the Papacy, but eventually he fell under the suspicion of heresy, and until shortly before his death in 1292, some eleven years ago, he was kept in prison. His writings were frowned upon, and they say that when he died, his brothers at the Franciscan priory in Oxford nailed his manuscripts to the wall and left them to rot. Friar Roger’s disciples dispersed. We know of one, a scholar called John whom Bacon often sent to the Holy See. After Friar Roger died, these followers disappeared like puffs of smoke on a summer’s day.’
‘This secret knowledge?’ Ranulf asked.
‘I have studied Friar Roger’s works,’ Corbett replied, ‘as has Master William here. His theories are truly startling. He talks of being able to construct a series of mirrors or glasses which will make places miles away appear so close you could touch them. He claims that Caesar built such a device before his invasion of Britain.’ Corbett warmed to his theme. ‘He talks of carts which can travel without being pulled by oxen, of machines which can go to the bottom of the sea, of ships which don’t need rowers, even of machines that can fly through the air. He also talks of a black powder which can create a thunder-like explosion, a mixture of saltpetre and other substances.’
‘But these have been talked of before.’ Bolingbroke spoke up. ‘Even the great Aristotle claims it is possible to build a machine to go along the bottom of the sea.’
‘I know, I know,’ Corbett conceded, ‘but Friar Roger is different. His Grace the King and I have been through his papers. Bacon actually insists that he has seen some of these experiments work.’ Corbett sat back in his chair, gazing around this stark whitewashed chamber, so simple and bare, nothing but a crucifix and a few coffers and a side table for jugs and goblets, such a contrast to what he was describing.
‘Impossible!’ Sir Edmund breathed. ‘This is witch-craft, magic, the ravings of a warlock.’
‘Is it?’ Ranulf retorted. ‘In the Tower, the King’s engineers are working on bombards which can throw a stone harder and faster against a castle wall than a catapult. The Flemings are building a ship with sails different from ours which make their cogs faster yet sturdier.’
‘I know, I know.’ Sir Edmund sipped from his tankard. ‘But why should his Grace the King be interested in all of this? The schools are full of new wonders; new manuscripts are being discovered; even I, an old soldier, know this. As you do, Sir Hugh. You have debated in the Halls of Oxford and listened to the schoolmen.’
‘I would agree.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I’ve heard the whispers about a magical bronze head which can speak all manner of wisdom, whilst they claim the Templar order have discovered the secrets of Solomon, but it is,’ Corbett grinned, ‘as
Corbett paused for effect. Everything he said the Constable knew. Both he and Corbett had fought in Scotland, where the Scottish princes refused to bow to Edward. More and more armies were being sent north, more treasure drained away.
‘And so we come to Friar Roger Bacon. He was born in the last years of King John, our present King’s grandfather, at Ilchester in Somerset. He proved to be an outstanding scholar, studying at Oxford and Paris. While in Paris he came under the influence of Pierre de Marincourt. People claim that Marincourt was a magician who had discovered secret knowledge.’
Corbett glanced at his two companions; Ranulf was listening intently, as he did to anything on education or knowledge. Bolingbroke had roused himself, eager to discover the true reasons for his flight from Paris, and Ufford’s hideous death.
‘Bacon became a Franciscan,’ Corbett continued. ‘He wrote a number of books, Opus Maius , Opus Minus and Opus Tertium . He also disseminated a number of treatises, such as The Art of the Marvellous and How to Prevent the Onset of Old Age . At first Friar Roger was supported by the Papacy, but eventually he fell under the suspicion of heresy, and until shortly before his death in 1292, some eleven years ago, he was kept in prison. His writings were frowned upon, and they say that when he died, his brothers at the Franciscan priory in Oxford nailed his manuscripts to the wall and left them to rot. Friar Roger’s disciples dispersed. We know of one, a scholar called John whom Bacon often sent to the Holy See. After Friar Roger died, these followers disappeared like puffs of smoke on a summer’s day.’
‘This secret knowledge?’ Ranulf asked.
‘I have studied Friar Roger’s works,’ Corbett replied, ‘as has Master William here. His theories are truly startling. He talks of being able to construct a series of mirrors or glasses which will make places miles away appear so close you could touch them. He claims that Caesar built such a device before his invasion of Britain.’ Corbett warmed to his theme. ‘He talks of carts which can travel without being pulled by oxen, of machines which can go to the bottom of the sea, of ships which don’t need rowers, even of machines that can fly through the air. He also talks of a black powder which can create a thunder-like explosion, a mixture of saltpetre and other substances.’
‘But these have been talked of before.’ Bolingbroke spoke up. ‘Even the great Aristotle claims it is possible to build a machine to go along the bottom of the sea.’
‘I know, I know,’ Corbett conceded, ‘but Friar Roger is different. His Grace the King and I have been through his papers. Bacon actually insists that he has seen some of these experiments work.’ Corbett sat back in his chair, gazing around this stark whitewashed chamber, so simple and bare, nothing but a crucifix and a few coffers and a side table for jugs and goblets, such a contrast to what he was describing.
‘Impossible!’ Sir Edmund breathed. ‘This is witch-craft, magic, the ravings of a warlock.’
‘Is it?’ Ranulf retorted. ‘In the Tower, the King’s engineers are working on bombards which can throw a stone harder and faster against a castle wall than a catapult. The Flemings are building a ship with sails different from ours which make their cogs faster yet sturdier.’
‘I know, I know.’ Sir Edmund sipped from his tankard. ‘But why should his Grace the King be interested in all of this? The schools are full of new wonders; new manuscripts are being discovered; even I, an old soldier, know this. As you do, Sir Hugh. You have debated in the Halls of Oxford and listened to the schoolmen.’
‘I would agree.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I’ve heard the whispers about a magical bronze head which can speak all manner of wisdom, whilst they claim the Templar order have discovered the secrets of Solomon, but it is,’ Corbett grinned, ‘as
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