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and to lock the cellar door behind him, surely would not have
voluntarily left an experiment half done. Finding a pitcher of water
on the floor beside the furnace, he doused the glowing coals to
prevent a fire. They spat and crackled like a horde of demons
from hell, but then sank back into a blackened mass that could
only steam impotently.
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Falconer carefully locked the secrets of the cellar away and hid
the key inside the Book of Dreams on Zerach s table. He stepped
outside the house, shutting the door firmly behind him, and
wondered what he should do next about delivering Roger Bacon s
letter.
Solomon dropped the bolt on the little hut that he used as his
sentry-box each night and wedged it fast with a heavy stone. The
stone was a corner from a larger monument and had ancient
letters carved on it. But they meant nothing to Solomon the
satisfying weight of the stone was what he needed. Happy that
his meagre possessions were safe in the hut, he pulled his rags
around him and set off towards East Gate. It did not occur to him
that the hovel was made of weak daub, and if anyone wanted to
steal his possessions they could push their way through the
side wall of the hut more easily than breaking down the door.
Nor did it cross his mind that no one would want to steal his
possessions anyway, consisting as they did of a cheap mutton-
fat lamp and a blanket as tattered as his clothes. All he knew
was that in this world you could not trust the Christians, and
there were Christians all around.
The roadway leading into East Gate was churned and muddy,
for the sun was high enough to have melted the nightly frost.
Oblivious of the filth that squelched up through his cracked and
worn-out footwear, Solomon plodded along at the roadside thinking
only of his bed in his sister s house. Saphira had looked after
him from the days of his sickly childhood. It had not made her
marriage a very happy one, as her big brute of a husband Covele
had resented the attention she paid her brother. Solomon had
secretly rejoiced when he died, and his sister had not remarried.
He and Saphira were getting on in years now and rubbed along
together in a set routine. And that was what he liked unusual
occurrences frightened him.
That was why the events of the other night kept turning over
in his mind. Oh, he saw lots of things from his vantage point
overlooking the road out of East Gate, where he spent every night.
It was surprising how many people conducted secret assignations
on that road when they should be securely locked up inside the
city. He had seen friars of all orders meeting women. And recently
he had seen someone from the city meeting a ferocious-looking
wild man, who must have been from one of those robber bands
Saphira said plagued the countryside. He d seen the same
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townsman the other day working on the stage for the play-actors,
and discovered his name was Ralph. Not that he would be telling
anyone what he saw Jews kept their mouths shut in England if
they knew what was good for them. Or so his father had said
when he was small. He still wondered what had happened to his
father, who had disappeared just before the family moved from
their home in Lincoln and came to Oxford.
Once through East Gate it was his habit to turn left down the
narrow alley that ran immediately inside the walls too many
people made fun of him if he went down the main street. On this
occasion someone behind him turned into the alley too, and he
quickened his pace instinctively, thoughts of robbers still on his
mind.
But neither could he shake off the vivid memory of the scene
that had presented itself the other night. Hearing an unfamiliar
sound, he had looked out of his sentry-box and seen, only a few
paces away, someone digging in the ground. The door to his hut
squeaked as he swung it further open and the figure lifted its
face towards him. The shock of recognition had stunned him. He
was churning the moment over in his mind again, and failed to
hear the slap of running feet behind him. It was only when an
excruciating pain lanced through his head that he half turned to
see the pale, contorted features that loomed over him. His pursuer
raised his weapon again and brought it down once more on
Solomon s already shattered head. The Jew fell in a heap in the
darkest corner of the alley, his open, unseeing eyes staring at
the weapon his assailant had dropped to the ground. It was the
curiously carved stone that should have been securing his hut.
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Chapter Nine
GOD: Say, what array do I find here?
Who is your prince and principal?
I made thee, O Angel Lucifer,
And here thou wouldst be lord over all!
The Fall of Lucifer
or Peter Bullock the day was not progressing well. His
Fexamination of Agnes Cheke had revealed that she had been
on her own when the murder occurred, cleaning some of the
costumes, so no one could vouch for her not being the killer. It
also uncovered in her another person who hated de Askeles. She
had been quite frank about it to the constable, her plain face set
like stone.
Did I kill the monk? That s for you to find out. Did I wish
Stefano dead? Of course. He just does not give up, you see. Using
and abusing people.
And you?
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