Falconer's Trial Read Free

side.
    In the end, Falconer eschewed the pork stew for himself. He had decided to call on Saphira that night and did not want the odour of a forbidden animal on his clothes. Or on his lips. It was some months now since Saphira Le Veske, a Jew from France, had surprised him with her forthrightness. For weeks since she had turned up in Oxford, they had performed a decorous dance around each other’s feelings. Then she had stopped his dithering by simply offering him her naked body.
    He had revelled in her red-haired charms many times since, regularly breaking his notional vow of celibacy. A regent master of the university was supposed to be in holy orders of a sort, but many took the stricture with a pinch of salt. The rules really only meant that he could not marry and Falconer had indeed been celibate for many years before meeting Saphira. Except for the occasional romp with a pleasant whore from the stews of Beaumont, which didn’t count. His very public friendship with Mistress Ann Segrim had remained unconsummated, despite what others thought. She was the wife of Sir Humphrey Segrim of the Manor of Botley, and though the marriage was essentially a sham, still Ann held to her vows.
    Perhaps that was why their friendship had not withstood the arrival of Saphira Le Veske in Oxford some months ago. The Jewish widow was all passion and fiery charm, where Ann was cool and composed. Falconer had not stood a chance. Yet he regretted the estrangement from Mistress Segrim and resolved to reinstate their friendship as soon as he could. But tonight he was to devote his time to Saphira.
    Or so he thought.
    Saphira was renting a house in Fish Street that belonged to her cousin Abraham. The front door was noticeable for a gouge in its surface caused by an axe. An axe which had almost split Falconer’s head open. It had been during a riot when the Jews of the town had been under attack for an imagined offence against the Christians. Saphira had dragged Falconer indoors just in time to save his brains from being splattered across her doorstep. The door had suffered badly from the blow, however, and the mark still marred the surface. But Falconer did not use this front entrance to Saphira’s house. For the sake of her reputation, and not really his own, he used the rear access to her house via Kepeharm Lane. This evening, he did not get as far as the narrow alley, however. As he passed her front door, Saphira came hurrying out, almost bowling him over.
    ‘Whoa!’ He grabbed her arm, halting her headlong progress and smiled ruefully. ‘I did not think to meet so publicly as this.’
    ‘William! How nice to see you. Was I expecting you? I am in rather a hurry.’
    She smiled up at Falconer who was a head taller than her. He grinned and reached out to tuck a stray red curl back under the modest snood she wore in public. As a widow and a Jew, there were certain niceties to observe. Niceties that had no place in the privacy of her home, however. He had felt the lithe form of her body as they had collided, and marvelled again at the sleekness of her shape even though she was forty years of age. A twinge of disappointment shot through him.
    ‘You are going somewhere? I had thought we might… talk.’
    Saphira pulled a face, expressing her regret.
    ‘I am sorry, William. Truly I am. But Samson has promised to teach me a little more about herbs and cure-alls. He has an alembic bubbling nicely and it will not wait for any man.’ She pressed her hand against his chest. ‘Even you.’
    Falconer felt the heat of her hand through his robe. He was filled with desire for her, but knew that Saphira had recently conceived a desire to learn more about the art of herbs and their use in medicine. Samson the Jew was not getting any younger and had no one to pass his knowledge on to. His only child was Hannah, who though dutiful, had no desire to learn the secrets from her father. And although she had recently married Deudone, her new husband too