Falconer's Trial Read Free Page B

time dark and demonic to Segrim. It was no doubt on its stately way to Queenhithe and a more commodious landing than Segrim had found in Shadwell.
    As the sun descended in the sky, a golden glow sparkled along the rippling surface of the river. The ship seemed to glide effortlessly over this gilded surface. A beam of sunlight caught on something shiny, high on the stern of the demon ship. It must have been the sparkle of well-oiled chain mail or a polished helm. Segrim screwed up his eyes, which could no longer see clearly over such a great distance. An imposing figure stood at the stern rail of the ship, holding casually on to a halliard that ran up into the rigging. For a moment Segrim was convinced that it was the Templar, and that the man was staring directly at him with those crazy green eyes of his. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the apparition was past. Segrim shuddered, turning away from the river and its traffic. He needed to get to London as soon as possible and arrange his passage to the safety of his estate near Oxford.
    Falconer rose early the next day. Despite his dismissal of the importance of his possible debate with Ralph Cornish, he could not stop his brain from scurrying back and forth over arguments and ideas. He had sat through Thomas’s simple disputes of Vesperies the night before, after which it had been too late to return to Saphira’s house. He regretted the omission at the time but was determined to support his favourite student as he took his final steps to becoming a master of the university. The boy was on the verge of his final test. Boy? Thomas Symon was a young man in his twenties, and far more level-headed than Falconer had been at that age. He had thrown up his studies for a life on the roads and merchant routes of Europe, sometimes earning his keep as a mercenary soldier. It had only been the recollection of the encouragement given him by a certain Franciscan friar that had lured him back to learning. Roger Bacon had been teaching at Oxford when Falconer first arrived and had shown him what a good brain he had. His yearnings to see the world, though, had torn him away from the man later dubbed Doctor Mirabilis. But the bond had always remained. Falconer had eventually settled down to study at the University of Bologna, only to return to Oxford in 1250.
    He could not believe that twenty-two years had passed since that fateful day. But scrubbing his fingers through his greying locks and feeling the natural tonsure that was growing atop his skull, convinced him that time was indeed passing. It did not seem seven years since Thomas Symon had arrived in Oxford in the middle of a particularly nasty set of murders. But today he would complete his studies and become a master himself. He would have his Inception into the university. And Falconer would encounter Ralph Cornish. He grinned at the thought of Ralph Cornish thinking he could ambush Thomas with his disputations, merely to humiliate William himself. Ralph’s tenet was that, if the student was shown to be foolish, then the mentor must be also. But what Ralph did not know was that Falconer had prepared a surprise for him that had nothing to do with cold intellect. Ralph would be caught like a rabbit in a trap. Falconer looked at the long paper tube lying amidst the jumble on his work table. He tapped it tentatively with a finger and grinned like a naughty little boy.
    Morning in Oxford that day was beginning exactly as any other day in the town, except for Sunday, of course. The sun had barely begun to warm the streets before the sellers of fish and meat began to open the shutters of their narrow-fronted shops. Long before being a university town, Oxford had been the marketplace for the region. A crossroads of trade. In fact, the main streets of Oxford were like four arms of a great cross, apparently lying on its side from east to west. It defined the shape of the town. These unusually broad avenues were filled with shops, each with its