‘What is it, Thomas?’
‘It is a resin produced from a plant. In the East men rub the plant buds until the resin accumulates on their hands. Then they scrape it off. Eating it causes euphoria, which is why it is taken. But it can also cause fear and anxiety. If Hebborn ate some of this, he could have feared for his life and imagined any sort of phantasmagoria — demons, Devils pursuing him or the fires of hell.’
Falconer shuddered. He recalled his involuntary experience with khat, which was bad enough. This sounded infinitely worse. If the students had been fed this, no wonder they behaved strangely. Then Thomas said something that struck a chord with him.
‘There is a rumour that the Eastern sect of Assassins is associated with eating it, and that is why they are so crazy. But it is just a rumour — a slur on their beliefs, perhaps.’
‘You are talking about opium, aren’t you? That in the East they call hashish.’
Thomas nodded, and Falconer thought of King Edward’s account of Anzazim’s attack. The mad appearance of the Assassin’s eyes. He looked at the pale stone Thomas held in his fingers, marvelling at what it could cause to happen.
‘Throw it in the river.’
‘What?’ Falconer’s reaction surprised Thomas. ‘Is it not evidence of wrongdoing? Why get rid of it?’
‘Because it is too dangerous to leave lying around. Throw it in the water.’
Thomas did so, and the small stone plopped into the river to settle among the mud and other stones on the river bed. Falconer squared his shoulders, gathered up Hebborn’s sad possessions and patted his companion on the back.
‘Come. Let us break our fast and work out what we are to do next.’
‘You go ahead. There is something I want to do before I return to the abbey.’
Falconer watched as Thomas hurried off then walked along the streets of Paris towards the abbey. His sombre mood was not lightened by the brightness of the rising sun.
Guillaume de Beaujeu was glad of the day’s grace he had given himself to consider Falconer’s request to see Odo de Reppes. As his friend had no doubt divined from his ill-considered delaying tactic, Guillaume knew exactly where the disgraced Templar knight was to be found. He should have told Falconer that it might take weeks to find out the truth. To tell him it would take only a day or two gave away the fact that he already knew. He was normally more canny than that. Perhaps seeing Falconer again after so long had lulled him into the slip. He had even considered recovering the situation by saying he could not trace the man. But that would have implied he was incompetent as Grand Master.
And then that very morning he had received an unusual request. In any other circumstances it would have been a summons, for it was to attend the King of England in King Philip’s palace. But Guillaume was now a man in a powerful position himself and had met Edward before in Outremer. The invitation had been presented by a curious popinjay of a man. He had doffed his sugarloaf hat and bowed low.
‘Grand Master, Edward, King of England and Gascony, begs the pleasure of your presence in the French king’s Royal Palace at your earliest convenience.’
Filled with curiosity, Guillaume agreed to attend as soon as he and his escort could saddle up. Sir John Appleby bowed most obsequiously yet again and left to take the Grand Master’s reply to his master. It was not long before Guillaume and four knights of the order were clattering over the Pont aux Changeurs towards the Royal Palace set on the Ile de la Cité. Once he had dismounted inside the palace grounds, Guillaume was confronted again by the gaudily dressed Appleby, who took him with no further ado to Edward’s chambers. There, the tall, well-built king greeted Guillaume like an old friend, shaking him firmly by the hand.
‘Welcome, Grand Master. Welcome, Guillaume. It is good to see you again. We must have last met on that unfortunate sortie to Krak des Moabites.’
Edward was referring to an expedition into OutreJourdain to besiege a Crusader castle in the land of the Moabites, which had been lost many years earlier to Saladin. In fact, the castle had been longer in Muslim hands than it had been in those of the original builders. Guillaume was flattered that Edward should assume a friendship with him on the basis of such an acquaintance. He had been a career Templar on his way up, but still just one of the commanders under Prince Edward’s control. He smiled politely and murmured his acknowledgement of the reminder. Edward continued to press on.
‘Of course, it was a waste of time. Reinforcing Acre was my primary task, which I am glad to say I achieved before having to return to take up greater responsibilities. But I am sure, like me, you would prefer to be back there fighting, despite the heat and dust. It was such a… pure existence.’
Guillaume saw the longing in Edward’s eyes and could almost believe the man would rather be on a battlefield than burdened with the cares of state. He had to remind himself that Edward had shown a rare ability for political expediency during the Barons’ War in England. He had switched allegiances to suit himself, often enraging his own father in the process. To present himself as a simple soldier was a subterfuge. He wondered what trick the new king was up to now. He did not have long to wait to find out.
Falconer, meanwhile, had a day to wait before his chance came to speak to Odo de Reppes. If such a chance truly existed. He was convinced that Guillaume de Beaujeu knew exactly where the disgraced Templar was to be found. But if that was in England still, then his task would be hampered, and at the very best become a long-drawn-out one. It may be that he would have to return to England before completing his investigations anyway. What had troubled the king most in the series of attacks on his family had been the death of his little son and heir, John. Falconer knew he would have to probe that affair soon. And review what he knew from Sir Humphrey Segrim about the events at Berkhamsted Castle two years earlier.
Unable to sit still in the gloomy and sparsely furnished room in the Abbey of St Victor, he took himself on a walk around the city of Paris. His meandering steps led him through the portal close by the abbey and past the convent of the Bernardins. Almost inevitably, he walked near to where Fusoris’ body had been found on the banks of the river, past Adam Morrish’s school and over the bridges connecting the Ile to the Left and Right Banks. With a determined tread, he studiously avoided the plank bridge and made for the sturdier stone bridge hard by the Royal Palace. It was the Pont aux Changeurs, and it teemed with hawkers, dealers and money-changers. Many of the last group of people were Jews. Usury — to make money from money — was forbidden to Christians by the Church, which placed it on a par with prostitution. Some Christians bore the burden of disapproval and carried out the trade. But many more Jews resorted to moneylending as it was one of the few businesses allowed them.
Approaching the island end of the bridge, Falconer’s thoughts of the Jews reminded him of Saphira Le Veske. He was still desirous of finding her in Honfleur and resolving their differences. He was also thinking of the others in Oxford that he had left behind. Peter Bullock, the town constable, would no doubt be patrolling the university town, keeping a keen eye out for wrongdoing. Then Sir Humphrey Segrim entered his thoughts again as he recalled his promise to the old man. In order to assuage the knight’s sense of guilt that he had brought down the wrath of Odo de Reppes on his wife, Falconer needed to hear the truth of the Templar’s deeds in England. Segrim had seen him in Berkhamsted when Edward’s uncle, Richard, King of Germany, had died. Killed by Odo, Segrim had insisted. It was curious how fate had now drawn Falconer into investigating that very death, along with that of young Prince John while in Richard’s care. He could not have imagined that occurring when he had met Segrim months ago in Oxford.