out the next day that the man being dragged away was Anzazim. The trusted Anzazim, whom I had quite liked. So despite what he did to Edward, I still prayed they did not hurt him too much before he died.’
Falconer’s heart lurched in his chest.
‘He was not already dead when he was taken from the chamber?’
‘No. He must have been alive, because I was told that he cursed Edward before he succumbed. They fed his body to the dogs, you know.’
The fact that Anzazim had still been alive after the attack was just the sort of information Falconer had hoped for by interviewing Eleanor. He now knew he would have to speak to Clisby and Cloughe again. Before he could take his leave, though, Eleanor asked him something.
‘Have I answered the question you were proposing to ask just before I came in?’
‘I don’t know, My Lady. Can you think of any reason why Anzazim should have acted as he did? It is said the Assassins are motivated not by principles but by money. That they will perform their deeds at the behest of those who can pay. Can you think of anyone who would have paid Anzazim or his masters to try to kill your husband?’
Eleanor didn’t hesitate this time, her answer coming pat.
‘Many people had reason to hate Edward, Master Falconer. As a result of the Barons’ War several families were dispossessed and enmities created. The Earl of Derby hated Edward for breaking the terms of a truce during the conflict. And of course the de Montfort family had more reason than most to seek revenge for the defeat of Earl Simon.’
Falconer refrained from suggesting that ‘defeat’ was more than a polite euphemism for what Simon de Montfort had suffered. At the Battle of Evesham, the earl went down under a relentless attack. But it did not stop there. His body was mutilated and his head cut off and displayed on a lance. His own son, Simon, witnessed the grisly sight. Falconer thanked Eleanor for her patience and bowed out of the now cold and gloomy chamber. He did not therefore see Edward entering by another door, which had been kept ajar so that he could hear Falconer’s entire conversation with his wife. Eleanor looked up at him and smiled.
‘Did I do well, Edward?’
The king nodded.
‘Perfectly. You have set him on the right track, my dearest.’
Falconer found his own way back to the subterranean world that was the soldiers’ quarters. With any luck, Clisby and Cloughe would still be off duty, as little must be required of them in the French king’s palace. If not, he was determined to find them at their post, wherever that may be. But as he entered the crypt-like chamber, he saw he was in luck. There was a gaggle of men-at-arms lounging on their pallets. Most had their heavy chain mail off and were relaxing in their undershirts and breeches. There was a smell of stale sweat in the air that reminded Falconer of any number of billets he had experienced from Bologna to Vienna. His own past rose up in his mind and reminded him that, even though these men looked at ease, they would still be alert to intrusion or impending danger. Predictably, several sharp eyes turned his way. One grey-haired old veteran, his hands clasped behind his head, called out pleasantly.
‘Are you lost, master? This den of iniquity is surely not where you aimed to be.’
Falconer smiled easily, casting his eyes around the room for the two men he sought. He cursed his poor eyesight, but did not wish to show his weakness by putting on his eye-lenses.
‘Indeed it is, my friend. I am looking for John Clisby and Thomas Cloughe. Can you tell me if they are here?’
There was a brief lull in the general chatter that had filled the room before it began again, though in a more tense, artificial manner. Everyone seemed to be covering up something they would rather hide from this intruder. Falconer felt a cold shiver of apprehension run down his spine. Only the old soldier appeared unperturbed by his question.
‘I am afraid you are too
Falconer’s heart lurched in his chest.
‘He was not already dead when he was taken from the chamber?’
‘No. He must have been alive, because I was told that he cursed Edward before he succumbed. They fed his body to the dogs, you know.’
The fact that Anzazim had still been alive after the attack was just the sort of information Falconer had hoped for by interviewing Eleanor. He now knew he would have to speak to Clisby and Cloughe again. Before he could take his leave, though, Eleanor asked him something.
‘Have I answered the question you were proposing to ask just before I came in?’
‘I don’t know, My Lady. Can you think of any reason why Anzazim should have acted as he did? It is said the Assassins are motivated not by principles but by money. That they will perform their deeds at the behest of those who can pay. Can you think of anyone who would have paid Anzazim or his masters to try to kill your husband?’
Eleanor didn’t hesitate this time, her answer coming pat.
‘Many people had reason to hate Edward, Master Falconer. As a result of the Barons’ War several families were dispossessed and enmities created. The Earl of Derby hated Edward for breaking the terms of a truce during the conflict. And of course the de Montfort family had more reason than most to seek revenge for the defeat of Earl Simon.’
Falconer refrained from suggesting that ‘defeat’ was more than a polite euphemism for what Simon de Montfort had suffered. At the Battle of Evesham, the earl went down under a relentless attack. But it did not stop there. His body was mutilated and his head cut off and displayed on a lance. His own son, Simon, witnessed the grisly sight. Falconer thanked Eleanor for her patience and bowed out of the now cold and gloomy chamber. He did not therefore see Edward entering by another door, which had been kept ajar so that he could hear Falconer’s entire conversation with his wife. Eleanor looked up at him and smiled.
‘Did I do well, Edward?’
The king nodded.
‘Perfectly. You have set him on the right track, my dearest.’
Falconer found his own way back to the subterranean world that was the soldiers’ quarters. With any luck, Clisby and Cloughe would still be off duty, as little must be required of them in the French king’s palace. If not, he was determined to find them at their post, wherever that may be. But as he entered the crypt-like chamber, he saw he was in luck. There was a gaggle of men-at-arms lounging on their pallets. Most had their heavy chain mail off and were relaxing in their undershirts and breeches. There was a smell of stale sweat in the air that reminded Falconer of any number of billets he had experienced from Bologna to Vienna. His own past rose up in his mind and reminded him that, even though these men looked at ease, they would still be alert to intrusion or impending danger. Predictably, several sharp eyes turned his way. One grey-haired old veteran, his hands clasped behind his head, called out pleasantly.
‘Are you lost, master? This den of iniquity is surely not where you aimed to be.’
Falconer smiled easily, casting his eyes around the room for the two men he sought. He cursed his poor eyesight, but did not wish to show his weakness by putting on his eye-lenses.
‘Indeed it is, my friend. I am looking for John Clisby and Thomas Cloughe. Can you tell me if they are here?’
There was a brief lull in the general chatter that had filled the room before it began again, though in a more tense, artificial manner. Everyone seemed to be covering up something they would rather hide from this intruder. Falconer felt a cold shiver of apprehension run down his spine. Only the old soldier appeared unperturbed by his question.
‘I am afraid you are too
Similar Books
