Falconer's Trial by Ian Morson

against Master Falconer.’
    Roger Plumpton was large and fat where Bek was short and lean. His face was round and reddened, outlined by a loop of black hair round his bald pate, which was finished off with a trim black beard around one of his many chins. He was the proctor for the northern nation at the university and as such wielded great power. His counterpart, Henry de Godfree, proctor of the southern nation, was not present at the moment. Between them they supervised the conduct of the two groups at the university, which had grown up from internal strife within the ranks of the students in the past. The boreales , or northerners, came from north of the River Nene, and the australes , or southerners, from below it. Though this faction included so many Irishmen that sometimes they were all called Irish. Roger eased his not inconsiderable frame forward in one of the uncomfortable chairs that adorned the chancellor’s rooms.
    ‘Well, as you know, Chancellor, Falconer has long been a thorn in our flesh. Prone to free-thinking, and challenging the authorized viewpoints that we all teach.’ The proctors were masters as well as keepers of the peace. ‘And he has all too often poked his nose into cases of murder that do not concern the university. Moreover he does not set a good example to the students. There was that matter of the firecracker thrown at Master Ralph Cornish recently. And he is known to associate quite freely with the Jews in the town.’
    Bek leaned forward, waving a dismissive hand.
    ‘Yes, yes. I know all this. Cornish has spoken to me ad nauseam about his behaviour. But it is this most recent event I wish to know more about. The wife of Sir Humphrey Segrim.’
    Plumpton pursed his fat lips and shook his head.
    ‘It has long been known that Falconer spends… spent… too much time in her company. And so it has been surmised, quite reasonably in my opinion, that he has broken his vows of celibacy with her. And she a married woman too. When he was found in the presence of her body with a tincture of opium in his possession, it was no great leap of imagination to assume he was responsible for her death.’
    Bek smiled coldly.
    ‘That is what I wanted to know. You think there is a clear case against him?’
    Plumpton nodded eagerly, wishing to please the chancellor, who was rubbing his hands with glee.
    ‘So the facts prove his guilt. Quite an irony, bearing in mind his own application of Aristotelean logic to murder cases. We shall use that to rid ourselves of this nuisance of a master, and soon.’
    ‘How come so soon? The king’s justices are not due in the county for a long while. It must be not until—’
    Plumpton was not allowed to finish calculating the month in which the king’s own justices were due to come to Oxford to dispense the law of the land. Bek’s eyes sparkled and he spoke out firmly.
    ‘I want you to call a meeting of the Black Congregation. We will try Falconer ourselves.’
    Plumpton squirmed in his seat and stared at the chancellor in horror. It was true that over the last twenty years the office of chancellor had been granted greater and greater powers by the king. And almost fifteen years had passed since a vice-chancellor had successfully wrested from the custody of the town constable three scholars who had seriously injured a couple of local traders. Since then, the chancellor had concerned himself with most cases involving scholars of the university. But murder and mayhem had always remained an exception to the rule. Now Thomas Bek sought to challenge that and thereby exercise even greater power over the town.
    ‘We will set a precedent that will not be overturned.’
    The chancellor continued to stare Plumpton in the eye. The proctor gave in first.
    ‘Yes, Chancellor. I will summon the Black Congregation.’
    ‘Who is Saphira?’
    Peter Bullock responded to Thomas Symon’s question with a look of surprise. He knew that Falconer had been very careful about preserving