Falconer's Trial by Ian Morson Page A

the woman’s reputation, but not to the extent that his ablest student was oblivious to the relationship. Falconer had not worried about his own reputation – many masters at the university paid only lip-service to the vow of celibacy. They were simply bound never to marry. But Falconer did care about Saphira Le Veske’s situation, as a Jew in a Christian society and because of her own standing in Jewry. She was a widow with a son, who carried out the family business for her still in Canterbury, and she relied on her good name to preserve that business. Moreover, Bullock had heard she was learning medicinal skills from old Samson. People would not want to call on the curative skills of a woman with a bad reputation. It was a pity that Falconer hadn’t had the same sensitivities concerning Ann Segrim. He could have preserved her reputation. Now it was too late.
    ‘Saphira Le Veske. She lives in Jewry just up from St Aldates Church. A good-looking woman in her forties. Red hair.’
    Thomas suddenly pictured the woman who had followed Ann Segrim out of the spicer’s shop the other week. She had red hair under her head-dress of a snood, and a comely face. No wonder Master Falconer had avoided both women at the time. It seems as if his new conquest must have met his former one. He wondered if this Saphira was as proud and fierce as he had found Ann Segrim. Well, he would find out soon enough. He looked the constable in the eye.
    ‘Could you take me to her? Master Falconer wishes me to take care of her.’
    Bullock eyed up the slightly built young man, who was clearly more used to delving in books than handling a woman. He grinned wryly in anticipation of what Saphira might say about a boy taking care of her.
    ‘Come on then. It’s not far.’
    As they walked down Northgate Street and across the bustle of Carfax, Thomas began to question the constable about the facts relating to Ann Segrim’s death. He was trying hard to emulate his mentor, whose guiding maxim as a deductive – for that was the very word Falconer used about himself – was taken from Aristotle himself. He even remembered the first time he had heard Falconer utter the word. The imposing master with the piercing blue eyes had been standing on a raised platform in front of a new intake of eager students, one of whom had been Symon himself. He scanned the faces before him as he wandered off on a favourite digression of his concerning a murder in the town. His voice was clear and strong.
    ‘It is the Prior Analytics of Aristotle that clearly show the theory of deduction. Two general truths, not open to doubt, often imply a third truth of more limited scope which was not previously known.’
    This was the world of the deductive – a world redolent with truths and reason and logic. Thomas would now embark on such a course himself. He would collect as many known truths as he could, analyse them, compare them, list them, and hope to find the greater truth hidden amidst the others. Breathlessly, because Bullock’s bandy legs seemed to eat up the ground, Thomas drew out from him what was known about the death. He listened carefully to Bullock’s words.
    ‘Mistress Segrim was found lying on the path between her garden and the manor house, as though she was returning. She had a bloody flux coming out of her nose and mouth, which could not have been caused by her simply falling.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘Because there was apparently no damage to her face and nose. The sort that might have been sustained if she had tripped. It was more like she had just… slipped to the ground and expired.’
    Bullock shook his head sadly at the thought.
    ‘Who told you this?’
    Thomas was desperately trying to think of all the questions Falconer would have asked at this stage. He knew he would forget something and it might prove crucial. But his teacher had no one else to represent him, other than Peter Bullock himself. And he was constrained by his duties as