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unmercifully and touched everything that the lady made a move to sample. Aware someone else had come into the shop, the servant turned to stare boldly back at Saphira. The dark hairs on her upper lip and chin unfortunately gave her the appearance of one of those monkeys the men returning from the Holy Lands liked to bring home. Saphira suddenly realized she knew her. Her name was Margery, which meant the other woman in Robert’s shop had to be Ann Segrim, who she knew was a former intimate of William’s. She had briefly met her in the street when walking with William after the end of the bad business over an ancient body found in a demolished building. That original meeting had not been pleasant, as Ann had suggested that Saphira was no more than a strumpet. Saphira, for her part, had responded in kind. They had parted on bad terms. For William’s sake, she resolved to try better this time.
    ‘Mistress Segrim, how nice to see you.’
    Ann Segrim turned around, a warm smile lighting up her face, until she saw who it was had spoken to her. Her smile froze and her blue eyes turned the grey colour of a well-tempered sword.
    ‘I wish I could say the same to you, Mistress…’
    ‘Le Veske.’
    ‘Ah, yes. Le Veske. That name is Jewish, is it not?’
    Saphira’s heart sank at the same rate as her resolve hardened. She had so wanted to be pleasant to this woman, who had clearly once been very close to William. But the veiled slur had put an end to all that.
    ‘Yes, the name is Jewish, and a very old and respectable name too.’
    Ann Segrim ignored the retort and looked over at Robert the spicer. He could hardly hide the smirk that had crept over his face. He was obviously enjoying the discomfiture of the Jew.
    ‘If you could send the raisins and chestnuts to Botley, I would be obliged. I am to celebrate the return of my husband from Outremer any day now.’
    Robert bowed and wrung his hands.
    ‘We are all glad of his safe return, mistress. The goods will be delivered tomorrow.’
    Without sparing another look for Saphira, Ann Segrim swept out of the shop, her grinning homunculus of a servant in her wake. Margery, however, managed a look at Saphira. It was a gaze of malevolent triumph.
    As chance would have it, two men saw Ann Segrim leave the spicer’s shop. William Falconer and Thomas Symon, on their way back to Aristotle’s Hall, were crossing the High Street just as the incident in the spicer’s reached its culmination. Thomas saw Ann first and pointed her out to his mentor, knowing her as his close friend. He was blithely unaware of the recent shift in Falconer’s affections.
    ‘Look, it’s Mistress Segrim. Shall I call out to her?’
    Falconer hesitated, restraining his young friend. And it was lucky he did, for immediately after Ann’s hurried appearance, followed by the servant, Margery, another figure emerged from the shop. It was a flustered Saphira Le Veske, who was staring with apparent anger at the retreating shape in the billowing blue robe. Falconer groaned.
    ‘I think not, Thomas. Take it from me, we would do well to avoid both those ladies at the present.’
    Thomas shot a puzzled look at Falconer, not knowing the shapely red-haired woman. But the regent master did not seem ready to offer him an explanation. For his own part, William did not think he could supply one anyway. Dealing with two strong-willed women left him with the feeling that celibacy was not such a bad option after all. He took Thomas firmly by the arm and dragged him down a narrow lane in order to avoid being seen going in the same direction as the two ladies. Though neither woman, in their present mood, would have been likely to have noticed Falconer, even if he had stood before them. Saphira, grim-faced, stood in the doorway of the spicer’s shop until Ann Segrim had disappeared from sight in the direction of Carfax. Then she walked briskly back to her lodgings in Fish Street, and a cold repast.
    Ann, at first, set on returning