We left the hall and I became aware of how true Benjamin's words were. We wandered into the scullery. The fires had been doused and only a half-witted spit boy sat smiling amongst the ashes. Outside in the cobbled yard the story was the same; ostlers, grooms, stable boys, all had fled. (Looking back there was nothing singular in that. I had been to enough great houses where the lord had fallen from royal favour and it's eerie how quickly the word spread. The effect was always the same: desertion and flight.) The only sounds were the soldiers hurrying along the corridors.
Sir John and Lady Beatrice left the hall and slipped like shadows up the stairs. Benjamin was right. For the moment Mandeville was concerned only with Rachel but, once more soldiers arrived, Sir John and Lady Beatrice would be arrested. Old Henry would have little compassion for them.
'Come,' Benjamin muttered, 'let us ride out the storm in your chamber.'
We walked up the stairs. The soldiers were already breaking into rooms, intent on full-scale pillaging. The chamber servants had also disappeared and I marvelled how quickly this stately mansion was collapsing in chaos. I was all agog with curiosity but Benjamin refused to say anything until I locked my chamber door behind us. 'Did you always know it was Rachel?' I asked. 'No, I had a number of suspects. They included Mandeville and Southgate and Sir John Santerre and his wife. But I suppose murder has its own logic and everything pointed towards Rachel.' He ticked the points off on his fingers. 'The scarlet cords, the easy access to gunpowder in Templecombe's cellars, the litheness and suppleness of the assassin in the Templar church, as well as the young woman's movements both on the night Cosmas died and when we discovered Damien's body in the chapel.' 'But how did you make her confess?'
'Ah!' Benjamin lay down on the bed and stared up at the rafters. 'That, my dear Roger, will have to wait until our return to London. But for the moment, let us be patient and wait a while.'
He closed his eyes and I was left to twiddle my thumbs whilst all around us I could hear the sound of breaking doors and the running steps of soldiers. Mandeville came up to render grateful thanks, though he had the look of a vindictive hunter. *I cannot find Sir John or Lady Beatrice,' he stated. Benjamin hardly moved. 'Do you know where they are, Master Daunbey?'
'Oh, for God's sake, Sir Edmund, you have found your quarry and the King will have Templecombe and its estates. If the Santerres have fled, let them go!'
Mandeville shifted from foot to foot. 'The King will hear of this.'
'His Grace the King will also hear of our great industry in this matter,' I taunted back. 'If it had not been for Master Daunbey, who knows where this would have ended?' 'How is Mistress Rachel?' Benjamin asked. 'Cold, distant and unrepentant.' Benjamin rolled over on the bed, resting his head on his hand. He looked up at Mandeville. 'She is not to be harmed. No brutality or violation.' Mandeville looked away.
'Sir Edmund, I want your word on that, or I promise you this – the Lord Cardinal will get to hear of it! Sir Edmund,' Benjamin insisted, 'you owe me something.'
'You have my word,' Mandeville muttered. 'She will be given food and drink. Tomorrow morning she will be taken to London.' He moved to the door then suddenly turned back. 'Southgate will be left here with some of the soldiers until my return when I will root out this nest of traitors!' He left, slamming the door behind him.
We stayed in my chamber most of the day. A soldier brought up some badly cooked meat and a jug of wine after which I walked along the gallery. The cloths and tapestries had been wrenched from the walls whilst in the hall every precious object had been removed. The kitchens were pillaged, the soldiers were even defecating and relieving themselves in the corners of rooms, whilst some heartless bastard had shot two of the greyhounds. Templecombe now looked as if the French had landed and the manor been turned over to pillagers.
I wandered out into the chill night air, wondering if I should visit Rachel Santerre and ensure that Mandeville was keeping his word. Behind me I could hear the sound of breaking furniture, the shouts of soldiers and the stench of cooking fires. Even I, a professional thief, felt sickened at the wanton vandalism. I was half-way between Templecombe and the chapel, about to turn back, when a dark shape stepped out of the bushes. 'Master Shallot! Master Shallot! For the love of God!'
I looked round. No soldiers were present so I moved into the shadows to meet Mathilda. 'It is all over?' she asked.
'Yes. The Santerres have fled. Mistress Rachel is Mandeville's prisoner.'
The girl bit back a sob. I remembered the icy waters of the lake and seized her by the shoulders. 'You could have killed us!' I hissed.
She looked up fearfully. I could tell by her white face and staring eyes that she did not know what had happened. 'What do you mean?' she whispered.
'Nothing,' I replied. My hands fell away. 'Did you know that Rachel Santerre was the leader of the Templar coven?' The girl shrugged.
'We suspected but nothing was proved. Sometimes we met on the island but the master was always hooded and cowled. Orders would be issued, instructions about what we had to do.' She licked her lips and stared fearfully over my shoulder towards the house.
'We were told you were not really our enemy, Master Shallot. I was asked to know you better.' She moved a little closer. 'What will happen to us?' she pleaded.
'By now,' I replied, 'Sir John and Lady Beatrice should be on board ship bound for foreign parts. Mistress Rachel is to be taken to London.' 'And us?'
Tell your people to flee. Put as much distance between themselves and Templecombe as possible, your father especially.' 'Where can we go?' she wailed.
I glimpsed the terror in the poor girl's face and realised she had simply been a tool. They had all been used by Rachel Santerre for her ancient order. I loosened my money belt (oh, yes, where I went, it went) and counted out ten gold coins, a veritable fortune, then slipped a small jewelled ring off my finger and pushed it all into her hands.
Take your child,' I said, 'and your father, and within a week follow Sir John and Lady Beatrice abroad. I cannot do more for you.'
I walked back to the house, feeling as brave and courageous as Hector. 'Roger!' I turned and glimpsed Mathilda's white face in the shadows. 'You should go,' I repeated.
They said you were a rogue but you have more honour than any of them. Goodbye, Roger Shallot!'
I saw the shadows move, Mathilda disappeared and I walked back into the house. Now, naturally, with so many light-fingered bastards about, I decided that the best course of action was to recoup my losses with Mathilda. I grabbed whatever took my fancy and walked back to my chamber with a jewel-encrusted cup plucked from the fingers of a drunken soldier. After all, the labourer deserves payment and I wanted to show a little profit.
Benjamin was lying on my bed snoring like a child so I walked back along the galleries. Mandeville was frenetically trying to re-impose order whilst at the same time preparing for a quick departure to London the following morning. 'Are you and Daunbey returning with us?' he snapped. 'Must we?' I asked.
He shrugged. 'That is a matter for you. It is important that I take my prisoner to London and report direct to the King.' 'May I see Mistress Rachel?' 'Why?' 'I wish to take my farewells.' Mandeville looked at me suspiciously. 'My master has ordered me to,' I lied glibly.
(Do you know, when I was young, I looked my most innocent when I was lying through my teeth?)
'She has been moved from her own chamber,' Mandeville retorted, 'to one of the cellars beneath the hall. She is being well looked after.' 'My master is the Cardinal's nephew,' I added.
Mandeville pulled a face and shrugged. 'Come! I will take you there.'
The passageways beneath the hall were lit by torches and guarded by Bowyer's soldiers. We stopped before an iron-studded door. 'Open it!' Mandeville ordered.
Inside the cellar smelt musty though, even in that dark forbidding place, I still caught the tang of Rachel's perfume. The woman herself sat on a trestle bed: she looked composed, even serene, and smiled as I entered. 'Good evening, Master Shallot. You have come to gloat?'
Mandeville slammed the door behind me and turned the key. 'A place for a princess, eh, Shallot?'
I looked round the gaunt chamber. A cresset torch flickered high on the wall and tallow candles dripped their smelly wax on a shabby table.
'Stolen from the stables,' Rachel explained, catching my glance.
I took a stool from beneath the table and sat opposite her. Though pale and tired, she quickly assured me that she was being well looked after. She had been fed and was free from molestation. Mandeville had even withdrawn the guard from sitting in the cell with her.
They check me every so often.' She laughed. 'But there is nothing I can do. The only embarrassment is when I go to the latrines but I think the soldiers are more concerned about their plunder than they are about me. I suppose Mother and Sir John have fled?' I nodded. 'I thought as much.' 'Why did you do it?' I asked.
She shrugged and looked over my shoulder at the candle flame.
'The Templars have always existed,' she replied. 'And Templecombe is their home. In here now, Roger, I feel their ghosts pressing around me, applauding what I did. Mandeville and those bastards murdered Buckingham, and that fat slob in Westminster wishes to put his greedy fingers on the most precious relics in Christendom.' She shrugged. 'It was just a matter of planning.' 'But all those murders?'
'They deserved to die. Your master is most astute. Warnham and Calcraft were easy: two drunken agents full to the gills with ale as well as the evil they had committed. Cosmas and Damien?' she smiled. 'They were cleverer than you think. They were the ones who forged the letters which purportedly came from Buckingham.' 'And Mistress Hopkins?' She looked away. 'And the old witch?'
'She served her purpose. If I could buy her, then so could Mandeville. She had to be silenced.' Rachel giggled like a young girl who had carried out some childish prank. 'I tried to warn them. I really thought Mandeville would panic and leave. He didn't so Bowyer and Southgate came next.' 'And the Grail and Excalibur?'
She shook her head. 'God knows where they are.' She looked at me under lowered eyebrows. 'Perhaps your master will find them?' She grasped my hand. 'Whatever happens, Henry Tudor must not have them! Promise me that?'
What could I do? The girl looked so pleading, I forgot she was a malicious, cold-blooded killer and gave her my word that I would do what I could. 'What will happen to Templecombe?' Rachel murmured.
'Everything ends,' I replied. 'The King will seize the manor and give it to some favourite. Who knows? Sir John may return, buy himself a pardon.'
'I don't think so,' Rachel replied. 'They will not come back here.'
She swung her legs off the bed and sat so close to me our knees touched. I stared into those strange eyes and knew that, despite her cool demeanour, her feminine wiles and cloying beauty, Rachel wasn't sane. I was soon to find out why.
'Neither Santerre nor my mother will come back here.' She caught my hand. 'I am not playing games. You see, Roger, my father was a Templar. He loved Templecombe and passed his secrets on to me. Sir John was his friend. He often visited us here and my mother, who feared Father's mysterious ways and his close relationship with me, plotted his murder.' 'How?'
'My father was killed in a riding accident. Don't you remember when Bowyer's body was brought back my mother became hysterical because my father had been killed in the same way? All I did was copy what she had done. The horses made more fiery, the spurs tinged with mercury… Your Master suspected that. It was one of the things he whispered to me when he led me away from the rest in the hall. He said that if I confessed, he would ensure that Lady Beatrice and Santerre paid for their crime.' She laughed and rubbed her hands together. 'Exile in foreign parts is punishment enough.'
'One other thing,' I queried. 'What else did my master say?' 'Ah!' Rachel propped herself back on the bed. 'That's for Master Daunbey to tell you.' I rose and pushed the stool away. She looked up at me. 'What will they do with me in London?' 'Do you want the truth?' I asked harshly. 'The truth.'
'They will torture you to find out the names of the other Templars, to see if you have solved Hopkins's riddle, and above all to obtain the name of your Grand Master.' 'I don't know that. And after?' I crouched beside her and stroked her gently on the cheek. 'The King is a bully. You will be burnt at Smithfield.'
I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes but her gaze held mine.
'In which case I must pray,' she said. 'Please, Master Shallot, ask Sir Edmund if I may have my rosary beads? The soldiers will not have touched them. They are old and battered, a present from my father. Please, I must have them.' I agreed and walked to the door. 'Roger.'
I looked over my shoulder and forced back the tears which pricked my eyes: Rachel looked so beautiful, so vulnerable. I could hardly believe that she was responsible for so many terrible crimes. In a way her mother was responsible, guilty of tipping her mind into sudden madness. 'Adieu, Master Shallot.' I banged on the door and Mandeville let me out. 'What did she want?' he asked.
'Nothing,' I replied. 'She is reconciled to her fate. She wishes to pray and has asked for her rosary beads.' Mandeville looked as if he was going to refuse. 'Oh, come on, man!' I insisted. 'Give her that at least.'
Sir Edmund rapped out an order and a soldier went scurrying off to Rachel's chamber, returning a few minutes later with a set of rosary beads wrapped round his fingers. Mandeville examined them carefully. The beads were battered, the chain weak copper.
'What are you frightened of?' I scoffed. 'She can hardly hang herself with them!'
Mandeville crunched the beads together, weighed them in his hand and looked at the guard. 'You watch her all the time?'
The guard pointed to the small squint hole high in the door. 'All the time, Sir Edmund,' he replied.
Mandeville tossed the beads to him. 'Let her have them but watch her closely.'
I returned to my chamber. Benjamin was still asleep so I made myself comfortable in a chair, wrapped a rug round me and dozed fitfully until he shook me awake just after dawn. We did not bother to shave or wash. The room had grown cold because the flight of the servants meant no fresh logs had been brought up and the water in the lavarium was now covered with a film of dirty ice. We went downstairs and I marvelled at how Mandeville had brought everything under control. He had worked the soldiers all night. Every chamber except ours had been stripped. All clothes, possessions, anything which could be moved – chests, chairs, mattresses, bolsters, canopies, drapes, cups and plate – had been piled in the hall and the doors sealed. Mandeville, satisfied with what he had done, led us into the buttery where we managed to find some stale bread and a jug of watery ale.
'Everything's ready,' he informed us, snatching mouthfuls of bread. 'Southgate will stay here under a small guard until the other soldiers arrive. When he is able, he will be moved to the infirmary at Glastonbury and then to London. All the moveables of this manor are now piled in the hall and the door sealed against further thievery. The King's Commissioners will arrive and make sure everything due to the crown is seized.'
(Too bloody straight, I thought. Henry VIII's Commissioners were the most heartless set of bastards. They would snatch a crust of bread from a dying child!) 'And Mistress Rachel?' my master asked.
'She has breakfasted and been allowed to wash and change. She and I will be on the road to London within the hour.'
Mandeville was as good as his word: a short while later we heard him shouting his farewells and going down to the main courtyard where the dead sheriff's soldiers, much the worse for drink, were saddling their horses. We glimpsed Mistress Rachel in the centre of them, cloaked and hooded, her hands tied to the saddle horn, another rope under the horse's belly securing her ankles. Sir Edmund mounted and, after a great deal of clattering and shouting, the party made its way out of the manor. Never once did Rachel stir, never once look to left or right or back at Templecombe which had cost her so much. God rest her, I never saw her again.
For a while Benjamin and I went round the manor house, now empty and quiet as a tomb. Only two or three soldiers remained under the command of a burly sergeant. We visited Southgate but he still lay swathed in bandages attended by the old hags who seemed impervious to the tumult around them, being well paid by Mandeville to look after his lieutenant.
It was like visiting a house of ghosts. So difficult to imagine how, only a few days earlier, Lady Beatrice had swept round as grand as a duchess; Sir John had acted the benevolent lord; and Mistress Rachel had watched and plotted behind a demeanour as serene as a nun's.
Now, as I have said, it's hard for you young people to imagine such terrors but during Fat Henry's reign such occurrences became common. Time and again the King's agents would swoop on some great houses – Thomas Moore's, Wolsey's, Cromwell's, Boleyn's, Rochford's, Howard's – and the effect was always the same. One day it was all gaiety and dancing and the next despair and ruin.
Ah, well, it was no different at Templecombe. Benjamin was lost in his thoughts. The only time he smiled was when I informed him about Rachel wanting her rosary beads. I also pressed him on how he had made the woman confess.
'Later,' he murmured. 'Everything in its due time, Roger.' He seemed restless, wanting to make sure Mandeville had left. Then, about noon, when the soldiers were busy broaching a new cask of ale, he borrowed a huge mallet from the cellar and bustled me out of the house, down to the Templar chapel. Now he became excited, his face flushed, and once inside the church, locked and barred the door, making sure the windows were also closed. 'What's the matter, Benjamin?'
He turned to me, the mallet gripped tightly between his two hands.
'Don't you remember Hopkins's verse? "Beneath Jordan's water Christ's cup does rest, and above Moses' Ark the sword that's best"?' 'You think the relics are here?'
Benjamin put down the mallet and walked up the church, under the rood screen and into the sanctuary. He pointed out the old stalls where the Templars had stood to sing the divine office, and the misericords, the intricately wooden carving on each upraised seat. 'What do you see there, Roger?'
I walked along the stalls, giving him a description of each misericord; a bull, a wife, a rabbit, etc. Then I stopped. On one of the stalls, men dressed in flowing gowns were carrying a small casket between them. 'What is that?' I asked.
Benjamin joined me. 'It's the Ark of the Covenant, Roger. The small box built by Moses at the foot of Mount Sinai to carry the tablets of stone on which the ten commandments were carved.'
'Moses' Ark!' I gasped. 'You mean the Sword Excalibur is there?'
'Well, Hopkins's verse says "the sword is above the Ark".' Benjamin looked up at the heavy beamed roof. 'At first I thought it might be there but I have been up into the choir loft and that's impossible. So let's look at the seat itself.' He drew his dagger and walked along the stalls, tapping each with the hilt. A dull thud answered every knock but, when he reached the stall depicting the Ark of Moses, the wood sounded hollow. Benjamin carefully inspected it.
'This panel seems to be pegged together, I can trace the joining line.' He sighed. 'Ah, well, there's no other way.'
And, taking the heavy mallet, he dealt the top of the seat a resounding blow. The wood was old and weathered and immediately splintered. Benjamin cleared a space big enough to put his hand down but, when he did, the smile of triumph faded from his face. 'Nothing!' he exclaimed. 'Nothing at all.'
Benjamin took a lighted torch from the wall. We both looked down into the empty recess but there was nothing there.
'Once there might have been,' he remarked. 'But perhaps the Templars thought differently and moved it.' He banged the top of the heavily carved seat with his fist. 'I suspect there's a hidden lever which would open this recess.' He sighed and let the mallet drop. 'Perhaps they took Excalibur and threw it into the lake, its true resting place.' 'And the Grail?' I asked.
Benjamin sat in one of the choir stalls and pointed down the church. 'Do you remember, Roger, I remarked how the water of baptism is often called Jordan's river? Now, there's a baptismal font in every village church. But why here, in a Templar chapel where no women or children were allowed?' Benjamin got to his feet. 'At the risk of more destruction, I suspect that baptismal font has never been used but was built simply to guard the Grail.' He walked wearily over and I followed him. I sensed his disappointment for, if the Templars had removed Excalibur from its hiding place, why not Christ's chalice?
We carefully examined the paving stones on which the baptismal font had been erected, poking with our daggers around the edges. However, the stones had apparently never been moved since they had first been laid so we shifted our attention to the font itself. This was a simple, very large rounded bowl resting on a small, stout pillar. We looked for some hidden lever or crack but the stone held firm and, when we tapped it with our daggers, it sounded solid. Then I looked at the fine layer of cement between the baptismal bowl and the stone plinth supporting it. 'Pass me the mallet.' Benjamin grew excited as he realised what I had found. 'No, let's do it differently,' he said.
We spent an hour chipping away at the layer of hard cement, using our knives and chisels, until it began to crumble and the bowl worked loose. The Templar mason had been very cunning. When we finally removed the bowl, we discovered the stone plinth was at least six inches thick but with a small hollow cavity in the centre. Benjamin pushed his hand in and drew out a stained, black leather bag bound at the neck. We both crouched as he cut the cord loose.
The bag, which had begun to rot, fell away and, I tell you this – Benjamin and I knelt in reverence before the Holy Grail, the very chalice from which Christ had drunk at the Last Supper. I, Roger Shallot, have seen this cup. I have held it in my hands, the greatest relic in all Christendom!
We did not hear any angels sing nor silver trumpets blast from heaven. All we saw was a simple wooden cup, shallow-bowled, with a crude stem and stand. The wood had been polished by the hands which had held it over the last one and a half thousand years and, when I smelt it, the cup gave off a resinous fragrance as if its guardian had smeared it with some substance as a protection against decay.
We sat and looked at it. Benjamin held it, then passed it to me. Now, you know Old Shallot is a scoffer. I have seen so many pieces of the true cross that if you put them together you could build a fleet. I have seen feathers which are supposed to have fallen off Angel Gabriel's wings. I have been asked to kiss a piece of Jesus's swaddling clothes; a scrap of Mary's veil; St Joseph's hammer; not to mention a handkerchief used by Moses. I have always laughed out loud at such trickeries but the Grail was different.
When I held it I felt warm, a sense of power and if I closed my eyes, I was no longer in that icy Templar church but in the warm, sweet-scented hills of Galilee. A truly mystical cup! No wonder Arthur searched for it, the Templars guarded it, and that fat bastard Henry VIII would have killed for it!
We paid the Grail reverence, Benjamin wrapped it in his cloak and left, telling me to wait. My master returned with a mixture of cement and plaster and we restored the baptismal font so that, at least to the untrained eye, it would look as if it had never been tampered with. ‘What about the choir stall?' I asked.
'Leave it’ Benjamin answered. 'Let the soldiers take the blame.'
We returned to the manor house to pack our belongings. The next morning we saddled our horses and slipped away from Templecombe, that house of horrible murders. We reached Glastonbury later the same day for, though the countryside was still in winter's icy grip, no snow had fallen and at last the clouds were beginning to break. Benjamin and I had already agreed on what to do. We met Brother Eadred in the guest house. Benjamin quickly described what had happened at Templecombe. Though Eadred tried to hide his pain, Rachel's arrest, the flight of the Santerres and the destruction of the manor house obviously came as a body blow to him. He slumped on to a stool, wrapping his arms round his belly, bending forward almost as if he was in pain. 'Oh, poor Rachel!' he breathed. 'You are one of them, aren't you, Brother?' I asked. He looked up, dark eyes in an ashen face. 'You're a Templar?' I continued.
He nodded his head. 'As are some others here,' he replied softly. 'We are guardians of a great shrine, keepers of mysteries and, yes, in a sense, avengers of those Templars who were seized, imprisoned and killed.' 'Does that give you the right to murder?'
To protect the mysteries and secrets, yes. But Rachel went too far. She nourished a personal revenge, perhaps even a murderous madness, against the likes of Mandeville and her own family.' He took a deep breath and stood up. 'What will happen to Templecombe?' 'It will be stripped of everything.' I saw the fear in the monk's face.
'They won't find anything,' Benjamin smiled. 'They will never discover Excalibur or the Grail.'
Eadred shrugged. 'The relics were never at Templecombe.'
'But you suspect they were? After all, succeeding abbots of Glastonbury have established that such relics do not exist here.' Eadred stared back.
'Excalibur's gone,' Benjamin explained, 'but the Grail…'He loosened one of his saddle bags, plucked out his cloak and laid the small cedar cup on the table. The change in Eadred was incredible. He fell on his knees, hands joined, and stared fixedly at the holy chalice. 'You found it!' he murmured.
'And brought it to its rightful home,' Benjamin concluded. He picked up his saddle bags, gestured with his head to me and walked up the stairs to our chamber, leaving Eadred to worship alone.
The next morning, after a short meeting with Eadred, we left Glastonbury for London. He escorted us to the main abbey gates. Only when we were on the very point of departure did he clasp Benjamin's hand and thank him with his eyes. My master leaned down.
'Never,' he whispered, 'say anything to anyone. We have not been here. We gave you nothing. We shall not return.'
Eadred stepped back, sketched a blessing in the air, the gates opened and we left for London.
We took eight days to return to the capital and found it still in the steel grip of winter. The Thames had frozen whilst the city's dirt and refuse were hidden under a carpet of ice which at least killed the offensive stench. We took lodgings at Baynards Castle near St Paul's, sending a message to Hampton Court where Henry and the Cardinal were lodged preparing for Christmas. We patiently waited to see what would happen.
Three days after our arrival dear Doctor Agrippa arrived. Swathed in black robes, he looked like some merry gnome except for those strange, colourless eyes. He stamped his feet and clapped his hands against the cold, shouting for mulled wine. Only when he was alone with us in our chamber did he drop all pretence.
The King is not pleased,' he snapped. 'Nor is My Lord Cardinal.'
'Oh dear,' I retorted. 'Little thanks for a frozen arse, almost being killed, not to mention having to spend so much time in the company of bastards like Mandeville and Santerre.'
Agrippa smirked. 'Oh, the King is not angry with you. You have heard the news?' His eyes held mine. 'Rachel Santerre died on her return to London. Apparently her rosary was not what it seemed: two of the beads contained a poisonous substance which deals death in seconds. Her corpse has been left at the new hospital of Mary of Bethlehem just north of the city.' Agrippa pulled a face. 'The King is furious. She could have provided much information.' Benjamin rubbed the side of his face. 'But His Grace the King should be pleased. My Lord of Buckingham is destroyed, the woman responsible for so many deaths has received her just desserts and the King can seize all the treasures of Sir John Santerre and his wife. I do not mourn for them, for they richly deserved what they got. A Templar coven in Somerset has been broken. And finally,' Benjamin shot a warning glance at me, 'although Excalibur is missing and probably will remain so until the end of time, we have brought back the Grail.'
I schooled my features but, do you know, that was the only time I had seen Agrippa surprised. His cheeks flushed and his eyes glittered. 'Where is it?' he grated.
Benjamin went to his saddle bag, took out a battered silver goblet and thrust it into Agrippa's hands. The magus gazed at it carefully. 'Where did you find this?' 'At Templecombe.'
Agrippa peered at the ancient silver chalice, the paper thin silver of its bowl and the jewels encrusted along the stem. His eyes darted like those of a cat.
'This cup,' he began slowly, 'is ancient but I know the truth and I think you do, Master Daunbey. And perhaps, in time, even the King will.'
Benjamin grinned boyishly. 'But you will tell him it's the Grail,' he declared, 'because that's what he wants to believe, and that's what you want him to believe as well, eh, Doctor Agrippa?'
The magus looked squarely at us. 'What do you mean?' he whispered.
'Oh, come, Doctor Agrippa,' Benjamin replied. 'You are a Templar yourself, aren't you? More than that, I believe you are their Grand Master. You no more want the Grail to fall into Henry's hands than I do. You must be the Grand Master. You suspected Rachel Santerre even before we left London, that's why you gave us the watchword "Age Circumspecte", act carefully. At first we thought it was a piece of advice but, of course, it's the family motto of the Mortimers, Rachel's father's family. You were warning us. You knew she was a Templar, that the Mortimers of Templecombe had been Templars for the last two hundred years. The only person who would know such a secret would be the Grand Master himself. It's true, isn't it? The Templars exist in covens but only the Grand Master knows them all?'
Agrippa sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling the cup in his hands.
'Perhaps what you say is true, Master Daunbey.' He looked at us. 'Let us say this Grand Master did exist. Let us say he feared that King Henry was The Mouldwarp, The Dark Prince prophesied by the Templar magicians themselves as The Great Destroyer. And let us say that members of his secret Templar organisation, men such as Buckingham and Hopkins, defied the order of their Grand Master and began to search out relics which were best left hidden.'
Agrippa paused and chewed his lip. 'And let us also say, for sake of argument, that the Grand Master allowed these Templars to be punished by the due process of law. Perhaps the matter would have ended there but other Templars, desirous of revenge, muddied the waters even further. And so we come to Rachel Santerre. She had no right to execute Warnham and Calcraft or carry out her own private war against the likes of Mandeville and Southgate. She was ordered to cease this but made matters worse by attacking men like you, friends of the Grand Master. Ah, well.' He rolled the cup in his hands. 'Where is the real Grail?' 'In safe hands, as you will discover!'
Agrippa sighed, picked up the cup and walked to the door. Then let's hope it remains so.' He turned, one hand on the latch. 'Rachel Santerre would never have lived to be questioned. I would have killed her as a disobedient servant as I did Buckingham and Hopkins.' He played with the cup. 'But I thank you for what you did. Believe me, the King and the Lord Cardinal will receive the most glowing reports!'
The magus slipped out of the room. Benjamin went across and locked the door behind him.
That's what you told Rachel to make her confess, wasn't it?' I asked.
'Yes, I told her the Grand Master would not be pleased with her and that her continued obduracy might threaten other Templars. I even lied and told her that the Grand Master had given me her name before we left London.' 'And she believed you?' 'Yes, I think she did.' ‘And the cup?'
'Agrippa is right. It's from the treasures of Glastonbury Abbey. Eadred gave it to me. I believe it once belonged to the Emperor Constantine's father who served as a general here.' 'Will the King suspect?'
'In time, when the cup does not release its magic, he will.' Benjamin gripped me by the shoulders. 'But we know the truth, Roger, and we must keep it a secret. If the King suspects, even for a second, we will go the same way as Buckingham. Now, come, before Uncle can think of any more tasks, let us pack, brave the weather and return to Ipswich.'
Oh, we did, to the most joyous Yuletide ever, leaving behind The Great Killer to sup wine from what he thought was the Grail. The Lord Cardinal sent us letters of the most fulsome praise and heavy purses of gold, but Henry never forgot and neither did the Templars. Sir Edmund Mandeville mysteriously died the following spring after attending a banquet at Sheen. I believe Agrippa was in attendance at the time. Southgate never recovered from his wounds and, although moved to the care of the nuns at Syon, died shortly afterwards. I am not too sure about the details but, the previous afternoon, Doctor Agrippa had come to enquire about his health. The Santerres waited a year and applied for a pardon, offering gold by the cupful, but strangely enough Henry refused to be bribed and I believe they died mysteriously in foreign parts.
Templecombe was seized and stripped of all its possessions, turned into a veritable ruin, but the King found nothing there. Years later, when he launched his great attack on the abbeys and monasteries, Glastonbury was singled out for special attention. Abbot Bere died in 1524 and was succeeded by Richard Whitting. Fat Henry sent special agents to seize Glastonbury's most precious treasures but Whitting was cunning and spirited these away and, for that, paid the supreme penalty. He was brought to London and tortured but would say nothing. Accordingly, he was taken back to Somerset and, after a mock trial, he and two of his monks, one of them being the scholarly Eadred, were dragged through Glastonbury on hurdles and then hanged on the summit of the Tor in November 1539. The secrets of Glastonbury died with them and only the good Lord knows the whereabouts of the Grail.
So this bloody tale is done. I stare through the window and watch the moon's silver light bathing the hard-packed snow in a shimmering light. All have gone. Sometimes I dream of Rachel, cool and serene in her cellar prison; Mandeville and Southgate, arrogant in their power, and those two sombre mutes, Cosmas and Damien, who served them so well and suffered so barbarously. The circle is complete. Mathilda's son has come back to return the ring I gave his mother an eternity ago in the dark shadows round Templecombe. Oh, for a cup of claret to warm the heart and hold back the tears about the past! Even my little clerk is sniffing. I know he wants to stay, to lust after Phoebe's generous tits. He shakes his head, stands by the window and looks out at the winter sky.
'Do you think, sir,' he whines, 'that there really is a supreme intelligence above us? A wisdom guiding our affairs?'
'I sincerely hope so, because there's bugger all down here!'