Benjamin refused to say any more, becoming more concerned about Boscombe's corpse.
'It's important,' my master insisted, 'that no one at court learns that he has been killed.'
We went back to the taproom, took the cadaver and put it in a cellar behind some vats. After that we packed our belongings and collected our horses from the nearby stable. 'Where to, master?' I asked. 'Eltham? Westminster?' 'No,' Benjamin replied. 'Malevel. We need to be there.'
We rode through the night. Benjamin showed the guards at the city gates his special pass and we were allowed through. The first streaks of dawn were lighting the sky as we approached Malevel Manor: in the half-light, its shadowy shape reminded me of some animal crouched, ready to spring. Kempe's men were still on guard at the gatehouse. Benjamin told them to stay at their posts and look after our horses whilst we were at the manor. We opened the front door and went in. An eerie place, black as Hell! The air was stale, yet something else filled my senses. A reek of evil, of wickedness. I wondered if the ghosts of Lady Isabella and the fifteen soldiers slaughtered there watched and waited for justice to be done. Dirt from the cellar still lay heaped on the gallery floor. Dust covered the tables and chairs in the kitchen. For a while Benjamin wandered around: up and down stairs, along galleries. I could hear him as he went, floorboards creaking, the house groaning as if it resented our presence. I sat in the kitchen trying to control my own fears and reflecting on my master's confrontation with Boscombe. Everything had now started to fit into place yet it still didn't explain the mystery surrounding the Orb, or how the dreadful murders at Malevel had been carried out. Benjamin came back.
'What now, master?' I asked. 'And why didn't you tell me about Boscombe?' I challenged.
'Roger, Roger.' Benjamin patted me reassuringly on the shoulder. 'I didn't really know myself. Only after the attack on you in the church did my suspicions harden into certainty. You see, whilst you were gone, I grew concerned. I went looking for Boscombe, only to find that he himself was nowhere in the tavern.' 'But he must have been working with someone else?' 'Yes, yes, he was…'
(Well, Benjamin actually did voice his suspicions and now my secretary, that little marmoset, that ticklebrain of a quill-pusher, that smelly pudding-bag, is jumping up and down. 'Tell me! Tell me!' he cries. I rap him across the knuckles with my new ash cane. A gentle tap to remind him of his duties. I can't tell him now! The Queen would object: she wants my memoirs to be written as events unfolded. I mean, here is my little puddle-brain of a chaplain; who runs to London to watch Coriolanus and Faust: he'd certainly object if someone came on the stage at the beginning of Act Three^and said, 'Well, that's it! The play has ended, this is what happened!' Ah, the little pudding-bag nods wisely. I have his attention again.)
Benjamin became busy. I just sat rather surprised by what he had told me. However, once my master was immersed in a task, he was deaf to any questioning. Letters were written to Sir Thomas Kempe, Doctor Agrippa, Lord Theodosius and Master Cornelius. Kempe's ruffians at the gatehouse were given a penny each and despatched to deliver them. I went to a small ale-house nearby and bought some provisions: when I returned, Benjamin had cleaned the kitchen, wiping away the dust from the table and chairs.
Kempe was the first to swagger in, accompanied by Agrippa and his lovely bullyboys. The sun had risen and it was good to have the sound of voices shattering the eerie silence of Malevel. Kempe swaggered into the kitchen.
'Well, Daunbey?' He tossed his hat on the table and took a chair at the far end. 'You have a solution to this mystery?' 'Of a sorts, Sir Thomas. But, first, Doctor Agrippa.'
The warlock looked up expectantly. He sat on the stool to Kempe's right, his face wreathed in a smile like some benevolent parson greeting one of his parishioners.
'Benjamin,' he declared, his eyes now blue, dancing with merriment. 'I can sense the end of a hunt! So you'll not be sailing on the PeppercornT
'Perhaps not,' I snapped. I glanced at Sir Thomas. 'But others might.'
'Now, now!' Agrippa stretched out one black-gloved hand, admiring the ring on one of his fingers.
(A little affectation. Agrippa sometimes pushed a blood-red ruby ring over one of his gloved fingers. One of his henchmen once told me that it was a magical ring that housed a demon. I think that was a lie. Agrippa may have had his strange ways but he was as fallible as the rest of us.)
'I have a favour to ask you,' Benjamin declared. 'Your lovely lads outside…?' 'Ah yes, my little boys.'
Agrippa said it in such a way that I wondered about the true relationship between him and some of the rather girlish-looking young men who made up his retinue.
(Oh, don't get me wrong, appearances can be deceptive: as Will put it in the 'Merchant of Venice': 'The world is still deceived with ornament'. Agrippa's men were killers, one and all, professional assassins.) 'I would like to borrow them,' Benjamin said. 'To do what?' 'A little game. A military exercise.' Agrippa agreed and called his henchmen into the hall.
'Which of you?' Benjamin asked, studying their grinning faces. 'Can move as silently as a shadow? Stick a dagger into a man's back without him even hearing you come?'
A young man, his hair falling in lovelocks down to his shoulders, minced forward looking rather bashful. He had a thin face, clean-shaven, with bright red lips but his eyes were dead.
'I have been known to do that,' he offered. He grinned over his shoulder at his comrades.
'Then all of you,' Benjamin declared, 'apart from this young man, scatter throughout the house. Take a seat in each room. And you? Your name?' 'Robert,' 'Lovelocks' replied.
'Ah yes, Robert. Once this is done, see how near you can get to each of your comrades without being discovered.'
'And don't steal anything!' I shouted. 'I know you lot. A cozening gang, light-fingered…!' 'As if we would!' they all chorused back.
'Do as Shallot says!' Agrippa snapped. 'No, no, Sir Thomas.' Agrippa pressed Kempe back in his chair. 'Now is not the time to protest. Let us see what happens?'
The game began. Agrippa's men dispersed. Benjamin told Robert to count to one hundred but the fellow could only go to twenty before he became confused so I had to count for him and then he went hunting. Now 'Lovelocks' could move like a cat but the game soon ended. A shout from a chamber further down the gallery showed he had been apprehended. Benjamin called him and the rest back into the kitchen.
'It's impossible,' 'Lovelocks' declared. 'The floor is uneven. No footpad, not even a fellow with cloths around his boots, could move round this manor without being detected.' Agrippa thanked and dismissed them. 'Why all these games? This deception?' Kempe snapped.
Benjamin closed the doors. He went and sat at the far end of the table, with myself on his right.
'Deception, Sir Thomas?' he asked. 'Deception? How dare you sit there and talk about deception! Where is the Orb of Charlemagne?' Sir Thomas made to rise.
'Oh, sit down and don't look so aggrieved,' Benjamin mocked. 'You know full well what I'm talking about, Sir Thomas. The Orb of Charlemagne, the great relic?'
'Are you witless?' Kempe retorted, sliding back in his chair. 'It was stolen! Stolen from here. You were given the task of recovering it!'
'Oh, don't be ridiculous!' Benjamin snapped. 'How can I recover something that has not been stolen? You have the Orb of Charlemagne.' He pointed down the table. 'You, Sir Thomas. You've known where it is all the time, whilst we have been chasing moonbeams.' Sir Thomas made to rise again.
'No, you can't leave.' Agrippa took off his hat, running his fingers through his raven-black hair. 'You will stay. Sir Thomas. Your henchmen may be outside but so are mine.'
'You don't know, do you?' Benjamin asked Agrippa. 'Not even you, sir, know the truth of this. I am glad because that means Dearest Uncle is also innocent of any deception. Now, Sir Thomas, I shall tell you a story.' Kempe sulked in his chair.
'It won't take long,' Benjamin said. 'Our noble king was the proud owner of the Orb of Charlemagne. This precious relic had been in the hands of English kings since the time of Alfred. Now, although I love the King dearly, I recognise his anxiety: fourteen years on the throne and he has not produced a living male heir. He would not let so powerful a relic as the Orb be given away so lightly: it would not only be a betrayal of those ancestors who wore the crown of St Edward but also a source of power which the King needs in his daily prayers, that his wife Catherine of Aragon conceive and bear a son.' 'Be careful what you say, Daunbey,' Kempe warned.
'Oh, I'll be very careful,' Benjamin replied. 'I am not criticising the King but rather those who give him advice and counsel. For His Grace not only wants an heir, he also wants to humiliate the power of France. Emperor Charles V, nephew of our Queen Catherine of Aragon, has the fleets and armies to do this, and Henry asked for his support. In return instead of an alliance cemented by a marriage or division of the spoils, Charles made one demand, and one demand only: the return of the Orb of Charlemagne which, the Emperor believes, is rightfully his. Is that not true, Doctor?' Agrippa nodded. 'Agreed, agreed!'
'What could Henry do?' Benjamin continued. 'If he refused, he wouldn't get the ships and troops and would have made a powerful enemy. Of course, the Emperor's demand was made public, and throughout Christendom interest was reawakened in the Orb. France laid its claim, and so did the Papacy. Both these parties sent envoys to England to counter Imperial pressure on our noble King.'
'What has this to do with the theft of the Orb?' Kempe snapped.
'Everything,' Benjamin replied. 'Henry was now in a quandary. He sought advice. One of his councillors offered a subtle plot. A stratagem which would not only allow Henry to keep the Orb but also mock his enemies abroad and so enrich the Exchequer that England might not need foreign armies and ships.' 'Are you talking about me?' Kempe asked sardonically. 'If the cap fits!' I taunted. 'Wear it!'
'The plan laid before the King,' Benjamin declared, 'required precious metals and the work of a master goldsmith. Sir Hubert Berkeley was chosen and sworn to silence. The Orb was taken down to his shops where he was to make a replica. But, once Berkeley had finished one, how many more was he ordered to make? Eh, Sir Thomas? Two, three, four or five? After all, it would cost the King little: golden cups and precious ornaments litter the palaces but not hard cash. Golden artefacts were collected and melted down. The King's jewel house was raided for amethysts and precious stones. And so the replicas were ready. I am speaking the truth, am I not?' 'Finish your tale,' Kempe snarled. 'Oh, I'll finish it, Sir Thomas. But, in the end, you must tell the truth. Your plan was as follows. A replica Orb would be handed over to the Lord Egremont made out of genuine gold with precious stones. The work of a cunning goldsmith, it might have been years, if ever, before the Emperor realised he had been fooled. And if he did realise?' Benjamin shrugged. 'The English crown would protest its innocence, point out that the genuine Orb had left England and that what had happened to it after that was not their concern.' 'And the other replicas?' Agrippa asked.
'Ah well,' Benjamin smiled. 'Like a trader in a market, Henry had raised interest in the Orb, so why not satisfy it? However, the Imperial envoys had to be satisfied first: a replica Orb was moved here. One of your archers kept you informed and you rejoiced: the replica Orb had been accepted and was closely guarded. The Emperor Charles would be satisfied and the King would get his troops and Imperial gold. Nevertheless, the French were still in London and then matters took a comical turn. You, Sir Thomas, sold another replica to the French. Heaven knows what story you peddled?' Benjamin smoothed the top of the table with his fingers. 'Do you know, sir, I suspect the King does not really intend to go to war at all? He'll take Charon's gold and the vast profits he has made in selling these relics to replenish his coffers.' 'This is nonsense!' Kempe scoffed.
'No, it isn't,' Agrippa intervened. 'Our King has a subtle mind. He hates the Emperor Charles. His resentment of the Spanish alliance is only surpassed by his deep contempt for the King of France.' Agrippa spread his black gloved hands. 'What I say is not treason but the truth.'
"The King would love it,' I intervened. 'He has made fools of his fellow monarchs and a vast profit to boot.'
'Of course things went wrong,' Benjamin continued. 'When the Orb was stolen from Malevel, Henry was furious. Matters might become even more tangled if the Emperor learned that an Orb was now held by the French. The Emperor might even accuse Henry of stealing it himself in order that the French should have it.'
'Wouldn't that happen anyway?' Kempe retorted. 'If both countries claimed to possess the Orb?'
'Oh no,' Benjamin retorted. 'If the Emperor had the Orb and the French claimed they had one as well, the King would play both sides off against each other. He would tell the Emperor that the French were only acting as a dog in the manger and, in time, whisper the same response to the French. I am also certain another Orb would have been sold to the Papal Envoys.' 'Preposterous!' Kempe sneered.
Thoroughly enjoying myself, I rapped the table with my knuckles.
'Is it, Sir Thomas?' I asked. 'Is it really preposterous? What do you know about relics?' I ticked the points off on my fingers. 'There are enough pieces of the true cross to build a navy. At least five cities in Spain claim to possess the right arm of St James. The veil that Veronica is supposed to have used to wipe the face of Christ can be venerated in cities from Warsaw to Cadiz. Who would object if there were three Orbs of Charlemagne, with each owner claiming he had the original one?'
'Roger speaks the truth,' Agrippa declared. 'Very few people have seen the true Orb of Charlemagne. It was stored in a coffer in a secret chamber in the Tower.'
'The thefts,' Benjamin declared. 'Let us return to the thefts. We were ordered to steal the Orb from here. Of course that was nonsense, a mere diversion intended to make the Imperial envoys believe the Orb must be genuine – and Cornelius for one fell into the trap – for otherwise why would Henry send two agents with secret orders to steal it back? However-' Benjamin smiled thinly. 'When it was indeed stolen Henry was furious because his plans had been upset. He would have to get the stolen Orb back but how could he do that? If the Imperial envoys had stolen it themselves, and he just gave them a replica, then he'd turn himself into a public mockery. Indeed -' Benjamin leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, '- Henry might even have suspected that the Orb had been stolen so that the Imperial envoys could establish the truth.' 'And if it had been stolen by others?' Agrippa asked.
'The thieves might try to sell it to the French,' Benjamin replied. 'That's why you. Sir Thomas, moved quickly, ensuring the King made some profit from his trickery. What we have established,' Benjamin continued, 'is that those who did steal the Orb from Malevel did so to line their pockets. They traded it to Lord Charon who, in turn, sold it to the Papal Envoys. Now that would have infuriated our King: an expected source of profit had been abruptly cut off.'
'So?' Agrippa scraped back his chair. He stood up and stretched. 'In the end the French have an Orb, the Papal Envoys have an Orb but the one the King is supposed to have given Charles V is missing. Very clever,' he commented. 'Very subtle.' 'And who,' Kempe asked, 'was responsible?'
'Oh, we'll come to that by and by. But, Sir Thomas, am I speaking the truth?'
'A farrago of lies and tittle-tattle, based on conjecture. All this mummery!' Kempe waved his hands. 'Sending Agrippa's men round the house…' 'That wasn't mummery,' Benjamin intervened. 'I have just established proof, at least in my own mind, of how the massacre here took place. Now, Sir Thomas, either you tell me the truth and I'll prove who stole the Orb, or I'll take the swiftest horse and ride direct to my Dearest Uncle.' Benjamin leaned on the table, narrowing his eyes. 'He doesn't know anything about this, does he? He'll reproach the King for not taking him into his confidence. I will have to tell His Grace what a marvellous opportunity was missed, all frustrated by Sir Thomas Kempe. Who knows, Sir Thomas,' Benjamin added. 'Could you prove to the King that you acted wisely in these matters? Suspicion might fall on you. You know I am speaking the truth. You have Sir Hubert Berkeley's accounts, which show how long Sir Hubert was working on this matter. At court there are many suspicious minds, and the King himself, in certain moods, will suspect anyone. He might ask how many orbs were really made, and whether Sir Thomas Kempe was engaged in a little private profit?' 'How dare you?' Kempe sprang to his feet
'Oh, quite easily, and sit down!' Benjamin snapped. 'I'm not accusing you but others might.'
Kempe was no fool. He would have liked to have swept out of the room. However, such dramatic gestures might look fitting in certain circumstances but Benjamin's words must have chilled his sly heart. The Great Beast trusted no one and, once suspicion was sown in his wicked brain, it always came to full flower! Kempe sat down and breathed in deeply.
'What I tell you,' he began, 'is the King's own secret. Henry does not want Imperial ships. Oh, he'll take the gold but you won't see English troops in France.' He licked his lips. 'Henry is more concerned that he has no heir. The Queen, how can I put it, is past child-bearing. There is only the Princess Mary.'
(So, in that dusty, shabby room at Malevel I heard the first rumble of the storm that was about to break. And what a storm! Slowly, surely, Henry was about to take those steps which would deluge the kingdom in blood; send men like More and Fisher to the block; tear England from the Church of Rome; cause the north to rise in bloody revolt; and queens to be accused of treason and barbarously hacked to death. Merlin's prophecy was about to be fulfilled.)
Kempe appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, perhaps even he was fearful. 'Continue,' Agrippa said quietly.
'Henry cannot understand why God has not given him a male heir,' Kempe continued in a rush. 'He has studied the Bible. He believes his marriage is cursed because Catherine was once married to his elder brother Arthur.'
'But the marriage was never consummated,' Benjamin declared. 'Arthur was a mere stripling. A weak, sickly child.'
'Who told you that?' Kempe retorted. 'Has Dearest Uncle confided in you?' Kempe pointed a finger. 'Master Daunbey, you should be very careful. The King believes otherwise. He believes the marriage was consummated: accordingly, he should never have married Catherine of Aragon and that's why his marriage has been cursed and is without a male heir.'
So, there it was. Henry had tired of Catherine. He had consulted with God and realised that he should not have married her in the first place. Now Henry's brain was a box of teeming worms. He often found it very difficult to draw a distinction between his will and that of God. Once he had got it into his fat head that God was displeased with him, or that God wanted him to do something, then nothing on earth would stop it, as thousands found to their cost.
'Is that why His Excellency the Cardinal has not been informed of these matters?' Agrippa asked.
'Yes, yes it is,' Kempe retorted. 'The King-' He paused. 'His Grace believes he should marry again.'
'And who's the lucky girl?' I quipped before I could stop myself.
'Haven't you learned your lesson, Shallot? Are you so clodwitted? Don't you remember the banquet where the King gave you a present, a German hunting dog that was supposed to rip your balls off? It wasn't because you won a riddle – the King caught you making eyes at his beloved!'
I recalled Anne Boleyn. Kempe was right. Henry was jealous and I had paid the price for my little flirtation. 'Boleyn?' Benjamin exclaimed.
'Anne Boleyn. The King is smitten with her,' Kempe replied. 'You know some of the game, Master Daunbey, but not all of it. Of course, the King would like to make a profit. Of course, he will take gold from the Empire, from the Papacy, from the French. Aye, even from the Devil himself! But it's not money the King is really after – or even to take his armies to France. He wants a divorce. Charles V is Catherine's nephew. He'll have to be persuaded to support the King.'
'And, of course, the same is true of the Holy Father in Rome?' Benjamin asked.
'Precisely. Not to mention the French. The University of Paris, and the French cardinals will be asked for an opinion and the King wants them to agree with him. Now,' Kempe continued, 'about fifteen months ago, I hatched a scheme whereby the King could win Imperial favour, not to mention gold, and at the same time woo the French and the Papacy as well as make them pay. Henry was delighted. He laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. He said he would relish till his dying day how we had fooled them all in one fell swoop.' 'As well as win a new wife to boot,' I interjected.
'Of course,' Kempe smiled. 'And it really didn't take much. Henry raided his treasury and cups, plate and dishes were melted down. The royal jewel house was rifled, and appropriate amethysts given to Berkeley, who was sworn to silence. He was given a glimpse of the real Orb, provided with precise drawings by me and set to work on the King's secret assignment. I then let it be known in the Empire, in France and in Rome that the Orb of Charlemagne was for sale. They all rose like fish to the bait. The King, of course, had chosen to do business with Emperor Charles. Lord Theodosius of Egremont arrived in England. I thought there would be no difficulty.' He paused at the sound of horses outside.
"That will be Lord Egremont,' Benjamin declared. 'Agrippa, can you keep him busy?' The good doctor agreed and left.
'Naturally, the theft upset the King,' Kempe continued. 'Not to mention myself. Can't you see, it's the one thing we hadn't planned on? No one was to steal that Orb: the King's merriment soon turned to anger.' 'And you know nothing else?' Benjamin asked.
'All I know, you now know,' Kempe concluded. 'Naturally, the King has been mollified by the treasure found in Lord Charon's stronghold. To a certain extent the King received his profits from the Papacy with interest and, of course, the French, having paid a small fortune, also believe they have the true Orb.'
'Very well.' Benjamin got up and unhitched his cloak from the back of the chair. 'Sir Thomas, I am going to unmask the assassin. To do that, I need your co-operation. Whatever I say, you will agree to. Understood?'
Kempe swallowed his pride and nodded. Benjamin went to the door and opened it. Lord Egremont, followed by Master Cornelius, almost knocked him aside as he swept into the room.
'What is it?' he snapped, glaring at me as if he'd like to take my head.
Kempe vacated his chair. Egremont took it, throwing his cloak and hat at Agrippa. The good doctor picked them up and tossed them unceremoniously on to a bench.
'Sit down, my lord.' Benjamin returned to his own chair. 'Sir Thomas, too, and Master Cornelius, by my side.' 'You've found the Orb?' Egremont asked.
'No, I am afraid I haven't,' Benjamin replied. 'Boscombe has that.' 'Who?' 'Boscombe, the tavern-keeper at the Flickering Lamp.' 'What has that knave got to do with it?' 'That knave,' Benjamin repeated. 'That knave, my lord? Do you know him?' Egremont shifted in the chair.
'You should,' Benjamin continued. 'His real name is Jakob von Archetel, a former member of the Noctales.' Benjamin turned to Cornelius. 'I believe he fled the Empire. What was he nicknamed, the Slaughterer? He's responsible for the murders here at Malevel.'
Oh, to see the confusion break out! To watch virtue outraged! Oh, the huffing and the puffing! Agrippa sat like an imp come to judgement. Egremont made to leave but the good doctor shook his head. 'Stay, sir! Stay or you'll be arrested! My men are outside.' I glanced at Cornelius and he threw me a look. Isn't it strange how in a few seconds you can learn something? I did then, in that one glance! Firstly, Cornelius was innocent of any crime. Secondly, and rather surprisingly, he hated Egremont. Cornelius got up, took out his sword and laid it on the table with its point towards Egremont. He shouted something in German. Egremont replied, his face now suffused with rage yet he was fearful. This shouting match went on for a few minutes until Cornelius dipped inside his cloak and brought out a small, purple wax seal. He held this up and jabbed a finger at Egremont who sullenly sat down. He knew he was trapped but, even at that moment, did not realise what great danger he was in.
'Master Daunbey,' Cornelius declared. ‘I have told my Lord of Egremont that he is to stay. Unbeknown to him I carry the Emperor's personal seal.'
'Why?' Agrippa asked. 'I thought Egremont headed this embassy to the English court?'
Cornelius sat down. 'Oh, he is here for the Orb of Charlemagne but I am the Emperor's personal emissary to his beloved aunt, Catherine of Aragon.' He grinned openly at Kempe. ‘I bring her the Emperor's most tender regards. Indeed, the Emperor has deigned to choose me, his most humble of servants, to have secret talks with his beloved aunt.'
'About what?' Kempe shouted, then his hand went to his lips as if regretting what he had said.
'Oh come, come, Sir Thomas,' Cornelius jibed. 'Your king has his secrets and so has the Emperor. Master Daunbey, would you please continue?'
Benjamin waved round the kitchen. 'Malevel is a lonely, deserted manor house. When the Orb was brought here, I wondered why it had been decided to keep it under strict security in such a place?' 'It was well protected and guarded!' Egremont shouted.
'You could have asked the King to keep it under guard until you sailed.'
'Impossible!' Egremont retorted. "The Orb was the Emperor's. It was in my care. It was my duty to decide how best it be guarded until the Imperial ships arrived in the Thames.'
'Good.' Benjamin smiled thinly. 'I am glad you have conceded that Malevel Manor was your choice. The guards placed there were at your behest. The leader of the Noctales, Jonathan, answered directly to you.' Egremont just stared back.
'Now, this is what happened,' Benjamin continued. 'You are not a German, my Lord Egremont, you are from Hainault. You have studied in England. Years ago Von Archetel fled to England. If the Imperial records are searched I am sure it will be found that some link between you and this Von Archetel exists. During your stay in England you and he, now calling himself Boscombe, communicated. You probably have no love for the Empire or its Emperor and being sent here to collect the Orb was a temptation you could not resist. You wanted it for yourself. You and your accomplice would steal it, sell it and make a small fortune whilst the English Crown and its servants would be held responsible.' 'You have proof of this?' Cornelius asked. 'Oh, yes, we have proof, haven't we. Sir Thomas?' Kempe nodded.
'Let's go back to when the Orb was moved here,' Benjamin continued. 'Do you remember? People milling about, then the doors of the manor were secured. What we didn't know was that you, my Lord of Egremont, had brought in your own special assassin, the taverner we know as Boscombe. God knows how he was dressed – in the garb of a Noctale or probably as one of your retinue. It wouldn't have been hard as Boscombe is a master of disguises. Anyway, he hid in the cellar.' Egremont sneered but the shift of his eyes showed his surprise.
'Now, of course, Boscombe didn't stay there all the time. He had to eat and drink. So he made contact with Jonathan, who would accept him.' 'I don't think so,' Cornelius intervened.
'No, listen,' Benjamin continued. 'Boscombe, by birth and upbringing, was a Hainaulter. He is fluent in the tongue so he could dismiss very quickly any suspicions that he was an English spy. I suspect as well that he carried a letter from my Lord of Egremont.' Benjamin waved his hand. 'Saying that he was on a secret assignment to help the Noctales, so his presence must not be revealed to anyone.'
'Yes…' Cornelius said. 'If this man Boscombe spoke fluent Hainault and carried a letter from my Lord of Egremont which hinted at possible treachery on the part of the English… Yes, Jonathan would have accepted such an order.'
'After that it would be easy,' Benjamin continued. 'Of course, Jonathan would also have received secret instructions to tell no one outside the manor house, including you. Master Cornelius. Nevertheless, he had been alerted to the possibility of treachery, and was both nervous and withdrawn as a result.' Benjamin coughed to clear his throat. 'Once Jonathan accepted that letter, everything fell into place.'
'And if Jonathan hadn't accepted it?' Agrippa interrupted. 'If he protested, made Boscombe's presence known?'
'Then Egremont could have explained it away,' Benjamin replied. 'However, Boscombe was safe in the cellar. Jonathan would have supplied him with food. On the second day, according to the notes listing the quantity of cooking ingredients used, Imelda and Oswald began to make slightly more of everything. I suspect this was at Jonathan's orders because he had another mouth to feed. Now the days passed, any reservations Jonathan had would be allayed, and then Boscombe struck. One evening, before the small garrison gathered for their supper at nine, he went into the kitchen and poured valerian into the ale cask.' Benjamin shrugged. 'Dressed in the gown and cowl of a Noctale, he would not alert suspicion and he was only there for a short while. He lifted the cork from the bung-hole and poured the potion in. Remember, Boscombe is a taverner, an assassin and a master of disguise: he'd have chosen his moment carefully. Now, valerian is a powerful sleeping drug; within an hour the entire garrison was fast asleep. Drugged so deeply that Boscombe could move round the manor at will. And if someone, perhaps, didn't drink, Boscombe a professional assassin, with surprise on his side could soon take care of them.' 'But we found corpses all over the manor,' Kempe declared.
'Of course we did,' Benjamin replied. "That's because Boscombe had all night to arrange matters. He dragged the bodies from the kitchen, placed them in different locations and then he killed them: this one with a dagger, another with an arbalest. Those poor soldiers were so drugged they would never even know they were dying: that's why we found no sign of any struggle, not even token resistance. Boscombe still had to be careful, any crash, any cry might have alerted the dogs outside. He also retrieved Egremont's letter from Jonathan's body and tidied up the kitchen. He took especial care with the blackjacks to remove any stains or odour of the valerian. He poured the rest of the ale down the privy, washed out the keg and returned to the kitchen.'
Egremont sat at the far end of the table looking down at his fingers, playing with his rings, moving them to catch the poor light.
"The Orb was taken out of its casket,' Benjamin continued. 'Boscombe had cleaned any traces of his presence from the cellar and he hid there until the alarm was raised. We broke into the house, Lord Egremont with us.' He pointed down the table. 'You, my Lord, had left strict instructions, that if the alarm was raised, the doors to Malevel were not to be opened without you being present. When we entered the manor, confusion reigned with servants and retainers milling about. Boscombe, now clothed in his disguise as Egremont's retainer, joined them. Don't you remember Egremont sending people hither and thither? Boscombe just walked out of the house, took a horse and rode back into the city. We, of course, were confronted with the mystery of how fifteen soldiers could be brutally slain and the Orb stolen, without us finding any trace of how the killers had carried out their gruesome task.' 'Except for old Castor?' I intervened.
'Yes, on reflection, the dog had more sense than us: he smelt the food Boscombe must have taken down into the cellar. In such a confined, closed space the dog could still detect the odour. In the end we discovered something else which distracted us; in digging out that corpse, we also destroyed any traces of Boscombe's stay in the cellar.
'It's true, isn't it?' Kempe taunted Egremont. 'It's true what Daunbey says? When we arrived here, both before and after the murders, your retainers were swarming about, no one would stop any of them.'
'When I met Boscombe at the Flickering Lamp,' Benjamin declared. "There was something about his face, his walk… I was sure I had seen him before. Now I know that I caught a glimpse of him when we entered Malevel after the alarm was raised.' He sighed. 'But that is in hindsight. At the time, no one would have suspected his presence, all he had to do in the confusion was walk out of the door and take horse.'
'Why was the goldsmith tortured and killed?' Cornelius asked abruptly. 'Ah!' Benjamin glanced quickly at me.
'I think,' I intervened smoothly, 'that Egremont and Boscombe were intent on ensuring the Orb was the genuine relic, which is why they also murdered Henley the relic-seller. Once he had validated the Orb, he had to be silenced. Berkeley was next: they had to be sure their relic was genuine before they approached a prospective buyer.'
Lord be thanked that Cornelius did not realise how many replicas there were, or the real truth behind Henley's death!
'It is obvious,' I continued, 'that a leading goldsmith like Sir Hubert Berkeley would never go out and meet someone like Boscombe. Sir Thomas didn't send him the invitation, and neither did my master. However, Berkeley would accept an invitation from Lord Egremont. The goldsmith, still observing his vow of secrecy, went along but, instead of meeting Lord Egremont or Master Cornelius, Boscombe the Schlachter was waiting. Berkeley was pinioned, taken to that lonely place and brutally questioned. Lord Egremont, of course, was elsewhere, well seen by all, whilst his accomplice was busy torturing and interrogating Berkeley to find the truth.'
'They snuffed out Berkeley's life,' Benjamin declared, 'and then they sold the Orb to the outlaw leader, Lord Charon. Do you remember Lord Egremont involving himself in that fight in the sewers? He wanted to make sure that the Orb had gone. Of course it had, sold to the Papal Envoys.'
'So the Orb is in Rome or shortly will be?' Cornelius asked testily.
'No,' my master smiled. 'By a very clever subterfuge, Sir Thomas's agents at Dover replaced the genuine Orb with a replica. Isn't that right. Sir Thomas?' Kempe, all smug and righteous, nodded solemnly.
'The Orb has been brought back to London,' he declared sonorously. 'But, Master Daunbey told me to keep it a secret.'
'Lord Egremont, you are a traitor and an assassin,' Benjamin said, getting to his feet. 'You are responsible for the deaths of six English archers and nine of your own countrymen. Men with families, lovers, wives and children. You and Boscombe killed, and killed mercilessly, for the sake of filthy gain.'
'You have no proof,' Egremont shouted back, half rising. 'Not one shred of evidence.'
'Oh, but we have,' Benjamin replied. 'Boscombe is in the Tower suing for a royal pardon. He has told us everything, including details of his former life. He even told us where we can find the valerian he used, in a secret compartment in his chamber. He blames you, holds you responsible…' Benjamin looked at Kempe. 'Your men hold him closely, don't they?'
'He's in Byward Tower,' Kempe retorted. 'And has been since late last night.'
'He holds you responsible, Lord Theodosius,' Benjamin taunted. 'He even claims you forced him to do it.'
'He's a villain and a liar!' Egremont shouted back. 'It was his idea from the start!' He stood up and breathed in deeply. 'I am not a subject of your king,' he declared.
'So what will you do, my lord?' Kempe taunted. 'Ride down to the Thames and take ship to France?' 'I'll deny everything.'
'Theodosius, Lord of Egremont.' Cornelius got to his feet, holding out the purple seal. 'In my eyes you are guilty of high treason. My men will arrest you and take you back to the Emperor, where you and your family will suffer for your crimes. However, if you confess now
Egremont rose and turned his back to us, staring at the wall as if he did not want us to see the expression on his face.
'I confess.' He did not turn round. 'I confess, Master Cornelius, to save my family in the Empire. I do not want them to suffer for what I have done.' He turned and came back to sit in his chair. 'I was born in Hainault,' he began defiantly, 'and have always found it difficult to acknowledge the authority of the Hapsburgs, and being despatched here and there as the Emperor's lackey. Many years ago, Master Cornelius, before you joined the Noctales, I met Jakob von Archetel, a clever, subtle clerk. He stole a relic and murdered its owner. He was tried, found guilty, sentenced to death and was imprisoned in the dungeons of a small castle outside Dordrecht overlooking the sea. I helped him to escape. When I came to England, Von Archetel and I met again. I sometimes used him to collect information about the English court. Boscombe, as he now called himself, was deeply interested in relics. Time and again he'd talk of the Orb of Charlemagne.' He paused as if choosing his words.
I recalled Agrippa's warning that interest in that famous relic was rife amongst London's underworld. I now knew the reason.
'I couldn't believe my luck,' Egremont continued, 'when the Emperor chose me to go to England to receive the Orb from your king. I wrote to Von Archetel, who suggested Malevel as an appropriate setting for our scheme.'
'Thank you,' Benjamin spoke up. 'I always wondered, as I put the pieces of the puzzle together, how a lord from Hainault would know so much about this manor.' 'We were going to steal the Orb and sell it,' Egremont continued. 'We would divide the profits: Boscombe wanted to move on, and I decided to use the gold we earned to leave the Imperial service.' 'Did you know Lord Charon?' Benjamin asked.
'No, but Boscombe did. He said the outlaws would pay a good price. When we attached Charon in his cavern I had to make sure he was dead.' He smiled grimly. 'But your dog took care of that. And you, Master Daunbey and Shallot, who must be the luckiest man alive, took care of the rest. Ah well!' He shrugged. lSie transit gloria mundi. Boscombe was as guilty as I – the bastard should die!'
Theodosius, Lord of Egremont.' Master Cornelius walked towards him. 'You are an envoy of his most Imperial Highness. Sir Thomas, is it not true that this manor was given into our care?' 'Yes, yes, it was,' Kempe replied. 'So, in theory, we are within the Imperial jurisdiction?'
'According to all diplomatic protocols,' Kempe replied, his eyes watchful as he sensed what was coming next. 'Yes, this is Imperial territory.'
'In which case,' Cornelius pointed to Egremont. 'you, Lord Theodosius, have been accused, have confessed and been found guilty of treason and heinous murder. You are sentenced to death. I, by carrying this seal, have the Imperial authority to see it done!' Cornelius drew himself up. 'Sentence is to be carried out immediately!' Egremont's face went white. He clutched the back of his chair. 'You have no authority,' he gasped. 'I have every authority, sir.'
Benjamin went to stop him but Cornelius knocked his hand away. "The law is on my side.' He turned and shouted an order.
The Noctales who had accompanied him crowded into the room. He spoke to them in German, showing them the seal. The Noctales seized Egremont, plucking off his chain of office and taking off his war-belt. Egremont shouted something in German. Cornelius paused and nodded, then Egremont was thrust out of the room. Kempe made to protest but Cornelius ignored him.
'One of my men is a priest,' he declared, 'so he will be shriven and then he will die.'
He swept out of the room, and Kempe followed, with Agrippa trailing behind. Benjamin and I just sat and listened. We heard the sound of footsteps going out through the front door, and Cornelius shouting for a log to be brought from the store behind the manor. There was chattering, the murmur of voices, and then Cornelius shouted in German. This was followed by silence, cut short by the sound of a loud thump. A little later Cornelius came back into the hall. In one hand he held his bloody sword, in the other. Lord Egremont's cloak which he was using to wipe the weapon. He re-sheathed his sword and stared at us.
'Imperial justice has been done. Egremont's remains will be sent to St Mary of Bethlehem, north of the Tower. If his family want his body returned, they will have to pay for it.' He pulled the cowl over his head, pushing his arms up the voluminous sleeves of his gown. He walked towards us. 'Master Daunbey, I thank you. The Emperor will make his pleasure known.' 'You are a hard man, Master Cornelius,' Benjamin replied. 'I am his Imperial Highness's most humble servant.'
Cornelius's words were tinged with humour. 'Egremont was not a traitor,' he continued. 'He was just a thief. If I have understood Sir Thomas correctly, King Henry would have blamed both of you for what happened and I and the Noctales would have returned to Germany in disgrace.' Cornelius took his hands out of his sleeves. 'Egremont deserved to die, yet his was a more merciful death than that of poor Berkeley.' He smiled and, leaning over, brushed some dust from my shoulders. 'Sir Thomas seems a little confused.' He grinned. 'Boscombe isn't really in the Tower, is he?'
'No,' Benjamin replied. 'He's dead. I killed him last night and hid his corpse in the cellar of the Flickering Lamp.'
'I'll go there,' Cornelius replied. 'I want to make sure the Slaughterer is really dead.' 'And then?' I asked. Cornelius struggled to keep his face straight.
'Tonight I shall take the Imperial Orb from Sir Thomas and, tomorrow, I shall leave on the first available ship – no more of this nonsense. The Emperor will be pleased to see his great relic'
'Are you sure it will be the genuine one?' (Old Shallot couldn't resist the taunt.) Cornelius bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 'Come, Roger! Master Daunbey, please excuse us.'
Cornelius took me by the shoulder and led me through the hall and out into the courtyard. The Noctales were bustling about; Egremont's retainers already had the bloody corpse wrapped in a roll of blankets. One groom was taking away the log whilst another was bringing buckets of water to wash away the pool of blood congealing there. Kempe, Agrippa and others of their party had now gathered under the gateway. 'You wished to have words with me, Master Cornelius?' The Noctale led me along the side of the house.
'You remind me of my brother, Roger.' He stopped and faced me squarely. 'Though you have more than his luck. You and your master unmasked a traitor. The Emperor will be well pleased.* He poked me playfully in the chest. 'You will always be welcome in the Empire.' His face grew serious. ‘I will also give you a warning. Your king is planning to divorce Catherine of Aragon, my master's aunt. Whatever Henry tries to bribe him with, the Emperor will not agree to this. Imperial troops will soon be in Rome: the Pope will not grant that divorce. Cardinal Thomas Wolsey will bear the brunt of your king's fury and, when that happens, remember the German proverb, "If lightning strikes, don't shelter under the tallest tree".' He clasped my hand. 'And as for relics,' he whispered, 'Roger, who really gives a fig?' The Noctale grinned. 'I know there's a great deal about this Orb which you, Master Benjamin and Sir Thomas have not told us. Why was Henley really killed, and Sir Hubert? What is the real secret of the Orb?' He shrugged. 'But, in the end, what does it really matter? True religion is a matter of the heart, not the pocket.' And then that strange man walked away, shouting for his retainers.
Oh, I have met the Noctales since but that's another story. Suffice to say they discovered Boscombe's corpse and, within the day, it was gibbeted at Tyburn for all to see. A short while later the Imperial envoys left the English court. Benjamin and I took lodgings in a different tavern until the Great Beast summoned us to call on him. Oh, he was in his most generous of moods! It was 'dearest Benjamin' and 'most beloved Roger'. He pawed and he kissed me. I could understand why: in his eyes, everything had gone according to plan and Henry was now a richer man: all Berkeley's goods and wealth came to him for the man had been a bachelor; Lord Charon's treasure was now in the Exchequer and, of course, the Flickering Lamp tavern, another source of wealth, also fell forfeit to the Crown. The Great Bastard loved treason: it meant forfeiture of all the traitor's goods and made him richer. Benjamin and I were given purses of gold and assurances of friendship.
'And don't worry, Roger,' the King shouted down to us at a banquet. "There'll be no sea voyages for you on the Peppercorn. Go back, my faithful dogs!' he intoned dramatically. 'Go back and enjoy your well-earned rest!'
Beside him Tom Wolsey was not so happy. Oh, he forced a smile but I could see he was worried and I recalled Cornelius's warning.
Just before we left London, Wolsey called me to his private chamber. This was not so proud Tom, the great Cardinal: his purple robes were doffed and he sat in black hose and open-neck shirt, fanning himself on a window seat. He looked like some prosperous merchant rather than a Prince of the Church.
'Come in, dear Roger.' He waved me to the cushioned seat beside him and offered me a bowl of cherries. 'They are ripe and fresh,' he explained. 'They clean the mouth and are good for the digestive system.' He stared out through the half-open window, breathing in the fragrance from the rose garden. 'You know, Roger,' he began, 'there's a point in time in every man's fortunes when there is a subtle change, like a ship at sea as the wind shifts and blows from another direction.' He leaned over and patted my hand. "That is what is happening to me, Roger. The King wants a divorce. When he doesn't get it the King will blame me.'
He took back the bowl of cherries and started popping them into his mouth.
'Isn't life strange?' he murmured as he chewed slowly. Do you remember when you first came to court, Roger, and I sent you to Scotland over that business of the White Rose? The court laughed at you then but now the King trusts and likes you. Anne Boleyn trusts and likes you. Catherine of Aragon trusts and likes you. Cardinal de Medici trusts and likes you. Benjamin Daunbey trusts and likes you. Tom Wolsey trusts and likes you.' He laughed.
'Don't you think it amusing? Shallot the villain trusted by all these great ones?' 'Fortune is fickle, your Grace,' I murmured.
'Oh, I haven't brought you here to beg for your help.' Wolsey put the bowl down and closed the window. 'First, I thank you over this business of the Orb. You and Benjamin did well. Secondly, Roger my friend, when I fall, I'll fall like Lucifer, never to rise again. So look after Benjamin. Guard his back.'
He extended his hand as a sign the meeting was over. I went down on one knee and kissed his ring. I was almost at the door when he called me back.
'Roger, this Poppleton business? Benjamin has told me about it.' He raised one eyebrow. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'
I paused. My eye caught a wall painting at the far end of the chamber, a dolphin leaping above a blue sea. 'Why yes, your Grace.' I closed the door and came back.
By the end of that week we were back at our manor. I put flowers on Lucy's grave and paid a local mason to carve a stone. I gave Vicar Doggerel five pounds sterling to say Masses as surety for her soul. On the second Sunday back, I strolled down to the White Harte tavern and sat in a corner of the taproom, watching the hated Poppletons hold court. I was just in time. A short while later, the Cardinal's messengers, who had been staying at the manor overnight, came into the taproom. They were all officious, with their cloaks thrown over their shoulders, and their swords slapping against their thighs. Their leader, one of Agrippa's lovely boys, clapped his hands and stood in the centre of the taproom. 'Edmund and Robert Poppleton!' he declaimed.
My two enemies stepped forward. The 'lovely boy' thrust letters into their hands.
'The Cardinal's warrants,' he declared. 'The King has decided to show you great favour. He is sending his ship the Peppercorn down the west coast of Africa. Two gentlemen are needed to serve as officers. You have been chosen and, on your loyalty, must accept.'
Oh riches! Oh sweet revenge! Oh darling Tom and his lovely boys! The Poppletons could not object. They were gone within the week. The Peppercorn left at the end of September and, I am sad to report, has never been seen since. So, Lucy now lies in her grave avenged. And Castor's brave spirit roams the fields of Heaven. Since then, the only dogs I have ever owned have been of the same breed. If you go into Burpham Church you will notice a carving on the wall. To one side is a very good likeness of Lucy Witherspoon and, on the other, the shaggy, massive head of brave Castor. Oh, my eyes weep, my heart breaks for, indeed, they have all gone into the darkness. Only old Shallot stays watching the sun dip behind the trees. A cold breeze has sprung up. My chaplain is getting tired and I need more claret to face the terrors of the night.