Oh, what a fall! Like Lucifer! Like lightning from heaven! It only shows how fickle Fortune is – just when you think things are all right, some bastard comes along and pricks your good fortune like a child does a bladder. I didn't even have time to finish my wine, before the Poppletons and the Watch were upon me. I was buffeted and shoved, both Edmund and Robert managed to get in blows to my cheeks whilst the rest of the rogues helped themselves to whatever valuables I had: my coins, my cloak, my hat all disappeared in the twinkling of an eye. I didn't even have time to seek help from Sir Hubert before I was hauled off to the horrors of Newgate prison.
Oh, Lord save us, don't ever go there! The gloomy, cavernous gatehouse; the stench of human misery; the middens piled high in the cobbled yard. A Stygian darkness lit by flickering cresset torches. Burly, evil-faced men stripped me of all my clothes. All I received in return was a piece of rough sacking. Barefoot, I was pushed down a dank passageway and into a filthy cell, where the Poppletons, grinning and sneering, bade me a fond farewell. I saw the bastards pay the gaoler a silver coin – not for my sustenance but to make my life as hellish as possible. He did: a bulbous-faced toad, a hog of a man, he showed me the warrants which the Poppletons had sworn out from a local justice.
'You are for the assizes at Guildhall,' he added gloatingly. 'And then it'll be a cart and the gallows for you.'
'I know people at court,' I stammered back. 'Cardinal Thomas Wolsey.' 'Aye,' the fellow replied. 'And I'm related to the queen.' 'Will you not at least take a message to Sir Hubert Berkeley?' I pleaded. The fellow stretched out his hand. 'Payment, sir.' 'He'll pay you.'
The keeper brought back his hand and smacked me across the face.
Two mornings later I appeared before the Justices in the Guildhall. The comer of my mouth was a bloody mess and both my eyes were beginning to close. I was unshaven, smelling of gaol and vermin: I could tell from the supercilious look of the clerk that His Majesty's Justices would not spend long on me.
The Poppletons were there with some sprig of a lawyer. I stood chained to the bar. The Justices came in, and sat down and all three stared across at me. My heart sank. Oh, most cruel of coincidences! Oh, weep for poor Shallot! The bugger in the middle, dressed in a scarlet gown lined with ermine, was no less a person than that Frumpleton who had caught me in his bed chamber with his wife. Ah well, such is the way of the world. The trial was a farce. The Poppletons presented their evidence depicting me, poor little Shallot, as a rogue and a charlatan who had settled grievances by poisoning their mother. They described how they had tracked me to London and how an informant outside St Paul's had directed them to a tavern in Whitefriars. After that it had been easy. They had called at Berkeley's household and been told I was drinking at the Silver Lion. 'Do you have anything to say in answer to these charges?' Frumpleton bellowed, glaring hatefully at me. ‘I’m innocent!' I bleated.
His cruel mouth twisted into a sneer. 'Aye, as innocent as Herod: a fine teller of tales.' The Justice on his right, a liverish-faced sprat, spoke up.
'A teller of tales! Well, well, Shallot, tell us a tale, and perhaps you won't hang.'
I saw him nudge Frumpleton, and knew they were only mocking me. The Poppletons, now full of themselves, smiled maliciously. They rubbed their hands, hardly able to wait before sentence was passed.
'Yes,' Frumpleton bellowed, wrinkling his nose. 'Tell us a funny tale, Shallot, and you probably won't hang.' He glanced sneeringly sideways. 'Well, at least, not immediately.'
(Now, you know Shallot. When I am down, it's bad enough but to be baited as well!)
'I'll tell you a funny story,' I shouted back, rattling my chains. 'One day there was a dispute between God and the Devil.'
'Yes!' Frumpleton nodded. 'But no blasphemy, Master Shallot!'
'Oh no, sir, the truth. Well, the dispute couldn't be settled so God went back to Heaven and Satan back to Hell. A short while later God sent an emissary to Satan, saying he was unable to get legal advice.' 'Why?' Frumpleton asked.
'Oh, you see, my lord,' I smiled coolly, 'there aren't any lawyers in Heaven!'
Well, that was it! On went the black cap and I, Roger Shallot, was sentenced to be taken to a place of lawful execution, namely Tyburn, as soon as possible, which meant the following morning, and hanged by the neck until dead.
I was hustled from the court, the bailiffs beating and shoving me, and was returned to the condemned cell at Newgate where I spent the night fighting off the rats. The only consolation offered was that just after midnight, when I was sitting blubbering in a corner bemoaning my fate, the Bellman arrived outside. I could hear his voice as he rang the bell for the condemned felons.
'You who in the condemned cell do lie, Pray on your knees for tomorrow you die!'
'Piss off,' I screamed.
I mean, it's bad enough being hanged without having someone ringing a bloody bell and telling you to pray. When dawn came I was really frightened. In my life I've always been plucked from danger just in time but who would do that now? Benjamin was away. Berkeley probably didn't know where I was and how could I get a message to the court?
When I was dragged out of the cell the next morning I was beginning to shake. Thank God, the friar who climbed into the cart to accompany me to Tyburn had a wineskin and he let me drink liberally from it. By the time the executioner joined us I could hardly sit straight. He glowered at me through his red mask.
'No trouble from you, my boy. Up the ladder you'll go, fast as a monkey, then jump, as hard as you can. It will snap your neck: they say it's better than strangling.' 'Do you want to show me how it's done?' I asked.
The executioner grinned. His assistant climbed on to the seat, gathered the reins in his hands and the cart trundled towards the main iron gates. They swung open. The crowds were massed outside, gathering to watch another human being die. I could hardly believe it: I, Roger Shallot, was about to get my just deserts – but for a crime I had never committed! I thought of jumping from the cart but my feet were shackled. I saw the door to the gaoler's office open, and the fat toad waddled out, followed by two other figures. The keeper held up his hand for the horse to stop.
'Oh, let me die!' I moaned. I didn't want another punch in the face as a fond farewell. 'Stop!' the keeper cried. 'Release that man!' another voice shouted.
I narrowed my eyes: the other two figures were my master and Doctor Agrippa.
'Release him!' Agrippa repeated, coming up towards the cart. 'I bear a pardon from the King himself.'
Well, that was too much for old Shallot. I fell into a dead swoon. I awoke lying on clean sheets in the Fleur de Lys tavern, just opposite St Sepulchre's. Agrippa sat on one side of the bed, my master, looking more swarthy than ever, sat on the other smiling down at me. 'Welcome home,' I murmured. ‘I am sorry.'
Benjamin just leaned over and pushed a cup of wine between my lips. 'Drink, Roger,' he urged. 'Drink and rest.'
I did so. I remember the sunlight coming through the window. I fell asleep again and when I awoke it was dark but I felt refreshed and as hungry as a wolf. Agrippa was standing by the window, and my master was asleep in the chair with a rug thrown over him. I sat up. Benjamin shook himself awake. He wouldn't hear any explanation but went and ordered the taverner to bring up food.
We sat round the table for my feast. I didn't talk but ate as if it was my last meal. My two companions simply sipped at the wine and watched me intently. Benjamin seemed no worse for his travelling. He remarked, with a humorous smile, that because I hadn't been with him, his journey to Venice had been speedy and uneventful. On his return, the King's cog had docked at one of the eastern ports and he'd travelled swiftly to our manor where he had found out what had happened with the Poppletons.
'After that,' he concluded, 'I came into London. The King and the court are at Eltham. Doctor Agrippa and I combed the city but, thankfully, it didn't take long to find you. Berkeley the goldsmith told me how the Poppletons and the Watch had called to find you and how he had heard that you had been taken by the constables but could not find out where.'
'I did.' Agrippa broke in. He put a black-gloved hand over mine. 'Always in trouble, Roger.' He sighed. 'I knew it must be the Fleet, the Marshalsea or Newgate. A few hours more and we would have been collecting your corpse from Tyburn.' He peered into my face. 'When you were asleep I shaved you!' My hand flew to my chin.
'And a tavern wench washed you.' He grinned widely. 'Don't worry. She was delicate in all her movements.'
'Which is more than I can say for that bloody keeper!' I retorted.
Agrippa stroked my hand soothingly. 'Don't worry,' he murmured. 'You are my friend, Shallot. The keeper will know the King's wrath soon enough.' 'And the Poppletons?' I asked.
'Gone back to Ipswich like beaten curs,' Benjamin replied. 'Their tails between their legs.' He pointed a finger at me. 'But, Roger, I told you – no medicines.' 'It was relics I was selling,' I protested. 'Trickery and knavery.' Benjamin's eyes remained smiling.
'What happens now?' I asked. 'You have been granted a pardon.' 'But, to the people of our village,' I retorted, 'I am an assassin, a slayer of an old woman. I never killed her, master.' "The Poppletons claim you did.'
'I found out you had stayed at the Flickering Lamp,' Agrippa spoke up. "The landlord, Boscombe, said the Poppletons had been there, not only looking for you but demanding their property, the return of a cup stolen from their mother's room. Boscombe seems a good fellow. He refused to help them and says the cup is still in his possession.'
I sat back and looked at a spider weaving a web in the far corner of the room. I hadn't forgotten Newgate and, whatever happened, I was determined to settle with the Poppletons.
'You work for Sir Hubert?' Benjamin broke into my reverie. 'You know what he has been doing?' 'Yes, master.' I sighed. 'He has the Orb of Charlemagne in his care.'
'The day after tomorrow,' Agrippa remarked, 'the Orb is to be removed to a small fortified manor house in the fields to the east of the Priory of St John of Jerusalem. You, Roger, and Master Daunbey are to be its keepers.' I groaned and put my face into my hands. 'Oh no, master, not again: not one of Dear Uncle's subtle plots-'
'It's worse than that,' Agrippa continued remorselessly. I think the King's wily brain has other schemes. He wants you and Benjamin to steal the Orb back.'
'What?' I jumped to my feet, the chair crashing to the floor, stilling the clamour from the taproom below. 'Master, are you party to this?' He shrugged. ‘I have to be, Roger. I have listened to the King's arguments. The Orb has been in the hands of the English Crown for the last seven hundred years.'
'In which case,' I cried, 'why doesn't the King keep the bloody thing? And what's the use of offering it if he's going to steal it back? I have seen the Imperial envoy, Theodosius Earl of Egremont. He's no lamb or little mouse.'
'No, he isn't,' Agrippa agreed. 'And, if you think Theodosius is bad, wait until you meet Cornelius. He's Master of the Noctales, the Night Men: the Emperor's secret agents.'
'The King had a plan,' Benjamin intervened. 'Sir Hubert Berkeley is party to the plot. There are now two Orbs of Charlemagne. The genuine article and a replica fashioned by Sir Hubert himself. Egremont, unbeknown to himself, has been shown both the real Orb and the fake, and so far he has not been able to tell the difference.' 'Then why not give him the false one from the start?'
'Theodosius was cleverer than we thought. You have seen Sir Hubert's strongbox, which contains the real Orb?' I nodded.
'Well, last night, Theodosius sealed it with the Imperial seal. He outfoxed the King. If that box is opened again, and the seal broken, Egremont will know that a transfer has been made. The box will not be re-opened again: it is to be transported to Maleval Manor house near the Priory of St John.'
I sat down and laughed. I just could imagine Henry's anger: that mad, fertile brain turning like a water wheel devising schemes and stratagems! If only the Great Beast had managed to have the replica in the metal box when Theodosius had fixed the seals, all would have been well. 'You can laugh. Shallot,' Agrippa declared. 'But the King is beside himself with fury. You see, he was wrong-footed and so was Berkeley. Berkeley had the replica in certain chemicals to take away any sheen and make it look older than it was.' 'But the replica is now ready?'
'Yes, it's ready,' Benjamin replied. 'Tomorrow, Roger, we visit the King: he will give us our final instructions.' I groaned and patted my stomach. 'Master, why did you agree?'
Benjamin gripped my hand. 'It was the only way, Roger. If I hadn't, you would have hanged!'
'My dear, dear Roger! My beloved servant!'
The Great Beast stood glowering down at me in his private chamber at Eltham Palace. He extended puffy fingers for me to kiss. I did so warily. Fat Henry loved to wear jewelled rings, and he was not above scoring a lip or knocking a tooth out of someone's mouth. Nevertheless, on that autumn morning, he seemed in fine fettle. He was dressed in a white brocaded jacket, stiffened and covered with jewels, and piped with ermine. He wore white hose and soft leather boots. Around his growing girth was a jewelled belt with a dagger hanging in a brocaded pouch. A quilted jacket of dark blue hung over his shoulders and a bejewelled bonnet of the same colour was on his dark red hair. Yet it was the face you watched.
You are getting fatter, I thought, and more pig-like by the day! Henry's face was square and slightly swollen, the puffy red cheeks jutted up to high slanted eyes which could glare with all the hatred of a frenzied soul; he was strong jawed but with a woman's prim, pursed lips. I watched his eyes which were full of mockery. I think he would have liked to have taken my head and squashed it in his great fat paws. 'I am Your Grace's most faithful servant,' I stammered. Henry crouched down so he could stare into my eyes. 'Faithful Shallot, what were you doing in the cart on the way to Tyburn?' 'A misunderstanding. Your Grace.' 'A misunderstanding!'
Henry got to his feet, smacking me playfully on the cheek. He turned to where Wolsey was sitting in a box chair next to the throne. Wolsey looked haggard, dressed in purple silk from head to toe: his black hair oiled and pulled to the back of his head. His face was lined with care, and there were deep pouches under those gleaming black eyes.
The Cardinal lifted one gloved hand and quickly pressed a finger against his lips, a sign that I should be careful. You see, things had changed at court. Wolsey no longer regarded me as a fool. Indeed, in the last few months, the seeds of a deep friendship had been sown and I would stand by the great Cardinal when, like Lucifer, he fell from grace, never to rise again. The King, however, had forgotten me and had turned to Benjamin. This time his voice was free of sarcasm. He asked a series of short barbed questions about Venice: when my master gave him assurances that the Venetians would put galleys at his disposal, Henry smacked his hands and returned to sit on his throne.
I stared across to where Agrippa stood in the shadows but the good doctor had his face turned away. I glanced round the chamber, which was fashioned in the Italian style: black and white tiles on the floor, light-coloured wainscoting against the wall. Above hung tapestries, and cloths of the same colour had been wound around the rafters. My knees were beginning to ache. I prayed the bastard would let us sit on the bench provided behind us. The Beast, however, was in one of his great statesmanlike moods, pondering strategy and subtle schemes. My gaze was caught by a spider which scuttled across the floor. I caught the Cardinal's faint smile and recalled the tale that, where he went, spiders followed.
(I don't joke – at Hampton Court, at least when it was owned by Wolsey, the place crawled with them.) 'You may sit,' Henry murmured.
Benjamin and I sighed with pleasure, got off the hard floor and sat like two schoolboys facing their master. Henry watched me, eyes screwed up as he scratched at his chin. 'You've seen the Orb, Shallot?' 'Yes, your Grace.' 'Charles V wants it back,' the King snapped petulantly.
'What the Emperor wants,' I replied emboldened, 'and what he gets, are two different things, your Grace.' The Beast, flattered, wagged a finger at me.
'Good boy, Roger. It's a pity -' all good humour drained from his face, '- that you and Berkeley were not able to place the replica in the chest.'
'Your Grace, Your Grace!' Wolsey soothingly intervened. 'You cannot blame Sir Hubert. Lord Theodosius moved quickly whilst poor Shallot here was facing false allegations.' Henry made a rude sound with his lips.
‘I want that Orb,' he declared. 'It's mine, it's been in the line of England since the days of Alfred. Let the Emperor keep the replica and, one day when I no longer need him, I'll tell him the truth. I want that Orb. I want to bequeath it to my…' The King paused. 'To my.. 'To your son?'
Oh Lord save us, I don't know why I intervened. Benjamin nearly fell off the bench. Wolsey's hand went to cover his face. Agrippa sunk deeper into the shadows. Even the spider headed for the wainscoting. This was one thing you never mentioned at Henry's court. Big-boned Henry, with no son to follow him and already sixteen years on the throne: his mind was constantly turning to what would come after. This time, however, instead of losing his temper, Henry smiled beatifically at me, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
'Yes, Shallot, a son.' He was almost sobbing. 'A little Henry to follow Daddy. Why, Shallot? Why doesn't God give me a son? Have I not served him well?'
I nodded wisely. Now was not the time to mention his drinking and his lechery.
'If you hold the Orb of Charlemagne,' I volunteered rashly, 'perhaps God will grant your request.'
The Beast's mood changed abruptly. He wiped the tears from his face, got up and strode towards me. He grasped me by the hair, pulling back my head, his face only a few inches from mine, so that I could smell the rottenness of his blackening teeth.
Henry always drenched himself in perfume. If his mouth didn't smell, that suppurating ulcer on his leg invariably did.
'The Orb of Charlemagne!' Henry hissed. 'The Orb of Charlemagne! You'll get it back for me, won't you, Roger boy?' He breathed in deeply. 'You've received a pardon but that's not the end of the matter,' he hissed. 'In a few weeks' time Captain Buncel is taking my ship the Peppercorn down the west coast of Africa. He's looking for officers. If you don't re-take the Orb, it's the Peppercorn for you, my lad!' Henry returned to his chair and sat there moodily.
'Lord Egremont is waiting outside,' Wolsey smoothly intervened. 'With Sir Thomas Kempe.' 'Let him wait!' the King snarled.
Suddenly, behind us we heard a crash and a bark which sounded as deep as a bell. The hair on the nape of my neck curled in fear; Henry sensed this and smiled.
'Gifts, Roger, from his Excellency the Emperor. There are two of them: massive dogs used to hunt bears. I call them Castor and Pollux.'
I nodded but my stomach was already beginning to clench. Wolsey, too, stiffened: he knew the King's sick mind and the way he loved to play evil games with me.
'They are both males,' Henry continued. "The Emperor made a mistake.' He sniggered behind his hand. 'I'd like to give one away. Now tell me, Roger, shall we play a game with them?'
I stared back in horror. I knew the Great Beast's games. The last one had me running for my life through Windsor forest pursued by Henry, his courtiers and a pack of hunting dogs. On another occasion I'd nearly been drowned in mud and had my genitals knocked off. 'I have to leave now,' Henry said. 'Matters of state.'
Oh aye, I thought – plunging amongst silken petticoats, more like it! We had arrived at Eltham the previous evening and been given a chamber. Dearest Uncle had informed us that the Queen and her ladies were not present as the King was intent on a week of pleasure. I had seen some of his pleasures! Young, dainty ladies, Henry's whores – so much for his affairs of state!
The King rose to his feet and stretched his great frame until the muscles cracked.
'I was given a riddle, Shallot. A riddle to solve but I don't have the time! Affairs of state.' 'Yes, your Grace?' I asked tremblingly. Henry closed his eyes. Oh, the bastard loved to bait me!
'A man has to take a fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames. His boat can only take the man and the fox or the man and the chicken or the man and the bowl of grain at any one time. If he takes the grain, the fox will eat the chicken. If he takes the fox, the chicken will eat the grain. How does he get all three across?'
Henry took a sweetmeat from a bowl on the table beside him then wandered across to wipe his fingers on my hair.
'Now, if you can't solve it, Roger,' he declared, 'you'll have to be punished. But if you can -' he pushed my head back and glared down at me '- you'll win a prize. Now, let that be a warning.' His voice fell to a whisper. 'Never, never, mention my son again!'
The King swept out of the room. We sat in silence. From the door behind me I could hear those bloody dogs still scrabbling and growling.
'The King is vexed,' Wolsey declared. He breathed in noisily through his fleshy nose and glanced pityingly at me. 'Shallot, if you have a brain in your head, I would advise you to solve that riddle.' He clapped his hands. 'But enough is enough, we have business in hand. Doctor Agrippa, bring in Theodosius, Lord of Egremont.'
I was about to ask my master if he had any possible solution to the riddle when Egremont strode into the room. The light of day did nothing to improve my judgement of him. He was the same lean-visaged, cruel-eyed man I had glimpsed in Berkeley's house. A wolf in looks and a wolf in nature: he stood, legs apart, surveying us all. A quick curl of the lip left us in no illusion as to what he thought of Benjamin and myself. Beside him Sir Thomas Kempe looked like a stick next to an oak: a small, jovial-faced man with sandy, thinning hair. He was dressed in a dark-green doublet and hose with a cloak of dark murrey, a broad leather sword-belt clasped around his waist. He kissed the Cardinal's ring and made his own blunt introductions to Benjamin and myself. Of course, we had met before but I was not taken in. A native of Yorkshire, Kempe prided himself on his directness and honesty, but only a fool believed this. Kempe's eyes betrayed his soul; dark, black and cold as marble.
Three other men had followed them in. At first I thought they were friars: their heads were shaved and they were dressed in brown gowns which fell just below the knee, with leggings of the same colour pushed into black, high-heeled riding boots. Yet they were not friars. Oh no, not these three lovelies! Leather baldrics hung from their shoulders, each had at least three dagger pouches containing throwing knives. Around their waists were thick black belts with dagger and sword pushed through loops. They didn't swagger, they moved with menace, hands pushed up the voluminous sleeves of their gowns. They bowed very low towards Wolsey, gazed curiously at Agrippa and, with a nod of their heads, acknowledged us. Egremont deliberately allowed us to study them carefully. It was the leader who fascinated me. He was broad and square-faced, with hooded eyes, a sharp, thin nose slightly broken, lips fleshy and full, slightly open as if ready to challenge whatever we said or did.
"This is Cornelius.' Egremont's voice was soft, his English was good, only the slight roll on the ‘r’ betrayed his foreign origin.
'He is a member of my entourage. A special envoy from the Emperor.'
'And leader of the Noctales?' Agrippa broke in. 'The Men of the Night.'
'Ah yes.' Egremont's face broke into a lopsided grin. 'There are so many legends about these.'
'And they are all true.' Cornelius spoke up, his gaze fastened on me as if inviting contradiction. I just swallowed hard and hoped I didn't start belching, a sign that I was highly nervous. Cornelius took a hand from his gown. I glimpsed the black diamond fixed into the ring that he wore on his little finger.
'Everything they say about us,' he declared, has voice soft, almost dreamlike, 'is true!'
(By the way, have you noticed, as I have in my long and varied life, how foreigners speak better English than we do? I blame our teachers: they all need a damn good thrashing!)
'There's no need to bring your guards to England.' Wolsey's voice was a harsh rebuke.
'I'm not here because the Lord Egremont asked me to be here,' Cornelius retorted.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Theodosius's face. Oh dear, dear, I thought, so there's division in the visitors' camp.
'I am here,' Cornelius continued, 'because His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor wants me to be here.' I caught the German intonation. Cornelius gestured at me.
'You have your agents, my Lord Cardinal: the Emperor has his.'
And this was certainly true. Old Charles, locked away in a monastery watching his clocks, whilst his Noctales, the Men of the Night, watched his subjects. Brown-coated gnats, the Noctales swarmed over the empire listening at keyholes, collecting scraps of information. That pious fool Philip II inherited them: not a donkey farts in Spain that they don't know about. Later in my life, I had the pleasure of meeting the Noctales in the dungeons of the Escorial palace. They had an original way of making you talk; not for them the clumsy, red-hot pincers of the Inquisition. How would you like to spend a night in a pitch-black room, knowing that, somewhere in the darkness, two poisonous snakes waited to pounce?
'Now, now.' Kempe walked towards Wolsey. 'My Lord Cardinal.'
I caught a hint of arrogance in Kempe's voice and, from that moment, I knew his Satanic eminence was beginning to slip down the greasy pole of preferment.
'My Lord Cardinal.' Kempe declared. 'Matters have now moved apace. Lord Egremont wishes to talk about the transfer of the Orb of Charlemagne and view once more Malevel Manor.'
'Agreed, agreed,' Wolsey murmured, fingering the silver pectoral cross. 'Lord Egremont, my nephew Master Benjamin Daunbey and his servant Roger Shallot will accompany you. They are my personal guarantee, as well as the King's, that the Orb will be transferred safely into your hands.'
'In which case,' Egremont replied icily, 'I shall remember that. On your lives -' he pointed at Benjamin and me '- lies the security of my master's precious relic' 'Aye,' Benjamin replied. 'And on yours too, Lord Egremont.'