Ah well, on that pleasant note we all left Eltham: Egremont, Kempe, the Noctales, Doctor Agrippa and his lovely group of cutthroats who served as guards and outriders. We forded the Thames and made our way across the fields past the Priory of St John of Jerusalem. We kept well away from the crowds, though we had to stop at a crossroads near Leather Lane, where they were burying two suicides beneath the gibbet, small stakes having been driven through their hearts. Because of the carts, wheelbarrows and crowds thronging about, we had to wait a while and entertained ourselves by watching the mummers, fire-eaters and sword-swallowers: all those golden boys and girls from the twilight of the city who used such occasions to earn a pretty penny as well as pick a purse. Uneasy, still wracked by anger over what had happened to me in Newgate, I was alarmed at Henry's implied threats, not to mention that bloody riddle. I sat fidgeting. Now and again I would look at the faces around me and it was then I glimpsed him. Someone was stalking us through the crowd! A man dressed like a tinker, with a leather apron about his waist and a battered hat pulled well over his face. He turned and I glimpsed the dog-like features of Cerberus, Lord Charon's henchman. My hand dropped to my dagger but the crowd swirled and, when I looked again, the villain had vanished. We rode on. Cornelius pushed his horse alongside mine. 'You seem lost in thought, Master Shallot?' Despite his appearance the tone was friendly. 'I've been set a riddle by the King,' I retorted, glaring over my shoulder at Agrippa. 'And I have to resolve it!' 'What riddle?' Cornelius asked.
I told him about the bloody fox, the damn chicken and the pathetic bowl of grain, not to mention getting them across the sodding Thames.
'I am a student from Innsbruck,' Cornelius offered. 'In my days as a clerk I was a master riddler.' He scratched his chin.
'Thank you for your offer of help,' I replied, glancing maliciously at Agrippa.
‘I cannot help you, Master Shallot,' the good Doctor declared. 'Oh, and before I forget, the King left a message: you are to have resolved the riddle before we return to Eltham.'
If I hadn't had my feet firmly in the stirrups, I would have fallen off my horse. Benjamin leaned over, his long face creased in concern.
'I'm trying to help as well, Roger,' he declared. 'It's really a mathematical problem. There's a very easy solution but, for the life of me, I can't think of it.'
With such supportive words ringing in my ears, we left the highway and followed a rutted track leading to the manor of Malevel. Oh, it was a glorious day! The harvesters were busy working under a warm sun, blue skies and fleecy clouds. It was a perfect day to be in England with a tinge of autumn faint in the air and the fields rich with the promise of a golden harvest. Except for me, poor Shallot: guarding relics, being pursued by Lord Charon and his ilk and riding through the lanes surrounded by some of the most sinister men in Europe. Oh, pity me!
We reached Malevel early in the afternoon. I must give you a careful description of that sombre place. Malevel was built like a square, three storeys high, not from wood and plaster, but of dark-grey ragstone: there were windows on each storey but these were narrow and shuttered. The roof was of red slate, and two chimneys at either end twisted like snakes up into the sky. I could see why it had been chosen: it was a fortified house, probably used by the Crown to detain prisoners well away from the eyes of the city or as a place for the king to meet one of his whores or someone else's wife. Behind the manor was a cobbled yard with stables and out-houses. On either side of it was a narrow garden and, in front, two broad patches of grass divided by a pebble path which swept up to the main entrance. The back door, or postern gate, was small and narrow. The front door, however, was huge: thick blackened timber hung on steel hinges and was reinforced with iron studs. The manor itself was guarded by a high curtain wall built of the same sombre ragstone, at least twelve feet high with spikes on the top. There were no other entrances except under a dark, cavernous gatehouse.
Kempe informed Benjamin and me that the Orb would be moved here. We sat on our horses beneath the gatehouse staring at the manor.
'It was owned by Isabella Malevel,' Kempe explained. 'Then, one night, about three years ago, the manor was attacked and all its precious objects stolen.' 'And Isabella Malevel?' Benjamin asked. 'Oh, she just disappeared. One of life's great mysteries!'
'It's ideal,' Egremont broke in. 'The best place to keep the Orb. I chose it from the list Kempe gave me.'
'It's easy to guard,' Sir Thomas added. 'Master Daunbey, you and Shallot will stay in the gatehouse.'
We left our horses grazing on the grass. Kempe had the keys, and he undid the three locks on the front door and took us in. Now, I have been in many a house of ill repute. I have sheltered in lonely, haunted dwellings on the Scottish March, in ghost-ridden palaces on the banks of the Loire and at gloomy castles along the Rhine. All of them were terrible, blood-soaked places where, as soon as you walked in, the ghosts thronged about you. Malevel was one of the worst.
'It has an air of menace,' Benjamin whispered as Kempe led us along a passageway then stopped at a staircase which swept up to the other two floors. I could only agree. Perhaps it was the flagstone floor or the empty walls which caught every sound and made it echo. Or, there again, the narrow windows which only let in slivers of light so each room and gallery had a gloomy appearance with corners full of shadows. Oh, it was clean all right, it had been swept and washed and there was furniture in every room but I noticed that, because there were no rushes on the floor or hangings on the wall, every sound reverberated. Egremont was proud he'd chosen such a place. He brushed aside Kempe's objections and insisted that we search the house from the tiles on the roof and then down to the dark, eerie cellar. 'Not even a mouse could break in here,' I announced. My master, who had fallen strangely silent, just nodded.
We eventually gathered around the kitchen table, Kempe and Egremont sitting at either end.
'So all is ready.' Egremont began. 'Now about guards: the Noctales will stay here.' 'And provisions?' Kempe asked.
'I shall obtain them,' Egremont replied quietly. 'We always buy our own food and drink.' 'And what about the English guards?' Sir Thomas declared. 'The King has promised six of his best archers from the Tower.'
'The Orb of Charlemagne will be brought here tomorrow?' Egremont asked. Kempe nodded. ‘It will arrive here just after noon.'
Egremont scratched his cheek, one finger playing along a scar from a swordthrust on the side of his jaw.
'The Orb will be brought here,' he said, fingers jabbing at the kitchen table. 'There will be nine Noctales, the rest will not be needed.'
His henchman was about to protest but Egremont made a sweeping movement with his hand.
‘I require them, Cornelius,' he said softly, 'to guard the guards. Now!' Egremont sniffed, narrowing his eyes. 'The Orb will arrive here tomorrow and it will remain in its sealed coffer. The house will be shuttered and all doors locked and barred. No one can leave or enter, no matter what happens. This will last for five days until the Imperial caravel has docked in the Thames and all preparations carried out. The Orb will then be transferred to the ship. Until then, my master's relic will be left under the guard of fifteen men: nine Noctales and six of your archers. Do you agree, Sir Thomas?' Kempe nodded.
'Outside,' Egremont continued, ‘I want dogs to patrol, both night and day. The gatehouse will be guarded by archers, and Cornelius will stay in the gatehouse along with Master Daunbey and his servant. I am satisfied,' Egremont declared, 'that there are no secret entrances and that my master's relic -' he emphasized each word '- will be safe.'
'How do we know nothing will happen in the house?' Benjamin asked. 'We have planned for that,' Cornelius broke in. 'As the bells of St John's Clerkenwell chime for Matins in the morning, and again at Vespers in the evening, I will bring a shuttered lantern to a window on the first floor of the gatehouse. I shall show it three times. If no lamp is shone in reply, we will know something is wrong.' 'How long will this go on for?' Benjamin asked. 'For about five days,' Egremont replied. 'Until I am ready to sail.'
I stared across the table at my master. He had his head down, one hand covering the lower half of his face. He had been listening carefully and I could see he was worried and so was I. If the Great Beast wanted the relic back and replaced with the fake, how could we do it? More importantly, how could I solve that vexatious riddle? My own fear deepened. The Great Beast would be hopping with rage at the way the Imperial Envoy had so cleverly tricked him, so woe betide poor Shallot!
The conversation became more desultory as Kempe and Egremont hammered out the last details. Even then, before all the horrible and bloody murders began, a thought occurred to me. Why was the Orb being moved here, requiring such secrecy and all these guards? However, when your mind is concentrating on how to get a bloody fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames, such Byzantine plans are not worthy of your attention. The meeting ended. As we left Malevel Manor, once again that feeling of unease deepened within me. I thought it was a Hall of Ghosts, a place of misery and sin. I wondered what had really happened to its former owner, the ancient Isabelle Malevel? My master was also quiet. I questioned him closely and found another reason for his misery. 'It's Miranda,' he replied dolefully. My heart skipped a beat. 'She's not unwell?'
'No, worse. She has travelled north to stay with relatives in York. She went shortly after I went to Venice.'
(Ah well, the affairs of the heart are always troublesome and, in this story, the beautiful Miranda does not figure but later on, oh yes, she plays a part!)
Benjamin and I went out to the gatehouse and Cornelius joined us. We inspected our chambers: the gatehouse was quite extensive with two chambers on the top floor and two on the bottom, as well as a small buttery or kitchen. Cornelius took one of the top chambers and my master and I the lower two chambers. They were nothing more than narrow cells but they were comfortable. Cornelius inspected the window through which he would show the lantern and pronounced himself satisfied. We heard Kempe calling to us from below. My master went down but Cornelius caught at my sleeve as I prepared to follow. 'I like you, Shallot.' His hooded eyes held mine.
'Oh, thank you very much,' I replied but grew uneasy. I wondered if Cornelius was one of those bum boys. I know I am not very pretty but, with some people, it's any port in a storm! ‘I have to go,' I declared. ‘I like you, Shallot.'
'Yes, of course you do,' I said. 'And I am a great admirer of your good self.'
‘I had a brother just like you, who had a cast in one eye. He was as full of roguery as a vat is full of ale: he died of the plague in Innsbruck.' Those hooded eyes still gazed unblinkingly at me.
'You should be very careful,' Cornelius continued. 'Your king is as mad – how do you say – as a March hare?'
'Nonsense!' I replied. 'He's one of the wisest men in Christendom.' Cornelius smirked. 'Read that on the way back." He handed across a scrap of parchment. I walked to the door.
'Oh, and Shallot, take this.' Cornelius came over and dropped a small sack into my hands. I felt it carefully, it was some form of powder. 'When you win your prize, use that!' I gazed quizzically back. 'You'd better go.'
I went down the stairs to where Kempe and the others were waiting. ‘I paused halfway down and undid the scrap of parchment. The writing was small and neat, the letters perfectly formed. I read it once, twice, then grinned and put it back in my wallet: I knew the solution to the Great Beast's riddle!
We arrived back at court just before sunset. The Great Bastard was in one of his moods of revelry. He had spent the afternoon flying his falcons out above the marshes so he was in fine fettle, still playing the role of the great statesman relaxing at his pleasures. We met in the same room though, this time, tables had been laid out, covered in silken cloths and decorated with the most beautiful silverware. Henry sat in the middle of a small horseshoe of tables. He was dressed in velvet buckram, his bonnet rakishly pulled to one side of his head. His other cronies were there: Norreys, Brandon the Earl of Suffolk, and their ladies. One beauty caught my eye: tall, elegant, dark-haired and sallow-faced, she was strikingly attractive, dressed in dark-green. She reminded me of some beautiful phantasm, some goddess who appears to huntsmen in the depths of dark woods. Raven brows over eyes full of sensuality. Anne Boleyn! I tell you this – she's been in her grave more than sixty years, buried deep beneath the cold flagstones of St Peter's ad Vincula in the Tower, nevertheless, I can remember every detail about her from that evening. Modest yet saucy, retiring yet alluring, soft spoken and unobtrusive, she drew your eyes and made your heart beat a little faster. I tell the Great Elizabeth whenever she visits: her mother was every inch a woman. Beautiful beyond compare! Like Helen of Troy, mortal sin in clothes. Henry was infatuated with her. You could tell that. He was showing off, seeking her approval for everything he did. She, eyes lowered, would laugh soft and deep in her throat. I envied Henry. I really did. One other thing I noticed: Anne kept the cuffs of her dress well over her hands to cover her extra finger. Years later when I was closeted with her she allowed me to examine this closely. It was nothing much – a slight malformation of her right hand – but her enemies said it was the devil's teat on which she suckled her familiars. Anne didn't need such witchcraft. One kiss was enough!
Anyway, back to the Great Beast's banquet. Cardinal Wolsey was present but he was quiet, rather withdrawn. He was the only man apparently unimpressed by Boleyn and he was intent on showing it. We ate well, roast pheasant, swan, duck, lampreys, eels, the tenderest beef and the most succulent capon, all served in tangy sauces. The wine cups were deep bowled and were constantly replenished. We ate and drank while, in a far comer, boy choristers entertained us with a song composed by Abelard. Henry, like the pig he was, drank deeply until his fat cheeks glowed, his eyes glittered and, in his malice, he turned on old Shallot.
'Tell us now, Roger,' he bawled. 'Tell us the solution to the riddle!'
'What riddle?' Norreys cried, as if the lying bastard didn't know.
'A man has to take a fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames,' the great pig bellowed. 'His rowing boat can take only the man and the fox, or the man and the chicken or the man and the grain at any one time.' Henry sighed at the knowing looks of his cabal. 'If he takes the grain, the fox will eat the chicken. If he takes the fox, the chicken will eat the grain. So, Roger, how does he get the three across?' The fat turd licked his fingers. 'If you can't solve it, you must pay the forfeit: the sun has dried our carp pond to a muddy mess and tomorrow, if you fail, you'll have to stand in the centre and play "Mummer's Boy"!'
I quietly groaned and shut my eyes. 'Mummer's Boy' was an old village game: some unfortunate was made to stand in the middle of a mud pack on a three-legged stool whilst others flung clods of mud at him. The one who knocked him off three times was the winner. A stupid, cruel game. Henry would love it! My master stiffened and was about to protest but I tapped him on the knee. I also caught Wolsey's anxious gaze and winked quickly. He smiled back. Anne Boleyn, God bless her, lifted her head and – perhaps it was my fevered brain or the light wasn't so good -1 am sure she blew me a kiss. Despite the cruelty she later inflicted on poor Queen Catherine, from that moment my heart was hers! 'Come on, Shallot!' the Hell-King roared. 'Give us an answer!'
'Answer! Answer!' His cronies began to bang their cups on the tables chanting like naughty schoolboys.
'Quite easy,' I replied, pushing back my chair and standing up. 'It can be done in four crossings. First, the man takes the chicken to the other bank and returns to collect the grain. Secondly, the man takes the grain to the other bank and returns with the chicken. Thirdly, the man leaves the chicken and takes the fox to the other bank where he leaves the fox with the grain. Fourthly, the man then returns to collect the chicken. At no time,' I concluded triumphantly, 'is the fox left alone with the chicken or the chicken left alone with the grain.'
My master clapped his hands. The rest, slightly befuddled, scratched their heads as they tried to work it out for themselves. Henry glared at me from under lowering brows.
'Correct, Roger,' he purred. 'So there will be no "Mummer's Boy" for you. Let me show you your prize!'
He clicked his fingers at a servant who went to the far doors and flung them open. I heard a baying like the tolling of a bell, the sound of paws scraping the tiled floor, before the shaggiest, largest hunting dog I have ever clapped eyes on lurched into the room, two grooms hanging on to its leather leash for their very lives. The dog chased straight as an arrow to Henry, jumping at the table, knocking pots and dishes, trying to lick the fat bastard's face. Naturally, Henry loved the adulation and his mastery over the dog, popping pieces of meat into its mouth, even allowing it to drink from his water cup. The ladies screamed with delight as Henry scratched the dog's ears. 'Lovely boy!' he yelled. 'Lovely boy, get down!'
Henry Norreys, emboldened by the dog's obvious affection, leaned across to give him a piece of meat. The change in that huge mastiff was chilling: ears back, lips curled over his huge teeth – I'd never seen Norreys move so swiftly in my life. Henry stroked the dog, smiling maliciously down at me. 4Your present, Roger!'
I just sat dumbstruck. The dog was massive: at least six to seven foot from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. He stood four feet high, with a mangy grey coat, massive head and jaws like a huge pike. As the King spoke, the dog turned its head, tongue lolling, eyes gleaming as it glared at me. What could I do? To refuse a King's gift in public was lese-majeste" and, if I did, God knows what delights Henry would have ready for me? 'This is too much,' my master whispered.
'Take him away!' Henry shouted. 'Take Castor away to the chamber. Roger, make friends with my gift!'
I felt like running straight for the nearest jakes but I had deliberately not drunk too much. I remembered Cornelius's words and, whilst the King was engaged, I'd taken a piece of steak from the plate, opened my pouch and dusted it with some of the powder Cornelius had given me. It smelt sweet and cloying. I closed my eyes and prayed it wasn't poison. Wolsey was hiding the lower half of his face in his hands. Benjamin's fingers were not far from his dagger. Boleyn was no longer laughing. Even Norreys leaned over and murmured something in the King's ear. However, the King was obdurate: Castor the great mastiff was taken away and I had to follow.
The antechamber had two doors. As I went in they were closed and locked behind me. The grooms holding Castor glanced pityingly at me, released the leads and went out of the far door leaving me and the dog alone. The chamber was lit by sconce torches along all four walls: these cast the dog's huge shadow against the wall. Now, it is a universal belief of Shallot: I, who have been hunted by wolves, leopards and, on a number of occasions, flesh-eating rats, still believe that the most cruel animal on earth is of human kind. Moreover, I knew enough about dogs not to move quickly but tried to stare it out. The hound was a good-natured soul. It didn't bound towards me but squatted down on all fours, head up, tongue lolling, watching me intently. I crouched down as well, and took the piece of meat from my pouch. It was tender, easy to pull apart. Castor stood up. I stretched out my hand.
'Come on, lad,' I murmured. 'Don't eat old Shallot. Here's a nice piece of juicy meat.'
The dog padded across. It stopped, sniffed at the meat, the saliva pouring like water from its huge jaws. The meat disappeared, another piece was given. Now, everyone likes a piece of steak, but Castor ate it as if his life depended on it. At last there was none left and he began to lick my hands. He growled at me. A growl that seemed to come from his very belly. I stood up and looked down at him. 'How dare you!' I declared, keeping my voice steady. 'Sit!'
Well, down he went, whimpering ingratiatingly, eyes beseeching. I opened the pouch Cornelius had given me. I shook some powder on my fingers and allowed him to lick it. 'Good dog!' I walked to the far end of the room. He made to follow. 'Sit down!' I shouted. Down he went like a whore's knickers. 'Up!' Castor came to attention, tail wagging, eyes intent on me.
'Here!' I snapped my fingers. I could see he was going to bound. 'No, walk!'
I tell you, that dog was more intelligent than my chaplain and his parishioners multiplied by ten. He came across, licked the toe of my boot and lay down. I forgot about Henry and his sneering, snarling courtiers, I have had few friends and, in that darkened chamber, suddenly realised that I had another one for life.
Oh well, you should have seen it! I walked back into the royal banqueting chamber, Castor striding behind me. When I said 'down', he sat with me. When Henry called, Castor, God bless his heart, didn't bother even to look in his direction. The courtiers laughed and cheered. Silver purses were thrown. Even old Henry graciously conceded defeat: he hurled his drinking cup at me as a token of his pleasure, narrowly missing my head.
(Many years later, when Henry was syphilitic and I used to push him around the palaces in his wheelchair, he constantly asked me how I did it. Out of respect for Castor's memory, I never told the old rogue.)
The next morning Benjamin and I, with our new companion who insisted on sleeping in the same bed as myself, joined Cornelius in the gatehouse of Malevel Manor. I seized a moment when we were alone, to ask the Noctale what the powder had been and how he had known Henry would give me such a gift? Cornelius grinned: his teeth reminded me of Castor's, white and pointed.
'The riddle,' he replied. 'No riddle is beyond me, Master Shallot. As for the gift, Lord Egremont gave Henry two hounds. Your king said he only needed one but he intended to give the other to a good friend who least suspected it. When I heard about the riddle, I recalled the king's sniggers.' He shrugged. 'Castor loves aniseed powder. All dogs do. Give him that and he's yours for life.' 'Does the King know?' I asked.
Cornelius shook his head. 'The aniseed powder is a sweet.' Cornelius chucked me under the chin with his finger. 'But Castor's also a good judge of character, Master Shallot. He apparently saw something in you that others do not.'
I became embarrassed. Cornelius tapped me on the shoulder.
'Don't be shy, Master Shallot. I'm not praising you. It's just that I believe that all men are evil but some men less evil than others.'
Later in the day, Egremont, Kempe and the rest of the Noctales swept into Malevel Manor. They were accompanied by two score archers from the Tower guarding a covered wagon in which the Orb lay sealed in its steel chest. For a while all was confusion as guards patrolled the grounds and carried out a thorough search of the manor from attic to cellar. Benjamin and I watched from the gatehouse and standing between us, staring out of the window, was Castor. When the grooms brought the royal hunting dogs who were to patrol the grounds at night, Castor threw his head back and barked in joyful anticipation. By now I was accustomed to the animal and the offer of two sweetmeats soon had him crouching on the floor gazing adoringly up at me. We watched as the chest was taken from the cart to the house. I glimpsed Sir Hubert Berkeley amongst those who had come, as well as a young man and woman. I asked Cornelius who they were. 'Oswald and Imelda Petrel.' 'Why are they here?'
'The guards have to eat. The Petrels will be allowed in every day at three o'clock to prepare an evening meal, and breakfast for the following morning, as well as to clean dishes in the kitchen. They are to be gone by six.' He punched me playfully on the shoulder. 'Don't worry, Shallot, Egremont has personally chosen them.' He crouched down, patting Castor. 'The Orb will be safe as long as your King practises no trickery.'
'Not unless he has the power to make himself invisible!' Benjamin retorted. 'How on earth, Master Cornelius, could anyone enter such a guarded manor, steal a precious relic and leave with impunity?'
'How indeed?' Cornelius murmured. 'But I have seen your master's eyes. He wishes to be the Conqueror of France and, for that, he needs His Imperial Highness's help, but perhaps the return of the Orb is too high a price to pay!'
Two hours later we all met in the manor hall. Berkeley came over to greet me. He looked shamefaced and apologised that he had not known what had happened to me until it was too late. I reassured him and clasped his hand. Berkeley pointed to the steel casket on the table.
'I am glad that's finished, Roger. I am not sorry to see the back of it.'
'Did you have any visitors?' I asked abruptly. 'Footpads or bullyboys trying to break in?'
'No, no.' Berkeley shook his head. 'The casket was sealed the day after you were taken. Sir Thomas Kempe's men were seen in the alleyways and streets around. It was safe enough.' 'Even from the King's trickery?' I whispered. Berkeley, God bless him, blushed with embarrassment.
'Trust me, Roger,' he whispered. 'You would never believe the half of it…'
He walked away, called over by Egremont. I turned to the young man and woman I had glimpsed earlier in the day. A comely, married couple who owned a cookshop on the corner of Milkwell Street within chiming distance of St Gile's. Master Oswald was pleasant-faced, eager to please. He was totally over-awed by what was happening, so tongue-tied he could hardly speak. Imelda possessed the brains of the family: sharp-featured with a crisp, cool manner. She dismissed my flirtation with a mock-angry frown and explained how the Foreigner, her title for Egremont, had offered them five gold pieces to serve as cooks.
'How could I refuse?' she declared. 'We will be able to extend our shop, even buy an adjoining cottage for an ale-house.' 'Why did he choose you?' I asked. 'Why, Master Shallot, my pies are famous throughout London. I am a good cook. We sell to nobles, merchants and taverns. You must see for yourself.'
I liked her bright, happy eyes. I was about to take her up on the offer when Egremont asked for the room to be cleared. I still remember the occasion: the Noctales, their cowls pulled over their heads; the rugged, weather-beaten archers, the best veterans in the King's troops with their long bows slung over their shoulders; young Master Oswald eager to please; Imelda smiling over her shoulder at me. They all went out of the chamber to wait in the gallery outside. Oh Lord, I close my eyes. As Macduff says: 'I cannot but remember such things were, that were most precious to me.' And what is more precious than a point in time when you see others full of life but, with hindsight, realise they were just sacrificial lambs and that bloody murder had already marked them out?
Ah well, they say the Orb of Charlemagne carried its own curse and I can well believe it. Kempe, Cornelius, one other Noctale, Berkeley, Benjamin and myself gathered around the table. Egremont broke the seals on the casket and swung back the lid. He opened the neck of the pouch, took out the Orb of Charlemagne and held it up for all to see.
'Behold!' he whispered. 'The Imperial Orb! God's sign of empire: now restored to Charlemagne's rightful successor, His Most Imperial Highness Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, God's Vice-Regent on earth!'
The Great Beast would have certainly quarrelled with that description but even I was overawed by the splendour and beauty of this famous relic. It was passed to Berkeley who studied it carefully. 'This is the Orb, is it not?' Egremont asked. 'It is,' the goldsmith replied.
Egremont put it into the pouch and it was returned to the casket, which was again sealed.
'Right.' Egremont faced us. "These are the arrangements. Eight of the Noctales under Jonathan -' Egremont pointed to the cadaverous-looking Noctale – 'will stay and guard the Orb. They will be reinforced by six royal archers from the Tower. These men will not be allowed to leave this manor. At three o'clock every day the two cooks,' Egremont's mouth curled contemptuously, 'will be allowed in. They shall bring nothing in and take nothing out. The cooks will prepare food for the evening meal as well as breakfast for the following day. They must be gone by six.' Egremont paused and stared around. 'All windows will be shuttered. The front door will be locked from the outside. Cornelius will hold the keys. Once the cooks have left, the dogs will be released and the gatehouse closed. I understand the rest of the archers will camp outside the walls. Is that not right, Sir Thomas?' Kempe nodded.
'At six in the morning and again at six in the evening Cornelius will light a lantern. Jonathan will reply.' He paused. 'Should the signal not be returned, Cornelius will immediately send for me. I and Sir Thomas will be staying at a local hostelry, The Golden Pyx.' Egremont went across and placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. ‘I have every confidence in you, sir.' He stared at him. 'You are to carry out my orders precisely, do you understand? Even if a man falls ill, he must stay.' 'How long will this last?' Kempe asked testily.
‘I have told you, Sir Thomas, until the Imperial ship is ready.' Egremont smiled sourly. 'The ship will be accompanied by the English fleet, not to mention Imperial galleries. We do not want the French to interfere.' 'When will that happen?' 'When I give the word in about five days. Now we should go-'
Egremont and Kempe addressed the fifteen men left to guard the Orb, and then we left. It was the last time we saw any of them alive.