Cornelius, Benjamin, myself and, of course, darling Castor took up residence in the gatehouse. On the heath outside, the rest of the English archers set up their bothies and cooking-pots and, like soldiers anywhere, soon made themselves at home. They were all hardened veterans; constantly armed, they swept the roads keeping everyone away from Malevel. Egremont was a sly fox for, with Cornelius in the chamber above us, Benjamin and I found it very difficult to confer. Mind you, the German was a good companion. Despite his grim appearance, he had a fine singing voice and a very dry sense of humour. He was cultured and learned. On the evening Egremont left I found Cornelius in his chamber writing a letter. I asked if all was well.
'Oh yes,' he replied. 'I am writing to my daughter Louise. She's married to a merchant. In the spring I might be a grandfather.' His face creased into a gentle smile.
You know the proverb: 'never judge a book by its cover'? This certainly applied to Cornelius. He was a most dangerous adversary. I have met the kind before: he would question you gently and elicit more information than any torturer. He had a mocking look in his eyes. I knew that he knew that I knew that Henry planned some subtle trick. This made us all very knowledgeable but, as Benjamin and I wondered, God knows how we would achieve it.
We spent our first evening in the gatehouse whispering about this. Castor stood like a sentinel at the window, watching the royal mastiffs patrolling the grounds. He was an intelligent beast. He never howled but just growled softly in his throat as if he resented not being able to go down and play with them. Benjamin and I saw a window in the manor open and the lantern flickering. Up above we heard Cornelius's footsteps as he replied with the agreed signal.
'What on earth can we do?' Benjamin murmured. "The mastiffs would tear us to pieces if we tried to cross the grounds. No one can break in to the manor and, even if we did, how long would we survive?' He sighed. 'Ergo, we cannot act until the Orb is moved. On this occasion, Roger, I think we are going to disappoint our royal master.'
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared glumly at the wall. We had not seen Agrippa today but I had a feeling that he would soon arrive with dire warnings from the Great Beast.
'Even if we could get in,' Benjamin continued, 'we still don't have the replica.' 'Oh, I am sure we soon will,' I retorted.
I should have become a fortune-teller, a seer of things yet to come. The next morning, as Benjamin and I prepared to take Castor out on the heath, Kempe arrived. He was by himself and insisted on joining us. We walked out across the sun-dried grass, Kempe chattering about what was happening at court, discussing Skelton's latest satire against Wolsey. However, once we were in the woods and Castor was giving some poor rabbit a run for its life, Kempe led us deeper into the trees. There was an old stump, probably struck by lightning, around which bushes had grown. Kempe pushed his way through these. I glimpsed a hole in the hollowed trunk, into which Kempe put his hand and drew out a large leather bag. He undid the cord and gently shook the Orb of Charlemagne out. I tell you this, Berkeley was not only a brilliant goldsmith but the most skilled of counterfeiters. The Orb was an exact replica of the one I had seen at Malevel Manor. I weighed it carefully in my hands. It felt and looked the same.
'In a sense it's genuine,' Kempe murmured. 'Real gold.' He pointed to the bands round the rim. 'Precious stones. Only the most skilled craftsman could detect that it was made in London just a few weeks ago and is not a seven-hundred-year-old relic'
'And how in God's name,' Benjamin asked, 'are we to replace one with the other?'
Kempe shrugged. 'The King has confidence in you and Master Shallot. It has to be done.'
'Not now,' I replied. ‘I don't want my leg chewed off or an arrow in my gullet.'
'Do we know when the Orb will be moved?' Benjamin asked. 'Or how?'
Kempe shook his head. Benjamin beat his gloves against his thigh. 'This is impossible.' Kempe pulled a face and put the Orb back in the bag.
'I have done my job, Master Daunbey. You must do yours. I will hold this till you are ready.'
'Why not give the King the replica?' I scoffed. 'Will he know the difference?'
Kempe smiled. 'I wondered if you'd think of that. Shallot. Berkeley knows the difference and so do I. There's a secret to the genuine Orb.' He brought his hand down on my shoulder. 'But it's my little secret and you've had your orders.'
We walked back to Malevel, Castor running ahead of us, ears flapping. Kempe collected his horse, hid the Orb in his saddlebag and rode back to The Golden Lion.
Benjamin and I returned to our constant watch. The days passed. The two cooks, Oswald and Imelda, always arrived on time and always left at six o'clock before the dogs were released. On the third occasion I waylaid them by the gate. 'How are things at the manor?' I asked.
'Very quiet,' Oswald replied. 'The place is beginning to smell a little, the jakes needs cleaning. The Noctales don't like the archers and the archers don't like the Noctales. They spend their time gambling, drinking and talking.' 'And Jonathan their leader?' 'He seems nervous,' Imelda replied. 'Like a man walking on eggs; he never stays still.' 'Is he worried?' 'Yes, I think he is. But less so than on the first day.'
The following afternoon Oswald and Imelda left at six. As usual, Cornelius waited for the window to open and, when it did, made the signal back with his own lantern. We spent a desultory evening, my master lying on the bed staring up at the rafters. He had been quiet since his return from Venice. He was pining over the marvellous Miranda, though I also knew that he was deeply worried, not only about the present situation, but about the threats of the Poppletons. He had accepted my assurances that I was innocent of the Great Mouth's death yet he was worried about what would happen if, and when, we returned to Ipswich. I'll be honest: I drank too deeply. I fell asleep wondering how it would be to travel down the west coast of Africa. Nightmares plagued my mind. I envisaged a thousand fearful wrecks; fishes gnawing upon my bones; lying amongst dead mens' skulls or being cast up on some lonely shore waiting for the terrors to appear from the dark forest. I was woken roughly enough by Cornelius kicking at my bed. At first he was so excited he spoke in German but then he calmed down. It was the first time I had seen him look fearful. 'What's the matter?' Benjamin asked. 'It's well past dawn,' Cornelius replied. 'I have seen no signal from the manor!' 'Shouldn't we go up?' I asked.
'The dogs are still out. Egremont left strict instructions. If that light didn't appear, I was to send for him immediately. One of the archers is already galloping to his lodgings.'
Castor, who had been taking up more of the bed than I, got up and walked towards the window: he stared, head rigid, towards the darkened manor house. I sensed a real nightmare was about to unfold. As if it sensed something was wrong, one of the guard dogs began to howl at the lightening sky and Castor joined in.
The bells of some distant church were ringing for morning Mass when Egremont and Kempe, the former accompanied by a large retinue of his personal retainers, galloped up to the gatehouse. The dogs had been put away. Cornelius had spent the time staring at the manor as if, through concentration alone, he could perceive what was amiss. We went up the path. Cornelius opened the door and we entered that hall of hellish murder. An archer lay just within the doorway; a broad pool of blood had gushed out from his slit throat and turned the floor slippery underneath. We went into the parlour where two more archers were sprawled. One had a crossbow bolt where his nose and mouth had been. Another, face down, also had his throat slashed from ear to ear. Cornelius rushed into the hall. Egremont's followers thronged in after us. Lord Theodosius turned, ordering some of the men to go upstairs. Cornelius came rushing out of the hall, his face ashen.
"The coffer!' he shouted. 'The clasp is broken off and the Orb is gone!' 'Impossible!' Egremont's face went slack. Kempe glanced quickly at us but Benjamin shook his head. Egremont clapped his hands.
'Everybody,' he shouted, 'into the hall! You and you.' He pointed to some of his retainers. 'Ride into the city! Tell the Cardinal that the Orb has gone. The ports should be watched, and guards placed on every city gate!'
For a while confusion reigned as Egremont despatched others on different tasks. We then went into the hall: the steel chest had its lid thrown back, Berkeley's intricate locks had simply been smashed and the lid prised loose. The Orb was gone. We made a thorough search of the house. On every gallery lay a corpse. Most had their throats cut or crossbow quarrels deep in their throats or chests. Jonathan, Cornelius's lieutenant, lay on his bed, eyes staring sightlessly up, his throat one great gaping wound, the blood drenching his jerkin and the sheets beneath.
Cornelius was beside himself. At Egremont's orders, the front door of the manor was locked and more guards posted at the gatehouse. Kempe, as mystified as the rest, simply sat in the hall staring at the empty chest. He beckoned us across.
'No,' Benjamin replied before Sir Thomas could even question us. 'No, no, no. We saw nothing amiss.'
The corpses were all collected and laid out in the parlour, a grisly line of fifteen cadavers. Each had died in the most horrible manner. The coffer was removed from the table, the hall cleared and guards posted outside. Egremont gathered myself, Cornelius, Benjamin and Kempe around the long trestle table. For a while he just sat, rocking himself to and fro.
'How?' he began in no more than a whisper. 'How could this be done? Cornelius,' he snapped. 'There's no secret entrance or trap door?'
'None and, before you ask, Lord Theodosius, no shutters open or any sign of disturbance.'
'Then how in God's name,' Egremont replied, 'did this happen? We have fifteen men here; six royal archers, nine of the most skilled Noctales. None of them would give up their lives easily.'
'That's what I find strange,' Benjamin intervened. 'Fifteen men were left on guard, yes?' Kempe and Egremont nodded together. 'And there are fifteen corpses laid out in the parlour?' 'I counted them myself,' Kempe replied. 'And no one was allowed in. Nor did we see anyone slip away.'
'Anyone?' Egremont sneered. 'For heaven's sake, Master Daunbey, it would take more than one man to kill fifteen veterans.'
We all sat in silence, chilled by his words. Egremont was right. What force, what power, what skilled group of men could despatch fifteen veterans with such ease?
'I cannot imagine it,' Benjamin spoke up, his eyes closed. 'We have the manor guarded outside and in. Let us say an assassin strikes.' He opened his eyes. 'They might kill two or three but the alarm would be raised: all it would take is one man to cry for help. Some of them had their throats cut, which could happen in their sleep… but a crossbow bolt deep in the face? Loosed so close? They must have at least known what was happening?' He played with the ring on his finger. 'And there's something else,' he added. 'Have you noticed there's no sign of any upset? No furniture in disarray? No marks on the walls? Not a shred of evidence that these fifteen men put up even token resistance.'
He paused as the door was flung open. One of Kempe's men entered and whispered in Sir Thomas's ear. 'What is it?' Egremont snapped.
'We have checked the armaments,' Sir Thomas replied. 'The soldiers didn't even use their swords or daggers. The royal archers never put arrow to bow. No soldier used his weapons, with two exceptions.' He glanced across the table at Cornelius. 'Your Noctales each carried a long stabbing dirk, an arbalest and bolts. Yes?' 'Agreed.'
'One crossbow was used and one dagger: the only weapons employed to kill fifteen men. But where did this assassin come from?' 'The cellar,' Benjamin spoke up.
'I had it checked immediately,' Egremont retorted. 'Bare and empty as it was when we first arrived.'
Kempe rubbed his face. 'The King's rage can only be imagined!'
'It will be nothing,' Cornelius declared sourly, 'to that of His Imperial Highness!' He drummed his fingers on the table. 'Fifteen men dead and the Orb gone. Well, Lord Theodosius, what do we do now?'
'Go back to London. I'll leave some of my retainers here.' Egremont got to his feet. 'Cornelius, I want this house searched again from top to bottom.' He glanced at Kempe. 'Sir Thomas, you'll accompany me? His Eminence the Cardinal and His Grace the King will demand witness to what I say.'
'Wait a while.' Cornelius walked to a side table and picked up a dish on which there were still crumbs. 'We've forgotten two people; the cooks, Oswald and Imelda.'
'Oh, that's ridiculous!' I declared. 'You've seen them, two young people unarmed! How do you think they did it? Battered the garrison to death with a sausage?'
Cornelius sniffed. 'Sir Thomas, my Lord of Egremont, I will send a despatch to the cookshop. Oswald and Imelda are to be brought here immediately.'
Egremont looked as if he was going to object, surprised by the nature of Cornelius's request, but then he shrugged and, followed by Kempe, left the room.
The atmosphere of distrust he left only increased. Cornelius watched us narrow-eyed and, when we offered to search the house, he insisted on accompanying us. First we visited the cellar but we could find nothing amiss, and then we continued our search from room to room. Some of the beds showed that they had been lain in: the sheets were soiled or crumpled. Yet it appeared as if the Angel of Death had swept through in a matter of seconds. In one chamber, dice and a cup lay on a table as if the game had suddenly ended. In another playing cards were spread out on the floor. In the kitchen two knives and a whetstone were placed on a stool as if their owner had been sharpening them when death struck. In exasperation we searched amongst the foodstuffs, sniffing at the bread, the dried bacon and fruit. Benjamin tasted from the wineskin. He picked up the cask of ale but it was empty. He placed it back on the floor and sat on it. 'How did this happen?' he asked, echoing Egremont's words. Cornelius went and stood over him. 'Master Daunbey.' Benjamin looked up.
'Are you going to say that you were here to guard?' Cornelius asked. 'Or will you not admit that you had secret instructions from your king to retrieve the Orb of Charlemagne?' Benjamin stood up facing him squarely.
'Such words, Master Cornelius, might, in another place and at another time, lead to a duel.'
'I shall remember that, Master Daunbey, but my question still stands!'
I drew my own dagger. I went up and pricked the tip into the back of Cornelius's bulky neck.
'Ah, the ever-faithful dog!' Cornelius didn't even bother to turn.
'Stand back from my master!' I ordered. 'Cornelius, you have your orders and so have we. You were in the gatehouse with us all the time. We never approached the manor. You, however, did. You let the cooks in and out. What else happened?'
Cornelius turned his head slightly, then he turned with breathtaking speed. One arm came shooting out, the edge of his hand caught me just beneath the chest and made me stagger back, the knife dropping from my hand. Then Cornelius, sword and dagger drawn, stood between me and Benjamin. The sound of the commotion brought others hurrying to the kitchen door. Cornelius was now balanced on the balls of his feet, the sword toward Benjamin, the dagger towards me. He was breathing in deeply through his nostrils, fighting hard to control the rage seething within him. Benjamin's hand was already on his sword. I was wondering whether to run or fight when I heard a commotion down the passageway. I turned and saw Castor in the doorway. No longer the friendly, bouncing dog, he crouched, head out, ears back, jaws half-open like some huge cat as he began to stalk across the floor towards Cornelius.
The Noctale moved his sword and dagger toward this new threat: he threw me a quick look and I knew I had a debt to pay. 'Castor!' I ordered. The dog moved forward. 'Castor, sweetmeats. Stay!'
Castor's ears came up and he sat, almost smiling benevolently at Cornelius. I went up and stroked him. I took a sticky sweetmeat from my wallet. Castor took it, rolling it around in his mouth as happy as a child.
'Put up your sword and dagger!' Benjamin ordered. He waved at the people thronging in the kitchen doorway. 'Go back to your duties. Anything you find, bring here!'
Castor turned and growled, and within a twinkling the doorway was empty. Cornelius put his sword and dagger away and came forward, hands extended.
'I meant no offence, Shallot. Nor to you, Master Daunbey. However, if you are innocent of this crime then so am I.' He pointed to the dog. 'I wonder if he could help?'
After three more sweetmeats, Castor would have climbed to the moon if I had asked him. Back round the house he went. He noticed nothing amiss in the upper chambers: only becoming excited when he found a scrap of food, a piece of chicken leg lying in the corner of a hearth.
After that it became a game: a search for food. We returned to the lower gallery, but Castor refused to go into the parlour where the corpses were now stiffening under their bloody sheets. He crouched in the doorway and whined, looking beseechingly up at me. I stayed with him whilst Benjamin and Cornelius inspected the corpses. Now and again I glanced away as they pulled down sheets to display a bloody face, a chest smashed in by a crossbow bolt or a head lolling because of the deep gash in the neck.
Benjamin, however, scrutinised the corpses carefully, feeling the suppleness of their hands and legs, loosening belts, pulling up jerkins. At first, Cornelius was mystified until he realised what my master was looking for. 'They were all young men,' he remarked.
'Yes, yes,' Benjamin replied absentmindedly. 'The flesh is cold but the limbs still have a certain suppleness. What time did we enter this morning?'
'Somewhere between seven and eight o'clock,' Cornelius replied.
'I think they were killed six or seven hours earlier,' Benjamin said. 'The blood has not yet thickened, the limbs haven't stiffened and there's no sign of poisoning.' He pointed to the chest of one man. 'Most potions leave some red or mulberry stain on the chest or stomach. There's none here.'
They covered the corpses and we returned to the kitchen. Castor, smelling the food, immediately became excited. He went towards the cooking pot hanging over the hearth sniffing at it appreciatively. I dipped my finger in and tasted it.
One of Egremont's retainers came in to report that the cooks were at the gatehouse. We left the kitchen and passed the open door to the cellar. Castor immediately sprang down, like a ferret into a rabbit hole. We followed down the steps. The dog was waiting for us, legs apart, head up, eyes bright as if this was part of the game. Benjamin was intrigued by the dog's excitement. I gave Castor a sweetmeat and told him to go back up the steps which he did. The cellar had a plaster roof, brick walls on either side and an earth-beaten floor. The three of us began to examine and tap the brickwork. However, if we entertained any hopes of finding some secret passageway or door we were disappointed.
(It's different now, of course. Due to the persecution of the Catholic priests, every great house has caverns, trap doors and hiding-holes. I have at least three here. There should be four but I've forgotten where one of them was put! They were all built by that Jesuit lay brother, Nicholas Owen, a little man with a cheery face, God's own carpenter. Elizabeth's master spy caught him. Poor Nicholas went to the Tower, Topcliffe the executioner racked him so much his body had to be pinned together before they could take him away and hang him. He left a great legacy, did Owen, secret rooms and chambers up and down the kingdom. It will be hundreds of years before they are all discovered!) Benjamin and Cornelius gave up in disgust. 'What made that dog so excited?' Benjamin asked. I kicked at the floor. 'Perhaps something here, master?'
Benjamin agreed. Servants were summoned and, armed with shovel and pick, hacked at the floor. Benjamin was very careful. He ordered another servant to bring down sacks and the earth was carefully placed in it. 'I've found something!' one of them cried.
Benjamin pushed him aside and, crouching down, stared into the great, yawning hole. He leaned down and picked up a piece of yellowing fabric, covered in dirt and crumbling with age. He took the shovel from the groom and dug more carefully. We were forced back on to the steps as the cellar floor was turned into a gaping hole. Straining our necks we could see that Benjamin had unearthed a rolled-up piece of cloth.
At last it was all free. We carried it upstairs where Benjamin carefully unrolled it. In its prime, the cloth had been one of those thick tapestries that hung on a wall. Now it was faded, stained and contained its own grisly relic: a skeleton of a woman: the bones were brittle and grey strands of hair still clung to the gaping skull. One of the ribs was broken and the remnants of the dress around it were stained a dark maroon colour. The servant swore and stepped away. Benjamin, however, laid the skeleton out carefully. One of the wrist bones snapped as he searched amongst the fabric and picked up a small locket inscribed with the letters 'I.M.' 'This has nothing to do with our search?' Cornelius asked. Benjamin shook his head.
'What you are looking at, sir, are the mortal remains of Isabella Malevel, once owner of this gloomy manor. Whoever broke into her house and plundered it, smashed one of her ribs, probably in an attempt to find out where she had hidden her wealth.' Benjamin pointed to the dark stains on the rags. 'They then cut her throat, wrapped her corpse in a tapestry and buried it in the cellar.'
I kept staring at the locket. I had seen those same letters before – on a tapestry in Lord Charon's cavernous, underground chamber.