The Poisoned Chalice (25 page)

'Monsieur Daunbey, Monsieur Shallot, I am so pleased. Come! Come!'

He waved us through another door, I thought we were going to see the king. Instead, he took us into a small chamber, the walls and ceiling painted completely blue and decorated with silver crescents and stars. On the small dais at the far end a veritable banquet had been laid out for us. A collation of cold meats, breasts of chicken, slices of lamb, jellies, quince tarts, and a jug of chilled white wine. Like some devil inviting us to temptation, Vauban bowed and mockingly gestured.

'Come, Messieurs, you are our guests.'

We heard a sound. I turned and froze in terror: seated in the far corner of the room was the great, black mameluke. He just squatted there on a stool and, crouching before him, their gold chains wrapped round one of his muscular hands, were those two damned cats, cool amber eyes studying us lazily.

'What's he doing here?' I whispered.

'I didn't see him,' Benjamin murmured back.

'Oh, he always sits there,' Vauban replied. 'Always in a corner just inside the door. People often walk in and scream in terror when they catch sight of him. But he's harmless enough. Where I go, Akim goes!' Vauban pointed to our sword belts. 'Messieurs, if you please, you must take those off. In the presence of the king, no one is allowed to wear arms.'

'Where is His Most Christian Majesty?' Benjamin tartly asked.

Vauban shrugged. 'In a little while, Monsieur Daunbey. Your sword belts, please.'

We had no choice but to unbuckle them. Vauban received them as carefully as a trained servant and laid them gently on a chest. Do you know, looking back, I don't think I've ever attended such a strange banquet. We sat eating and drinking only what Vauban ate and drank; that archangel of the Luciferi served us with a mocking deference; and all the time the cruel-faced mameluke and his predatory cats watched us unblinkingly. Vauban was courtesy itself.

'Will Monsieur try this dish? Master Roger, some wine?'

And all the time, on one banal subject or another.

Benjamin remained cool despite the beads of sweat on his brow and the flicker of fear in his eyes. I was terrified. Here we were in the midst of our enemies, naked to their malice, being entertained by a man who hid his ruthlessness beneath a polished veneer of courtly manners. The afternoon passed without a sign of the king though once, and I thought it may have been due to fear, I looked at the portrait hanging on the far wall and was sure I saw the eyes move. When I looked again, all I glimpsed was the glassy look of some long dead courtier framed for ever in a dusty oil painting.

'Monsieur Vauban,' Benjamin interrupted the archangel's meaningless chatter, 'we were invited here to discuss the matter of the ring. The day is passing.'

'Ah, yes, the ring.' Vauban smiled. 'You have heard the story about it?'

And, without waiting for an answer, he launched into a long, detailed story of the friendly rivalry which had existed between the two kings and how His Most Christian Majesty wished it to be returned. At last even he tired of wasting time.

'Come,' he invited. 'Let us walk in the garden.'

He led us off down a darkened passageway and I realised it was almost dusk. Behind us, padding like three figures of death, came the mameluke and the two great leopards swaying on their chains.

The gardens behind the Tour de Nesle were cool and fragrant under a red-streaked sky. Vauban took us along narrow, winding paths between raised flower beds and into a small orchard. Now, at first, I thought the pieces of cloth hanging from the trees were some subtle decoration but, on closer scrutiny, I nearly fainted with terror. The orchard was small and enclosed, the trees closely grouped together, and from the branches of many hung a number of corpses, the only consolation being that their faces were hidden beneath black, leather hoods. Vauban just ignored them and kept up his inane chatter but Benjamin stopped and stared around this small forest of the damned.

'What is this?' he whispered.

Vauban looked surprised and stared up at the trees as if he was some proud fruiterer.

'Oh, these,' he declared. 'These are the fruits, the crop of my hard work. They were members of His Most Christian Majesty's household who believed they could steal from the royal treasury or make profits by selling secrets to the agents of foreign powers.' He studied the legs of one corpse and tapped it playfully on the foot so the remains danced evilly and the branch from which they hung creaked and groaned. 'This is Reynard,' Vauban continued. 'He was a squire in the chancery and thought he would make a little profit in telling what he knew to Venetian spies.' Vauban stepped back as if expecting our applause.

I just looked away, pinching my nostrils with my fingers, for beneath the sweet smell of apple I caught the sickly stench of corruption.

'The marshal of the royal household always hangs them here,' Vauban continued. 'Anyone guilty of lese-majesty ends his time in my orchard.'

We walked on, the mameluke and his cats still padding behind. We came to the edge of the steps and stretching out below us, about a mile across, was an intricate maze.

'Do you like it?' Vauban asked. 'The hedges are of boxwood and privet. It was first laid out by Louis XI whom you English call the Spider King. Do you know the story of the maze?'

Benjamin shook his head wordlessly.

'Louis wanted to go on crusade to the Holy Land.' Vauban spread his hands. 'But you know the burdens of high office. He was unable to keep his vow, so instead he laid out this maze and every Good Friday crawled on his knees to the centre to make his devotions. Come, let me show you, then we will see the king.'

We followed him down and entered the narrow tunnels of the maze. On each side of us, the boxwood hedges stretched up about three yards high. The paths were narrow, about half a yard across, so we were forced to follow Vauban in single file. My terror increased when I heard the mameluke pad softly behind us and the purring of the great cats as they pulled at the ends of their chains. Still talking, Vauban led us round one corner after another until I had lost all sense of direction, whilst above us the sky darkened and the sun began to set. Benjamin looked around and threw one anxious glance at me. I shared his fears. We were now in the thick of Vauban's treachery.

At last we reached the centre of the maze. A small circle, the ground pebble-dashed, in the middle a simple, wooden cross and two stone benches. Vauban sat on one of these and gently wiped the sweat from his brow with the silken cuff of his sleeve. He looked up and breathed in the evening air.

'I love coming here,' he said quietly. 'Only I know the way in and the way out.'

Benjamin sat next to him whilst I stared round. There was no sign of the mameluke and his cats.

'And you don't intend us to leave, do you, Monsieur Vauban?'

The Frenchman smiled and I saw his hand go to where his dagger was hidden.

'My master wanted you to be killed immediately,' he answered, his face becoming serious. 'But you are like me, Master Daunbey. We work in the shadows of the great ones. Our game is one of luck and chance.' He rose and went to one of the entrances. 'It's all a game.' He bowed slightly.
'Bonne chance, Messieurs!’

And, before we could object or say anything, he slipped down the darkened path. I ran after him but he just disappeared. All I could hear was faint, mocking laughter and the tinkling of those bloody bells.

'Come back, Roger,' Benjamin murmured.

'We have been trapped!' I wailed.

'Yes, Roger, we have been trapped. But if we escape we will know who the murderer is, though I am still a little puzzled as to how some of the deaths were arranged.' He squinted up at the darkening sky. 'We were invited here because Raphael has seen through our little charade at Maubisson. Vauban has left us to die. He is probably drafting the letter to our royal master, saying we left the palace safely and that he cannot be accountable for our movements after that. We are supposed to disappear, but how?'

I stood and shivered with fear for the thought hadn't occurred to me. How could we be in danger in the centre of a maze? Vauban could be trying to ridicule us and we could spend most of the night trying to get out, but there must be something more than that. I heard the eerie shriek of peacocks from the lawns then a gust of evening breeze fanned the stench from that horrible orchard and its rotting human fruit. Old Shallot's courage just ebbed away. Benjamin played with the top of his boot.

'Master, what are we to do?'

A twig cracked. Benjamin rose quickly and pushed me down a path. He ignored my protests and shoved me on, turning up and down the paths of the maze. He was using the setting sun as a pointer, determined to put as much distance between us and the centre of the maze as possible. At last, breathless, we stopped and Benjamin put his hand over my mouth.

'Who else came into the maze?' he whispered. Benjamin saw the terror in my eyes and smiled thinly. 'Yes, indeed. The mameluke,' he whispered. 'He and those damned cats. Roger, we are being hunted!'

'But how?' I hissed. 'They will need our scent.'

'Where's your sword belt, Roger? They have our scent, as well as our weapons.'

We stood, ears straining into the darkness. We heard a faint snap followed by a soft, silken sound and the low, deep purr of one of the cats.

Now, I have been hunted by wolves in frozen Paris and outside Muscovy; by killer dogs in the catacombs of Rome; and by Venetian assassins in the old Roman sewers of London. Yet none was more macabre than that dreadful hunt on a balmy summer's evening through a dark green maze under the night skies of Paris. Now and again we could hear the sound of merry voices on the evening breeze and, every so often, the slither of soft-soled shoes over twigs and pebbles, the pad of clawed feet and the deep-throated purr of the hunting leopards. What is more we couldn't run. There was nowhere to run to. No fixed point of safety. And that's what Vauban intended. We would run until we dropped then wait for the mameluke and his leopards to capture us. The sweat streamed down our faces. My heart began to thud like a drum and my terror only increased when I realised we were using paths we had already been down. The green box hedges closed in like the thickest walls of a prison. I suppose my presence gave my master some form of courage for, when I glanced at his sweat-soaked face, the usually calm features were twisted into a snarl of rage.

We paused, caught our breath and hurried on. We turned a corner and there, squatting on all fours, was one of the leopards, eyes blazing, ears pulled back, its great tail twitching. For a few seconds it just sat there, the muscles of its golden back rippling, then it rose and the purr became a snarl. Benjamin seized me by the shoulder and we ran. We came to a crossroads in the maze.

Benjamin unhooked his cloak and threw it to the ground.

'Leave it!' he gasped. 'It will delay the cat.'

We hurried on, the blood pounding in our ears, our hearts hammering, breath coming in short coughs, until we were forced to stop, gasping and retching.

'Let's think,' Benjamin whispered. 'We
are
armed.' He slid one sweat-soaked hand down into his boots and pulled out the long, thin, Italian stiletto he kept there.

'Anything else?' I asked.

Benjamin shook his head. 'That's all, Roger, and our wits.' He looked up at the top of the hedge. 'Come on, up you go!'

'Master, the leopards will follow.'

'No, they won't. The hedge will take our weight, the branches are intertwined. Spread yourself as if you were on a frozen lake.'

Benjamin cupped his hand for my boot and, gasping and panting, I swung up on to the hedge, lying face down. The sharp branches, freshly shorn, bit into my stomach, crotch, legs and chest. I had to protect my face with my hands as I inched my way to the edge. I lowered my hand and, God knows how, pulled Benjamin up to lie just behind me. For a few seconds we lay there, catching our breath. I was too terrified to move but Benjamin, half-raising himself, stared out over the maze.

'We are fortunate, Roger. This hedge is slightly higher than the rest. If we go forward as the crow flies, keeping the sun as our guide, we could reach the edge of the maze near the palace wall.' He looked round and chuckled. 'What is more pleasing,' he gasped, falling back on to his stomach, 'is that the mameluke is well behind us, though God knows where the leopards are!'

Chapter 12

We learnt soon enough. The beasts were puzzled by the lack of scent but, by chance, one of them caught sight of us edging our way along the top of the hedge and, snarling with fury, threw itself at us. However, the boxwood was too high and the pathways of the maze so narrow the cat had no room for a spring. All it could do was dash itself against the sharp-branched hedge. It gave that up but stalked alongside us, ears flat in fury, snarling and giving that strange blood-chilling bark. Benjamin, grasping his knife, urged me on.

'Take off your doublet, Roger,' he gasped.

Gasping and struggling, cut by the branches of the maze, I tossed the doublet down and the leopard stayed long enough to tear and rend it to pieces. We must have spent an hour crawling towards that wall. Now and again one of the leopards would catch up with us and either Benjamin or I tossed down some article of clothing. It may have saved us from the leopards but left us more vulnerable to the sharp-edged boxwood branches. My hands, chest and stomach were now scored with pinpricks and gashes whilst Benjamin had an ugly cut just under his right eye.

'Thank God!' he murmured.

'What for?' I snarled.

"Thank God the mameluke unleashed the leopards and didn't hunt with them.'

At last we reached the edge of the maze and collapsed on to the ground, little more than two sweat-soaked, bloody heaps.