The Relic Murders (31 page)

Beside him Tom Wolsey was not so happy. Oh, he forced a smile but I could see he was worried and I recalled Cornelius's warning.

Just before we left London, Wolsey called me to his private chamber. This was not so proud Tom, the great Cardinal: his purple robes were doffed and he sat in black hose and open-neck shirt, fanning himself on a window seat. He looked like some prosperous merchant rather than a Prince of the Church.

'Come in, dear Roger.' He waved me to the cushioned seat beside him and offered me a bowl of cherries. 'They are ripe and fresh,' he explained. 'They clean the mouth and are good for the digestive system.' He stared out through the half-open window, breathing in the fragrance from the rose garden. 'You know, Roger,' he began, 'there's a point in time in every man's fortunes when there is a subtle change, like a ship at sea as the wind shifts and blows from another direction.' He leaned over and patted my hand. "That is what is happening to me, Roger. The King wants a divorce. When he doesn't get it the King will blame me.'

He took back the bowl of cherries and started popping them into his mouth.

'Isn't life str
ange?' he murmured as he chewed
slowly. Do you remember when you first came to court, Roger, and I sent you to Scotland over that business of the White Rose? The court laughed at you then but now the King trusts and likes you. Anne Boleyn trusts and likes you. Catherine of Aragon trusts and likes you. Cardinal de Medici trusts and likes you. Benjamin Daunbey trusts and likes you. Tom Wolsey trusts and likes you.' He laughed.

'Don't you think it amusing? Shallot the villain trusted by all these great ones?'

'Fortune is fickle, your Grace,' I murmured.

'Oh, I haven't brought you here to beg for your help.' Wolsey put the bowl down and closed the window. 'First, I thank you over this business of the Orb. You and Benjamin did well. Secondly, Roger my friend, when I fall, I'll fall like Lucifer, never to rise again. So look after Benjamin. Guard his back.'

He extended his hand as a sign the meeting was over. I went down on one knee and kissed his ring. I was almost at the door when he called me back.

'Roger, this Poppleton business? Benjamin has told me about it.' He raised one eyebrow. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

I paused. My eye caught a wall painting at the far end of the chamber, a dolphin leaping above a blue sea.

'Why yes, your Grace.' I closed the door and came back.

By the end of that week we were back at our manor. I put flowers on Lucy's grave and paid a local mason to carve a stone. I gave Vicar Doggerel five pounds sterling to say Masses as surety for her soul. On the second Sunday back, I strolled down to the White Harte tavern and sat in a corner of the taproom, watching the hated Poppletons hold court. I was just in time. A short while later, the Cardinal's messengers, who had been staying at the manor overnight, came into the taproom. They were all officious, with their cloaks thrown over their shoulders, and their swords slapping against their thighs. Their leader, one of Agrippa's lovely boys, clapped his hands and stood in the centre of the taproom.

'Edmund and Robert Poppleton!' he declaimed.

My two enemies stepped forward. The 'lovely boy' thrust letters into their hands.

'The Cardinal's warrants,' he declared. 'The King has decided to show you great favour. He is sending his ship the
Peppercorn
down the west coast of Africa. Two gentlemen are needed to serve as officers. You have been chosen and, on your loyalty, must accept.'

Oh riches! Oh sweet revenge! Oh darling Tom and his lovely boys! The Poppletons could not object. They were gone within the week. The
Peppercorn
left at the end of September and, I am sad to report, has never been seen since. So, Lucy now lies in her grave avenged. And Castor's brave spirit roams the fields of Heaven. Since then, the only dogs I have ever owned have been of the same breed. If you go into Burpham Church you will notice a carving on the wall.
To
one side is a very good likeness of Lucy Witherspoon and, on the other, the shaggy, massive head of brave Castor. Oh, my eyes weep, my heart breaks for, indeed, they have all gone into the darkness. Only old Shallot stays watching the sun dip behind the trees. A cold breeze has sprung up. My chaplain is getting tired and I need more claret to face the terrors of the night.

Author's Note

The Orb of Charlemagne may be just a legend but the English medieval kings did own (and keep hidden) just such secret and sacred relics. In his diary, Samuel Pepys makes reference to these and how they may have been destroyed by Cromwell under the Protectorate. However, Pepys and Shallot had much in common: in another part of his voluminous diaries, Pepys talks of such sacred, royal relics being hidden somewhere in the Tower, secreted in a pit - for all this author knows, they may include the Orb of Charlemagne and still be there!

Paul Doherty