The Relic Murders (9 page)

'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 c
ollecting 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
plo
ts
-'

'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?'