The Relic Murders srs-6

by Paul Doherty

  In the centre of the room stood an oaken table and, on it, the metal chest Berkeley had described. He locked the strong room door behind us and showed me how to open the chest. He lifted the lid and carefully took out a brown, velvet bag. He loosened the cord at the top and, with both hands, held up the Orb of Charlemagne. If I had known what that bloody thing meant for me, what danger it would place my tender life in, I would have run screaming from the house. At the time I just stood and stared at this gold ball ringed with bars of silver in which precious jewels glinted and gleamed. At the top of the orb was an amethyst, so pure it caught the light and gave off its own fire. Fixed to the top of the amethyst was a pure gold cross with a ruby in the centre.

  'Hold it. Shallot,' Berkeley whispered. 'Take into your hands the Orb of Charlemagne, held by Europe's greatest Emperor!'

  I did so: it wasn't heavy. 'Why is it here?' I asked, giving it back.

  'Because the King has decided to hand it over to Emperor Charles V. My task is to clean it, ensure it is in perfect condition and then, at the appointed time, deliver it to Charles' envoy, Theodosius Lord of Egremont.' 'Clean it!' I exclaimed.

  'Make sure it's in good order,' Berkeley stammered. 'That there's no damage, nothing missing.' He refused to meet my eye and I wondered what he was concealing. 'And this is what I am really guarding?' I asked.

  'Yes, it is.' Berkeley placed the orb back in the velvet pouch, returned it to the chest, patted me on the shoulder and led me out of the strongroom.

  'Very few people know the Orb has been moved. Soon, however, the tittle-tattle will begin. And you know what happens if you light a torch and put it above a carp pond?' I smiled back. 'All the fish rise to the top.'

  'Precisely,' Berkeley declared. 'It's not the fish which frighten me, Roger. It's the pike and the other dark things that live in the muck and slime at the bottom.' He locked the strong-room door and grinned at me. 'And, before you say it, Roger, you can recognise pikes!' 'You fear for your life?' I asked. 'The love of wealth is the root of all evil, Roger.'

  He led me up out of the cellar. He sighed and rubbed his stomach.

  'The Orb is a precious relic as well as an object of rare beauty. There are men who would give their right hand just to see what you have seen.' He blew out the lantern and put it back on its hook near the cellar door. 'Remember what I've told you.'

  I did and was to thank God that he had warned me. Two nights later I was carousing in a tavern at the top of Goldsmith Row, the Silver Lion, a spacious place where I could sit in the shadows and enjoy my ale. On that particular evening, feeling good and wondering when Benjamin would return, I was about to leave. Indeed, I was just through the door leading into the lane, when two cowled, hooded figures stepped out of the darkness. My hand immediately went to my dagger. 'Don't draw!'

  I recognised the voice, soft as the hissing of a snake. Charon, Lord of the London underworld, pulled back his cowl. In the light from the tavern window his face looked more liverish and ghastly than ever.

  'Well, well, Roger.' He looked me up and down from head to toe. 'Like a cat, aren't you? Landed on your feet!' 'I have employment,' I replied.

  'Yes, yes, so you have, with Sir Hubert Berkeley the royal goldsmith.' I felt behind me for the latch to the door. 'Don't go yet.' Charon stepped closer, his breath stank of fish. 'Have you noticed anything, Roger?' 'Yes, you smell.'

  'Now, come, come!' Charon declared. 'You don't want to visit my halls again, do you, Shallot? I asked you a question, have you noticed anything untoward in Master Goldsmith's house?'

  'There's a comely wench.' I replied. 'She has breasts like plums

  My words were cut off as Charon drew his knife, and the tip caught me under the chin. 'Ever the wit, eh, Shallot? But listen,' he continued. 'If you notice anything out of the ordinary arriving you'll come and tell us, won't you? Where it is and how to get it.' He nodded to his masked companion. 'Cerberus, my good dog and your friend, will be drinking here every night after Vespers. He'll also be waiting, Roger, for any little tidbit you can offer.'

  They disappeared as quietly as they came. I went back into the tavern and stood by the beer barrels drinking a large goblet of wine to stop my stomach pitching and my legs trembling like twigs in the breeze. Yet the horrors of the night were not yet over. I was about to have the goblet refilled when a voice behind me shouted, 'There he is! There's my poor mother's assassin!'

  I turned. In the doorway, with members of the Watch thronging about them, stood the Poppletons.

  Chapter 4

  Oh, what a fall! Like Lucifer! Like lightning from heaven! It only shows how fickle Fortune is – just when you think things are all right, some bastard comes along and pricks your good fortune like a child does a bladder. I didn't even have time to finish my wine, before the Poppletons and the Watch were upon me. I was buffeted and shoved, both Edmund and Robert managed to get in blows to my cheeks whilst the rest of the rogues helped themselves to whatever valuables I had: my coins, my cloak, my hat all disappeared in the twinkling of an eye. I didn't even have time to seek help from Sir Hubert before I was hauled off to the horrors of Newgate prison.

  Oh, Lord save us, don't ever go there! The gloomy, cavernous gatehouse; the stench of human misery; the middens piled high in the cobbled yard. A Stygian darkness lit by flickering cresset torches. Burly, evil-faced men stripped me of all my clothes. All I received in return was a piece of rough sacking. Barefoot, I was pushed down a dank passageway and into a filthy cell, where the Poppletons, grinning and sneering, bade me a fond farewell. I saw the bastards pay the gaoler a silver coin – not for my sustenance but to make my life as hellish as possible. He did: a bulbous-faced toad, a hog of a man, he showed me the warrants which the Poppletons had sworn out from a local justice.

  'You are for the assizes at Guildhall,' he added gloatingly. 'And then it'll be a cart and the gallows for you.'

  'I know people at court,' I stammered back. 'Cardinal Thomas Wolsey.' 'Aye,' the fellow replied. 'And I'm related to the queen.' 'Will you not at least take a message to Sir Hubert Berkeley?' I pleaded. The fellow stretched out his hand. 'Payment, sir.' 'He'll pay you.'

  The keeper brought back his hand and smacked me across the face.

  Two mornings later I appeared before the Justices in the Guildhall. The comer of my mouth was a bloody mess and both my eyes were beginning to close. I was unshaven, smelling of gaol and vermin: I could tell from the supercilious look of the clerk that His Majesty's Justices would not spend long on me.

  The Poppletons were there with some sprig of a lawyer. I stood chained to the bar. The Justices came in, and sat down and all three stared across at me. My heart sank. Oh, most cruel of coincidences! Oh, weep for poor Shallot! The bugger in the middle, dressed in a scarlet gown lined with ermine, was no less a person than that Frumpleton who had caught me in his bed chamber with his wife. Ah well, such is the way of the world. The trial was a farce. The Poppletons presented their evidence depicting me, poor little Shallot, as a rogue and a charlatan who had settled grievances by poisoning their mother. They described how they had tracked me to London and how an informant outside St Paul's had directed them to a tavern in Whitefriars. After that it had been easy. They had called at Berkeley's household and been told I was drinking at the Silver Lion. 'Do you have anything to say in answer to these charges?' Frumpleton bellowed, glaring hatefully at me. ‘I’m innocent!' I bleated.

  His cruel mouth twisted into a sneer. 'Aye, as innocent as Herod: a fine teller of tales.' The Justice on his right, a liverish-faced sprat, spoke up.

  'A teller of tales! Well, well, Shallot, tell us a tale, and perhaps you won't hang.'

  I saw him nudge Frumpleton, and knew they were only mocking me. The Poppletons, now full of themselves, smiled maliciously. They rubbed their hands, hardly able to wait before sentence was passed.

  'Yes,' Frumpleton bellowed, wrinkling his nose. 'Tell us a funny tale, Shallot, and you probably won't hang.' He glanced sneeringly sideways. 'Well, at leas
t, not immediately.'

  (Now, you know Shallot. When I am down, it's bad enough but to be baited as well!)

  'I'll tell you a funny story,' I shouted back, rattling my chains. 'One day there was a dispute between God and the Devil.'

  'Yes!' Frumpleton nodded. 'But no blasphemy, Master Shallot!'

  'Oh no, sir, the truth. Well, the dispute couldn't be settled so God went back to Heaven and Satan back to Hell. A short while later God sent an emissary to Satan, saying he was unable to get legal advice.' 'Why?' Frumpleton asked.

  'Oh, you see, my lord,' I smiled coolly, 'there aren't any lawyers in Heaven!'

  Well, that was it! On went the black cap and I, Roger Shallot, was sentenced to be taken to a place of lawful execution, namely Tyburn, as soon as possible, which meant the following morning, and hanged by the neck until dead.

  I was hustled from the court, the bailiffs beating and shoving me, and was returned to the condemned cell at Newgate where I spent the night fighting off the rats. The only consolation offered was that just after midnight, when I was sitting blubbering in a corner bemoaning my fate, the Bellman arrived outside. I could hear his voice as he rang the bell for the condemned felons.

  'You who in the condemned cell do lie, Pray on your knees for tomorrow you die!'

  'Piss off,' I screamed.

  I mean, it's bad enough being hanged without having someone ringing a bloody bell and telling you to pray. When dawn came I was really frightened. In my life I've always been plucked from danger just in time but who would do that now? Benjamin was away. Berkeley probably didn't know where I was and how could I get a message to the court?

  When I was dragged out of the cell the next morning I was beginning to shake. Thank God, the friar who climbed into the cart to accompany me to Tyburn had a wineskin and he let me drink liberally from it. By the time the executioner joined us I could hardly sit straight. He glowered at me through his red mask.

  '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 collecting 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 plots-'

  '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.