The Relic Murders srs-6

by Paul Doherty

  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?'

  I nodded wisely. Now was not the time to mention his drinking and his lechery.

  'If you hold the Orb of Charlemagne,' I volunteered rashly, 'perhaps God will grant your request.'

  The Beast's mood changed abruptly. He wiped the tears from his face, got up and strode towards me. He grasped me by the hair, pulling back my head, his face only a few inches from mine, so that I could smell the rottenness of his blackening teeth.

  Henry always drenched himself in perfume. If his mouth didn't smell, that suppurating ulcer on his leg invariably did.

  'The Orb of Charlemagne!' Henry hissed. 'The Orb of Charlemagne! You'll get it back for me, won't you, Roger boy?' He breathed in deeply. 'You've received a pardon but that's not the end of the matter,' he hissed. 'In a few weeks' time Captain Buncel is taking my ship the Peppercorn down the west coast of Africa. He's looking for officers. If you don't re-take the Orb, it's the Peppercorn for you, my lad!' Henry returned to his chair and sat there moodily.

  'Lord Egremont is waiting outside,' Wolsey smoothly intervened. 'With Sir Thomas Kempe.' 'Let him wait!' the King snarled.

  Suddenly, behind us we heard a crash and a bark which sounded as deep as a bell. The hair on the nape of my neck curled in fear; Henry sensed this and smiled.

  'Gifts, Roger, from his Excellency the Emperor. There are two of them: massive dogs used to hunt bears. I call them Castor and Pollux.'

  I nodded but my stomach was already beginning to clench. Wolsey, too, stiffened: he knew the King's sick mind and the way he loved to play evil games with me.

  'They are both males,' Henry continued. "The Emperor made a mistake.' He sniggered behind his hand. 'I'd like to give one away. Now tell me, Roger, shall we play a game with them?'

  I stared back in horror. I knew the Great Beast's games. The last one had me running for my life through Windsor forest pursued by Henry, his courtiers and a pack of hunting dogs. On another occasion I'd nearly been drowned in mud and had my genitals knocked off. 'I have to leave now,' Henry said. 'Matters of state.'

  Oh aye, I thought – plunging amongst silken petticoats, more like it! We had arrived at Eltham the previous evening and been given a chamber. Dearest Uncle had informed us that the Queen and her ladies were not present as the King was intent on a week of pleasure. I had seen some of his pleasures! Young, dainty ladies, Henry's whores – so much for his affairs of state!

  The King rose to his feet and stretched his great frame until the muscles cracked.

  'I was given a riddle, Shallot. A riddle to solve but I don't have the time! Affairs of state.' 'Yes, your Grace?' I asked tremblingly. Henry closed his eyes. Oh, the bastard loved to bait me!

  'A man has to take a fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames. His boat can only take the man and the fox or the man and the chicken or the man and the bowl of grain at any one time. If he takes the grain, the fox will eat the chicken. If he takes the fox, the chicken will eat the grain. How does he get all three across?'

  Henry took a sweetmeat from a bowl on the table beside him then wandered across to wipe his fingers on my hair.

  'Now, if you can't solve it, Roger,' he declared, 'you'll have to be punished. But if you can -' he pushed my head back and glared down at me '- you'll win a prize. Now, let that be a warning.' His voice fell to a whisper. 'Never, never, mention my son again!'

  The King swept out of the room. We sat in silence. From the door behind me I could hear those bloody dogs still scrabbling and growling.

  'The King is vexed,' Wolsey declared. He breathed in noisily through his fleshy nose and glanced pityingly at me. 'Shallot, if you have a brain in your head, I would advise you to solve that riddle.' He clapped his hands. 'But enough is enough, we have business in hand. Doctor Agrippa, bring in Theodosius, Lord of Egremont.'

  I was about to ask my master if he had any possible solution to the riddle when Egremont strode into the room. The light of day did nothing to improve my judgement of him. He was the same lean-visaged, cr
uel-eyed man I had glimpsed in Berkeley's house. A wolf in looks and a wolf in nature: he stood, legs apart, surveying us all. A quick curl of the lip left us in no illusion as to what he thought of Benjamin and myself. Beside him Sir Thomas Kempe looked like a stick next to an oak: a small, jovial-faced man with sandy, thinning hair. He was dressed in a dark-green doublet and hose with a cloak of dark murrey, a broad leather sword-belt clasped around his waist. He kissed the Cardinal's ring and made his own blunt introductions to Benjamin and myself. Of course, we had met before but I was not taken in. A native of Yorkshire, Kempe prided himself on his directness and honesty, but only a fool believed this. Kempe's eyes betrayed his soul; dark, black and cold as marble.

  Three other men had followed them in. At first I thought they were friars: their heads were shaved and they were dressed in brown gowns which fell just below the knee, with leggings of the same colour pushed into black, high-heeled riding boots. Yet they were not friars. Oh no, not these three lovelies! Leather baldrics hung from their shoulders, each had at least three dagger pouches containing throwing knives. Around their waists were thick black belts with dagger and sword pushed through loops. They didn't swagger, they moved with menace, hands pushed up the voluminous sleeves of their gowns. They bowed very low towards Wolsey, gazed curiously at Agrippa and, with a nod of their heads, acknowledged us. Egremont deliberately allowed us to study them carefully. It was the leader who fascinated me. He was broad and square-faced, with hooded eyes, a sharp, thin nose slightly broken, lips fleshy and full, slightly open as if ready to challenge whatever we said or did.

  "This is Cornelius.' Egremont's voice was soft, his English was good, only the slight roll on the ‘r’ betrayed his foreign origin.

  'He is a member of my entourage. A special envoy from the Emperor.'

  'And leader of the Noctales?' Agrippa broke in. 'The Men of the Night.'

  'Ah yes.' Egremont's face broke into a lopsided grin. 'There are so many legends about these.'

  'And they are all true.' Cornelius spoke up, his gaze fastened on me as if inviting contradiction. I just swallowed hard and hoped I didn't start belching, a sign that I was highly nervous. Cornelius took a hand from his gown. I glimpsed the black diamond fixed into the ring that he wore on his little finger.

  'Everything they say about us,' he declared, has voice soft, almost dreamlike, 'is true!'

  (By the way, have you noticed, as I have in my long and varied life, how foreigners speak better English than we do? I blame our teachers: they all need a damn good thrashing!)

  'There's no need to bring your guards to England.' Wolsey's voice was a harsh rebuke.

  'I'm not here because the Lord Egremont asked me to be here,' Cornelius retorted.

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Theodosius's face. Oh dear, dear, I thought, so there's division in the visitors' camp.

  'I am here,' Cornelius continued, 'because His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor wants me to be here.' I caught the German intonation. Cornelius gestured at me.

  'You have your agents, my Lord Cardinal: the Emperor has his.'

  And this was certainly true. Old Charles, locked away in a monastery watching his clocks, whilst his Noctales, the Men of the Night, watched his subjects. Brown-coated gnats, the Noctales swarmed over the empire listening at keyholes, collecting scraps of information. That pious fool Philip II inherited them: not a donkey farts in Spain that they don't know about. Later in my life, I had the pleasure of meeting the Noctales in the dungeons of the Escorial palace. They had an original way of making you talk; not for them the clumsy, red-hot pincers of the Inquisition. How would you like to spend a night in a pitch-black room, knowing that, somewhere in the darkness, two poisonous snakes waited to pounce?

  'Now, now.' Kempe walked towards Wolsey. 'My Lord Cardinal.'

  I caught a hint of arrogance in Kempe's voice and, from that moment, I knew his Satanic eminence was beginning to slip down the greasy pole of preferment.

  'My Lord Cardinal.' Kempe declared. 'Matters have now moved apace. Lord Egremont wishes to talk about the transfer of the Orb of Charlemagne and view once more Malevel Manor.'

  'Agreed, agreed,' Wolsey murmured, fingering the silver pectoral cross. 'Lord Egremont, my nephew Master Benjamin Daunbey and his servant Roger Shallot will accompany you. They are my personal guarantee, as well as the King's, that the Orb will be transferred safely into your hands.'

  'In which case,' Egremont replied icily, 'I shall remember that. On your lives -' he pointed at Benjamin and me '- lies the security of my master's precious relic' 'Aye,' Benjamin replied. 'And on yours too, Lord Egremont.'

  Chapter 5

  Ah well, on that pleasant note we all left Eltham: Egremont, Kempe, the Noctales, Doctor Agrippa and his lovely group of cutthroats who served as guards and outriders. We forded the Thames and made our way across the fields past the Priory of St John of Jerusalem. We kept well away from the crowds, though we had to stop at a crossroads near Leather Lane, where they were burying two suicides beneath the gibbet, small stakes having been driven through their hearts. Because of the carts, wheelbarrows and crowds thronging about, we had to wait a while and entertained ourselves by watching the mummers, fire-eaters and sword-swallowers: all those golden boys and girls from the twilight of the city who used such occasions to earn a pretty penny as well as pick a purse. Uneasy, still wracked by anger over what had happened to me in Newgate, I was alarmed at Henry's implied threats, not to mention that bloody riddle. I sat fidgeting. Now and again I would look at the faces around me and it was then I glimpsed him. Someone was stalking us through the crowd! A man dressed like a tinker, with a leather apron about his waist and a battered hat pulled well over his face. He turned and I glimpsed the dog-like features of Cerberus, Lord Charon's henchman. My hand dropped to my dagger but the crowd swirled and, when I looked again, the villain had vanished. We rode on. Cornelius pushed his horse alongside mine. 'You seem lost in thought, Master Shallot?' Despite his appearance the tone was friendly. 'I've been set a riddle by the King,' I retorted, glaring over my shoulder at Agrippa. 'And I have to resolve it!' 'What riddle?' Cornelius asked.

  I told him about the bloody fox, the damn chicken and the pathetic bowl of grain, not to mention getting them across the sodding Thames.

  'I am a student from Innsbruck,' Cornelius offered. 'In my days as a clerk I was a master riddler.' He scratched his chin.

  'Thank you for your offer of help,' I replied, glancing maliciously at Agrippa.

  ‘I cannot help you, Master Shallot,' the good Doctor declared. 'Oh, and before I forget, the King left a message: you are to have resolved the riddle before we return to Eltham.'

  If I hadn't had my feet firmly in the stirrups, I would have fallen off my horse. Benjamin leaned over, his long face creased in concern.

  'I'm trying to help as well, Roger,' he declared. 'It's really a mathematical problem. There's a very easy solution but, for the life of me, I can't think of it.'

  With such supportive words ringing in my ears, we left the highway and followed a rutted track leading to the manor of Malevel. Oh, it was a glorious day! The harvesters were busy working under a warm sun, blue skies and fleecy clouds. It was a perfect day to be in England with a tinge of autumn faint in the air and the fields rich with the promise of a golden harvest. Except for me, poor Shallot: guarding relics, being pursued by Lord Charon and his ilk and riding through the lanes surrounded by some of the most sinister men in Europe. Oh, pity me!

  We reached Malevel early in the afternoon. I must give you a careful description of that sombre place. Malevel was built like a square, three storeys high, not from wood and plaster, but of dark-grey ragstone: there were windows on each storey but these were narrow and shuttered. The roof was of red slate, and two chimneys at either end twisted like snakes up into the sky. I could see why it had been chosen: it was a fortified house, probably used by the Crown to detain prisoners well away from the eyes of the city or as a place for the king to meet one of his whores o
r someone else's wife. Behind the manor was a cobbled yard with stables and out-houses. On either side of it was a narrow garden and, in front, two broad patches of grass divided by a pebble path which swept up to the main entrance. The back door, or postern gate, was small and narrow. The front door, however, was huge: thick blackened timber hung on steel hinges and was reinforced with iron studs. The manor itself was guarded by a high curtain wall built of the same sombre ragstone, at least twelve feet high with spikes on the top. There were no other entrances except under a dark, cavernous gatehouse.

  Kempe informed Benjamin and me that the Orb would be moved here. We sat on our horses beneath the gatehouse staring at the manor.

  'It was owned by Isabella Malevel,' Kempe explained. 'Then, one night, about three years ago, the manor was attacked and all its precious objects stolen.' 'And Isabella Malevel?' Benjamin asked. 'Oh, she just disappeared. One of life's great mysteries!'

  'It's ideal,' Egremont broke in. 'The best place to keep the Orb. I chose it from the list Kempe gave me.'

  'It's easy to guard,' Sir Thomas added. 'Master Daunbey, you and Shallot will stay in the gatehouse.'

  We left our horses grazing on the grass. Kempe had the keys, and he undid the three locks on the front door and took us in. Now, I have been in many a house of ill repute. I have sheltered in lonely, haunted dwellings on the Scottish March, in ghost-ridden palaces on the banks of the Loire and at gloomy castles along the Rhine. All of them were terrible, blood-soaked places where, as soon as you walked in, the ghosts thronged about you. Malevel was one of the worst.

  'It has an air of menace,' Benjamin whispered as Kempe led us along a passageway then stopped at a staircase which swept up to the other two floors. I could only agree. Perhaps it was the flagstone floor or the empty walls which caught every sound and made it echo. Or, there again, the narrow windows which only let in slivers of light so each room and gallery had a gloomy appearance with corners full of shadows. Oh, it was clean all right, it had been swept and washed and there was furniture in every room but I noticed that, because there were no rushes on the floor or hangings on the wall, every sound reverberated. Egremont was proud he'd chosen such a place. He brushed aside Kempe's objections and insisted that we search the house from the tiles on the roof and then down to the dark, eerie cellar. 'Not even a mouse could break in here,' I announced. My master, who had fallen strangely silent, just nodded.