by Paul Doherty
He poked me playfully in the chest. 'You will always be welcome in the Empire.' His face grew serious. ‘I will also give you a warning. Your king is planning to divorce Catherine of Aragon, my master's aunt. Whatever Henry tries to bribe him with, the Emperor will not agree to this. Imperial troops will soon be in Rome: the Pope will not grant that divorce. Cardinal Thomas Wolsey will bear the brunt of your king's fury and, when that happens, remember the German proverb, "If lightning strikes, don't shelter under the tallest tree".' He clasped my hand. 'And as for relics,' he whispered, 'Roger, who really gives a fig?' The Noctale grinned. 'I know there's a great deal about this Orb which you, Master Benjamin and Sir Thomas have not told us. Why was Henley really killed, and Sir Hubert? What is the real secret of the Orb?' He shrugged. 'But, in the end, what does it really matter? True religion is a matter of the heart, not the pocket.' And then that strange man walked away, shouting for his retainers.
Oh, I have met the Noctales since but that's another story. Suffice to say they discovered Boscombe's corpse and, within the day, it was gibbeted at Tyburn for all to see. A short while later the Imperial envoys left the English court. Benjamin and I took lodgings in a different tavern until the Great Beast summoned us to call on him. Oh, he was in his most generous of moods! It was 'dearest Benjamin' and 'most beloved Roger'. He pawed and he kissed me. I could understand why: in his eyes, everything had gone according to plan and Henry was now a richer man: all Berkeley's goods and wealth came to him for the man had been a bachelor; Lord Charon's treasure was now in the Exchequer and, of course, the Flickering Lamp tavern, another source of wealth, also fell forfeit to the Crown. The Great Bastard loved treason: it meant forfeiture of all the traitor's goods and made him richer.
Benjamin and I were given purses of gold and assurances of friendship.
'And don't worry, Roger,' the King shouted down to us at a banquet. "There'll be no sea voyages for you on the Peppercorn. Go back, my faithful dogs!' he intoned dramatically. 'Go back and enjoy your well-earned rest!'
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 strange?' 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
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