by Paul Doherty
We eventually gathered around the kitchen table, Kempe and Egremont sitting at either end.
'So all is ready.' Egremont began. 'Now about guards: the Noctales will stay here.' 'And provisions?' Kempe asked.
'I shall obtain them,' Egremont replied quietly. 'We always buy our own food and drink.' 'And what about the English guards?' Sir Thomas declared. 'The King has promised six of his best archers from the Tower.'
'The Orb of Charlemagne will be brought here tomorrow?' Egremont asked. Kempe nodded. ‘It will arrive here just after noon.'
Egremont scratched his cheek, one finger playing along a scar from a swordthrust on the side of his jaw.
'The Orb will be brought here,' he said, fingers jabbing at the kitchen table. 'There will be nine Noctales, the rest will not be needed.'
His henchman was about to protest but Egremont made a sweeping movement with his hand.
‘I require them, Cornelius,' he said softly, 'to guard the guards. Now!' Egremont sniffed, narrowing his eyes. 'The Orb will arrive here tomorrow and it will remain in its sealed coffer. The house will be shuttered and all doors locked and barred. No one can leave or enter, no matter what happens. This will last for five days until the Imperial caravel has docked in the Thames and all preparations carried out. The Orb will then be transferred to the ship. Until then, my master's relic will be left under the guard of fifteen men: nine Noctales and six of your archers. Do you agree, Sir Thomas?' Kempe nodded.
'Outside,' Egremont continued, ‘I want dogs to patrol, both night and day. The gatehouse will be guarded by archers, and Cornelius will stay in the gatehouse along with Master Daunbey and his servant. I am satisfied,' Egremont declared, 'that there are no secret entrances and that my master's relic -' he emphasized each word '- will be safe.'
'How do we know nothing will happen in the house?' Benjamin asked. 'We have planned for that,' Cornelius broke in. 'As the bells of St John's Clerkenwell chime for Matins in the morning, and again at Vespers in the evening, I will bring a shuttered lantern to a window on the first floor of the gatehouse. I shall show it three times. If no lamp is shone in reply, we will know something is wrong.' 'How long will this go on for?' Benjamin asked. 'For about five days,' Egremont replied. 'Until I am ready to sail.'
I stared across the table at my master. He had his head down, one hand covering the lower half of his face. He had been listening carefully and I could see he was worried and so was I. If the Great Beast wanted the relic back and replaced with the fake, how could we do it? More importantly, how could I solve that vexatious riddle? My own fear deepened. The Great Beast would be hopping with rage at the way the Imperial Envoy had so cleverly tricked him, so woe betide poor Shallot!
The conversation became more desultory as Kempe and Egremont hammered out the last details. Even then, before all the horrible and bloody murders began, a thought occurred to me. Why was the Orb being moved here, requiring such secrecy and all these guards? However, when your mind is concentrating on how to get a bloody fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames, such Byzantine plans are not worthy of your attention. The meeting ended. As we left Malevel Manor, once again that feeling of unease deepened within me. I thought it was a Hall of Ghosts, a place of misery and sin. I wondered what had really happened to its former owner, the ancient Isabelle Malevel? My master was also quiet. I questioned him closely and found another reason for his misery. 'It's Miranda,' he replied dolefully. My heart skipped a beat. 'She's not unwell?'
'No, worse. She has travelled north to stay with relatives in York. She went shortly after I went to Venice.'
(Ah well, the affairs of the heart are always troublesome and, in this story, the beautiful Miranda does not figure but later on, oh yes, she plays a part!)
Benjamin and I went out to the gatehouse and Cornelius joined us. We inspected our chambers: the gatehouse was quite extensive with two chambers on the top floor and two on the bottom, as well as a small buttery or kitchen. Cornelius took one of the top chambers and my master and I the lower two chambers. They were nothing more than narrow cells but they were comfortable. Cornelius inspected the window through which he would show the lantern and pronounced himself satisfied. We heard Kempe calling to us from below. My master went down but Cornelius caught at my sleeve as I prepared to follow. 'I like you, Shallot.' His hooded eyes held mine.
'Oh, thank you very much,' I replied but grew uneasy. I wondered if Cornelius was one of those bum boys. I know I am not very pretty but, with some people, it's any port in a storm! ‘I have to go,' I declared. ‘I like you, Shallot.'
'Yes, of course you do,' I said. 'And I am a great admirer of your good self.'
‘I had a brother just like you, who had a cast in one eye. He was as full of roguery as a vat is full of ale: he died of the plague in Innsbruck.' Those hooded eyes still gazed unblinkingly at me.
'You should be very careful,' Cornelius continued. 'Your king is as mad – how do you say – as a March hare?'
'Nonsense!' I replied. 'He's one of the wisest men in Christendom.' Cornelius smirked. 'Read that on the way back." He handed across a scrap of parchment. I walked to the door.
'Oh, and Shallot, take this.' Cornelius came over and dropped a small sack into my hands. I felt it carefully, it was some form of powder. 'When you win your prize, use that!' I gazed quizzically back. 'You'd better go.'
I went down the stairs to where Kempe and the others were waiting. ‘I paused halfway down and undid the scrap of parchment. The writing was small and neat, the letters perfectly formed. I read it once, twice, then grinned and put it back in my wallet: I knew the solution to the Great Beast's riddle!
We arrived back at court just before sunset. The Great Bastard was in one of his moods of revelry. He had spent the afternoon flying his falcons out above the marshes so he was in fine fettle, still playing the role of the great statesman relaxing at his pleasures. We met in the same room though, this time, tables had been laid out, covered in silken cloths and decorated with the most beautiful silverware. Henry sat in the middle of a small horseshoe of tables. He was dressed in velvet buckram, his bonnet rakishly pulled to one side of his head. His other cronies were there: Norreys, Brandon the Earl of Suffolk, and their ladies. One beauty caught my eye: tall, elegant, dark-haired and sallow-faced, she was strikingly attractive, dressed in dark-green. She reminded me of some beautiful phantasm, some goddess who appears to huntsmen in the depths of dark woods. Raven brows over eyes full of sensuality. Anne Boleyn! I tell you this – she's been in her grave more than sixty years, buried deep beneath the cold flagstones of St Peter's ad Vincula in the Tower, nevertheless, I can remember every detail about her from that evening. Modest yet saucy, retiring yet alluring, soft spoken and unobtrusive, she drew your eyes and made your heart beat a little faster. I tell the Great Elizabeth whenever she visits: her mother was every inch a woman. Beautiful beyond compare! Like Helen of Troy, mortal sin in clothes. Henry was infatuated with her. You could tell that. He was showing off, seeking her approval for everything he did. She, eyes lowered, would laugh soft and deep in her throat. I envied Henry. I really did. One other thing I noticed: Anne kept the cuffs of her dress well over her hands to cover her extra finger. Years later when I was closeted with her she allowed me to examine this closely. It was nothing much – a slight malformation of her right hand – but her enemies said it was the devil's teat on which she suckled her familiars. Anne didn't need such witchcraft. One kiss was enough!
Anyway, back to the Great Beast's banquet. Cardinal Wolsey was present but he was quiet, rather withdrawn. He was the only man apparently unimpressed by Boleyn and he was intent on showing it. We ate well, roast pheasant, swan, duck, lampreys, eels, the tenderest beef and the most succulent capon, all served in tangy sauces. The wine cups were deep bowled and were constantly replenished. We ate and drank while, in a far comer, boy choristers entertained us with a song composed by Abelard. Henry, like the pig he was, drank deeply until his fat cheeks glowed, his eyes glit
tered and, in his malice, he turned on old Shallot.
'Tell us now, Roger,' he bawled. 'Tell us the solution to the riddle!'
'What riddle?' Norreys cried, as if the lying bastard didn't know.
'A man has to take a fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames,' the great pig bellowed. 'His rowing boat can take only the man and the fox, or the man and the chicken or the man and the grain at any one time.' Henry sighed at the knowing looks of his cabal. 'If he takes the grain, the fox will eat the chicken. If he takes the fox, the chicken will eat the grain. So, Roger, how does he get the three across?' The fat turd licked his fingers. 'If you can't solve it, you must pay the forfeit: the sun has dried our carp pond to a muddy mess and tomorrow, if you fail, you'll have to stand in the centre and play "Mummer's Boy"!'
I quietly groaned and shut my eyes. 'Mummer's Boy' was an old village game: some unfortunate was made to stand in the middle of a mud pack on a three-legged stool whilst others flung clods of mud at him. The one who knocked him off three times was the winner. A stupid, cruel game. Henry would love it! My master stiffened and was about to protest but I tapped him on the knee. I also caught Wolsey's anxious gaze and winked quickly. He smiled back. Anne Boleyn, God bless her, lifted her head and – perhaps it was my fevered brain or the light wasn't so good -1 am sure she blew me a kiss. Despite the cruelty she later inflicted on poor Queen Catherine, from that moment my heart was hers! 'Come on, Shallot!' the Hell-King roared. 'Give us an answer!'
'Answer! Answer!' His cronies began to bang their cups on the tables chanting like naughty schoolboys.
'Quite easy,' I replied, pushing back my chair and standing up. 'It can be done in four crossings. First, the man takes the chicken to the other bank and returns to collect the grain. Secondly, the man takes the grain to the other bank and returns with the chicken. Thirdly, the man leaves the chicken and takes the fox to the other bank where he leaves the fox with the grain. Fourthly, the man then returns to collect the chicken. At no time,' I concluded triumphantly, 'is the fox left alone with the chicken or the chicken left alone with the grain.'
My master clapped his hands. The rest, slightly befuddled, scratched their heads as they tried to work it out for themselves. Henry glared at me from under lowering brows.
'Correct, Roger,' he purred. 'So there will be no "Mummer's Boy" for you. Let me show you your prize!'
He clicked his fingers at a servant who went to the far doors and flung them open. I heard a baying like the tolling of a bell, the sound of paws scraping the tiled floor, before the shaggiest, largest hunting dog I have ever clapped eyes on lurched into the room, two grooms hanging on to its leather leash for their very lives. The dog chased straight as an arrow to Henry, jumping at the table, knocking pots and dishes, trying to lick the fat bastard's face. Naturally, Henry loved the adulation and his mastery over the dog, popping pieces of meat into its mouth, even allowing it to drink from his water cup. The ladies screamed with delight as Henry scratched the dog's ears. 'Lovely boy!' he yelled. 'Lovely boy, get down!'
Henry Norreys, emboldened by the dog's obvious affection, leaned across to give him a piece of meat. The change in that huge mastiff was chilling: ears back, lips curled over his huge teeth – I'd never seen Norreys move so swiftly in my life. Henry stroked the dog, smiling maliciously down at me. 4Your present, Roger!'
I just sat dumbstruck. The dog was massive: at least six to seven foot from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. He stood four feet high, with a mangy grey coat, massive head and jaws like a huge pike. As the King spoke, the dog turned its head, tongue lolling, eyes gleaming as it glared at me. What could I do? To refuse a King's gift in public was lese-majeste" and, if I did, God knows what delights Henry would have ready for me? 'This is too much,' my master whispered.
'Take him away!' Henry shouted. 'Take Castor away to the chamber. Roger, make friends with my gift!'
I felt like running straight for the nearest jakes but I had deliberately not drunk too much. I remembered Cornelius's words and, whilst the King was engaged, I'd taken a piece of steak from the plate, opened my pouch and dusted it with some of the powder Cornelius had given me. It smelt sweet and cloying. I closed my eyes and prayed it wasn't poison. Wolsey was hiding the lower half of his face in his hands. Benjamin's fingers were not far from his dagger. Boleyn was no longer laughing. Even Norreys leaned over and murmured something in the King's ear. However, the King was obdurate: Castor the great mastiff was taken away and I had to follow.
The antechamber had two doors. As I went in they were closed and locked behind me. The grooms holding Castor glanced pityingly at me, released the leads and went out of the far door leaving me and the dog alone. The chamber was lit by sconce torches along all four walls: these cast the dog's huge shadow against the wall. Now, it is a universal belief of Shallot: I, who have been hunted by wolves, leopards and, on a number of occasions, flesh-eating rats, still believe that the most cruel animal on earth is of human kind. Moreover, I knew enough about dogs not to move quickly but tried to stare it out. The hound was a good-natured soul. It didn't bound towards me but squatted down on all fours, head up, tongue lolling, watching me intently. I crouched down as well, and took the piece of meat from my pouch. It was tender, easy to pull apart. Castor stood up. I stretched out my hand.
'Come on, lad,' I murmured. 'Don't eat old Shallot. Here's a nice piece of juicy meat.'
The dog padded across. It stopped, sniffed at the meat, the saliva pouring like water from its huge jaws. The meat disappeared, another piece was given. Now, everyone likes a piece of steak, but Castor ate it as if his life depended on it. At last there was none left and he began to lick my hands. He growled at me. A growl that seemed to come from his very belly. I stood up and looked down at him. 'How dare you!' I declared, keeping my voice steady. 'Sit!'
Well, down he went, whimpering ingratiatingly, eyes beseeching. I opened the pouch Cornelius had given me. I shook some powder on my fingers and allowed him to lick it. 'Good dog!' I walked to the far end of the room. He made to follow. 'Sit down!' I shouted. Down he went like a whore's knickers. 'Up!' Castor came to attention, tail wagging, eyes intent on me.
'Here!' I snapped my fingers. I could see he was going to bound. 'No, walk!'
I tell you, that dog was more intelligent than my chaplain and his parishioners multiplied by ten. He came across, licked the toe of my boot and lay down. I forgot about Henry and his sneering, snarling courtiers, I have had few friends and, in that darkened chamber, suddenly realised that I had another one for life.
Oh well, you should have seen it! I walked back into the royal banqueting chamber, Castor striding behind me. When I said 'down', he sat with me. When Henry called, Castor, God bless his heart, didn't bother even to look in his direction. The courtiers laughed and cheered. Silver purses were thrown. Even old Henry graciously conceded defeat: he hurled his drinking cup at me as a token of his pleasure, narrowly missing my head.
(Many years later, when Henry was syphilitic and I used to push him around the palaces in his wheelchair, he constantly asked me how I did it. Out of respect for Castor's memory, I never told the old rogue.)
The next morning Benjamin and I, with our new companion who insisted on sleeping in the same bed as myself, joined Cornelius in the gatehouse of Malevel Manor. I seized a moment when we were alone, to ask the Noctale what the powder had been and how he had known Henry would give me such a gift? Cornelius grinned: his teeth reminded me of Castor's, white and pointed.
'The riddle,' he replied. 'No riddle is beyond me, Master Shallot. As for the gift, Lord Egremont gave Henry two hounds. Your king said he only needed one but he intended to give the other to a good friend who least suspected it. When I heard about the riddle, I recalled the king's sniggers.' He shrugged. 'Castor loves aniseed powder. All dogs do. Give him that and he's yours for life.' 'Does the King know?' I asked.
Cornelius shook his head. 'The aniseed powder is a sweet.' Cornelius chucked me under the chin with
his finger. 'But Castor's also a good judge of character, Master Shallot. He apparently saw something in you that others do not.'
I became embarrassed. Cornelius tapped me on the shoulder.
'Don't be shy, Master Shallot. I'm not praising you. It's just that I believe that all men are evil but some men less evil than others.'
Later in the day, Egremont, Kempe and the rest of the Noctales swept into Malevel Manor. They were accompanied by two score archers from the Tower guarding a covered wagon in which the Orb lay sealed in its steel chest. For a while all was confusion as guards patrolled the grounds and carried out a thorough search of the manor from attic to cellar. Benjamin and I watched from the gatehouse and standing between us, staring out of the window, was Castor. When the grooms brought the royal hunting dogs who were to patrol the grounds at night, Castor threw his head back and barked in joyful anticipation. By now I was accustomed to the animal and the offer of two sweetmeats soon had him crouching on the floor gazing adoringly up at me. We watched as the chest was taken from the cart to the house. I glimpsed Sir Hubert Berkeley amongst those who had come, as well as a young man and woman. I asked Cornelius who they were. 'Oswald and Imelda Petrel.' 'Why are they here?'
'The guards have to eat. The Petrels will be allowed in every day at three o'clock to prepare an evening meal, and breakfast for the following morning, as well as to clean dishes in the kitchen. They are to be gone by six.' He punched me playfully on the shoulder. 'Don't worry, Shallot, Egremont has personally chosen them.' He crouched down, patting Castor. 'The Orb will be safe as long as your King practises no trickery.'