by Paul Doherty
'Not unless he has the power to make himself invisible!' Benjamin retorted. 'How on earth, Master Cornelius, could anyone enter such a guarded manor, steal a precious relic and leave with impunity?'
'How indeed?' Cornelius murmured. 'But I have seen your master's eyes. He wishes to be the Conqueror of France and, for that, he needs His Imperial Highness's help, but perhaps the return of the Orb is too high a price to pay!'
Two hours later we all met in the manor hall. Berkeley came over to greet me. He looked shamefaced and apologised that he had not known what had happened to me until it was too late. I reassured him and clasped his hand. Berkeley pointed to the steel casket on the table.
'I am glad that's finished, Roger. I am not sorry to see the back of it.'
'Did you have any visitors?' I asked abruptly. 'Footpads or bullyboys trying to break in?'
'No, no.' Berkeley shook his head. 'The casket was sealed the day after you were taken. Sir Thomas Kempe's men were seen in the alleyways and streets around. It was safe enough.' 'Even from the King's trickery?' I whispered. Berkeley, God bless him, blushed with embarrassment.
'Trust me, Roger,' he whispered. 'You would never believe the half of it…'
He walked away, called over by Egremont. I turned to the young man and woman I had glimpsed earlier in the day. A comely, married couple who owned a cookshop on the corner of Milkwell Street within chiming distance of St Gile's. Master Oswald was pleasant-faced, eager to please. He was totally over-awed by what was happening, so tongue-tied he could hardly speak. Imelda possessed the brains of the family: sharp-featured with a crisp, cool manner. She dismissed my flirtation with a mock-angry frown and explained how the Foreigner, her title for Egremont, had offered them five gold pieces to serve as cooks.
'How could I refuse?' she declared. 'We will be able to extend our shop, even buy an adjoining cottage for an ale-house.' 'Why did he choose you?' I asked. 'Why, Master Shallot, my pies are famous throughout London. I am a good cook. We sell to nobles, merchants and taverns. You must see for yourself.'
I liked her bright, happy eyes. I was about to take her up on the offer when Egremont asked for the room to be cleared. I still remember the occasion: the Noctales, their cowls pulled over their heads; the rugged, weather-beaten archers, the best veterans in the King's troops with their long bows slung over their shoulders; young Master Oswald eager to please; Imelda smiling over her shoulder at me. They all went out of the chamber to wait in the gallery outside. Oh Lord, I close my eyes. As Macduff says: 'I cannot but remember such things were, that were most precious to me.' And what is more precious than a point in time when you see others full of life but, with hindsight, realise they were just sacrificial lambs and that bloody murder had already marked them out?
Ah well, they say the Orb of Charlemagne carried its own curse and I can well believe it. Kempe, Cornelius, one other Noctale, Berkeley, Benjamin and myself gathered around the table. Egremont broke the seals on the casket and swung back the lid. He opened the neck of the pouch, took out the Orb of Charlemagne and held it up for all to see.
'Behold!' he whispered. 'The Imperial Orb! God's sign of empire: now restored to Charlemagne's rightful successor, His Most Imperial Highness Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, God's Vice-Regent on earth!'
The Great Beast would have certainly quarrelled with that description but even I was overawed by the splendour and beauty of this famous relic. It was passed to Berkeley who studied it carefully. 'This is the Orb, is it not?' Egremont asked. 'It is,' the goldsmith replied.
Egremont put it into the pouch and it was returned to the casket, which was again sealed.
'Right.' Egremont faced us. "These are the arrangements. Eight of the Noctales under Jonathan -' Egremont pointed to the cadaverous-looking Noctale – 'will stay and guard the Orb. They will be reinforced by six royal archers from the Tower. These men will not be allowed to leave this manor. At three o'clock every day the two cooks,' Egremont's mouth curled contemptuously, 'will be allowed in. They shall bring nothing in and take nothing out. The cooks will prepare food for the evening meal as well as breakfast for the following day. They must be gone by six.' Egremont paused and stared around. 'All windows will be shuttered. The front door will be locked from the outside. Cornelius will hold the keys. Once the cooks have left, the dogs will be released and the gatehouse closed. I understand the rest of the archers will camp outside the walls. Is that not right, Sir Thomas?' Kempe nodded.
'At six in the morning and again at six in the evening Cornelius will light a lantern. Jonathan will reply.' He paused. 'Should the signal not be returned, Cornelius will immediately send for me. I and Sir Thomas will be staying at a local hostelry, The Golden Pyx.' Egremont went across and placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. ‘I have every confidence in you, sir.' He stared at him. 'You are to carry out my orders precisely, do you understand? Even if a man falls ill, he must stay.' 'How long will this last?' Kempe asked testily.
‘I have told you, Sir Thomas, until the Imperial ship is ready.' Egremont smiled sourly. 'The ship will be accompanied by the English fleet, not to mention Imperial galleries. We do not want the French to interfere.' 'When will that happen?' 'When I give the word in about five days. Now we should go-'
Egremont and Kempe addressed the fifteen men left to guard the Orb, and then we left. It was the last time we saw any of them alive.
Chapter 6
Cornelius, Benjamin, myself and, of course, darling Castor took up residence in the gatehouse. On the heath outside, the rest of the English archers set up their bothies and cooking-pots and, like soldiers anywhere, soon made themselves at home. They were all hardened veterans; constantly armed, they swept the roads keeping everyone away from Malevel. Egremont was a sly fox for, with Cornelius in the chamber above us, Benjamin and I found it very difficult to confer. Mind you, the German was a good companion. Despite his grim appearance, he had a fine singing voice and a very dry sense of humour. He was cultured and learned. On the evening Egremont left I found Cornelius in his chamber writing a letter. I asked if all was well.
'Oh yes,' he replied. 'I am writing to my daughter Louise. She's married to a merchant. In the spring I might be a grandfather.' His face creased into a gentle smile.
You know the proverb: 'never judge a book by its cover'? This certainly applied to Cornelius. He was a most dangerous adversary. I have met the kind before: he would question you gently and elicit more information than any torturer. He had a mocking look in his eyes. I knew that he knew that I knew that Henry planned some subtle trick. This made us all very knowledgeable but, as Benjamin and I wondered, God knows how we would achieve it.
We spent our first evening in the gatehouse whispering about this. Castor stood like a sentinel at the window, watching the royal mastiffs patrolling the grounds. He was an intelligent beast. He never howled but just growled softly in his throat as if he resented not being able to go down and play with them. Benjamin and I saw a window in the manor open and the lantern flickering. Up above we heard Cornelius's footsteps as he replied with the agreed signal.
'What on earth can we do?' Benjamin murmured. "The mastiffs would tear us to pieces if we tried to cross the grounds. No one can break in to the manor and, even if we did, how long would we survive?' He sighed. 'Ergo, we cannot act until the Orb is moved. On this occasion, Roger, I think we are going to disappoint our royal master.'
I sat on the edge of my bed and stared glumly at the wall. We had not seen Agrippa today but I had a feeling that he would soon arrive with dire warnings from the Great Beast.
'Even if we could get in,' Benjamin continued, 'we still don't have the replica.' 'Oh, I am sure we soon will,' I retorted.
I should have become a fortune-teller, a seer of things yet to come. The next morning, as Benjamin and I prepared to take Castor out on the heath, Kempe arrived. He was by himself and insisted on joining us. We walked out across the sun-dried grass, Kempe chattering about what was happening at court, discussing
Skelton's latest satire against Wolsey. However, once we were in the woods and Castor was giving some poor rabbit a run for its life, Kempe led us deeper into the trees. There was an old stump, probably struck by lightning, around which bushes had grown. Kempe pushed his way through these. I glimpsed a hole in the hollowed trunk, into which Kempe put his hand and drew out a large leather bag. He undid the cord and gently shook the Orb of Charlemagne out. I tell you this, Berkeley was not only a brilliant goldsmith but the most skilled of counterfeiters. The Orb was an exact replica of the one I had seen at Malevel Manor. I weighed it carefully in my hands. It felt and looked the same.
'In a sense it's genuine,' Kempe murmured. 'Real gold.' He pointed to the bands round the rim. 'Precious stones. Only the most skilled craftsman could detect that it was made in London just a few weeks ago and is not a seven-hundred-year-old relic'
'And how in God's name,' Benjamin asked, 'are we to replace one with the other?'
Kempe shrugged. 'The King has confidence in you and Master Shallot. It has to be done.'
'Not now,' I replied. ‘I don't want my leg chewed off or an arrow in my gullet.'
'Do we know when the Orb will be moved?' Benjamin asked. 'Or how?'
Kempe shook his head. Benjamin beat his gloves against his thigh. 'This is impossible.' Kempe pulled a face and put the Orb back in the bag.
'I have done my job, Master Daunbey. You must do yours. I will hold this till you are ready.'
'Why not give the King the replica?' I scoffed. 'Will he know the difference?'
Kempe smiled. 'I wondered if you'd think of that. Shallot. Berkeley knows the difference and so do I. There's a secret to the genuine Orb.' He brought his hand down on my shoulder. 'But it's my little secret and you've had your orders.'
We walked back to Malevel, Castor running ahead of us, ears flapping. Kempe collected his horse, hid the Orb in his saddlebag and rode back to The Golden Lion.
Benjamin and I returned to our constant watch. The days passed. The two cooks, Oswald and Imelda, always arrived on time and always left at six o'clock before the dogs were released. On the third occasion I waylaid them by the gate. 'How are things at the manor?' I asked.
'Very quiet,' Oswald replied. 'The place is beginning to smell a little, the jakes needs cleaning. The Noctales don't like the archers and the archers don't like the Noctales. They spend their time gambling, drinking and talking.' 'And Jonathan their leader?' 'He seems nervous,' Imelda replied. 'Like a man walking on eggs; he never stays still.' 'Is he worried?' 'Yes, I think he is. But less so than on the first day.'
The following afternoon Oswald and Imelda left at six. As usual, Cornelius waited for the window to open and, when it did, made the signal back with his own lantern. We spent a desultory evening, my master lying on the bed staring up at the rafters. He had been quiet since his return from Venice. He was pining over the marvellous Miranda, though I also knew that he was deeply worried, not only about the present situation, but about the threats of the Poppletons. He had accepted my assurances that I was innocent of the Great Mouth's death yet he was worried about what would happen if, and when, we returned to Ipswich. I'll be honest: I drank too deeply. I fell asleep wondering how it would be to travel down the west coast of Africa. Nightmares plagued my mind. I envisaged a thousand fearful wrecks; fishes gnawing upon my bones; lying amongst dead mens' skulls or being cast up on some lonely shore waiting for the terrors to appear from the dark forest. I was woken roughly enough by Cornelius kicking at my bed. At first he was so excited he spoke in German but then he calmed down. It was the first time I had seen him look fearful. 'What's the matter?' Benjamin asked. 'It's well past dawn,' Cornelius replied. 'I have seen no signal from the manor!' 'Shouldn't we go up?' I asked.
'The dogs are still out. Egremont left strict instructions. If that light didn't appear, I was to send for him immediately. One of the archers is already galloping to his lodgings.'
Castor, who had been taking up more of the bed than I, got up and walked towards the window: he stared, head rigid, towards the darkened manor house. I sensed a real nightmare was about to unfold. As if it sensed something was wrong, one of the guard dogs began to howl at the lightening sky and Castor joined in.
The bells of some distant church were ringing for morning Mass when Egremont and Kempe, the former accompanied by a large retinue of his personal retainers, galloped up to the gatehouse. The dogs had been put away. Cornelius had spent the time staring at the manor as if, through concentration alone, he could perceive what was amiss. We went up the path. Cornelius opened the door and we entered that hall of hellish murder. An archer lay just within the doorway; a broad pool of blood had gushed out from his slit throat and turned the floor slippery underneath. We went into the parlour where two more archers were sprawled. One had a crossbow bolt where his nose and mouth had been. Another, face down, also had his throat slashed from ear to ear. Cornelius rushed into the hall. Egremont's followers thronged in after us. Lord Theodosius turned, ordering some of the men to go upstairs. Cornelius came rushing out of the hall, his face ashen.
"The coffer!' he shouted. 'The clasp is broken off and the Orb is gone!' 'Impossible!' Egremont's face went slack. Kempe glanced quickly at us but Benjamin shook his head. Egremont clapped his hands.
'Everybody,' he shouted, 'into the hall! You and you.' He pointed to some of his retainers. 'Ride into the city! Tell the Cardinal that the Orb has gone. The ports should be watched, and guards placed on every city gate!'
For a while confusion reigned as Egremont despatched others on different tasks. We then went into the hall: the steel chest had its lid thrown back, Berkeley's intricate locks had simply been smashed and the lid prised loose. The Orb was gone. We made a thorough search of the house. On every gallery lay a corpse. Most had their throats cut or crossbow quarrels deep in their throats or chests. Jonathan, Cornelius's lieutenant, lay on his bed, eyes staring sightlessly up, his throat one great gaping wound, the blood drenching his jerkin and the sheets beneath.
Cornelius was beside himself. At Egremont's orders, the front door of the manor was locked and more guards posted at the gatehouse. Kempe, as mystified as the rest, simply sat in the hall staring at the empty chest. He beckoned us across.
'No,' Benjamin replied before Sir Thomas could even question us. 'No, no, no. We saw nothing amiss.'
The corpses were all collected and laid out in the parlour, a grisly line of fifteen cadavers. Each had died in the most horrible manner. The coffer was removed from the table, the hall cleared and guards posted outside. Egremont gathered myself, Cornelius, Benjamin and Kempe around the long trestle table. For a while he just sat, rocking himself to and fro.
'How?' he began in no more than a whisper. 'How could this be done? Cornelius,' he snapped. 'There's no secret entrance or trap door?'
'None and, before you ask, Lord Theodosius, no shutters open or any sign of disturbance.'
'Then how in God's name,' Egremont replied, 'did this happen? We have fifteen men here; six royal archers, nine of the most skilled Noctales. None of them would give up their lives easily.'
'That's what I find strange,' Benjamin intervened. 'Fifteen men were left on guard, yes?' Kempe and Egremont nodded together. 'And there are fifteen corpses laid out in the parlour?' 'I counted them myself,' Kempe replied. 'And no one was allowed in. Nor did we see anyone slip away.'
'Anyone?' Egremont sneered. 'For heaven's sake, Master Daunbey, it would take more than one man to kill fifteen veterans.'
We all sat in silence, chilled by his words. Egremont was right. What force, what power, what skilled group of men could despatch fifteen veterans with such ease?
'I cannot imagine it,' Benjamin spoke up, his eyes closed. 'We have the manor guarded outside and in. Let us say an assassin strikes.' He opened his eyes. 'They might kill two or three but the alarm would be raised: all it would take is one man to cry for help. Some of them had their throats cut, which could happen in their sleep… but a crossbow bolt deep in the
face? Loosed so close? They must have at least known what was happening?' He played with the ring on his finger. 'And there's something else,' he added. 'Have you noticed there's no sign of any upset? No furniture in disarray? No marks on the walls? Not a shred of evidence that these fifteen men put up even token resistance.'
He paused as the door was flung open. One of Kempe's men entered and whispered in Sir Thomas's ear. 'What is it?' Egremont snapped.
'We have checked the armaments,' Sir Thomas replied. 'The soldiers didn't even use their swords or daggers. The royal archers never put arrow to bow. No soldier used his weapons, with two exceptions.' He glanced across the table at Cornelius. 'Your Noctales each carried a long stabbing dirk, an arbalest and bolts. Yes?' 'Agreed.'
'One crossbow was used and one dagger: the only weapons employed to kill fifteen men. But where did this assassin come from?' 'The cellar,' Benjamin spoke up.
'I had it checked immediately,' Egremont retorted. 'Bare and empty as it was when we first arrived.'
Kempe rubbed his face. 'The King's rage can only be imagined!'
'It will be nothing,' Cornelius declared sourly, 'to that of His Imperial Highness!' He drummed his fingers on the table. 'Fifteen men dead and the Orb gone. Well, Lord Theodosius, what do we do now?'
'Go back to London. I'll leave some of my retainers here.' Egremont got to his feet. 'Cornelius, I want this house searched again from top to bottom.' He glanced at Kempe. 'Sir Thomas, you'll accompany me? His Eminence the Cardinal and His Grace the King will demand witness to what I say.'
'Wait a while.' Cornelius walked to a side table and picked up a dish on which there were still crumbs. 'We've forgotten two people; the cooks, Oswald and Imelda.'