by Paul Doherty
'"My cup is overflowing".' I brushed the tears from my eyes. 'It's a quotation from the Bible. She always said that, when I was with her, her cup of happiness overflowed. For some strange reason she thought this was funny.'
'Does anyone know why she was attacked?' Benjamin intervened.
'No. Since Master Roger left she had been working at the White Harte. She made no enemies, though she steered well clear of the Poppletons. I know she had a disagreement with them over you and refused to work at their house. After she died, we had a parish meeting in the taproom,' Laxton concluded. 'It was ' decided that I should come and tell you. I reached the city just before dawn.' He shook his head. 'It's years since I've been to London. I'm glad I found you.'
Benjamin, seeing I was upset, took Laxton away. For a while I just sat and cried. I then got up and walked out into the alleyway, knocking aside the costermongers and traders who thronged into the alleyway.
Now, you know old Shallot. I am not a man for prayer. I just like to sit and hope that God looks my way and, if he's in a good mood, smiles at me. I laugh and joke: it's the best way to hide the tears. However, Lucy was a soft young thing. She was a woman full of life with a keen sense of wit, lovable and kind. There wasn't a jot of malice in her beautiful body. She was born good and some bastard had killed her. I went down the narrow street and into the small church owned by the Crutched Friars, a little, dank place which suited my mood. I crouched on the floor before the statue of the Virgin Child and tried to pray for Lucy's soul. My usual prayer: 'This is Roger Shallot, sinner and stupid with it.' I was only halfway through when I heard the slither of footsteps. I was just thinking of fleeing when the club hit my head. I felt rough sacking and then it was down into the darkness. I woke up and, believe me, what a change! Not the Virgin and Child but Charon's ugly face peering at me. He didn't begin with some dramatic line like, 'Welcome to my abode.' He just kicked me in the groin and asked me what I was doing in church. 'I was praying,' I moaned.
I stared around and, trust me, I began to gabble my prayers. I was back in the Lord Charon's abode, full of the opulent luxury which contrasted so strangely with the filthy surroundings and, in the background, I could hear the ominous slop of water. Shadows moved into the candlelight; Cerberus and all the other beauties of Lord Charon's household, twisted, leering faces, garbed in tawdry finery and armed to the teeth. I did what I always do in such circumstances: I knelt, clasped my hands and hoped my bowels would not betray me.
(Honestly, I can never stop trembling in such situations. Once, when the Great Beast had me sent to the execution block, the headsman told me to stay still. 'What do you expect me to do?' I screamed back. 'Do a dance?'
And so I did a merry jig. I made the executioner chase me round the scaffold. God be thanked, Henry was playing one of his sick jokes and the courier bringing my pardon had taken a fall from his horse and been delayed!)
However, I did not jig that day. I just gazed beseechingly at Lord Charon. 'You wanted to see me?'
This king of villains, that mad, moustached, purple-hued, malt-worm crouched down beside me.
'Well, ticklebrain?' He poked me in the shoulder. 'You want to see the Lord Charon?'
'I know where those tapestries come from,' I blurted out, pointing behind him. 'Lady Malevel's house. You broke in, cleared out all her valuables, cut her throat and buried her in the cellar, didn't you?'
(You young men, take note, whenever you are captured by the enemy, none of this stiff upper lip business. For goodness' sake, talk and talk fast. The longer you talk, the more hope there is and, where there's hope, there's life!) 'Now, here's a clever boy' Charon tapped me on the head. 'And you want to take it all back with you?'
'No! No!' I gabbled. 'But the Orb of Charlemagne, the relic you stole 'Stole?'
And, throwing his head back, Charon laughed. The rest of his coven guffawed in ghastly chorus.
I stammered, thinking of the replica that Kempe still held, 'I… I… I can get you the real Orb of Charlemagne.'
Charon started to laugh again, until the tears rolled down his cheeks.
He waggled a finger at me. 'We are not going to kill you just yet.' He sighed. 'Lord, I have never laughed so much since the Lady Isabella begged for her life.' He glanced round at his lieutenants and edged a little closer. 'Now, let me understand you, Shallot. On the one hand you think I stole the Orb, which I didn't. On the other-' One finger scratched at his blue, pockmarked face. 'You say you can get it for me: that means you stole it! And you know what happens to thieves,' he whispered. "They hang.' 'No, no, you misunderstand me!'
'No, no, you misunderstand me!' The entire devilish crew chorused back.
Oh, pity me, I was in a nightmare: Charon's ugly, stained face; his cutthroat coven chanting my line like a chorus in one of Marlow's plays. And what about poor old Shallot? I just prayed that one of Kempe's men had seen me. Yet where was I? How would they rescue me? I started to cry. (Another of Shallot's rules; if you can't babble, blurt. Crying wastes time.) Charon dragged back my head.
'Didn't you ever think,' he hissed, 'that I knew about the Orb of Charlemagne? Do you really think I would have attacked a manor full of armed men? Do you really think I'm stupid enough not to realise how many strangers have appeared in the alleyways around that tavern? You are bait, aren't you, Shallot? A lure to catch old Charon? And that is very, very foolish of you!'
He was now talking like a schoolmaster confronting one of his dimmer scholars.
'I don't need the Orb of Charlemagne,' he whispered. 'I have taken it and I have sold it.' He saw the surprise in my eyes. 'And for you, Roger, I have a special gift. Do you remember the rats?' I moaned with fear.
After that Charon beat me around the head. The others joined in with kicks and blows before I was dragged out along the sewer side to another cavern, sealed by an iron grille. The small door was opened and I was thrown inside. I sat there wondering how in heaven's name I was to escape. I knelt and prayed. I vowed to become a monk but realised I was lying so I just crawled into a corner and listened to Charon and his henchmen carousing a few yards away. I didn't know whether it was night or day, but, a few hours later, they returned carrying torches. I was dragged out, back to Lord Charon's cave. The table was littered with food, goblets of wine, pieces of meat strewn on the floor. One of the villains had been killed in some drunken brawl, and now leaned against the table, his throat slashed from ear to ear. No, I don't lie! They just left him propped there, eyes popping, mouth gaping. I was laid out on the floor and ropes attached to my wrists and ankles. Charon, much the worse for drink, came and knelt beside me.
'You are going to die, Roger, in a way you can never imagine. Cerberus, show him our friend.'
Dogface knelt on the other side. In his hand he held a cage. Inside was the longest and most ferocious-looking rat I have ever seen. This turd of iniquity was at least a yard long from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail; yellowing teeth jutted out, his belly sagged and his ribs showed through. He dashed himself against the cage and those eyes, pin-pricks of hell fire, glowered at me. I fainted. I was roused by a bucket of filthy water.
'Now, this is what's going to happen.' Charon talked like some gentle priest. He pulled back my doublet and tapped my side. 'We are going to attach a pipe here, the rat scuttles down and we light a small fire at the open end. The rat is hungry, ravenous. There is only one way out, dear Roger, and that's through you. Now, what do you think of that?'
I screamed and yelled, begging for mercy. I might as well have whistled across a graveyard. The pipe was attached, the rat went in. I could hear it rustling about, its sharp claws and teeth scrabbling against my clammy skin. I screamed, sobbing for mercy. The bastards were so drunk they could not light the fire at the other end. As they fumbled with the tinder, I heard a sound which, to my ears, was like an angel singing. A deep throated bark. Castor had arrived! Confusion broke out, and there was a scramble for arms as Castor burst into the cavern like a hell hound. Intelligent beas
t, noble heart, Shallot's saviour! He took one look at Charon and lunged. The cavern became full of a confusion of figures. I heard the roar of an arquebus, the clash of steel. The pipe was kicked away from me, the rat fled. Benjamin, a bloody sword in his hands, crouched down and cut my bonds. I jumped to my feet. Archers, bullyboys, Kempe's men, as well as those of Egremont and the Noctales were now locked in a fierce life and death struggle with the outlaws. Charon was screaming, his body one bloody wound: he stabbed at Castor with a dagger but the hound refused to let go. I rushed towards them but stumbled over a corpse. I heard a splash and both the Lord of the Underworld and my noble hound disappeared beneath the surface of the sewer.
I ran to the edge but the current was strong. I could see no sign of either of them and I turned to defend myself as a villain, blood streaming from his mouth, lurched at me. Benjamin caught him midway with a cutting slash to the neck and the fellow fell, tumbling sideways into the water. Now, I have been in bloody struggles, I have watched the most horrible of battles. I have seen Mars in all its terrors, thankfully from some safe vantage point, yet that struggle in the sewers of London is one of the most memorable. A recurring nightmare. You see, Charon's men had no illusions. This was no honourable chivalrous fight where prisoners could be taken, ransoms obtained. These were bullyboys, the scum and the filth of the city who lived off the fat of the land with a deep-seated hatred for all authority. They asked for no quarter and none was given. I crouched in the shadows and watched. Benjamin moved effortlessly: a swordsman, he stood with his back to the wall and took on all comers. Cornelius moved beside him, a thin silent, deadly killer with his broad stabbing sword and thin Italian stiletto. A man born to kill. Lord Egremont and Kempe swirled by me. Kempe shouting orders, trying to stop the villains fleeing into the darkness whilst Egremont, and you can always tell from a man's face when he likes blood and dotes on killing, was in his element.
At last the fighting subsided. Most of Charon's men were dead but Cerberus and at least a score of others were alive or nearly so: their hands were bound, and soldiers and archers were pushing them away. Egremont, Cornelius, Benjamin and myself went into Charon's cavern. Lord Egremont took the corpse from its seat at the table and, dragging it to the waterside, threw it in without a by your leave. He then cleared the table with his sword and sat down smiling, like a man who has done a good day's work. 'Your men are collecting the treasure?'
'We have clerks,' Kempe replied, wiping the sweat from his face. 'Everything will be collected and sealed.'
Benjamin got up and. despite Kempe's protests, walked out. I followed. The caverns were now thronged with soldiers and clerks of the Exchequer. That's one thing about the English, they love good administration and Henry's Exchequer officials were the best there were. Years later I'd see them sweep into a monastery like Charterhouse or the great Abbey of Bury St Edmunds and, in a day, everything that could be moved was bagged, casked and sealed. They would scramble like ants round Lord Charon's treasure trove and sniff out gold like a mouse would cheese. Benjamin watched them, ignoring Kempe's protests to return. He then moved amongst them, asking if they had seen the Orb or any special relic? The clerks just shook their heads. I went and stood by the fast-running sewer, one of London's underground rivers, staring into the darkness. I half expected to see that stupid dog with its great flapping ears and lolling tongue but he was gone. Benjamin came up beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. 'He's dead, Roger. Charon struck him a number of blows.'
'He was a good friend, master,' I replied. This time my tears were genuine, silent, just running down my face. 'He was a stupid dog. All fierce and loyal but with a heart as soft as honey.'
Benjamin embraced me. 'In which case, Roger, you had a lot in common.' He stood away. 'Castor saved you. When you failed to return to the tavern, I went out into the street. A beggar boy noticed you go into the church of the Crutched Friars but never come out. None of Kempe's men had seen anything untoward so I took Castor there. He immediately picked up your scent.'
'But I was carried,' I replied. I looked down at my boots, the tips were all scuffed.
'You were dragged but not far,' Benjamin replied. 'Castor was a hunting dog. In the cemetery behind the church, there's an entrance to the sewers beneath a grave stone. Kempe collected his men. Egremont and Cornelius were present when the messenger arrived and they insisted on coming too.'
'You won't find the Orb down here,' I replied, wiping my eyes. 'Lord Charon, may God send him good judgement, said he had already sold it but, to whom, I don't know.' 'You are sure of that?' 'As sure as I am of standing here.'
'Someone like Charon,' Benjamin mused, 'would insist on being paid in gold or silver. Wait there, Roger.'
He walked away, talking amongst the clerks opening casks and chests. I stood staring at the water, ignoring the chaos and confusion around me. Benjamin came back.
'The King is going to be a very contented man. Charon's treasure is a veritable hoard.'
He linked his arm through mine and we walked further away from the clerks who were now dragging the casks and sacks out.
'We know the French envoys have left London,' Benjamin continued. 'If they bought the Orb they'd have paid in their own coin, Lord Charon would have insisted on it. However, apart from a few pieces, there's no sign of any French gold or silver. Nevertheless, one of the clerks told me that there's a casket full of gold, which looks new, as if Charon had just taken possession of it. It's not English, it's not French or German, but the best silver and gold from the mints of Italy.' My jaw sagged in surprise. 'Do you realise what you are saying, master?'
'Yes, yes, I do.' Benjamin rubbed his face. 'What I suspect happened is that Lord Charon took the Orb and sold it to the Papal Envoys. What I'd like to know is who sold the other replica to the French? And, the logical conclusion of that,' he declared, looking over his shoulder, 'is that since Kempe had the other replica, he must be the recipient of French gold.'
Chapter 10
While the clerks and soldiers removed the treasures to waiting carts, Egremont, Cornelius, Kempe, Benjamin and I gathered in Charon's cavern for a short meeting.
'There's no Orb,' Egremont began. 'No sign of it whatsoever. All we have done, Sir Thomas, Master Benjamin…' The arrogant bastard barely deigned to notice me.
'… is help you arrest a coven of outlaws. There is no evidence that these villains were responsible for the stealing of the Orb, and yet…' He glanced sideways at Cornelius.
'What my Lord Theodosius is going to say,' Cornelius's hooded eyes never left mine, 'is that whilst Henry of England has come out of this well, we have not. Don't forget that we, too, can buy our spies in London: silver and gold need no tongue. We have heard rumours that the French, not to mention the Papal Envoys, are also looking for the Orb; that it is for sale and that the murders at Malevel are now well known to all those who are interested in the Orb.'
'Soon,' Egremont intervened, 'we will have to leave. I have to go back to my master in Antwerp and tell him that the Orb is no longer his property or that of Henry of England. Naturally, I think it will be a miracle if any Imperial ships or galleys are seen in the Narrow Seas.'
I just sat there with my head all in a whirl. Cornelius clearly suspected something was wrong. However, all I could grasp was that the Orb, which was a replica, had been stolen not by Lord Charon but by someone else. This mysterious thief had sold it to Charon and he, in turn, had sold it to the Papal Envoys.
'I need a bath.' Lord Egremont spoke up, flicking dust from his sleeve. 'Master Cornelius?'
Both men left the cavern. Kempe sat and waited for them to go, drumming his fingers on the table-top.
'They don't know the full truth, do they?' Benjamin spoke up. 'Sir Thomas, you and I know that the Orb stolen from Malevel was only a replica. The thief took it to a relic-seller called Henley, who pronounced it a fake. Nevertheless, the thief, still determined on a profit, traded it to Lord Charon. I believe he sold it to the Papal Envoys in London.'
> Kempe lifted one shoulder elegantly. 'You have proof for all this, Master Daunbey?'
'Yes, I have proof: when you go through Charon's treasures you will find freshly minted coins of Italy; a mixture of gold and silver, much used in Florence, Rome and Padua.' 'Lord Charon acted quickly.'
'Anyone would,' Benjamin retorted. 'Very few people could hold such monies: foreign envoys, however, are a different matter. Lord Charon would look for a speedy profit whilst the envoys could be out of the kingdom within the day, the Orb hidden in some diplomatic pouch.'
'Are you saying,' Kempe intervened, glancing towards the entrance, fearful of any eavesdropper, 'that our King was prepared to dupe the Emperor?' 'I didn't say that,' Benjamin replied quickly. 'I am merely formulating a hypothesis which is based on considerable fact.' 'But you have not finished, have you?' Kempe hissed back.
'No, I wish I had, Sir Thomas. It would be easier to say the Orb of Charlemagne has been stolen, that the Papal Envoys have it and that's the end of the matter. I have no real proof that the Orb was a forgery, just a suspicion. I might even travel back to Ipswich content that the English Crown, somewhere, still held the Imperial Orb. However, there are other, interesting developments.' 'Such as?'
'Well-' Benjamin flicked away some crumbs from the table-top. "The French, too, were in London. Doctor Agrippa informed us that they also wanted the Orb of Charlemagne and were prepared to pay dearly for it. According to what we have learnt, these French envoys have now left for Paris, highly pleased. I suspect they, too, think they have the Orb.' Kempe began to laugh though his eyes remained watchful.
'What are you saying, Master Daunbey? That there were two Orbs of Charlemagne? Both forgeries? That the one from Malevel Manor was sold by Charon to the Papal Envoys? Then who gave the French the other?'