The Poisoned Chalice

by Michael Clynes

  'Oh, I am not going to murder you, Vauban. I am going to challenge you to a duel.'

  Hope flared in Vauban's face and those heavy-lidded eyes flickered.

  'Louise,' he repeated softly, 'please go. I assure you it will not take long.'

  The woman threw one tearful glance at Benjamin and, with the children huddled in her skirts and the servants doddering behind her, went into the garden house. I followed, making sure the door was closed behind them. There were windows high in the wooden wall; it was up to them if they looked or not. I returned feeling a little anxious: Vauban's sneer indicated he might be a good swordsman, perhaps even a skilful duellist. Benjamin might be sorely wounded, even killed, and Vauban would not let me walk away. The bastard watched me return.

  'My dear Roger, I am sure Master Daunbey is a gentleman. You will find my sword belt hanging on a peg in the kitchen. If you would be so kind?'

  I went and fetched both sword and dagger but, on a high shelf, I also glimpsed one of those huge horse pistols, a clumsy fire-arm stuffed in a holster. It was already primed so I took that for my own protection. Vauban saw it and grinned.

  'Your servant seems to lack confidence,' he sneered.

  'Only in you, Vauban!' I snapped. 'The duel is to be a fair one.'

  He grasped the sword belt, pulling out sword and dagger, and stepped away.

  'Of course,' he said. 'It will be a l’outrance. To the death!'

  Benjamin doffed cloak and doublet and the two men, their white shirts gleaming in the sunlight, brought both sword and dagger up, edging away from each other, testing the ground for secure footholds and waiting for the signal to begin. They drew together, their swords high in the air. The tips clashed, both turned sideways, the hand holding the dagger going up. For a few seconds they looked like dancers waiting for the music to begin.

  'Now!' Benjamin called.

  The command was hardly uttered when Vauban suddenly dropped to one knee and thrust with his sword towards Benjamin's stomach. A clever move but Benjamin parried it with his own weapon and, as Vauban rose to lunge with his dagger, blocked it with his own. Vauban grinned, they drew away again, and the deadly dance began in earnest. The quiet garden air was shattered by the sound of scraping steel, the soft thump of their boots on the grass, gasps and muttered oaths. Vauban was a born swordsman and his mocking smile proved he thought Benjamin the weaker quarry. He put my master on the defensive, his sword whirling an arc of sharp steel whilst now and again his dagger would seek an opening. Vauban's confidence increased. He began to push my master back. Benjamin was impassive. His long, black hair became damp with sweat but his face betrayed neither fear nor concern.

  He allowed Vauban to drive him back, then stopped. I can't really describe what happened next. Vauban repeated a parry. Benjamin blocked it from the inside whilst striking out with his dagger: there was a clash of steel and Vauban's knife shot from his hand, lost in the long grass which grew around the trees. The Frenchman backed away, his mouth open in surprise. Benjamin smiled.

  'Monsieur Vauban, an Italian master swordsman taught me that. A clever ploy, isn't it?'

  The smile faded from Vauban's face as he realised he had done his best. Benjamin, who had been schooled by the finest duelling-master Italy could provide, lifted his sword, whilst throwing down his own dagger.

  'Let us be fair, Monsieur. Sword against sword. Now, let's finish this matter. Roger,' he called over his shoulder, 'the Ralembergs. How many did the Luciferi kill?'

  'Four,' I answered. 'Monsieur, Madame, their servant and, of course,' I glared at Vauban, 'Agnes.'

  'And the dog,' Benjamin murmured. 'Don't you remember that, Vauban? The little dog floating amongst the reeds?'

  He shook his head. 'As God is my witness,' he replied hoarsely, 'I did not order that! Ralemberg, yes, but not his wife and child.' He half-smiled and shrugged. 'You don't believe me, do you? I told my master not to play with you.' He half-lowered his sword, glancing at both myself and Benjamin. 'We are the same,' he muttered. 'We live in the shadows of the great ones and thrive in the twilight world of our respective courts. I would kill you, Master Daunbey, and Ralemberg, but not the women!'

  'Well, Monsieur,' Benjamin replied, 'your troubles are over. Raphael is dead. Soon you'll join him and dance with the devil in hell for all eternity!'

  The arrogance drained from Vauban's face. He looked over his shoulder to where his wife stood, framed in the window of the garden house. I glimpsed a gentleness in his eyes and knew where I had seen that face before.

  'Ralemberg!' I shouted.

  Vauban turned and looked at me. 'How did you guess?' he asked.

  'You have the same look as he had,' I replied. 'Who are you?'

  Vauban drove the point of his sword into the grass. 'Ralemberg was my brother.'

  'He never mentioned you. He talked of one . . .'

  'There were three of us. All Bretons. I was the youngest. My elder brothers believed in Breton independence but they came from the old world. France will be a great nation. One people, one heart, one head!'

  'You killed your own brother?' I accused.

  'Yes. He was a member of the Luciferi, he took the oath, but my elder brother won him over. He knew the rules of the game so I fought him. I tracked him down but I was not there when he died. They said it was quick. Only later did I learn about Madame and young Agnes. But come,' he raised his sword and stepped backwards, 'let us put an end to these matters.'

  The swords clashed with renewed fury, Benjamin moving with consummate skill and expertise. He drove Vauban back.

  'How many. Roger, did the Luciferi kill? Ah, yes, five with the dog. For number one!' Benjamin parried, thrust and nicked Vauban in the right shoulder. The Frenchman gasped, his face pallid and sweat-stained. His wife and children cried out in terror. Again the swords clashed. 'Number two!' Benjamin murmured. Again the cut. 'Number three and number four!' Fresh cuts appeared on both of Vauban's arms, the blood seeping out, turning the white sleeves crimson. 'Master!' I shouted.

  (I can't stand the sight of blood, neither mine nor anyone else's.)

  Benjamin drove Vauban back.

  'And now the fifth!'

  I closed my eyes as the swords clashed.

  'Oh, Lord!' I prayed. 'Not dead, not here!'

  I opened my eyes. Vauban still stood but his sword had been knocked clear from his hand whilst the point of Benjamin's was laid carefully against the pulse throbbing in his throat. The Frenchman didn't beg. He just stood for what he was, a beaten man. Behind him his wife wailed. 'Oh, no! No!' above the crying of her children. Benjamin's eyes were half-closed, his face marble white as he waved me over with his other hand.

  'You have a choice, Roger. Shall I kill him or will you?'

  (Do you know, I was fascinated by Benjamin. Here he was, a scholar and an academic, gentle and kind. Yet over the last few days I had sensed the dark side of him, and now I saw it in full flower. Something in Vauban had raised the demons in his soul and I wondered about the slippery line which runs through us all, separating what is sane from the dark world of madness. My chaplain, too, is surprised but he doesn't know the full story of my life; how Benjamin and I, years later, clashed sword against sword, dagger against dagger, fighting over a woman whose dark beauty and cruel passions could sever any friendship. Ah, but that's another story.)

  In that quiet Paris garden Vauban stared at me as he waited to die and, once again, I was reminded of Ralemberg for the duel had stripped him of his heavy-lidded arrogance.

  'Well,' Benjamin repeated. 'What shall it be, Roger?'

  Suddenly the door of the garden house was flung open and one of the little girls ran towards me, her baby face soaked in tears. She grasped my leg.

  'Soyez gentil, Monsieur, ne tuez pas notre papa!"

  I crouched down and gently wiped the tear drops from her soft cheeks. The door of the garden house opened and the others came out.

  'S'il vous plait, Monsieur," the girl repeated.

  I
stared into her light blue eyes and wondered if she would be like Agnes when she grew up. What did it matter? I thought. Can death restore life? I got up and walked over to Benjamin. I pushed his sword down and stood facing him, my back to Vauban.

  'Let him go, Benjamin! For God's sake, what would another death prove? And what will it make us?'

  Benjamin tapped the edge of his sword against his boot. He looked past me, his eyes never leaving Vauban. 'You are sure, Roger?'

  'As certain as there's a God in heaven!'

  Benjamin re-sheathed both sword and dagger, put on his doublet and picked up his cloak. Vauban just stood staring disbelievingly at me. I still grasped the horse pistol for I didn't trust the bastard as far as I could spit.

  'We will leave now.' Benjamin nodded at Vauban and gave Madame Louise the most courtly bow. I grinned and raised the horse pistol.

  'I will treat this as a present, Monsieur, for we intend to leave Paris alive. You will find your guard fast asleep, trussed and bound in the bushes near the gate.'

  I followed Benjamin round to the front of the house when a voice called out.

  'Shallot!'

  I turned quickly, lifting the horse pistol, but Vauban just stood there holding the little girl who had clung to me. She now ran towards me, her long, dark hair flying out. I crouched to greet her.

  'Monsieur,'' she whispered breathlessly, ‘un cadeau.'

  She opened her hand and showed me her present, a small, blood red stone. The sort of little geegaw or trinket we adults dismiss as cheap but a child regards as more sacred than life itself. I shook my head and gently clasped her fingers back over it.

  'Thank you,' I smiled. 'But there's no need. Comment vous appellez-vouz?'

  ‘Je m'appelle Marie.'

  I rose. 'Then, au revoir, Marie.'

  'Au revoir, Monsieur"

  I did not look back. Benjamin and I collected our horses, made our way safely out of Paris and thundered along the country lanes back to Maubisson. Only when we were sure of no pursuit did we rein in. Benjamin leaned over and wiped the white lather from the horse's neck.

  'I should have killed him, Roger,' he announced tonelessly.

  I leaned over and nudged him gently.

  'And if I had said "yes", you would have done it?' Benjamin stared back and his face broke into a boyish grin.

  'I don't know.' His eyes narrowed. 'But you are a strange one, Roger. Any other man would have killed Vauban for what he'd done and then danced on his corpse.'

  'Perhaps,' I muttered. 'Vauban said we were the same as him, yet he may be wrong. He may have killed. We wouldn't.'

  Benjamin kicked his horse into a gentle canter.

  'Come on, Roger!' he shouted. 'We are finished here. We are for Maubisson and then by fast horse to Calais.'

  'What about that bloody ring?' I groaned, drawing close to him.

  Benjamin made a face. 'The king will forget and forgive. Raphael is dead, the murders avenged. Let's pray he will be satisfied.'

  I thought of the Great Killer's brooding eyes and prayed to God my master was right.

  We left Maubisson two days later, accompanied by Doctor Agrippa, still elated by our success and eager to bring the good news to Wolsey and the king. He was as sanguine as Benjamin about our failure over the ring.

  'His Majesty will have to be satisfied with what we have achieved,' he muttered. 'There'll be another day.'

  Both he and Benjamin were in high spirits and chose to ignore my gloomy forebodings, my master chattering about his school at Ipswich and wondering if the good doctor could recommend a tutor of Classics. Talking like two magpies, they rode briskly along the lanes whilst I trailed behind, uncomfortably aware that the king had made me personally responsible for returning his ring. Now, we expected little trouble on our journey. Agrippa carried warrants and safe conducts. We were well armed and Dacourt had informed us before we left Maubisson that horsemen would be at the Pale of Calais to meet us.

  We were within an hour's ride of that, threading our way through a clump of woodland, when a troop of horsemen suddenly burst out of the trees, blocking our passage and circling us in a ring of steel. I moaned with fright; they were all dressed in helmets and brigandines and wore the personal emblem of the King of France alongside the Red Lion Rampant of Scotland. The Garde Ecossais. Each bore a small crossbow, loaded and pointed threateningly at us. Agrippa pushed his horse forward and stared angrily around. My terror only increased when I noticed his agitation.

  'What is this?' he yelled, standing high in the stirrups. 'We are the personal envoys of His Majesty, King Henry of England, you have no right to block our passage!'

  The ring of horsemen parted and Vauban walked quietly toward us. He had dropped the pretence of being the courtly fop or dandy. His hair was pulled back and tied with a gold ribbon. His face was grave and stern and the dark eyes watched us broodingly for a while. He was dressed for battle in a light mailed shirt and cradled a steel conical helmet in his gauntleted hands.

  'If you are envoys,' he declared, 'let me see your warrants!'

  Agrippa handed them over. Vauban spent a few minutes carefully reading them. Never once did he look up at me.

  'You are correct, Doctor Agrippa. You are the English king's envoy but one of you is a thief!'

  'What nonsense is this?' Benjamin snarled. He leaned over his horse and glared down at Vauban. 'I should have killed you!'

  Vauban grinned and shrugged. 'I am not here, Monsieur Daunbey, about that. One of you is a thief. A horse pistol was stolen from my house!'

  I gasped in terror and my hand went to cover the great leather holster which now swung from my saddle horn. Vauban saw the movement and his smile widened. He came over, tapped the holster gently and held out his hand.

  'You are the thief, Monsieur. I want my property back.' He tapped the saddle-bags behind me. 'And a look at these, as well.'

  Despite Agrippa's and Benjamin's protests three of the guards, smirking from ear to ear, grabbed my leather holster and emptied the contents of both my saddle-bags on to the dirty country track. Vauban knelt and sifted amongst them.

  'Nothing else,' he murmured. He picked up the saddlebag and grinned at me. 'You may have your property back.'

  'You emptied them!' Agrippa shouted.

  Vauban shrugged, reached up, and with surprising strength plucked me from the saddle. I crashed to the ground in an untidy heap, my discomfiture increased by the soldiers' obvious enjoyment of an English envoy's humiliation. Benjamin's hand went to his dagger, one of the crossbows clicked and a bolt whirred through the air, just missing my master's head by inches.

  'Leave it, master!' I shouted. 'I shall do what he says.'

  Vauban mimicked me so cleverly the laughter grew. I hastily re-packed the saddle-bags and remounted my horse. Vauban came to stand in front of me, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

  'Such dishonesty,' he murmured. He waved his hand airily. 'Let the thief proceed!'

  His men pulled back into the trees and we rode forward with Vauban's laughter ringing in our ears. An hour later, just outside Calais, we were met by lancers wearing the royal livery, who escorted us into the fortress town. Benjamin was still muttering furiously about Vauban's conduct, whilst Agrippa swore that on our return to England every French envoy would suffer the same humiliation. I couldn't have cared a whit. All I wanted was to be out of the damned country. Yes, I was frightened, humiliated and, if the truth be known, secretly hurt by Vauban's ingratitude.

  We had a wretched journey across to Dover, drenched to the skin and made as miserable as lepers by one of those sudden summer storms which sweep the Narrow Seas. We stumbled ashore, grateful to be on dry land. We decided not to continue our journey to London but to stay a day in Dover, in a small tavern overlooking the sea, where we could dry out and calm our queasy stomachs with what Agrippa called good English food.

  I remember stumbling up the stairs to the garret we had rented. I stripped myself of every article of clothing and
emptied the contents of my soaked saddle-bag on to the pallet bed in search of something not drenched with salt water. I saw a small, brown leather pouch lying at the bottom of one of the bags. I pulled it out, undid the cord around the neck and emptied the contents into my hand. Two objects: the small, blood red, polished stone Vauban's daughter had offered me, and a ring I had last seen on the finger of His Most Christian Majesty, Francis I of France. I went and stood by the window watching the breakers turn to a boiling, frothing white. Now I understood why Vauban had staged that mummery in the forest outside Calais.

  Of course, both my master and Doctor Agrippa were delighted. When we met the king in his palace at Greenwich, the Great Killer threw his arm around me, calling me his brother, pinching my cheek and declaring that I was the boldest knave in all his kingdom. I was praised, feasted and rewarded, hugged and kissed, lavished with gifts of many kinds, but old Shallot was beginning to learn that the pleasure and favour of princes is indeed a fickle thing. I saw the king burn the book my master had discovered in Abbe Gerard's church and watched the parchment turn to ashes. Abbe Gerard was your friend, I thought, and he was killed because of this book. Clinton was your friend and you drove him into his homicidal madness. Catherine, your wife, a Spanish princess, is your friend, your lover and wife. Now you plan to set her aside like some public whore or common courtesan. Wolsey in his purple silks laughed when the king did and looked favourably upon both myself and his 'beloved nephew', but I had had enough of princes.

  (Oh, by the way, no one told the bastard about Lady Francesca's infection. We concluded there were certain things our bluff Hal should find out for himself. We simply told him Clinton had been seduced by French gold and left it at that.) Benjamin and I travelled on to London. I visited the graves of the Ralembergs under a cypress tree just inside Greyfriars graveyard. I left a red rose on Agnes's tomb, said a prayer, shed some tears and rejoined my master in a nearby tavern. We drank our fill and took the road north to Ipswich.