by Paul Doherty
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 Charlem
agne? Both forgeries? That the one from Malevel Manor was sold by Charon to the Papal Envoys? Then who gave the French the other?'
'I don't know,' Benjamin replied, 'but I would like to see the replica you showed us in the woods near Malevel.'
Sir Thomas rose to his feet in exasperation.
'Oh and I have another question,' Benjamin added. 'The archer in Malevel Manor. He was sending messages to you, wasn't he, Sir Thomas?'
Kempe gave a dismissive motion with his hand and made to walk away.
'Either you tell me,' Benjamin called out, 'or I will demand an interview with Dearest Uncle!'
'Follow me,' Kempe replied.
Sir Thomas walked out, shouting orders at his officials to ensure that everything was neatly tagged. He then led us down the sewer, the cold, fetid darkness broken only by the occasional soldier holding a blazing cresset torch. We must have walked half a mile before Sir Thomas reached some crumbling steps and led us up. We had to crawl out through a small hole at the top under a great slab of stone. The cold night air made me gasp and I exclaimed in surprise as I stared around. Night had fallen and the sky was bright with stars. In the light of flickering torches which had been fixed on wooden poles driven into the ground, I could see we were in a disused derelict cemetery and, some distance away, the dark mass of the church of the Crutched Friars. Usually derelict and empty, now the cemetery had been invaded by soldiers and clerks. Carts waited to take away the treasure, horses chomped at the long grass. Men-at-arms and archers were driving away the curious sight-seekers. Sir Thomas led us across, through the corpse door and into the church. He closed the door, struck a tinder and lit a candle in the Lady Chapel. I did likewise. I had not yet finished my prayers, so rudely interrupted by Lord Charon's henchmen. I lit two candles: one for Lucy, the other for Castor. I then joined Sir Thomas and Benjamin where they sat on a bench against the rood screen.
'There's no one here,' Sir Thomas began. 'Churches are the best place to plot.'
'It was you, wasn't it?' Benjamin asked. 'You were the one the archer was sending the messages to?'
'Yes, yes, it was.' Kempe eased his legs. 'I feel tired,' he declared leaning back against the rood screen. 'But it was a good night's work, Master Daunbey.'
I was sitting on Benjamin's right, and I looked across. In the dim candlelight, I was sure the devious bastard was laughing at us.
'Why?' I asked. 'Sir Thomas, I am cold. I am hungry. I've been manhandled by Charon's ruffians. I would love a hot meal, two cups of claret and a soft bed.'
'There's no great mystery,' Kempe replied. 'Lord Egremont and his creature Cornelius had the upper hand at Malevel. However, the King was determined to know that all went well so I chose an archer called Yeovil. Whenever possible, he was to send me a message fired from a window at the side of the house. A master bowman, Yeovil chose his target well, an ash tree just beyond the walls. It was simple enough for any skilled archer.'
'And what did Yeovil report?' Benjamin asked.
'Nothing.' Kempe got to his feet: tucking his thumbs in his war-belt, he stared down at Benjamin. 'Oh, he said the leader of the Noctales, Jonathan, was nervous and that the men were bored. But the casket was still sealed, the Orb was safe and all was well.'
'Can I read these messages?' Benjamin asked.
Kempe shook his head. 'They have been destroyed.'
4 And the replica Orb?' Benjamin asked.
Kempe tapped his foot against the paving stone: he stared up through the rood screen at the tabernacle on the high altar.
'The brothers,' he remarked quietly, 'will protest at us destroying their churchyard.'
'Sir Thomas!' Benjamin snapped. 'The replica Orb?'
'Tomorrow at first light,' Kempe replied, leaning down, 'you will come to the Tower. What remains of Charon's gang will be summarily tried, found guilty, tortured and, by this time tomorrow, will be hanging on a gallows in Tower Green. They are going to be questioned closely about the Orb of Charlemagne.'
"The replica?' Benjamin insisted.
'Oh, you can see that as well,' Kempe replied. 'It's still safe and sound in a Tower storeroom. You really shouldn't worry about that. You see, Master Daunbey, you have it all wrong. The real Orb of Charlemagne was kept at Malevel Manor. It was stolen and now the King wants it back - which is your task.' He jabbed a finger in Benjamin's face. 'Whatever you think, the real Orb was stolen.' He shrugged. 'I admit the King had Berkeley fashion replicas: one to keep, the other—' He smirked. 'Perhaps to make a profit at some future time. So, good night, sirs.' And, spinning on his heel, Kempe walked out of the church.
Benjamin sighed and got to his feet.
'Did you believe that, master?' I asked.
'I don't know,' he replied. 'Roger, I don't know any more. Perhaps we do have it all wrong. Perhaps the thief did sell the real Orb to Lord Charon and he, in turn, sold it to the Papal Envoys. Perhaps Henley was only killed so as to keep his mouth shut. But, who the thief was and how he did it remains a mystery.' He sighed. 'Oh, a cup of wine! And, talking of cups, Roger, I have something to show you.'
We left the church and walked back through the alleyways to the Flickering Lamp. Boscombe was waiting, all attentive. He played the part of the inquisitive taverner and we were faced with a volley of questions. Believe me, that man was a better actor than Shakespeare's Burbage!
'And where's your dog?' he cried. 'Where's poor Castor?'
'He's dead, God rest him!' I snapped. 'And, if you don't bring us food and wine, Boscombe, you'll join him!' A good response, I hate hypocrisy - except in myself.
The taverner grinned and hurried away. I noticed with some amusement that this time he was no longer dressed in the garb of a friar, but that of a scrivener, a long grey robe with an ink pot and quill fastened on his belt. Benjamin had gone up to our chamber: when he returned, he was carrying the cup I had stolen from the Poppleton house. He ignored my questions.
'Let's eat and drink,' he declared and asked Boscombe for some water and salt.
I was busy finishing my meal but, when I drained my wine cup and was about to ask for more, Benjamin held out the Poppleton cup.
'Drink, Roger!'
I took it and sniffed. 'Water?'
'From the rain butt. Drink it!'
I sipped from it and handed it back. Benjamin cradled it in his hands whilst I shouted for more claret. 'Now drink again, Roger.'
I grabbed it from him, slurped from it and then gagged.
'Master, it's got salt in it!' I grasped his wine bowl and sipped from it. 'Some sort of trick, master?'
'No.' Benjamin threw the water on to the rushes. 'Look, Roger, look into the cup!'
'Nothing remarkable,' I declared.
'Do you see anything?'
'Nothing but brass,' I replied.
'No, at the bottom.'
I poked my finger in. At the base of the cup was a circular piece of brass.
'Nothing but this,' I retorted. 'It's where the stem and cup meet.'
'Watch again." Benjamin now held the cup. He did something with the stem and the innocuous clasp at the bottom moved slightly to the side revealing a small hole.
'How did you do that?' I exclaimed.
Benjamin held the cup up, pointing to a small imitation jewel in the middle of the stem.
'You just press that very firmly and the clasp opens. Whilst you were eating I put some salt in the hole. I cleaned the cup then poured in some water. On the first occasion you drank water. I pressed the clasp, swirled the water about and you tasted salt.'
'That's how they did it!' I exclaimed, half rising to my feet. 'That's how those two bastards killed their mother! They must have suspected how I first cured Lucy. They knew I used a potion so they brought that cup up; but first they put poison in the hole at the base.'
Benjamin pushed me back into my seat.
'I listened very carefully to what you told me,' he replied, 'and I realised the Poppletons had tricked you.' His face became grim. (It was one of those few occa
sions in my life when I realised Benjamin was not just the dreamy scholar: there was a darkness in him. He had not forgotten how, earlier in the year, the Poppletons had spread scandal that he had only opened his school because he liked little boys. Oh yes, the darkness in him could be murderous, but that was for the future.) On that night Benjamin smiled bleakly into the cup. 'When Laxton came and told us about Lucy's death,' he continued, 'how her last words were, "Tell Roger the cup," I sensed something was wrong.'
'Of course,' I replied. 'Otherwise she would have said, "My cup is overflowing"!'
'What I think happened,' Benjamin continued, 'is that, somehow or other, Lucy herself discovered the Poppletons had tricked you. Perhaps she overheard a conversation on how keen the Poppletons were to have that cup back. Poor girl! She might have found it hard to keep it secret and ...'
'So the Poppletons killed her?' I said.
'Oh yes. It has all their hallmarks: attacking a poor girl in a country lane and beating the very life out of her.'