'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 occ
asion you drank water. I pres
sed 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 occasions 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.'
'We should go back,' I replied. 'Let's take horse and ride to Ipswich.'
'That poses difficulties,' Benjamin replied. 'We have no real proof. No, the Poppletons would claim it was not their cup and there's very little evidence for their involvement in Lucy's murder. Moreover, Dearest Uncle and the King want us here.' He picked up his wine bowl. 'Let the evil ones fester for a while, Roger. Tonight, let's drink, celebrate your escape and toast the memories of Lucy and Castor!'
Drink we did and heard the chimes at midnight from the nearby church. Nevertheless, we were up early the next morning, long before the sun peeped its head above St Paul's Cathedral. However, when we arrived at the Tower, we found Justice was an even earlier riser. A royal commission had been set up on the green before the great Norman keep and already the executions were taking place. A long pole had been slung on two uprights which had been driven deep into the ground. From this six of Lord Charon's men were already dangling, whilst others were being tried in front of three Justices brought up especially from Westminster. I tell you this, in Henry's time, justice was short and brutal. 'Give him a fair trial and hang him!' was one of the old bastard's favourite aphorisms and he wasn't joking. There were no hand-wringing pleas for mercy. Henry was as swift and as merciless as a hawk swooping for the kill. On this occasion the process was no different: the trial consisted of little more than a barrage of questions to which the felons, all bloody-mouthed and black-eyed, mumbled some response. The Chief Justice then passed judgement, a black silk cap was placed on his head and the felons despatched to the gallows. The poor unfortunates were made to stand on a table whilst nooses were put round their necks, and then the table was kicked away and they were left to dangle.
On one side of the Justices, Lord Egremont, in a throne chair, watched with interest. Behind him stood the cowled and hooded Noctales. Egremont seemed to be enjoying himself but I glimpsed the distaste on Cornelius's face. Kempe was busy: he was the chief prosecution witness. He simply described the attack on Lord Charon's stronghold, the treasures they had found and. above all, 'the abduction of the King's most loyal servant Roger Shallot'. Can you believe that? Men being hanged because of old Roger!
'In the Empire,' Egremont spoke up, 'they'd be boiled like chickens in a cauldron or burnt at the stake.' He looked over his shoulder at Cornelius. 'But it's good to see a felon dance on air, is it not?'
The Noctale crossed himself and glanced away.
Do you know, my heart warmed to that hard-faced, enigmatic man. In a way he reminded me of Cecil and others I had worked with: ruthless but not bloodthirsty men. If someone had to die then let it be done quickly. No relish, no licking of the lips!
'There are some missing?' Benjamin replied.
'Yes, there are,' Kempe replied. He came across whilst the Justices waited for more of Charon's gang to be dragged out before them. 'The King is insisting that these all be dead by dusk. Some have been tortured. They know nothing about the Orb but they have admitted that Lord Charon's lieutenant is William Doddshall.'
'Doddshall?' I queried.
'More commonly known as Cerberus,' Kempe explained. He went to stand behind the Justices. 'Oh,' he called over his shoulder, 'Cerberus is on the rack.' He pointed across to the dungeon at the base of the Norman keep. 'He said he'll talk to no one but you, Shallot. You'd best see what the bastard wants before he dies.'
'And we have a meeting with you, Sir Thomas,' Benjamin called out.
Kempe glanced quickly at Egremont and then nodded.
Benjamin and I left the execution ground and walked over to the Keep. I would like to say it was pleasant to be back in the Tower but I've always hated the place. Benjamin and I had been there only a few months previously, seeking out the mysterious assassin who had created such bloody havoc amongst the Guild of Hangmen.
I wanted to flee. Nevertheless, I was intrigued that Cerberus wished to talk to me. We went down the steps and into a maze of corridors. A sentry took us into the torture room.
Now this was a strange place, or at least it was when I visited. It looked more like a hospital with its white-washed walls. The floor was clean and swept and flowers, arranged in baskets, stood on small shelves beneath the open windows. A child's toy hung on a string from a hook on the wall. The chief interrogator was a kindly, soft-spoken man with watery eyes and slack lips. He came and shook our hands, waved us in, pointing across to a table where there was wine and sweetmeats. Perhaps it was all the more dreadful because of that. Nevertheless, nothing could detract from the terror of Exeter's Daughter: a huge rack in the centre of the room like a large four-poster bed with rollers at the top and bottom. (It was called Exeter's Daughter because a Duke of Exeter had introduced the rack into England in the fifteenth century. Oh, for you students of History, the English were racking and renting long before then, but this rack was regarded as a work of art. It pulled your arms and legs out slowly. It gave the torturers a chance to relax, take some refreshment before turning the wheels again. I'm not being brutish. You read my journals yet to come. I've been on that bloody rack! My arms became half an inch longer than they should be, before that bastard, John Dudley Duke of Northumberland, changed his mind and had me pardoned.)
On that particular morning poor old Cerberus was Exeter's guest. He was stripped naked except for a loin cloth, his hands and feet lashed to the rollers, the poor man's body pulled as tight as a bishop's garter. He was unconscious when we came in, his ugly, ruddy face slack. The torturer tossed a bucket of water over him and held a piece of burnt cork beneath his nose. Cerberus began to shake and moan.
'No, no,' the master torturer whispered. 'Master Doddshall, you have a visitor; the man you asked to see, Roger Shallot.'
Cerberus turned his eyes. He tried to speak but his tongue was too large.
'For pity's sake,' I ordered. 'Slacken his legs and arms.' 'Anything to oblige,' the master torturer squeaked. 'And a cup of wine?' I asked.
The wheel was pulled back. Cerberus relaxed. I went up and forced the wine between his lips.
'You wanted to speak to me?' I asked.
'Damn you, Shallot!' he whispered, the blood bubbling on his lips.
'If you've brought me here to curse,' I replied. 'I won't stay long.*
'No, no,' Cerberus shook his head. 'But I'll speak alone.' 'I don't want to leave,' the master torturer spoke up. 'This is my chamber and my responsibility.' 'Leave!' Benjamin ordered.
'But
...
?' the fellow stuttered. 'On the Lord Cardinal's orders!' Benjamin insisted. 'Oh well, if you put it like that,' the fellow replied. 'I am only too pleased.'
Everyone, the watching soldiers, the torturer's apprentices scrambled out of the room, and Benjamin followed, closing the door behind him.
I stood over Cerberus. 'We are alone.'
'I want to ask you a favour.'
I stared back, surprised. 'A favour, a boon?' I exclaimed. 'You cheeky bastard! It's not so long ago you were trying to have a rat nest in my stomach!'
'It's all the luck of the dice,' Cerberus replied. 'But, for what it's worth. Shallot, Charon did like you. He wouldn't have allowed the rat to dig deep, just a bite or two.'
'When you get to Hell,' I said, 'thank him for me.'
'I don't want to hang,' Cerberus replied.
'Neither do I but there's nothing I can do for you.'
'I have a horror of hanging,' Cerberus insisted. 'Do this favour for me. Please!'
'And in return?'
'I'll tell you what I know. Oh, one thing more, Master Shallot, send my parents a letter.' I just stared in disbelief.
'Please!' Cerberus insisted, 'To John and Christina Doddshall of the Silver Wyvern on the High Pavement in Nottingham. They think I am a clerk with a good benefice in a nobleman's household. Tell them I died of the plague or the sweating sickness, that I was honoured and loved. Oh, and one thing more.'
I closed my eyes.
'Before I die, I want a priest to shrive me. Promise me that!'
What could I do? The poor bastard was going to die and, but for the love of God and the favour of my master Benjamin, I could have well ended up as a member of a gang like Charon's. I gave him my word.
'Now,' I began. 'The Orb of Charlemagne?'
'Lord Charon, may he rot in hell,' Cerberus replied, 'bought the Orb from the Schlachter.'
‘I
have heard of that name before. Who is he?'
'No one knows,' Cerberus replied. 'He is one of London's most skilful assassins. If he accepts a task, he always carries it out himself: poison, the garrotte, the dagger, the sword.'
'Was he responsible for the deaths at Malevel?'
Cerberus closed his eyes. I gently pushed up his head and forced more of the coarse wine into his mouth. Cerberus blew on his lips, coughing as the wine stung his throat.
‘I
heard what you said,' he gasped. 'It's possible but, how he could do it by himself is a mystery.'
'How did the Schlachter tell Charon he had the Orb?'
'He sent us a message,' Cerberus replied. 'Told us to meet him in a copse to the north of the hospital of St Mary of Bethlehem. Only Charon and myself were to go. He named his price: two thousand pounds in gold. Charon and I were to come just after dark as the hospital bell rang for Compline. There was to be no trickery or he'd take our lives as well as the money.' Cerberus closed his eyes.