'Yes, yes it is,' Kempe retorted. 'The King—' He paused. 'His Grace believes he should marry again.'
'And who's the lucky girl?' I quipped before I could stop myself.
'Haven't you learned your lesson, Shallot? Are you so clodwitted? Don't you remember the banquet where the King gave you a present, a German hunting dog that was supposed to rip your balls off? It wasn't because you won a riddle - the King caught you making eyes at his beloved!'
I recalled Anne Boleyn. Kempe was right. Henry was jealous and I had paid the price for my little flirtation.
'Boleyn?' Benjamin exclaimed.
'Anne Boleyn. The King is smitten with her,' Kempe replied. 'You know some of the game, Master Daunbey, but not all of it. Of course, the King would like to make a profit. Of course, he will take gold from the Empire, from the Papacy, from the French. Aye, even from the Devil himself! But it's not money the King is really after - or even to take his armies to France. He wants a divorce. Charles V is Catherine's nephew. He'll have to be persuaded to support the King.'
'And, of course, the same is true of the Holy Father in Rome?' Benjamin asked.
'Precisely. Not to mention the French. The University of Paris, and the French cardinals will be asked for an opinion and the King wants them to agree with him. Now,' Kempe continued, 'about fifteen months ago, I hatched a scheme whereby the King could win Imperial favour, not to mention gold, and at the same time woo the French and the Papacy as well as make them pay. Henry was delighted. He laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. He said he would relish till his dying day how we had fooled them all in one fell swoop.'
'As well as win a new wife to boot,' I interjected.
'Of course,' Kempe smiled. 'And it really didn't take much. Henry raided his treasury and cups, plate and dishes were melted down. The royal jewel house was rifled, and appropriate amethysts given to Berkeley, who was sworn to silence. He was given a glimpse of the real Orb, provided with precise drawings by me and set to work on the King's secret assignment. I then let it be known in the Empire, in France and in Rome that the Orb of Charlemagne was for sale. They all rose like fish to the bait. The King, of course, had chosen to do business with Emperor Charles. Lord Theodosius of Egremont arrived in England. I thought there would be no difficulty.' He paused at the sound of horses outside.
"That will be Lord Egremont,' Benjamin declared. 'Agrippa, can you keep him busy?'
The good doctor agreed and left.
'Naturally, the theft upset the King,' Kempe continued. 'Not to mention myself. Can't you see, it's the one thing we hadn't planned on? No one was to steal that Orb: the King's merriment soon turned to anger.'
'And you know nothing else?' Benjamin asked.
'All I know, you now know,' Kempe concluded. 'Naturally, the King has been mollified by the treasure found in Lord Charon's stronghold. To a certain extent the King received his profits from the Papacy with interest and, of course, the French, having paid a small fortune, also believe they have the true Orb.'
'Very well.' Benjamin got up and unhitched his cloak from the back of the chair. 'Sir Thomas, I am going to unmask the assassin. To do that, I need your co-operation. Whatever I say, you will agree to. Understood?'
Kempe swallowed his pride and nodded. Benjamin went to the door and opened it. Lord Egremont, followed by Master Cornelius, almost knocked him aside as he swept into the room.
'What is it?' he snapped, glaring at me as if he'd like to take my head.
Kempe vacated his chair. Egremont took it, throwing his cloak and hat at Agrippa. The good doctor picked them up and tossed them unceremoniously on to a bench.
'Sit down, my lord.' Benjamin returned to his own chair. 'Sir Thomas, too, and Master Cornelius, by my side.'
'You've found the Orb?' Egremont asked.
'No, I am afraid I haven't,' Benjamin replied. 'Boscombe has that.'
'Who?'
'Boscombe, the tavern-keeper at the Flickering Lamp.' 'What has that knave got to do with it?' 'That knave,' Benjamin repeated. 'That knave, my lord? Do you know him?'
Egremont shifted in the chair.
'You should,' Benjamin continued. 'His real name is Jakob von Archetel, a former member of the Noctales.' Benjamin turned to Cornelius. 'I believe he fled the Empire. What was he nicknamed, the Slaughterer? He's responsible for the murders here at Malevel.'
Oh, to see the confusion break out! To watch virtue outraged! Oh, the huffing and the puffing! Agrippa sat like an imp come to judgement. Egremont made to leave but the good doctor shook his head.
'Stay, sir! Stay or you'll be arrested! My men are outside.' I glanced at Cornelius and he threw me a look. Isn't it strange how in a few seconds you can learn something? I did then, in that
one glance! Firstly, Cornelius was innocent of any crime. Secondly, and rather surprisingly, he hated Egremont. Cornelius got up, took out his sword and laid it on the table with its point towards Egremont. He shouted something in German. Egremont replied, his face now suffused with rage yet he was fearful. This shouting match went on for a few minutes until Cornelius dipped inside his cloak and brought out a small, purple wax seal. He held this up and jabbed a finger at Egremont who sullenly sat down. He knew he was trapped but, even at that moment, did not realise what great danger he was in.
'Master Daunbey,' Cornelius declared.
‘I
have told my Lord of Egremont that he is to stay. Unbeknown to him I carry the Emperor's personal seal.'
'Why?' Agrippa asked. 'I thought Egremont headed this embassy to the English court?'
Cornelius sat down. 'Oh, he is here for the Orb of Charlemagne but I am the Emperor's personal emissary to his beloved aunt, Catherine of Aragon
.' He grinned openly at Kempe. ‘I
bring her the Emperor's most tender regards. Indeed, the Emperor has deigned to choose me, his most humble of servants, to have secret talks with his beloved aunt.'
'About what?' Kempe shouted, then his hand went to his lips as if regretting what he had said.
'Oh come, come, Sir Thomas,' Cornelius jibed. 'Your king has his secrets and so has the Emperor. Master Daunbey, would you please continue?'
Benjamin waved round the kitchen. 'Malevel is a lonely, deserted manor house. When the Orb was brought here, I wondered why it had been decided to keep it under strict security in such a place?'
'It was well protected and guarded!' Egremont shouted.
'You could have asked the King to keep it under guard until you sailed.'
'Impossible!' Egremont retorted. "The Orb was the Emperor's. It was in my care. It was my duty to decide how best it be guarded until the Imperial ships arrived in the Thames.'
'Good.' Benjamin smiled thinly. 'I am glad you have conceded that Malevel Manor was your choice. The guards placed there were at your behest. The leader of the Noctales, Jonathan, answered directly to you.'
Egremont just stared back.
'Now, this is what happened,' Benjamin continued. 'You are not a German, my Lord Egremont, you are from Hainault. You have studied in England. Years ago Von Archetel fled to England. If the Imperial records are searched I am sure it will be found that some link between you and this Von Archetel exists. During your stay in England you and he, now calling himself Boscombe, communicated. You probably have no love for the Empire or its Emperor and being sent here to collect the Orb was a temptation you could not resist. You wanted it for yourself. You and your accomplice would steal it, sell it and make a small fortune whilst the English Crown and its servants would be held responsible.'
'You have proof of this?' Cornelius asked.
'Oh, yes, we have proof, haven't we. Sir Thomas?'
Kempe nodded.
'Let's go back to when the Orb was moved here,' Benjamin continued. 'Do you remember? People milling about, then the doors of the manor were secured. What we didn't know was that you, my Lord of Egremont, had brought in your own special assassin, the taverner we know as Boscombe. God knows how he was dressed - in the garb of a Noctale or probably as one of your retinue. It wouldn't have been hard as Boscombe is a master of disguises. Anyway, he hid in the cellar.'
Egremont sneered but the shift of his eyes showed his surprise.
'Now, of course, Boscombe didn't stay there all the time. He had to eat and drink. So he made contact with Jonathan, who would accept him.'
'I don't think so,' Cornelius intervened.
'No, listen,' Benjamin continued. 'Boscombe, by birth and upbringing, was a Hainaulter. He is fluent in the tongue so he could dismiss very quickly any suspicions that he was an English spy. I suspect as well that he carried a letter from my Lord of Egremont.' Benjamin waved his hand. 'Saying that he was on a secret assignment to help the Noctales, so his presence must not be revealed to anyone.'
'Yes
...'
Cornelius said. 'If this man Boscombe spoke fluent Hainault and carried a letter from my Lord of Egremont which hinted at possible treachery on the part of the English
..
. Yes, Jonathan would have accepted such an order.'
'After that it would be easy,' Benjamin continued. 'Of course, Jonathan would also have received secret instructions to tell no one outside the manor house, including you. Master Cornelius. Nevertheless, he had been alerted to the possibility of treachery, and was both nervous and withdrawn as a result.' Benjamin coughed to clear his throat. 'Once Jonathan accepted that letter, everything fell into place.'
'And if Jonathan hadn't accepted it?' Agrippa interrupted. 'If he protested, made Boscombe's presence known?'
'Then Egremont could have explained it away,' Benjamin replied. 'However, Boscombe was safe in the cellar. Jonathan would have supplied him with food. On the second day, according to the notes listing the quantity of cooking ingredients used, Imelda and Oswald began to make slightly more of everything. I suspect this was at Jonathan's orders because he had another mouth to feed. Now the days passed, any reservations Jonathan had would be allayed, and then Boscombe struck. One evening, before the small garrison gathered for their supper at nine, he went into the kitchen and poured valerian into the ale cask.' Benjamin shrugged. 'Dressed in the gown and cowl of a Noctale, he would not alert suspicion and he was only there for a short while. He lifted the cork from the bung-hole and poured the potion in. Remember, Boscombe is a taverner, an assassin and a master of disguise: he'd have chosen his moment carefully. Now, valerian is a powerful sleeping drug; within an hour the entire garrison was fast asleep. Drugged so deeply that Boscombe could move round the manor at will. And if someone, perhaps, didn't drink, Boscombe a professional assassin, with surprise on his side could soon take care of them.'
'But we found corpses all over the manor,' Kempe declared.
'Of course we did,' Benjamin replied. "That's because Boscombe had all night to arrange matters. He dragged the bodies from the kitchen, placed them in different locations and then he killed them: this one with a dagger, another with an arbalest. Those poor soldiers were so drugged they would never even know they were dying: that's why we found no sign of any struggle, not even token resistance. Boscombe still had to be careful, any crash, any cry might have alerted the dogs outside. He also retrieved Egremont's letter from Jonathan's body and tidied up the kitchen. He took especial care with the blackjacks to remove any stains or odour of the valerian. He poured the rest of the ale down the privy, washed out the keg and returned to the kitchen.'
Egremont sat at the far end of the table looking down at his fingers, playing with his rings, moving them to catch the poor light.
"The Orb was taken out of its casket,' Benjamin continued. 'Boscombe had cleaned any traces of his presence from the cellar and he hid there until the alarm was raised. We broke into the house, Lord Egremont with us.' He pointed down the table. 'You, my Lord, had left strict instructions, that if the alarm was raised, the doors to Malevel were not to be opened without you being present. When we entered the manor, confusion reigned with servants and retainers milling about. Boscombe, now clothed in his disguise as Egremont's retainer, joined them. Don't you remember Egremont sending people hither and thither? Boscombe just walked out of the house, took a horse and rode back into the city. We, of course, were confronted with the mystery of how fifteen soldiers could be brutally slain and the Orb stolen, without us finding any trace of how the killers had carried out their gruesome task.'
'Except for old Castor?' I intervened.
'Yes, on reflection, the dog had more sense than us: he smelt the food Boscombe must have taken down into the cellar. In such a confined, closed space the dog could still detect the odour. In the end we discovered something else which distracted us; in digging out that corpse, we also destroyed any traces of Boscombe's stay in the cellar.