Doctor Agrippa leaned forward out of the shadows. 'Sir Robert, do you deny these charges?'
Clinton just sat stock-still, staring down the hall.
'Sir Robert,' Benjamin repeated, 'you are Raphael, you are the master murderer. You were trading the king's secrets to the French. You did not interfere with the despatches or the letters. You just passed the information on to Vauban's agents in London with strict instructions that the French were only to act on this information once the letters had arrived at the English embassy in Paris. That's why the saddle-bags and the despatches of the dead messengers were so readily handed over. You and Vauban wished to sustain the pretence that only after secret documents reached Dacourt were they leaked to the Luciferi.'
Clinton suddenly stirred, shaking himself. 'Yes, you are right,' he murmured. He glanced at Benjamin. 'Master Daunbey, you are brilliant. Vauban said that. He wanted you and your minion – ' Clinton stared at me – 'he wanted you killed immediately.' He patted his wife gently on the hand but this time she flinched as though in pain. 'She's innocent, twisted but innocent. I used her. I loved Clare but the king abused me and now he will exist in the living hell I have created!'
Agrippa got up slowly. 'Sir Robert Clinton,' he intoned, 'you are a self-confessed spy, traitor and murderer of the king's good friends and liege subjects. You are,' he continued, 'guilty of the following deaths: the agent slain in the alleys of Paris, Giles Falconer, the Abbe Gerard and the two messengers killed on the road to Paris. Richard Waldegrave, priest, Thomas Throgmorton, physician, and Ambrose Venner, your own manservant. You have betrayed your king, placing both his body and his realm in great danger. You have been responsible for other deaths and misfortunes.'
'Stop!' I shouted.
Agrippa looked round in surprise. 'Master Shallot, you do not agree with this?'
I went round the table and leaned over to stare into Sir Robert Clinton's soulless eyes. It was a moment I relished and one I had been waiting for.
'Sir Robert, you are guilty of other deaths; for instance, that of Bertrand de Macon, captain of the ship which was intercepted by French privateers. But, above all,' I gripped his shoulder until he flinched, 'you are guilty of the deaths of Monsieur and Madame Ralemberg, their manservant and my beloved, Agnes Ralemberg!' I glanced up at Agrippa. 'Oh, yes, my good doctor.' I turned my back so that Clinton wouldn't see my tears. 'I was always puzzled,' I said, over my shoulder, 'as to how the assassins from the Luciferi entered Monsieur Ralemberg's house. He was a canny man and would have barred the doors against all strangers, but someone must have knocked, someone with authority, someone who could be trusted. And who better than one of the king's own ministers?' I turned and pointed my finger at Clinton. 'You let the assassin in, you bastard! Oh, you can sit there and your pretty wife can sob her eyes out but I'll see both of you bastards dance at Tyburn! Both cut down half-alive and your bodies hacked into steaming chunks!'
(Actually I wouldn't have done, I can't stand executions, but on that night at Maubisson I felt so enraged I could have done the dreadful act myself.)
'There will be no executions,' Agrippa replied, speaking above Lady Francesca's sobs.
'My wife is innocent,' Clinton repeated flatly.
'Sir Robert, you have a choice.' Agrippa got down from the dais and faced him squarely. 'We might not get you to Calais alive, Vauban may interfere, though there's a good chance we could. In which case, you would return to England, be tried as a traitor in Westminster Hall and suffer the most dreadful death. Or, we can arrange the same at Maubisson, at dawn tomorrow morning. Or…' Agrippa paused and stared at my master.
'Or,' Benjamin continued, 'we can leave matters to you yourself.'
'My wife,' Clinton repeated, 'is innocent of everything but her own anger and hurt.'
'The Lady Francesca may return to her convent,' Agrippa stated. 'But if she ever sets foot on English soil, she will be arrested, tried and executed!' Agrippa stared at the guttering candle flame. 'You are a poisoner, Sir Robert. I suspect you carry the weapons of your trade upon you. We will leave you for a while.' He pushed the jug of wine nearer. 'You may need further refreshment.'
Chapter 13
Agrippa snapped his fingers and we all, the Lady Francesca included, walked out of the hall. Agrippa ordered the weeping woman to be taken immediately to her chamber. She did not demur or resist or ask to spend one minute longer with her erstwhile husband but, helped by a sleepy-eyed maid and escorted by two soldiers, was led off to her own chamber. Dacourt and the rest, who had been standing outside, hurried to greet us. It was rather ludicrous to see how they had regained their usual composure. Dacourt, the bluff soldier, damning the French and Clinton as their spy; Peckle once more the industrious clerk; and Millet recovered enough to have cleaned the dirt from his foppish face.
'What will happen now?' Dacourt barked.
Agrippa smiled. 'Patience, Sir John, patience!'
We stood in a silent circle outside the door of the great hall, undisturbed by any sound except the calls of the sentries on the parapet wall and the yapping of a dog. We must have stayed a quarter of an hour before Agrippa, followed by the rest of us, re-entered the darkened hall. Clinton still sat in his chair behind the great table on the dais. At first I thought nothing had changed but, as we drew nearer, I saw his staring eyes were glassy and empty.
The lips were parted, the white face twisted in the rictus of death, and the cup which had contained some deadly draught still rolled eerily on the table top.
'A tragic end to a tragic life,' Benjamin observed.
'So may all traitors die,' Dacourt intoned firmly.
Agrippa pronounced, 'Amen,' issuing instructions for Clinton's corpse, chamber and possessions to be rigorously searched and for the Lady Francesca to be returned to her convent as soon as day broke. Agrippa then came between Benjamin and myself, linking his arms through ours.
'Master Benjamin, Master Shallot, you have my thanks and you will receive those of His Eminence the Cardinal and His Majesty the King.' He stopped and smiled at each of us. 'Hand me over the good Abbe Gerard's book and this matter will be finished.'
Benjamin gave Doctor Agrippa what he wanted but Wolsey's enigmatic clerk had scarcely closed the door behind him when my master announced: 'We aren't finished, Roger.'
'You mean the ring?'
He made a face. 'No, our noble king must accept that he wagered and lost. He will never get the ring back. I mean Vauban.'
'What about him, master?'
Benjamin caught my fearful look and tapped me on the shoulder. 'Clinton may have led the assassin to Agnes, but Vauban's the assassin. I am going to kill the bastard!'
I stared at my master's closed face. I have never seen such a change in someone so gentle. Despite the uncovering of Clinton's treason, the fury still seethed within him.
'Why, Benjamin?' I asked.
'Because he killed Agnes.' 'But she was my betrothed.'
'Yes, exactly, and you are my friend.' Benjamin turned away to hide his face. 'I have been through the same hell as you, Roger, only in my case Johanna's mind died, not her body. I killed the man responsible and I shall do the same on your behalf!'
'No, I'll do it, master,' I lied glibly, hoping he wouldn't hear my bowels churn in fright.
Benjamin turned round and, though he blinked, I saw the tears in his eyes. 'Roger, Roger, don't be silly. Vauban's a swordsman. He would kill you in a minute.'