'Oh, thank you,' I replied sarcastically. 'And how are you going to do it? Like Clinton would, poison in a cup or a dagger in the dark?'
Benjamin sat down on the edge of his bed. 'No,' he replied evenly. 'Today is Wednesday, tomorrow the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul. As in England, all our court officials will observe the holy day. No business will be transacted at the French court. Vauban will be with his family in the Rue des Moines.' Benjamin smiled bleakly. 'After all, Roger, he did invite us to call on him!'
My master would not be dissuaded. Next morning he drew a new sword belt, hanger, wrist guard and dagger from the chateau's stores and at my request obtained the same for me.
'You need not come, Roger,' he remarked.
‘I would follow you to the ends of the earth, master,' I lied, and trusted the meagre breakfast I had eaten would stay in my stomach.
We left Maubisson at first light. The chateau was now strangely silent as if the servants knew about the terrible drama played out in the great hall the night before. In the courtyard grooms were preparing horses so we must have left before the Lady Francesca. All I can say is I never saw or heard of her again.
We reached Paris: being a holy day the city was strangely quiet, the great processions would not be held until the afternoon. We made our way by quiet side streets and narrow alleyways to the wealthy quarter on the right bank of the Seine and the Rue des Moines. The city was just about to stir: water-carriers and milk-sellers walked the streets crying for custom. The Provost's men were leading night-walkers and other malefactors towards the Chatelet prison. At last we found the sheltered, narrow street. On either side the great houses were protected from the general populace by high brick walls and iron-bound gates.
A sleepy-eyed fruit-seller showed us Vauban's house. We could see little except trees peeping over the walls, and the top casement windows which leaned out under a red-tiled roof. Apparently the household was not yet stirring so we went back and hid in the shadows of a small auberge, sipping watered wine and listening to the gathering noise from the street outside. Benjamin stayed quiet. Every time I tried to reason with him he just shook his head.
'We must kill Vauban,' he repeated. 'If we do not, he will be the cause of both our deaths. He needs to die. Justice demands it!'
After an hour we left the inn and returned to the Rue des Moines. We pulled our hoods well over our heads and walked down the street. The great gateway to the Vauban house was now open and Benjamin softly cursed when he saw a member of the Garde Ecossais lounging just inside the gate.
'How many more do you think there are?' I asked.
We crossed the street, as if pretending to look for our way, and passed the open gateway. Benjamin stared into the yard beyond.
'I think he's the only one,' he murmured. 'You walk on, Roger, only return when I signal.'
I protested but he pushed me gently away and entered the gateway. I stopped and waited. I heard the tinkle of coins falling on to the pebbles, the sound of a blow, and a few minutes later Benjamin reappeared and beckoned me forward.
'The oldest of tricks,' he whispered. 'It always works.' He pointed to the deep undergrowth just inside the gardens where the unconscious guard now lay bound and gagged.
'Oh, don't tell me,' I murmured. 'You dropped a few coins and he bent to pick them up?'
'Even worse.' Benjamin grinned. 'I used his own club to knock him unconscious!'
We continued up the pebbled pathway. There was a garden in front of the house. Benjamin stopped and we listened for the sound of voices.
'What about the servants?' I whispered.
'There will be few around.' Benjamin replied. 'Remember, it's a holy day.'
We walked around the house; a yellow-haired dog came running out barking but cringed away when I lashed out with my boot. At the back of the house was a small pleasaunce; green lawns, a few bushes, small pear trees in one corner and, in the other, a garden house. On the lawn a man in a white, open chemise and brown leggings pushed into soft leather boots was sitting playing with two small girls. He roared and they would run away, screaming with laughter. A woman sat on the stone bench watching this, clapping her hands and encouraging the game on. We just stood and watched, stupefied. Despite the lack of finery, we recognised Vauban but could hardly believe he was the centre of this pleasant family scene: a man, his wife and two children playing on the grass, enjoying the summer sun. Was this the chief archangel of the Luciferi? The French king's spy master, the spider who worked at the centre of a web? I glanced at Benjamin and saw pity replace the anger in his face.
'What shall we do, master?' I whispered.
Benjamin took a deep breath. 'We do what we came for.'
We walked soundlessly across the dew fresh grass and were almost on top of them before Vauban realised the danger. He was crouched on all fours, still pretending to be a dragon, when he heard the woman scream, saw our boots and looked up. His tawny skin was devoid of any make-up, his hair fell loose, and he had a look of such innocence. Once again I searched my memories for where I had seen his face before.
'I wondered,' he murmured. 'You escaped the maze but I thought you would flee.' He shrugged. 'Everyone makes mistakes.'
'Your last!' Benjamin replied.
'Louise!' Vauban shouted across to his wife. 'Louise, the children!'
His warning was unnecessary. The young girls, dressed in brown smocks and looking like two peas in a pod, ran quickly to their mother, clutching her skirt and hiding behind her as if they knew that we had come to end their game forever. Vauban rose slowly to his feet, ever the dandy, brushing the grass stalks from his leggings.
'What do you want?' the woman whispered in French.
She was dark, petite, pleasant-faced, with a homely figure. I remembered the court beauties amongst whom Vauban worked and realised, with a pang of envy, that he at least had someone to love.
'What do you want?' she repeated.
'Louise!' Vauban ordered. 'Go into the house!'
Benjamin drew his sword, flinching as the little girls screamed even as their mother tried to hush them.
'Madame.' Benjamin bowed. 'My name is Benjamin Daunbey, my companion is my good friend, Roger Shallot. You will not go into the house.' He waved to the small garden bower. 'You may stay there. And your servants?'
'They have already left,' Vauban snapped, his face pale, no mockery in his eyes or lips now.
'All of them?' Benjamin asked.
'Just the old cook and her husband remain.'
'Call them out!'
Vauban obeyed and an aged, white-haired couple came doddering out; only when they reached us did they recognise the danger their master faced. They stood shaking with fear, their terror increasing at the sight of my master's grim face and naked sword.
'Monsieur,' Vauban's wife drew nearer, a protective arm round each of her children, 'what do you want?'
'Madame,' he replied, 'as I have said, I am Master Benjamin Daunbey, a gentleman of Ipswich in England. Your husband is my enemy. I am going to kill him!'
The woman bit back her screams. 'Why?' she gasped. 'Why now?'
'Louise!' Vauban snapped. 'Go to the garden house. Take the children and servants with you. If I am to be murdered, it's best if you do not see it!'
'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.