The poisoned chalice

Benjamin tapped the edge of his sword against his boot. He looked past me, his eyes never leaving Vauban. 'You are sure, Roger?'

'As certain as there's a God in heaven!'

Benjamin re-sheathed both sword and dagger, put on his doublet and picked up his cloak. Vauban just stood staring disbelievingly at me. I still grasped the horse pistol for I didn't trust the bastard as far as I could spit.

'We will leave now.' Benjamin nodded at Vauban and gave Madame Louise the most courtly bow. I grinned and raised the horse pistol.

'I will treat this as a present, Monsieur, for we intend to leave Paris alive. You will find your guard fast asleep, trussed and bound in the bushes near the gate.'

I followed Benjamin round to the front of the house when a voice called out.

'Shallot!'

I turned quickly, lifting the horse pistol, but Vauban just stood there holding the little girl who had clung to me. She now ran towards me, her long, dark hair flying out. I crouched to greet her.

'Monsieur,'' she whispered breathlessly, ^‘ un cadeau.'

She opened her hand and showed me her present, a small, blood red stone. The sort of little geegaw or trinket we adults dismiss as cheap but a child regards as more sacred than life itself. I shook my head and gently clasped her fingers back over it.

'Thank you,' I smiled. 'But there's no need. Comment vous appellez-vouz?'

^‘ Je m'appelle Marie.'

I rose. 'Then, au revoir, Marie.'

'Au revoir, Monsieur"

I did not look back. Benjamin and I collected our horses, made our way safely out of Paris and thundered along the country lanes back to Maubisson. Only when we were sure of no pursuit did we rein in. Benjamin leaned over and wiped the white lather from the horse's neck.

'I should have killed him, Roger,' he announced tonelessly.

I leaned over and nudged him gently.

'And if I had said "yes", you would have done it?' Benjamin stared back and his face broke into a boyish grin.

'I don't know.' His eyes narrowed. 'But you are a strange one, Roger. Any other man would have killed Vauban for what he'd done and then danced on his corpse.'

'Perhaps,' I muttered. 'Vauban said we were the same as him, yet he may be wrong. He may have killed. We wouldn't.'

Benjamin kicked his horse into a gentle canter.

'Come on, Roger!' he shouted. 'We are finished here. We are for Maubisson and then by fast horse to Calais.'

'What about that bloody ring?' I groaned, drawing close to him.

Benjamin made a face. 'The king will forget and forgive. Raphael is dead, the murders avenged. Let's pray he will be satisfied.'

I thought of the Great Killer's brooding eyes and prayed to God my master was right.

We left Maubisson two days later, accompanied by Doctor Agrippa, still elated by our success and eager to bring the good news to Wolsey and the king. He was as sanguine as Benjamin about our failure over the ring.

'His Majesty will have to be satisfied with what we have achieved,' he muttered. 'There'll be another day.'

Both he and Benjamin were in high spirits and chose to ignore my gloomy forebodings, my master chattering about his school at Ipswich and wondering if the good doctor could recommend a tutor of Classics. Talking like two magpies, they rode briskly along the lanes whilst I trailed behind, uncomfortably aware that the king had made me personally responsible for returning his ring. Now, we expected little trouble on our journey. Agrippa carried warrants and safe conducts. We were well armed and Dacourt had informed us before we left Maubisson that horsemen would be at the Pale of Calais to meet us.

We were within an hour's ride of that, threading our way through a clump of woodland, when a troop of horsemen suddenly burst out of the trees, blocking our passage and circling us in a ring of steel. I moaned with fright; they were all dressed in helmets and brigandines and wore the personal emblem of the King of France alongside the Red Lion Rampant of Scotland. The Garde Ecossais. Each bore a small crossbow, loaded and pointed threateningly at us. Agrippa pushed his horse forward and stared angrily around. My terror only increased when I noticed his agitation.

'What is this?' he yelled, standing high in the stirrups. 'We are the personal envoys of His Majesty, King Henry of England, you have no right to block our passage!'

The ring of horsemen parted and Vauban walked quietly toward us. He had dropped the pretence of being the courtly fop or dandy. His hair was pulled back and tied with a gold ribbon. His face was grave and stern and the dark eyes watched us broodingly for a while. He was dressed for battle in a light mailed shirt and cradled a steel conical helmet in his gauntleted hands.

'If you are envoys,' he declared, 'let me see your warrants!'

Agrippa handed them over. Vauban spent a few minutes carefully reading them. Never once did he look up at me.

'You are correct, Doctor Agrippa. You are the English king's envoy but one of you is a thief!'

'What nonsense is this?' Benjamin snarled. He leaned over his horse and glared down at Vauban. 'I should have killed you!'

Vauban grinned and shrugged. 'I am not here, Monsieur Daunbey, about that. One of you is a thief. A horse pistol was stolen from my house!'

I gasped in terror and my hand went to cover the great leather holster which now swung from my saddle horn. Vauban saw the movement and his smile widened. He came over, tapped the holster gently and held out his hand.

'You are the thief, Monsieur. I want my property back.' He tapped the saddle-bags behind me. 'And a look at these, as well.'

Despite Agrippa's and Benjamin's protests three of the guards, smirking from ear to ear, grabbed my leather holster and emptied the contents of both my saddle-bags on to the dirty country track. Vauban knelt and sifted amongst them.

'Nothing else,' he murmured. He picked up the saddlebag and grinned at me. 'You may have your property back.'

'You emptied them!' Agrippa shouted.

Vauban shrugged, reached up, and with surprising strength plucked me from the saddle. I crashed to the ground in an untidy heap, my discomfiture increased by the soldiers' obvious enjoyment of an English envoy's humiliation. Benjamin's hand went to his dagger, one of the crossbows clicked and a bolt whirred through the air, just missing my master's head by inches.

'Leave it, master!' I shouted. 'I shall do what he says.'

Vauban mimicked me so cleverly the laughter grew. I hastily re-packed the saddle-bags and remounted my horse. Vauban came to stand in front of me, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

'Such dishonesty,' he murmured. He waved his hand airily. 'Let the thief proceed!'

His men pulled back into the trees and we rode forward with Vauban's laughter ringing in our ears. An hour later, just outside Calais, we were met by lancers wearing the royal livery, who escorted us into the fortress town. Benjamin was still muttering furiously about Vauban's conduct, whilst Agrippa swore that on our return to England every French envoy would suffer the same humiliation. I couldn't have cared a whit. All I wanted was to be out of the damned country. Yes, I was frightened, humiliated and, if the truth be known, secretly hurt by Vauban's ingratitude.

We had a wretched journey across to Dover, drenched to the skin and made as miserable as lepers by one of those sudden summer storms which sweep the Narrow Seas. We stumbled ashore, grateful to be on dry land. We decided not to continue our journey to London but to stay a day in Dover, in a small tavern overlooking the sea, where we could dry out and calm our queasy stomachs with what Agrippa called good English food.

I remember stumbling up the stairs to the garret we had rented. I stripped myself of every article of clothing and emptied the contents of my soaked saddle-bag on to the pallet bed in search of something not drenched with salt water. I saw a small, brown leather pouch lying at the bottom of one of the bags. I pulled it out, undid the cord around the neck and emptied the contents into my hand. Two objects: the small, blood red, polished stone Vauban's daughter had offered me, and a ring I had last seen on the finger of His Most Christian Majesty, Francis I of France. I went and stood by the window watching the breakers turn to a boiling, frothing white. Now I understood why Vauban had staged that mummery in the forest outside Calais.