the best thick silver.
D'Aubigny held court from his chair on the great dais. He was dressed in a rich robe of gold, fringed with black velvet, over a doublet of blood-red silk and black and white hose. On his head was a rakishly set bonnet, pinned to his hair by a silver brooch fashioned in a shape of a fleur de lys. When he took his seat, the trumpets blew and the dinner was served by a long line of servants who carried in plates of steaming hot boar's meat, brawn, beef, sturgeon, fish, bowls of cream containing sugared strawberries, and jug after jug of different wines.
We were placed near the dais on d'Aubigny's right; the conversation, the strange accents and oaths washed around us like water. Agrippa did the talking for us, I ate as if there was no tomorrow whilst Benjamin seemed fascinated by someone further down the hall. After the banquet an Italian performed a subtle and cunning rope trick, then a troupe of girls danced a vigorous whirling jig which left the faces of the spectators, as well as theirs, red with excitement as they kicked their legs high and let their skirts go up, revealing to all and sundry what lay beneath. I noticed there were no other women present and later learnt this was the Scottish custom. Not that they treat their women badly – rather both sexes go their own way, the ladies of the nobility preferring to take their refreshment by themselves in another chamber. Once the festivities were over and d'Aubigny rose to withdraw, so did my master, refusing Agrippa's invitation to stay and talk awhile.
I wanted to tarry. One of the dancing girls with flame-red hair, skin as soft and white as silk and large dark eyes, had caught my fancy. She smiled at me and I wondered if she would be interested in another type of jig! Benjamin, however, squeezed me by the wrist and I followed him, taking some consolation in the fact that I had hidden two knives, three spoons and a small silver plate used for sweetmeats inside my jerkin.
We had turned off the main passageway into a narrow corridor leading to the stairs of our room, when our way was suddenly blocked by two savage creatures who seemed to step out of the darkness. Both looked very similar, faces and hair as white as snow whilst their eyes were strangely blue though red-rimmed. They were dressed in leather jerkins and thick, woollen green and black skirts which the Scots call kilts. On their feet were sandals very similar to those worn by a friar, but there was nothing peace-loving about this pair of demons. They were armed to the teeth with dagger, sword, dirk and a small array of throwing knives strapped in broad leather belts across their chests. One of them approached my master and tapped him gently on the chest, speaking in a high singsong fashion. My master smiled, looked at them and shrugged.
'No thank you,' he said, trying to step aside. 'We have eaten enough and now we wish to retire.'
The man smiled and shook his head. I felt queasy with fright for his teeth had been filed down as sharp as dagger points. He had no need of knives – his teeth alone could have ripped out my throat. Benjamin stepped to one side as if to pass and both men stood back, their hands going to their swords. The second one shook his head and gestured we should follow.
'Agreed,' my master said softly. 'In the circumstances, I think we will follow you, but let me remind you that we are envoys of His Gracious Majesty King Henry VIII of England.'
The second of our unwanted guests must have understood for he turned, raised a leg and farted like a dog. They took us back into the main passageway, past the hall and into a small chamber where Gavin Douglas, Earl of Angus, whom I had glimpsed during the banquet, now lounged in a chair. He had a brimming goblet of wine in one hand, the other up the skirt of the dancing girl who had caught my eye earlier. Angus was stroking her, caressing her thighs and making her squirm and moan with pleasure. Of course, he was as drunk as any sot on May Day, his scarlet damask robe, green jacket and purple hose stained with gross globules of meat and large drops of wine.
'Ah, the envoys of my dear wife,' he announced thickly. Unable to use his hands, he raised a leather-booted foot towards us. I would have fled if the Earl's retainers had not been standing right behind me. I stood still. I did not know where to look; at the girl now moaning with pleasure or Angus's slack-mouthed face. Benjamin, however, smiled coolly at the Earl as if the Scottish bastard was his long-lost brother.
'My Lord, what can we do for you?' he asked.
Angus pursed his lips. 'Oh, what can I do for you?' he mimicked in reply. 'First, if you or your misbegotten entity there,' he gestured towards me, 'plot any design against me, then the two gentlemen standing behind you have orders to slash your throats!' He smiled falsely. 'You have met them? They are Corin and Alleyn, two killers from the clan Chattan: they do not give a donkey's arse whether you have been sent by the Pope himself!' He drank the wine in the goblet in one noisy gulp and threw down the cup.
My master bowed. 'Your Grace,' he said softly, 'I thank you for your courtesy and your…'
Angus, his face now red and glistening with sweat, got up and stood before us.
'I have news for you!' he grated. 'Tell my beloved wife I know her secrets!' He clicked his fingers and the two Highlanders stepped forward. 'Whether you like it or not,' Angus rasped, 'I have instructed Doctor Agrippa that Corin and Alleyn will go south with you. They have their orders. I hate my wife but we are bound by a bond which these two will defend.'
He turned to the Highlanders and stretched out a hand. Immediately the two brutes knelt, licking his fingers as if they were pet dogs. Angus talked to them in a strange tongue. The two rogues, their blue eyes gleaming with pleasure, nodded and repeated some secret oath. Benjamin, however, refused to be abashed. When the two Highlanders stood, he sauntered up and touched each gently on the chest.
'You must be Corin and you must be Alleyn?'
The two assassins, a curious look in their eyes, stared back and did not resist even when my master shook them vigorously by the hand.
'Good night, gentlemen!' he called out merrily, and humming a hymn, led me out of the room.
Once the door was closed, I remonstrated angrily but Benjamin just shook his head.
'Forget Angus!' he said. 'Come with me. I saw something in that hall tonight which I have kept secret. Let us wait in the shadows.'
He refused to answer my persistent questions. We went out and stood in the bailey, taking advantage of the bothies and the huddled tenements built against the castle wall which provided shadows deep enough to hide Satan's Army. We lurked for hours as different revellers left, Benjamin diligently watching each go. At last a lone figure staggered out, singing raucously as he swaggered in a drunken stupor. Benjamin turned and nudged me alert.
'The quarry's in sight, Roger. Now let's follow!'
I didn't know what he was talking about but I dutifully obeyed and we trailed the shambling figure as he made his way drunkenly out through a postern gate and down the steep, narrow alleyways of Nottingham. We crossed the market square, passing the makeshift scaffold where the bloody corpses of the men executed earlier still lay bound in dirty canvas sheets. Our quarry stopped in front of a tavern, light and noise pouring stridently through its open windows. The fellow swayed on his feet and staggered through the doorway. Benjamin and I followed a few minutes later.
Inside the din was terrible. Revellers, their tankards frothing to the brim, shouted and sang. Our quarry secured a table in the far corner and, as soon as I glimpsed him, I could have laughed for sheer joy. He was one- eyed with a great purple birthmark across his face; he must be the same fellow who had been closeted so secretly with Irvine at the Sea Barque in Leicester. Benjamin turned and smiled at me.
'Now you see, Roger. When the Scots came south, this fellow was probably in their retinue and must have searched Irvine out.' He nudged me like an urchin planning a prank. 'Let's see if he can babble to us as much as he did to Irvine.'
We pushed our way through the throng and stood before the fellow as he slouched over the grease-stained table.
'May we join you, sir?'
The man looked up. In the flickering candle light, his twisted face looked as ghastly as a gargoyle's. 'Who are you?' he slurred.
'Benjamin Daunbey and Roger Shallot, two English gentlemen, close friends and acquaintances of the Lord d'Aubigny.'
'And what do you wish with me?'
'A few words and the offer of deep cups of claret.'
The fellow's good eye gleamed. 'And what else?'
'Oh,' Benjamin replied, 'we can commiserate over past glories and dead friends.'
'Such as?'
