The command was tossed languidly over his shoulder and immediately loaded crossbows were brought up and aimed at our chests.
'On second thoughts,' I murmured to Benjamin, 'let's do what he asks.'
Benjamin grasped my wrist again. 'I will take one step,' my master called out, 'if you take one.'
The apparition shrugged. 'D'accord,' he murmured, making a languorous movement with his hand. The crossbows were lowered, he moved forward, so did we. The apparition tapped Benjamin on the chest. 'You are Benjamin Daunbey.' His eyes did not leave Benjamin's. 'And your companion is the creature Shallot.' His eyes flicked coldly over me. 'Creature, we meet again.'
His words confirmed my worst fears. This fellow was one of the Luciferi who had threatened me in London, carried out the dreadful murders of the Ralembergs and put the blame on me. (Now the chaplain thinks I should have sprung at him. If I had loved Agnes so much, surely my passionate nature would have broken all bounds? He does not know old Shallot. Do unto your enemy before he does it unto you, but always make sure his back's turned!)
'My name is 'Sieur Raoul Vauban. I am a clerk in the service of His Most Christian Majesty, King Francis I. We were passing through the village and we heard that the cure had visitors.'
Bloody liar, I thought.
'What are you doing here?' He stared at Benjamin.
'We are the accredited envoys of His Majesty the King of England, and of His Eminence, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey. We are staying at the Chateau de Maubisson and have brought to the village our royal master's deep condolences on the sudden and tragic death of the Abbe Gerard.'
'No!' Vauban rasped. 'You are spies!'
'Then, Monsieur, we have a lot in common.' Benjamin held open his cloak so the Frenchman could see his sword. 'What is more,' he continued conversationally, 'you must be a member of the Luciferi. Perhaps their principal archangel. Where do you carry that damned candle you always leave at your crimes?'
Well, that shut the bastard up, and, for a few seconds, that infuriating smile disappeared. My master just stood, cool as you like, his arms folded. I could see he had taken an intense dislike to Monsieur Vauban.
'You are not passing through the village,' Benjamin continued. 'You followed us here. You have also been watching the chateau. Like me, you know the Abbe Gerard was murdered, and you are looking for that book, a gift from our royal master which, by rights, should now be returned to its proper owner.'
Vauban, offended by Benjamin's bluntness, stepped back, his hand falling to his dagger. Once again those bloody crossbows came up and I heard the click of bolts being placed. I edged behind my master, ready to give him support and wondering if Ricard had locked the door behind him. Then, suddenly, Vauban threw back his head and laughed like a girl.
'Monsieur Benjamin! Monsieur Benjamin!' He went up and clapped my master on the shoulder. 'Why do we quarrel? We are both agents of our royal masters. We have better things to do than kill each other.' He grinned impishly at me. 'We get others to do that for us.'
Well, I could have killed the bastard on the spot but I wasn't armed. He was, and had sixty stout friends to support him. So I smiled pleasantly. Vauban stepped back, hands extended, his expression mock-apologetic.
'Look, we mean no offence. We will escort you back to the chateau.'
'We don't want that.'
'No, we don't,' I added.
'I insist,' Vauban purred. 'There are rebels, the Maillotins, about.'
Benjamin shook his head. The crossbows came up again.
'Of course, we agree,' I laughed. 'Good,' Vauban replied. 'Let's go.' We walked down the side of the church and collected our horses.
'I don't like the perverted bastard!' Benjamin hissed.
'Neither do I, master, but keep smiling just in case he changes his mind.'
We mounted and rode back through the lazy summer sunshine, the Scottish troopers massing behind whilst Vauban pushed forward between us. God knows, I thought of Agnes and could have killed him. The bastard chattered pleasantly for a while before suddenly producing a small viol from a bag hanging on his saddle horn. I couldn't believe it. He strummed for a few seconds then broke into a sweet-sounding madrigal known to both my master and myself. (We often sang in St Mary's, Ipswich, my bass a good foil to Benjamin's tenor. Even today there's nothing I like better than to sit in church on Sunday morning and lustily bawl out the hymns.) But on that dusty track outside Maubisson I found the singing macabre. This killer dressed like a popinjay, sweetly singing a madrigal to men he knew were his sworn enemies. He stopped and looked at us.
'I have a good voice, Messieurs?'
'God only knows,' I added sarcastically.
Vauban's eyes narrowed.
'You know this song? You will join me?'
Well, I don't know who was the more insane, he for singing or Benjamin and myself for joining in. Where possible I changed the words, using every filthy, French word I knew. (And believe me there are quite a few!) But Vauban didn't mind. We rode along like three troubadours from some romantic tale. We finished just before we arrived at the main gate of the chateau.
'I enjoyed that,' Vauban said, leaning forward on his horse. 'Perhaps we can do it again? Our voices modulate well.'
'I would love to,' I replied. 'Perhaps one day you can be our guest again in London.' (In the Tower dungeons, I thought, stretched out on the cruellest rack I can find!)
Vauban positively beamed with pleasure, waved us goodbye like an affectionate friend, then he and his horsemen disappeared in a haze of dust.
Once we were arrived in the inner bailey Benjamin gave full vent to his feelings. He tossed his horse's reins to a groom and went storming off looking for Dacourt. I trailed behind, still shaking from a mixture of fear and anger. Benjamin found the ambassador in a small writing office near the great hall.
'We must meet, Sir John. All of us, now!'
'Why? Why?' Dacourt was flustered.
'Because I want the truth!' Benjamin roared back.
The ambassador dithered so Benjamin stormed out, grasped a frightened servant and made him take us to where Clinton was sitting with the Lady Francesca in a small bower built against the chateau wall. Lady Francesca smiled and simpered but, when she glimpsed me, her face became as hard as stone. She rose and flounced off in a swish of skirts and a whiff of fragrant perfume. I stood and listened to those sharp, high-heeled shoes clipping along the flagstones. I shook my head and lowered my eyes. I was sure she had been holding a small phial with the letters 'sul' written on it. I glanced at my master but he was too angry to notice, standing tapping the toe of his boot, waiting for Sir Robert to finish reading a letter.
At last Clinton carefully folded the document.
'Master Daunbey, what is the matter?'
My master leaned forward and in curt, clear tones told him exactly what was the matter.
'What do you want to do?' Sir Robert asked.
'I wish to hold a meeting,' Benjamin rasped. 'Of all the ambassador's staff. I need to get certain matters clear and precise. The French are just laughing at us as we stumble around in a fog.'
Clinton agreed and we all met in the great hall just before dusk. The servants setting the tables ready for supper were summarily dismissed. We all gathered on chairs in a semicircle round the hearth. Dacourt, angry that Benjamin had gone to Sir Robert, slurped noisily from a wine cup, then threw the dregs to hiss in the flames of the fire.
'Master Daunbey,' he grated, 'we are busy men and you have convened this meeting. Why?'
'I am here,' Benjamin answered, 'as the official envoy of Cardinal Wolsey as well as His Majesty the King. We have certain secret tasks to perform.'
I saw Dacourt fidget nervously at his words.
'But our main task is to discover the identity of the traitor Raphael and bring to justice the murderers of Falconer and Waldegrave. I suspect,' Benjamin added, 'they are one and the same person.' He extended a hand. 'Let us summarise. How long has this traitor been in existence?'
