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.'
'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.'
