Paul Doherty: The poisoned chalice

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.

'My dear Roger, I am sure Master Daunbey is a gentleman. You will find my sword belt hanging on a peg in the kitchen. If you would be so kind?'

I went and fetched both sword and dagger but, on a high shelf, I also glimpsed one of those huge horse pistols, a clumsy fire-arm stuffed in a holster. It was already primed so I took that for my own protection. Vauban saw it and grinned.

'Your servant seems to lack confidence,' he sneered.

'Only in you, Vauban!' I snapped. 'The duel is to be a fair one.'

He grasped the sword belt, pulling out sword and dagger, and stepped away.

'Of course,' he said. 'It will be a l’outrance. To the death!'

Benjamin doffed cloak and doublet and the two men, their white shirts gleaming in the sunlight, brought both sword and dagger up, edging away from each other, testing the ground for secure footholds and waiting for the signal to begin. They drew together, their swords high in the air. The tips clashed, both turned sideways, the hand holding the dagger going up. For a few seconds they looked like dancers waiting for the music to begin.

'Now!' Benjamin called.

The command was hardly uttered when Vauban suddenly dropped to one knee and thrust with his sword towards Benjamin's stomach. A clever move but Benjamin parried it with his own weapon and, as Vauban rose to lunge with his dagger, blocked it with his own. Vauban grinned, they drew away again, and the deadly dance began in earnest. The quiet garden air was shattered by the sound of scraping steel, the soft thump of their boots on the grass, gasps and muttered oaths. Vauban was a born swordsman and his mocking smile proved he thought Benjamin the weaker quarry. He put my master on the defensive, his sword whirling an arc of sharp steel whilst now and again his dagger would seek an opening. Vauban's confidence increased. He began to push my master back. Benjamin was impassive. His long, black hair became damp with sweat but his face betrayed neither fear nor concern.