Paul Doherty - The Relic Murders

'Hold it. Shallot,' Berkeley whispered. 'Take into your hands the Orb of Charlemagne, held by Europe's greatest Emperor!'

I did so: it wasn't heavy. 'Why is it here?' I asked, giving it back.

'Because the King has decided to hand it over to Emperor Charles V. My task is to clean it, ensure it is in perfect condition and then, at the appointed time, deliver it to Charles' envoy, Theodosius Lord of Egremont.' 'Clean it!' I exclaimed.

'Make sure it's in good order,' Berkeley stammered. 'That there's no damage, nothing missing.' He refused to meet my eye and I wondered what he was concealing. 'And this is what I am really guarding?' I asked.

'Yes, it is.' Berkeley placed the orb back in the velvet pouch, returned it to the chest, patted me on the shoulder and led me out of the strongroom.

'Very few people know the Orb has been moved. Soon, however, the tittle-tattle will begin. And you know what happens if you light a torch and put it above a carp pond?' I smiled back. 'All the fish rise to the top.'

'Precisely,' Berkeley declared. 'It's not the fish which frighten me, Roger. It's the pike and the other dark things that live in the muck and slime at the bottom.' He locked the strong-room door and grinned at me. 'And, before you say it, Roger, you can recognise pikes!' 'You fear for your life?' I asked. 'The love of wealth is the root of all evil, Roger.'

He led me up out of the cellar. He sighed and rubbed his stomach.

'The Orb is a precious relic as well as an object of rare beauty. There are men who would give their right hand just to see what you have seen.' He blew out the lantern and put it back on its hook near the cellar door. 'Remember what I've told you.'

I did and was to thank God that he had warned me. Two nights later I was carousing in a tavern at the top of Goldsmith Row, the Silver Lion, a spacious place where I could sit in the shadows and enjoy my ale. On that particular evening, feeling good and wondering when Benjamin would return, I was about to leave. Indeed, I was just through the door leading into the lane, when two cowled, hooded figures stepped out of the darkness. My hand immediately went to my dagger. 'Don't draw!'

I recognised the voice, soft as the hissing of a snake. Charon, Lord of the London underworld, pulled back his cowl. In the light from the tavern window his face looked more liverish and ghastly than ever.

'Well, well, Roger.' He looked me up and down from head to toe. 'Like a cat, aren't you? Landed on your feet!' 'I have employment,' I replied.

'Yes, yes, so you have, with Sir Hubert Berkeley the royal goldsmith.' I felt behind me for the latch to the door. 'Don't go yet.' Charon stepped closer, his breath stank of fish. 'Have you noticed anything, Roger?' 'Yes, you smell.'

'Now, come, come!' Charon declared. 'You don't want to visit my halls again, do you, Shallot? I asked you a question, have you noticed anything untoward in Master Goldsmith's house?'

'There's a comely wench.' I replied. 'She has breasts like plums

My words were cut off as Charon drew his knife, and the tip caught me under the chin. 'Ever the wit, eh, Shallot? But listen,' he continued. 'If you notice anything out of the ordinary arriving you'll come and tell us, won't you? Where it is and how to get it.' He nodded to his masked companion. 'Cerberus, my good dog and your friend, will be drinking here every night after Vespers. He'll also be waiting, Roger, for any little tidbit you can offer.'

They disappeared as quietly as they came. I went back into the tavern and stood by the beer barrels drinking a large goblet of wine to stop my stomach pitching and my legs trembling like twigs in the breeze. Yet the horrors of the night were not yet over. I was about to have the goblet refilled when a voice behind me shouted, 'There he is! There's my poor mother's assassin!'

I turned. In the doorway, with members of the Watch thronging about them, stood the Poppletons.

Oh, what a fall! Like Lucifer! Like lightning from heaven! It only shows how fickle Fortune is – just when you think things are all right, some bastard comes along and pricks your good fortune like a child does a bladder. I didn't even have time to finish my wine, before the Poppletons and the Watch were upon me. I was buffeted and shoved, both Edmund and Robert managed to get in blows to my cheeks whilst the rest of the rogues helped themselves to whatever valuables I had: my coins, my cloak, my hat all disappeared in the twinkling of an eye. I didn't even have time to seek help from Sir Hubert before I was hauled off to the horrors of Newgate prison.

Oh, Lord save us, don't ever go there! The gloomy, cavernous gatehouse; the stench of human misery; the middens piled high in the cobbled yard. A Stygian darkness lit by flickering cresset torches. Burly, evil-faced men stripped me of all my clothes. All I received in return was a piece of rough sacking. Barefoot, I was pushed down a dank passageway and into a filthy cell, where the Poppletons, grinning and sneering, bade me a fond farewell. I saw the bastards pay the gaoler a silver coin – not for my sustenance but to make my life as hellish as possible. He did: a bulbous-faced toad, a hog of a man, he showed me the warrants which the Poppletons had sworn out from a local justice.

'You are for the assizes at Guildhall,' he added gloatingly. 'And then it'll be a cart and the gallows for you.'

'I know people at court,' I stammered back. 'Cardinal Thomas Wolsey.' 'Aye,' the fellow replied. 'And I'm related to the queen.' 'Will you not at least take a message to Sir Hubert Berkeley?' I pleaded. The fellow stretched out his hand. 'Payment, sir.' 'He'll pay you.'

The keeper brought back his hand and smacked me across the face.

Two mornings later I appeared before the Justices in the Guildhall. The comer of my mouth was a bloody mess and both my eyes were beginning to close. I was unshaven, smelling of gaol and vermin: I could tell from the supercilious look of the clerk that His Majesty's Justices would not spend long on me.

The Poppletons were there with some sprig of a lawyer. I stood chained to the bar. The Justices came in, and sat down and all three stared across at me. My heart sank. Oh, most cruel of coincidences! Oh, weep for poor Shallot! The bugger in the middle, dressed in a scarlet gown lined with ermine, was no less a person than that Frumpleton who had caught me in his bed chamber with his wife. Ah well, such is the way of the world. The trial was a farce. The Poppletons presented their evidence depicting me, poor little Shallot, as a rogue and a charlatan who had settled grievances by poisoning their mother. They described how they had tracked me to London and how an informant outside St Paul's had directed them to a tavern in Whitefriars. After that it had been easy. They had called at Berkeley's household and been told I was drinking at the Silver Lion. 'Do you have anything to say in answer to these charges?' Frumpleton bellowed, glaring hatefully at me. ‘I’m innocent!' I bleated.

His cruel mouth twisted into a sneer. 'Aye, as innocent as Herod: a fine teller of tales.' The Justice on his right, a liverish-faced sprat, spoke up.

'A teller of tales! Well, well, Shallot, tell us a tale, and perhaps you won't hang.'

I saw him nudge Frumpleton, and knew they were only mocking me. The Poppletons, now full of themselves, smiled maliciously. They rubbed their hands, hardly able to wait before sentence was passed.

'Yes,' Frumpleton bellowed, wrinkling his nose. 'Tell us a funny tale, Shallot, and you probably won't hang.' He glanced sneeringly sideways. 'Well, at least, not immediately.'

(Now, you know Shallot. When I am down, it's bad enough but to be baited as well!)

'I'll tell you a funny story,' I shouted back, rattling my chains. 'One day there was a dispute between God and the Devil.'