Paul Doherty - The Relic Murders

'Oh and I have another question,' Benjamin added. 'The archer in Malevel Manor. He was sending messages to you, wasn't he, Sir Thomas?'

Kempe gave a dismissive motion with his hand and made to walk away.

'Either you tell me,' Benjamin called out, 'or I will demand an interview with Dearest Uncle!' 'Follow me,' Kempe replied.

Sir Thomas walked out, shouting orders at his officials to ensure that everything was neatly tagged. He then led us down the sewer, the cold, fetid darkness broken only by the occasional soldier holding a blazing cresset torch. We must have walked half a mile before Sir Thomas reached some crumbling steps and led us up. We had to crawl out through a small hole at the top under a great slab of stone. The cold night air made me gasp and I exclaimed in surprise as I stared around. Night had fallen and the sky was bright with stars. In the light of flickering torches which had been fixed on wooden poles driven into the ground, I could see we were in a disused derelict cemetery and, some distance away, the dark mass of the church of the Crutched Friars. Usually derelict and empty, now the cemetery had been invaded by soldiers and clerks. Carts waited to take away the treasure, horses chomped at the long grass. Men-at-arms and archers were driving away the curious sight-seekers. Sir Thomas led us across, through the corpse door and into the church. He closed the door, struck a tinder and lit a candle in the Lady Chapel. I did likewise. I had not yet finished my prayers, so rudely interrupted by Lord Charon's henchmen. I lit two candles: one for Lucy, the other for Castor. I then joined Sir Thomas and Benjamin where they sat on a bench against the rood screen.

'There's no one here,' Sir Thomas began. 'Churches are the best place to plot.'

'It was you, wasn't it?' Benjamin asked. 'You were the one the archer was sending the messages to?'

'Yes, yes, it was.' Kempe eased his legs. 'I feel tired,' he declared leaning back against the rood screen. 'But it was a good night's work, Master Daunbey.' I was sitting on Benjamin's right, and I looked across. In the dim candlelight, I was sure the devious bastard was laughing at us.

'Why?' I asked. 'Sir Thomas, I am cold. I am hungry. I've been manhandled by Charon's ruffians. I would love a hot meal, two cups of claret and a soft bed.'

'There's no great mystery,' Kempe replied. 'Lord Egremont and his creature Cornelius had the upper hand at Malevel. However, the King was determined to know that all went well so I chose an archer called Yeovil. Whenever possible, he was to send me a message fired from a window at the side of the house. A master bowman, Yeovil chose his target well, an ash tree just beyond the walls. It was simple enough for any skilled archer.' 'And what did Yeovil report?' Benjamin asked.

'Nothing.' Kempe got to his feet: tucking his thumbs in his war-belt, he stared down at Benjamin. 'Oh, he said the leader of the Noctales, Jonathan, was nervous and that the men were bored. But the casket was still sealed, the Orb was safe and all was well.' 'Can I read these messages?' Benjamin asked. Kempe shook his head. 'They have been destroyed.' 4 And the replica Orb?' Benjamin asked.

Kempe tapped his foot against the paving stone: he stared up through the rood screen at the tabernacle on the high altar.

'The brothers,' he remarked quietly, 'will protest at us destroying their churchyard.' 'Sir Thomas!' Benjamin snapped. 'The replica Orb?'

'Tomorrow at first light,' Kempe replied, leaning down, 'you will come to the Tower. What remains of Charon's gang will be summarily tried, found guilty, tortured and, by this time tomorrow, will be hanging on a gallows in Tower Green. They are going to be questioned closely about the Orb of Charlemagne.' "The replica?' Benjamin insisted.

'Oh, you can see that as well,' Kempe replied. 'It's still safe and sound in a Tower storeroom. You really shouldn't worry about that. You see, Master Daunbey, you have it all wrong. The real Orb of Charlemagne was kept at Malevel Manor. It was stolen and now the King wants it back – which is your task.' He jabbed a finger in Benjamin's face. 'Whatever you think, the real Orb was stolen.' He shrugged. 'I admit the King had Berkeley fashion replicas: one to keep, the other-' He smirked. 'Perhaps to make a profit at some future time. So, good night, sirs.' And, spinning on his heel, Kempe walked out of the church. Benjamin sighed and got to his feet. 'Did you believe that, master?' I asked.

'I don't know,' he replied. 'Roger, I don't know any more. Perhaps we do have it all wrong. Perhaps the thief did sell the real Orb to Lord Charon and he, in turn, sold it to the Papal Envoys. Perhaps Henley was only killed so as to keep his mouth shut. But, who the thief was and how he did it remains a mystery.' He sighed. 'Oh, a cup of wine! And, talking of cups, Roger, I have something to show you.'

We left the church and walked back through the alleyways to the Flickering Lamp. Boscombe was waiting, all attentive. He played the part of the inquisitive taverner and we were faced with a volley of questions. Believe me, that man was a better actor than Shakespeare's Burbage! 'And where's your dog?' he cried. 'Where's poor Castor?'

'He's dead, God rest him!' I snapped. 'And, if you don't bring us food and wine, Boscombe, you'll join him!' A good response, I hate hypocrisy – except in myself.

The taverner grinned and hurried away. I noticed with some amusement that this time he was no longer dressed in the garb of a friar, but that of a scrivener, a long grey robe with an ink pot and quill fastened on his belt. Benjamin had gone up to our chamber: when he returned, he was carrying the cup I had stolen from the Poppleton house. He ignored my questions.

'Let's eat and drink,' he declared and asked Boscombe for some water and salt.

I was busy finishing my meal but, when I drained my wine cup and was about to ask for more, Benjamin held out the Poppleton cup. 'Drink, Roger!' I took it and sniffed. 'Water?' 'From the rain butt. Drink it!' I sipped from it and handed it back. Benjamin cradled it in his hands whilst I shouted for more claret. 'Now drink again, Roger.' I grabbed it from him, slurped from it and then gagged.

'Master, it's got salt in it!' I grasped his wine bowl and sipped from it. 'Some sort of trick, master?'

'No.' Benjamin threw the water on to the rushes. 'Look, Roger, look into the cup!' 'Nothing remarkable,' I declared. 'Do you see anything?' 'Nothing but brass,' I replied. 'No, at the bottom.'

I poked my finger in. At the base of the cup was a circular piece of brass.

'Nothing but this,' I retorted. 'It's where the stem and cup meet.'

'Watch again." Benjamin now held the cup. He did something with the stem and the innocuous clasp at the bottom moved slightly to the side revealing a small hole. 'How did you do that?' I exclaimed.

Benjamin held the cup up, pointing to a small imitation jewel in the middle of the stem.

'You just press that very firmly and the clasp opens. Whilst you were eating I put some salt in the hole. I cleaned the cup then poured in some water. On the first occasion you drank water. I pressed the clasp, swirled the water about and you tasted salt.'

'That's how they did it!' I exclaimed, half rising to my feet. 'That's how those two bastards killed their mother! They must have suspected how I first cured Lucy. They knew I used a potion so they brought that cup up; but first they put poison in the hole at the base.' Benjamin pushed me back into my seat.

'I listened very carefully to what you told me,' he replied, 'and I realised the Poppletons had tricked you.' His face became grim. (It was one of those few occasions in my life when I realised Benjamin was not just the dreamy scholar: there was a darkness in him. He had not forgotten how, earlier in the year, the Poppletons had spread scandal that he had only opened his school because he liked little boys. Oh yes, the darkness in him could be murderous, but that was for the future.) On that night Benjamin smiled bleakly into the cup. 'When Laxton came and told us about Lucy's death,' he continued, 'how her last words were, "Tell Roger the cup," I sensed something was wrong.'