Paul Doherty - The Grail Murders

'No, I haven't!' I pleaded. 'I just don't feel well. Sir, let me pass!'

Benjamin came between us again. 'Stand aside, sir!' he ordered. 'We have no quarrel with you.'

'No, you haven't, Master Daunbey,' the man repeated and my stomach curdled with fear for the fellow knew our names. This was no accident. The man had deliberately set out to challenge me and, when that happens, two thoughts always dominate my mind. First, can I run? Secondly, if I can't, will I be hurt?

The fellow drew his sword and rested its cruel point on the ground.

'Both of you may go,' he said, swaying his hips in a mocking fashion. 'And by supper everyone will be talking about the courage of "Mistress Shallot". Mistress Shallot! Mistress Shallot!' he continued in a sing-song fashion. 'What's the matter, girl?' he taunted and cocked his head sideways. 'With those funny eyes, one is never too sure what you are looking at.' He held up a finger. 'I know, if you bend over and let me smack your bottom with the flat of my sword, I'll let you go.' Now Benjamin's hand went to the hilt of his sword.

'If you draw, Master Benjamin,' the bully-boy continued. 'I'll just walk away.' 'Please,' I muttered, gazing round the deserted courtyard. 'Please!' the fellow mimicked back. 'You have no choice,' Benjamin whispered.

So there was I, stomach churning, bowels twisting. I doffed my jerkin, drew my hangar and put as brave a face on it as possible. We took up position. The salute was given, our swords crossed and the duel began. I moved, twisting my sword, one eye closed. The fellow just played with me, moving backwards and forwards. He nicked my wrist. I closed my eyes. He slipped behind me and slapped me on the buttocks with the flat of his sword. 'Mistress Shallot!' he called out.

I stared at Benjamin but he had looked away. Then a strange thing happened. Old Shallot has always put a high price on his own skin but that blow on the buttocks stirred my pride (wherever it was hiding) and I recalled the words of my duelling master. I opened my eyes and stared at this braggart dancing before me. He represented everything that was wrong in old Shallot's life: the mocking dismissal of Wolsey, the patronising attitude of Agrippa, the sly taunting jibes that I hid behind my master's skirts. In other words, I lost my temper and found my courage.

My sword came down. I narrowed my eyes and took up a proper fighting stance and a different duel began. I wanted to kill that bastard and he knew it: red spots appeared high on his cheeks, his eyes became fearful, mouth half-open. His breath came in short gasps as we feinted and parried, cut and thrust. Poor sod! He was just a street brawler and, as God is my witness, I only meant to wound him. I thrust, aiming for his fighting arm, he moved with me, and my sword went in, deep into the soft flesh beneath the rib cage. I let go the handle and stood back in horror.

The fellow stared at me, clutching the blade of my sword as blood spurted out of the wound. He dropped his own weapon, took one step towards me, his life blood shot out of his mouth and his eyes, still filled with astonishment, glazed over as he collapsed to the ground. Benjamin turned him over.

'Dead as a stone,' he muttered. 'Sweet Lord, Roger, you had no choice.' He smiled faintly at me. 'I never thought you were a duellist.' 'Neither did I, Master!'

I sat down on the grass in a half-faint. I had just retrieved my sword when the gates of the courtyard were suddenly thrust open and a group of the Cardinal's halberdiers hurried across. Pikes lowered, they ringed both of us. The captain, fat-faced with a russet beard, plucked the sword out of my hand. 'Sir, by what name?'

He clicked his fingers and two of the soldiers dragged me to my feet. 'My servant's name is Roger Shallot,' Benjamin declared. "This fellow challenged him to a duel and would not let him go-' The captain made a face. 'That may well be.' He peered closer. 'You are Master Daunbey, the Cardinal's nephew?' ‘I am.'

'Then, sir, you should know that duelling is expressly forbidden by His Majesty and to draw swords in anger in the King's own palace is high treason. Master Shallot, you are under arrest!'

I gazed speechlessly at Benjamin's white face. He shrugged helplessly.

'Go with them, Roger,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I will see my uncle.'

Ringed by the group of halberdiers, I was half-pushed out of the courtyard. We turned and went down a passageway. Mandeville and Southgate had been standing in the gallery watching the entire spectacle through a window. The two bastards seemed to be enjoying themselves but Southgate held up his hand and the guard stopped whilst Mandeville grabbed my wrist.

'You had no choice, Master Shallot,' he murmured. 'That is why we left so abruptly. We saw the bully-boy coming and thought he might be trouble.'

Oh, thank you very much, I thought. But that's the way of the world. If there's a mound of shit, old Shallot is always dropped in it!

Mandeville and Santerre stood aside and I was marched down to a small narrow cellar which also served as the palace dungeon. I was thrust in, given a candle, a cup of watered wine and a loaf of the hardest bread the kitchen could supply. It was tinged with green mould and, as I sat gnawing on it, reflecting on my fortunes, I realised that bastard of a one-eyed cook had apparently missed the capon I had stolen. I sat there for hours. At first the blood ran hot in my veins and I loudly protested my innocence to the cold grey walls and to two large rats which seemed to appear from nowhere. They listened to my declarations of innocence and, when I fell into a fitful sleep, gnawed the bread and drank what wine was left in the battered cup. When I awoke it was dark and cold and I became frightened. The bully-boy, God rest him whoever he was, had forced that fight deliberately. So who had sent him? Who had staged that little masque?

Then I thought of the King, with his piggy, sly eyes; the Lord Cardinal, his Master of Games – and my fear turned to heart-stopping terror, affairs of state, dearest Nephew.' He pushed back his chair and swept down the chamber. Leaning over, he grasped Benjamin by the shoulders and kissed him affectionately on each cheek. 'Be careful! Be careful, dear Nephew!' I heard him whisper. 'Do whatever the King commands.'

He stood away, smiled falsely, and returned to his seat next to the King. (Lord, he was a treacherous bastard! Wolsey's ambitious fingers poked in every man's pie. Do you know, he was so oily that at the end of the world, when everything else catches fire, he'll burn a week longer than anyone else).

'Master Daunbey,' Henry called out, 'you wish for some wine?'

He clicked his fingers and Agrippa stepped out of the shadows. (God knows where he had been hiding during the last few days.)

The good doctor put two cups down in front of us, filled them and went back to stand at the door. I caught his warning glance but he didn't have to tell Old Shallot anything. I may have the courage of a wild duck but I have more wits than a dog has fleas. Fat Henry had also been studying me.

'A rare honour for you, Master Shallot. We do not welcome traitors close to our bosoms – men who kill in our presence.' 'Your Majesty, I was provoked!' I blurted out.

Henry smirked as Wolsey leaned over and whispered in his ear. The King flicked his fingers contemptuously at me. Wolsey smiled unctuously, like some pompous priest talking to his dimmest parishioner.

'Master Shallot,' the Cardinal purred, 'so pleasant to see you again.'

I became more nervous and stared quickly round the room: the windows were all shuttered and none of the cresset torches had been lit. A dark shape lurked in the shadows and I knew Agrippa was standing listening to everything. Wolsey nodded at the King, clasped his hands and leaned forward. Oh Lord, I thought, here comes danger. 'Dear Nephew, you saw Buckingham die?'