man, a subtle scurrier who could worm out secrets and trap those plotting against the crown.'
'Yes, yes, I know,' Benjamin replied, 'I met Master Calcraft on one occasion. He had a face as sour as wormwood and was skilled in putting treasonable words into other men's mouths. Why, what mischief is he up to now?'
'Probably dancing with the devil,' Agrippa replied with a smile. 'Calcraft's dead! He was garrotted only a stone's throw from Richmond.'
'So these secret Templars may be striking back against Mandeville's men?'
'Perhaps. Calcraft was instrumental in sending Buckingham to the block. Anyway, he's gone.'
'Which is why dear Uncle sent for us?'
'Of course; Mandevil le still has another agent, Warn ham, investigating Buckingham's cover but Uncle wants you!'
'And our attendance at Buckingham's execution was to concentrate our minds.'
Agrippa smiled and nodded. 'The Lord Cardinal knows human nature well,' he replied. 'Master Benjamin, you have been lost in the calm and peace of Ipswich. Buckingham's death was a fitting prelude to the horrors which may await.'
Benjamin leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes whilst Agrippa diverted the conversation to the gossip and petty scandals of the court.
We arrived at Richmond just before dusk. A strange place even though it was relatively new, being rebuilt by the Great Mister, Fat Harry's father in 1490, Richmond was really a series of towers and halls built round a number of courtyards, each containing small orchards or gardens. The walls were covered with trellises of roses, red and white mixed together, to remind everyone that the Tudors united what was best in both the houses of York and Lancaster. The brickwork was ornamented with carvings and strange markings, gargoyles and statues, and each tower was capped by a large onion-shaped cupola. From the highest of these flew the banners of England and the pennants of Wolsey, proclaiming that both the King and his principal minister were now in residence.
Agrippa handed us over to a servant and we were taken to a rather narrow chamber in one of the towers, bleakly furnished with a bed and a few sticks of furniture. A battered painting hung on the wall depicting Noah's departure from the Ark. Benjamin looked around and smiled.
'My good uncle,' he announced sarcastically, 'appears to have the same high opinion of us as always.'
We unpacked our saddle bags then wandered along the corridors, a routine I always insisted on whenever we arrived in any strange place. One of Shallot's golden rules: when you find yourself somewhere strange or new, immediately find the quickest way out for you may well need it. (Only on one occasion did I forget this axiom. A young noblewoman was entertaining me in her bedchamber. I was that interested in seeing her gold-clocked stockings and scarlet garters, I forgot to check the window. When her brother returned unexpectedly, I found myself trapped. I don't recommend standing in a musty wardrobe for three hours whilst furry black rats scurry across your naked feet then return for a swift hungry nibble. Ah well, that's another story!)
We arrived at the buttery where a one-eyed cook refused us food so I knocked a brazier over and, when his back was turned, slipped the spit boy a penny and stole a nicely roasted capon and a loaf of bread. We were in one of the gardens eating our ill-gotten gains when Agrippa hurried up to us.
'Come! Come!' he ordered and, hardly stopping, hurried on, Benjamin and I behind him, greedily finishing our stolen meal. Agrippa took us out of the palace into an overgrown garden which, I realised, also served as a small cemetery. At the back, near the wall, stood a dilapidated charnel house, a small chamber where the corpses of servants who died in the palace would be taken out of the communal coffin and stitched into a cheap canvas sheet.
Agrippa thrust the door open, muttering to himself as he took a tinder and lit a candle. On a low stone slab in the centre of the
'Yes, yes, I know,' Benjamin replied, 'I met Master Calcraft on one occasion. He had a face as sour as wormwood and was skilled in putting treasonable words into other men's mouths. Why, what mischief is he up to now?'
'Probably dancing with the devil,' Agrippa replied with a smile. 'Calcraft's dead! He was garrotted only a stone's throw from Richmond.'
'So these secret Templars may be striking back against Mandeville's men?'
'Perhaps. Calcraft was instrumental in sending Buckingham to the block. Anyway, he's gone.'
'Which is why dear Uncle sent for us?'
'Of course; Mandevil le still has another agent, Warn ham, investigating Buckingham's cover but Uncle wants you!'
'And our attendance at Buckingham's execution was to concentrate our minds.'
Agrippa smiled and nodded. 'The Lord Cardinal knows human nature well,' he replied. 'Master Benjamin, you have been lost in the calm and peace of Ipswich. Buckingham's death was a fitting prelude to the horrors which may await.'
Benjamin leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes whilst Agrippa diverted the conversation to the gossip and petty scandals of the court.
We arrived at Richmond just before dusk. A strange place even though it was relatively new, being rebuilt by the Great Mister, Fat Harry's father in 1490, Richmond was really a series of towers and halls built round a number of courtyards, each containing small orchards or gardens. The walls were covered with trellises of roses, red and white mixed together, to remind everyone that the Tudors united what was best in both the houses of York and Lancaster. The brickwork was ornamented with carvings and strange markings, gargoyles and statues, and each tower was capped by a large onion-shaped cupola. From the highest of these flew the banners of England and the pennants of Wolsey, proclaiming that both the King and his principal minister were now in residence.
Agrippa handed us over to a servant and we were taken to a rather narrow chamber in one of the towers, bleakly furnished with a bed and a few sticks of furniture. A battered painting hung on the wall depicting Noah's departure from the Ark. Benjamin looked around and smiled.
'My good uncle,' he announced sarcastically, 'appears to have the same high opinion of us as always.'
We unpacked our saddle bags then wandered along the corridors, a routine I always insisted on whenever we arrived in any strange place. One of Shallot's golden rules: when you find yourself somewhere strange or new, immediately find the quickest way out for you may well need it. (Only on one occasion did I forget this axiom. A young noblewoman was entertaining me in her bedchamber. I was that interested in seeing her gold-clocked stockings and scarlet garters, I forgot to check the window. When her brother returned unexpectedly, I found myself trapped. I don't recommend standing in a musty wardrobe for three hours whilst furry black rats scurry across your naked feet then return for a swift hungry nibble. Ah well, that's another story!)
We arrived at the buttery where a one-eyed cook refused us food so I knocked a brazier over and, when his back was turned, slipped the spit boy a penny and stole a nicely roasted capon and a loaf of bread. We were in one of the gardens eating our ill-gotten gains when Agrippa hurried up to us.
'Come! Come!' he ordered and, hardly stopping, hurried on, Benjamin and I behind him, greedily finishing our stolen meal. Agrippa took us out of the palace into an overgrown garden which, I realised, also served as a small cemetery. At the back, near the wall, stood a dilapidated charnel house, a small chamber where the corpses of servants who died in the palace would be taken out of the communal coffin and stitched into a cheap canvas sheet.
Agrippa thrust the door open, muttering to himself as he took a tinder and lit a candle. On a low stone slab in the centre of the
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