The Poisoned Chalice (29 page)

'You need not come, Roger,' he remarked.

‘I would follow you to the ends of the earth, master,' I lied, and trusted the meagre breakfast I had eaten would stay in my stomach.

We left Maubisson at first light. The chateau was now strangely silent as if the servants knew about the terrible drama played out in the great hall the night before. In the courtyard grooms were preparing horses so we must have left before the Lady Francesca. All I can say is I never saw or heard of her again.

We reached Paris: being a holy day the city was strangely quiet, the great processions would not be held until the afternoon. We made our way by quiet side streets and narrow alleyways to the wealthy quarter on the right bank of the Seine and the Rue des Moines. The city was just about to stir: water-carriers and milk-sellers walked the streets crying for custom. The Provost's men were leading night-walkers and other malefactors towards the Chatelet prison. At last we found the sheltered, narrow street. On either side the great houses were protected from the general populace by high brick walls and iron-bound gates.

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.

He allowed Vauban to drive him back, then stopped. I can't really describe what happened next. Vauban repeated a parry. Benjamin blocked it from the inside whilst striking out with his dagger: there was a clash of steel and Vauban's knife shot from his hand, lost in the long grass which grew around the trees. The Frenchman backed away, his mouth open in surprise. Benjamin smiled.

'Monsieur Vauban, an Italian master swordsman taught me that. A clever ploy, isn't it?'

The smile faded from Vauban's face as he realised he had done his best. Benjamin, who had been schooled by the finest duelling-master Italy could provide, lifted his sword, whilst throwing down his own dagger.

'Let us be fair, Monsieur. Sword against sword. Now, let's finish this matter. Roger,' he called over his shoulder, 'the Ralembergs. How many did the Luciferi kill?'

'Four,' I answered. 'Monsieur, Madame, their servant and, of course,' I glared at Vauban, 'Agnes.'

'And the dog,' Benjamin murmured. 'Don't you remember that, Vauban? The little dog floating amongst the reeds?'

He shook his head. 'As God is my witness,' he replied hoarsely, 'I did not order that! Ralemberg, yes, but not his wife and child.' He half-smiled and shrugged. 'You don't believe me, do you? I told my master not to play with you.' He half-lowered his sword, glancing at both myself and Benjamin. 'We are the same,' he muttered. 'We live in the shadows of the great ones and thrive in the twilight world of our respective courts. I would kill you, Master Daunbey, and Ralemberg, but not the women!'

'Well, Monsieur,' Benjamin replied, 'your troubles are over. Raphael is dead. Soon you'll join him and dance with the devil in hell for all eternity!'

The arrogance drained from Vauban's face. He looked over his shoulder to where his wife stood, framed in the window of the garden house. I glimpsed a gentleness in his eyes and knew where I had seen that face before.

'Ralemberg!' I shouted.

Vauban turned and looked at me. 'How did you guess?' he asked.

'You have the same look as he had,' I replied. 'Who are you?'

Vauban drove the point of his sword into the grass. 'Ralemberg was my brother.'

'He never mentioned you. He talked of one . . .'

'There were three of us. All Bretons. I was the youngest. My elder brothers believed in Breton independence but they came from the old world. France will be a great nation. One people, one heart, one head!'

'You killed your own brother?' I accused.

'Yes. He was a member of the Luciferi, he took the oath, but my elder brother won him over. He knew the rules of the game so I fought him. I tracked him down but I was not there when he died. They said it was quick. Only later did I learn about Madame and young Agnes. But come,' he raised his sword and stepped backwards, 'let us put an end to these matters.'

The swords clashed with renewed fury, Benjamin moving with consummate skill and expertise. He drove Vauban back.

'How many. Roger, did the Luciferi kill? Ah, yes, five with the dog. For number one!' Benjamin parried, thrust and nicked Vauban in the right shoulder. The Frenchman gasped, his face pallid and sweat-stained. His wife and children cried out in terror. Again the swords clashed. 'Number two!' Benjamin murmured. Again the cut. 'Number three and number four!' Fresh cuts appeared on both of Vauban's arms, the blood seeping out, turning the white sleeves crimson. 'Master!' I shouted.

(I can't stand the sight of blood, neither mine nor anyone else's.)

Benjamin drove Vauban back.

'And now the fifth!'

I closed my eyes as the swords clashed.

'Oh, Lord!' I prayed. 'Not dead, not here!'

I opened my eyes. Vauban still stood but his sword had been knocked clear from his hand whilst the point of Benjamin's was laid carefully against the pulse throbbing in his throat. The Frenchman didn't beg. He just stood for what he was, a beaten man. Behind him his wife wailed. 'Oh, no! No!' above the crying of her children. Benjamin's eyes were half-closed, his face marble white as he waved me over with his other hand.

'You have a choice, Roger. Shall I kill him or will you?'

(Do you know, I was fascinated by Benjamin. Here he was, a scholar and an academic, gentle and kind. Yet over the last few days I had sensed the dark side of him, and now I saw it in full flower. Something in Vauban had raised the demons in his soul and I wondered about the slippery line which runs through us all, separating what is sane from the dark world of madness. My chaplain, too, is surprised but he doesn't know the full story of my life; how Benjamin and I, years later, clashed sword against sword, dagger against dagger, fighting over a woman whose dark beauty and cruel passions could sever any friendship. Ah, but that's another story.)