The Grail Murders

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 room lay the corpse of a man, dressed in cheap brown fustian, now soaked and slimed with river water. His boots had been removed and several toes jutted through ragged stockings. He had died young, with a full head of auburn hair, but his face was disgusting and almost unrecognisable: the skin had turned black, tongue protruding out of one side of his mouth, eyes rolled back in their sockets. There were bite marks on his cheeks, probably caused by pike and other river fish. However, what really caught our attention was a cord wrapped tightly round his throat, the little rod the garrotter had used to tighten it still caught in its clever knot. I took one look, turned away and vomited up most of the capon. 'Who is it?' my master whispered.
    'John Warnham,' Agrippa replied. 'Calcraft was killed in the same way.'
    Benjamin, who seemed to have a stomach made of steel, knelt down and carefully examined the scarlet cord. 'It's like piping,' he commented. 'From someone's cloak.'
    He peered at the knot. I watched him, trying not to glimpse that grotesque, blackened face. Benjamin got up, wiping the dust from his knees, went out and stood in the darkening garden. Agrippa and I followed. 'When was he found?'
    'Early this morning in one of the carp ponds down near the river.' 'How long has he been dead?' 'He disappeared about two days ago.'
    'Whoever did that,' Benjamin replied, 'was proficient with the garrotte.' He gently touched his own throat and half-smiled at me. 'Beware of the garrotte, Roger, the most skilled assassin, and it could be a mere child, could have his cord round your neck and choke out your life's breath within seconds. Did you know that?'
    (At the time I didn't, and shook my head. But now I do! In one of my journals I'll tell you about bribing the Black Eunuch who was master of the harem in Constantinople. A terrible place with its marble walls, golden cups, scented gardens and silent death. The Turks do not believe in public executions. Instead they have a group of deaf mutes nicknamed 'The Gardeners', who carry scarlet cords. If a man or woman displeases the Sultan, the sign is given, 'The Gardeners' appear and strangulation takes place within seconds.
    Sometimes it can be on a mere whim. On one occasion a Vizier, one of the Sultan's principal officers, decided to get rid of his entire harem. All the girls were strangled, put in sacks loaded with stones and dumped in the Bosphorus. One afternoon, whilst escaping from the Sultan's palace, I had to leave the boat in which I was