The poisoned chalice

canvas bag tied at the top. Benjamin turned and made to leave.
    'No! No!' Peckle announced pompously. 'You cannot take them away. You must study them here.'
    Benjamin stuck his tongue out at Peckle's back, cleared a space on the floor and squatted there for at least half an hour sifting through the contents of the sack. There wasn't much; a few drawings of birds, quite well done but not of the calibre of the great da Vinci's notebook. (I met the great sculptor once, you know, when I was hiding from the Doge of Venice's assassins. But that's another story.) One strange discovery we did make -scraps of paper bearing the word Raphael. Falconer had apparently been playing with the letters of the name, breaking them up, distancing each from the other. Benjamin studied these carefully, shook his head and tossed them back. We thanked Peckle but he never stirred a hair. 'What do you think, master?' I asked as soon as we were out of the chamber. 'Falconer was murdered.'
    'But how? He was alone on the tower and he wasn't drunk.'
    Benjamin chewed his lip. 'Falconer was a man who liked birds,' he replied slowly. 'So he goes to the top of the tower to study them.' 'Do you think he discovered who Raphael was?'
    'I don't think so but he did believe the word Raphael contained the name of the traitor.'
    Benjamin wandered off, saying he wished to speak to Waldegrave, so I decided to take the air in the garden behind the chateau. I was even more eager when I glimpsed Lady Francesca, magnificent in her dark green velvet dress, with a small hat of the same texture and colour, ornamented with trailing peacock feathers set rakishly on her head. I strolled amongst the boxwood as if I was the keenest of gardeners, taking special interest in the herb banks, the ever-green boxwood, and the multi-coloured flowers where hungry bees searched for honey. The lady was humming a madrigal. She turned quickly at the sound of my footsteps on the gravel.
    'Monsieur!' she exclaimed in mock surprise. 'You follow me!' 'To the ends of the earth, Madame,' I replied, fascinated by the sudden rise and fall of her ample bosom. She stepped closer, raising the hem of her dress to reveal thick, white petticoats above black, polished boots. She peered closer. 'You are Shallot, Master Benjamin's manservant?'
    'His secretarius, Madame,' I replied more smugly than I intended. 'La, la, secretarius, and an ugly one at that!' Well, I blushed and stammered.
    'Well, well, Master Secretarius,' she continued, 'how can I help you?' 'You are pleased to be back in France, Madame?'
    'After two years married to an Englishman, I am more than happy.'
    'But you returned only a few weeks ago, during Holy Week?'
    Lady Francesca stared at the flowers as if already bored by the conversation. Suddenly she jerked, clutching her stomach as if in pain. 'Madame,' I seized her wrist, 'you are ill?'
    Francesca lifted her pale face, no mockery or laughter in those staring dark eyes now.
    'Take your hands off me!' she rasped. 'Never, do you understand, never touch me!'
    She swept by me, leaving old Shallot with the fragrance of her perfume and a deeper knowledge of my true status. I wandered back to the main entrance of the chateau and found Benjamin, equally disconsolate, sitting on the steps.
    'The Lady Francesca seemed upset,' he remarked casually. I spat into the dust at his feet. 'By the time I'm finished, master, her agitation will be deeper and my hurt will be gone.'
    Benjamin rose and, slipping his arm through mine, led me back to the garden, teasing me into a good mood as he explained how he had found Waldegrave drunk as a lord and insensible as a rock in a corner of his opulent chapel. We spent the rest of the day enjoying the strong sunshine. Benjamin seemed fascinated by the edge of the forest, saying he was sure he had glimpsed figures slipping in and out of the trees.
    'The chateau is being watched,' he remarked. 'Perhaps, Roger, we are about to meet our friends, the Luciferi.'
    That damn' word brought me back to the harsh reality of my situation: not just the discovery of a traitor or bringing a murderer to book but vengeance for Agnes and, of course, the Herculean task which the Great Killer had assigned me!
    We kept to ourselves for the rest of the day, taking food from the buttery and retiring early for we were both still exhausted after our journey from England. As darkness fell, the weather changed. Thick, black rain clouds massed in the sky and, as I fell asleep, rattling