The poisoned chalice

ship. Galleys from Marseilles captured it as soon as it was through the Straits of Gibraltar.'
    'There's more than that,' Peckle intervened. 'He knew about our king's war preparations, even to the detail of how many horse-shoe nails.' 'Who would have known that?' Benjamin interrupted.
    'The king, his council in London, and we at the embassy.' 'And the business of the mirror?' I asked.
    'Oh, that's correct,' Dacourt snorted. 'But the fellow who proposed it took the money and fled.'
    'One thing is very clear,' Benjamin persisted. 'The French, because of Raphael, control this game and are openly baiting us. I suggest, gentlemen, we keep our mouths closed and our eyes and ears open.' He rose. 'Sir John, Sir Robert, we must change for the banquet.' He indicated with his head that I should follow. Once we were out of earshot, he pulled me into the shadow of a wall. 'And what did you learn, Roger?' 'The French king is laughing at us.' 'And apart from that?'
    'Raphael was involved in the deaths of Falconer and Abbe Gerard.' Benjamin pursed his lips. 'I agree. And what else?'
    'The French king does not like the Lady Francesca. There seems to be some tension there.'
    Benjamin scratched the back of his head. 'Yes, yes, I noticed that too. I wonder about that lady. Sometimes she does not seem at all well. She's secretive, flirts openly, but actually says nothing.'
    'When I surprised her at the chateau, she had a phial, or something similar in her hand.' 'What do you mean?'
    'Some kind of medicine. I saw the letters SUL. Then there's the business of the ring.' Benjamin grinned at me. 'It's your problem as well!' I added.
    'I wonder about that ring.' Benjamin stared across to where a group of courtiers had stopped by a fountain, talking to each other in high-pitched voices which even drowned the strident screams of the peacocks. 'Master, you were going to say?'
    'Well, there's a story that Agrippa raised a demon who worked for Wolsey and this demon is controlled by a magical ring.' He laughed. 'I just wondered if the ring Francis has is the one of popular legend? Or it could be a present from our Henry's dead brother and, though I speak in riddles, the king's brother is the cause of our present problems…' (I see my chaplain snorting with laughter about the magic ring. He doesn't know what he's talking about. We may live in more enlightened days but one of Wolsey's enemies, the Duke of Norfolk, actually hired a conjuror to make him a cloak of invisibility from linen and buckram cloth, treated with horse bones, chalk and powdered glass. Oh, I don't know whether it worked. If I thought it did I would get one myself and go up to the hay loft and see why my chaplain takes the apple-cheeked, full-bosomed Mabel there to instruct her.)
    Ah, well, at Fontainebleau I was more concerned with practical realities. Benjamin and I returned to our chamber to prepare for the great feast. My master instructed me to keep careful note of the rest of our companions and watch if any tried to slip away.
    That evening banquet was memorable! The banqueting hall was a sea of light and silk; thousands of torches, ten times that number of beeswax candles, silver plate, Venetian glass, and every type of food: sea hogs, beef and garlic, fawn in a ginger salt, and subtle confectionery in the shapes of figures and birds. Naturally, we got the Archangel Raphael sculptured in sugar and wax! Dacourt, Millet and the Clintons were invited to the great table on the dais. We were shoved far down the hall near the door just under the gallery where hordes of musicians played viol, sackbuts and tambours, whilst young boys from the Abbey of St Denis sang sweet carols until some of the guests began to pelt them with sugared almonds and sponge cakes. There were the usual masques and drinking contests but, for once, I kept sober, carefully watching my companions.
    Towards the end of the evening the king and his council moved amongst us. I saw Lady Clinton deep in conversation with Vauban, whilst Sir Robert was involved in a fierce dispute with a physician over the elements of certain chemicals. Benjamin remained sombre, watching everything around him. Suddenly, Vauban was between us, placing his hands on our shoulders. My master flinched but Vauban was amity personified. 'You like Paris, Master Daunbey?' 'No,' Benjamin lied, pressing his leg against mine.
    I followed his glance: Millet had disappeared. Vauban, however, seemed intent on distracting us.
    'Oh, surely you like