The poisoned chalice

nowhere to run. I just stared in terror at this huge, black beast bearing down on me. Suddenly a crossbow bolt whirred and the boar stopped as if stunned. I saw the snout go down for another charge, then the boar collapsed on to its side. Only then did I glimpse the bolt embedded deeply just above the beast's eyes. I heard the applause, shouts of 'Well done!', and looked up. Benjamin stood holding a crossbow, probably snatched from one of the guards. Beside him, Vauban stood grinning down at me.
    'Monsieur Shallot!' he called out. 'You were supposed to watch the show, not become part of it!'
    This remark was translated back into French and evoked bellows of laughter. I just crouched. I daren't stand. I was in a state of terror, fearful lest I wet myself or collapse in a gibbering heap. 'Monsieur,' I called, 'I thank you for your concern.'
    Vauban shrugged. 'Everyone, Monsieur Shallot,' he retorted, 'has a guardian angel to watch over him. Perhaps Master Daunbey is yours!'
    The door in the courtyard opened and Benjamin strode out. He pulled me up by the arm as if I was a child and gently led me away from well-wishers, Dacourt's party and the rest, into a little chamber along the corridor. He made me sit and left for a few minutes, bringing back a huge, deep-bowled wine cup filled to the brim. 'Drink that!' he ordered. 'But drink it slowly!'
    'Vauban and his bloody angels,' I moaned. 'I was pushed! Deliberately pushed! For God's sake, master, who was it?'
    'I don't know. We were all at the edge of the balcony leaning over the parapet. There were servants going backwards and forwards. I was further down on your left. You just seemed to slide over the parapet. I thought you were gone.' 'Some bastard pushed me,' I repeated. 'But why?'
    Benjamin just looked out of the window and shook his head. 'Apparently you know something, Roger. The question is, what?'
    We were interrupted by a knock on the door and Clinton and Dacourt came in. 'Shallot, you've recovered?' Clinton asked.
    'Oh, yes, as fine as a flower in spring,' I snarled. 'I'll be even better when my bowels stop churning and my legs have some strength.'
    Sir Robert grinned. 'You were pushed,' he remarked quietly. 'Nonsense!' Dacourt interrupted.
    'No, no, he was pushed,' Clinton repeated. 'By whom or why I don't know but it's time we left here. I have paid my compliments to His Most Christian Majesty!' The words were spat out. 'And I think it's time we were on the road.' Clinton stopped at the door and looked back. 'Do you know who pushed you, Roger?'
    'No, but if I did, the bastard would be lying on top of that damn' boar!'
    Clinton made a face. Dacourt glared over at me and followed him out.
    'Come on, Roger,' Benjamin murmured. 'I have a feeling more horrors are about to occur.'
    We left Fontainebleau just as the great, ornate clock was striking the first half-hour after mid-day. The excitement of my accident had died down. Venner was most solicitous and, whilst Benjamin kept to himself, Clinton's manservant rode along beside me, generously offering a wineskin he had filched from the kitchen. Dacourt and the Clintons went ahead whilst a few of Vauban's horsemen, red-bearded rascals in armour, guarded our front and rear. We wound down the white dusty lanes. The sun was hot, and in the heat of the day even the birds kept quiet and cooled themselves in the green darkness of the surrounding forest. After two hours' riding we stopped. Clinton said his horse was rather lame and asked Throgmorton to check it out. Venner laid out cloths beneath some trees and spread pastries and freshly baked bread, wrapped in linen cloths, which his master had commandeered from the royal kitchens. Small, horn-glazed goblets were distributed and Clinton produced a sealed flagon of wine. 'A present from Monsieur Vauban,' he remarked quietly. 'The best of the claret from the first year of His Majesty's reign.'
    He tore open the seal and half-filled his goblet. The sun danced on the many rings on his fingers. We were seated in a semicircle. Lady Francesca was wearing a broad-brimmed hat with a lace veil protecting her skin against the heat and dust. 'Be careful, Sir Robert!' Benjamin suddenly called out.
    Clinton stopped, the goblet halfway to his lips, whilst everyone stared at my master.
    'What happened to Roger this morning,' he continued, 'was no accident. Falconer died after drinking wine, as did the Abbe Gerard. How do we know that His Most Christian Majesty's gift is not poisoned?'
    I