The poisoned chalice

see them. We put our spades back in the sack, mounted, and were about to leave the forest when a twig cracked behind us. I froze like a statue.
    'Monsieur Daunbey! Monsieur Shallot!' the voice purred from the darkness around us. 'What a waste of time. You'll never find that book!'

Chapter 10
    I just kicked my horse into a gallop, leaving Benjamin no choice but to follow. I tell you this, if that had been a race against the speediest horses in King Henry's stable, I would have won by a length and a half! I didn't rein in until my horse clattered over the wooden drawbridge of the chateau and I yelled at the guards to let us through. Of course, our dramatic arrival caused a little fuss but Benjamin smoothed things over with Dacourt and the captain of the guard. Then he hustled me up to our chamber. 'Who was that?' I whispered hoarsely.
    I was squatting on my bed, wiping the sweat from my face and neck. Benjamin pushed a brimming cup of wine into my trembling hands.
    'Vauban, I suppose,' he answered. 'Though I didn't stay to find out. I suspect he has been watching us since we left here this afternoon.' He sat on a corner of the rickety table. 'I am tired, Roger,' he continued. 'I am tired of providing Monsieur Vauban with such amusement.'
    'Let's question Millet,' I demanded. 'Let's get the bastard down to the dungeons and apply a few hot irons!'
    Benjamin shook his head. 'What good would that do, Roger? If I was tortured I could confess to being Raphael, to murdering Falconer, Waldegrave and Throgmorton. Indeed, I'd confess to anything just to stop the pain.' He grinned sheepishly at me. 'No, Roger, as I sometimes say, three things will solve this. Observation, deduction and proof!' 'And luck!' I intervened.
    'Yes, Roger,' he replied wearily, dropping his cloak and kicking off his boots. 'Luck or fortune.' He smiled brightly. 'And, of course, our opponents may make a mistake.'
    We spent the next two days considering possible culprits from every point on the compass, but could reach no conclusions. The Clintons? Why should they be traitors? Moreover, Falconer and Abbe Gerard had died whilst they were in England. Dacourt? Again, lack of motive, and the same applied to Peckle, leaving only Millet as a probability. On the whereabouts of Abbe Gerard's famous book we were like hapless gamblers who constantly drew a blank card, yet we still had confidence in our plans to steal King Francis's ring.
    The rest of the household at Maubisson now became involved in frenetic preparations for the French king's visit: rooms were swept, hangings cleaned, fresh rushes laid, whilst servants were sent out to buy supplies of flour, meat, sugar, salt, fresh casks of wine, and the chateau kitchens were thronged with sweating scullions gutting, preparing and roasting what the huntsmen brought in. Of course, Broussac arrived at Maubisson. I could have laughed like a jester: he turned up clean, well shaven, and dressed in the sober garb of a clerk – filched, I suppose, from some poor bastard who made the mistake of drinking in the same tavern as he. His companion was hooded and cloaked. She revealed herself only after Benjamin and I had hurried them up to our chamber. Now, I tell you this, if Broussac was a beast (and he was a veritable hog), his companion was Beauty in warm flesh. She was small, petite, like a miniature Venus. Her hair was silver, or was it gold? I forget now. But I know it shone, glittered in the candlelight of our room. Her figure was perfectly formed and her eyes were violet, or were they green? Good Lord, my memory's slipping, but her mouth was made for kissing. She had skin like alabaster with a touch of rose in her cheeks and, when she smiled, she had all the merriment of the devil incarnate.
    'Messieurs,' Broussac grandly announced, 'may I introduce Mademoiselle…'he stuttered '… Beatrice. Yes, Beatrice de Cordeliere.' 'Is that her real name?' I asked.
    'No, it isn't,' the girl replied in perfect English. Those beautiful eyes caught mine. In one glance I knew that I was looking at a kindred spirit, a Shallot in petticoats.
    'My name is my own concern,' she continued evenly. 'And, if you wish to question me, ask me directly. I am here at Monsieur Broussac's request, and because I will be well paid. But if I don't like what I see or hear, then I'll be gone within the hour.'
    Benjamin took the girl's hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it softly. 'Mademoiselle,' he apologised, 'we have been so long without such