The poisoned chalice

beautiful company that we forget our manners.' The subtle flatterer threw a sharp glance at me. 'So,' he continued, 'I shall tell you why we invited you here. But first, Monsieur Broussac,' a bag of silver suddenly appeared in my master's hand and disappeared just as quickly up Broussac's sleeve, 'we have no further need to delay you. You are a busy man and Roger will see you safely to the chateau gates.'
    Broussac took the hint, grinned wickedly at the girl and, with me trailing behind, we left the beauty with Benjamin as I hurriedly escorted the beast back to the chateau gates. 'Where did you find such a woman?' I whispered.
    Broussac tapped the side of his fleshy nose. 'Ask no questions, Master Shallot, and you'll get no lies.'
    And, without a shake of his hand or a backward glance, the old rogue trotted off across the drawbridge. I ran like a greyhound back to our chamber, only pausing outside to regain my breath and resume my usual serene demeanour. Inside, Benjamin and Beatrice were seated on the edge of his bed, quietly conversing in Latin as if they had known each other for years. 'Ah, Roger.'
    'Ah, Benjamin,' I answered, and sat down on the edge of my bed, determined not to move.
    'I have told Beatrice why we need her and she has agreed, on three conditions. First, she is allowed to keep any gowns or jewellery we give her. Secondly, she is paid half before she meets the king and half after.' 'And thirdly?' I rasped, gazing at the little minx's face.
    She had the face of an angel but the eyes of a tax-collector.
    'Thirdly,' Benjamin continued evenly, trying to stifle his laughter, 'Mistress Beatrice has declared that we are both personable young men with whom she is prepared to spend the next few days, but the nights she keeps to herself!'
    I gazed speechlessly at this girl with the face of a sixteen year old and the shrewd mind of a merchant.
    'She need have no worries about that,' I mumbled. 'And if she comes anywhere near my chamber,' I added discourteously, 'I'll take my strap to her.'
    Beatrice leaned forward, her eyes clear pools of innocence. 'Oh, yes please,' she murmured. 'Such masterfulness!' Then she sat back and burst into peals of laughter.
    Benjamin joined in and, to be honest, I soon saw the funny part. She was not being insulting. She was here to carry out a task and nothing else. In a way, I respected her honesty and in doing so broke Shallot's second golden rule: Never judge a book by its cover.
    (I see my little chaplain flinching on his stool, his little bum waggling with pleasure. 'You mean to say you never seduced her?' he cries lustily. If he's not careful I'll take my strap to his arse. Believe me, by the time I've finished this story he'll be a damn' sight more careful and reflect a little further before yielding to the lusts of the flesh with young Mabel in the hay loft.)
    Anyway, Beatrice, Benjamin and myself soon became sworn companions and friends. Of course, her arrival at the chateau created innumerable questions and consternation. The men goggled and Lady Francesca glowered at the presence of a possible rival to her own beauty. I rather enjoyed that and spent most of my time making the most elaborate courtesies to our Lady Beatrice. Benjamin, however, pressed ahead with his plans. The day before the French king was to arrive, he whisked young Beatrice off to Les Halles in Paris to buy gowns, petticoats, shifts, a lace veil, perfume and jewellery (which he assured me was imitation). I reluctantly stayed at the chateau, being dragooned by Dacourt and Clinton into helping with the preparations for the king's arrival. Benjamin and Beatrice returned later that evening but the young minx kept to herself in a chamber specially provided by Dacourt. I was tempted to pursue and show her the true ardour of my feelings but Benjamin had strictly cautioned me.
    'Roger,' he insisted, 'Beatrice is here for one task and one task only. She is to be the companion of King Francis and be seduced as Mademoiselle Beatrice de Cordeliere, the daughter of a local bourgeois merchant. She is to be the king's companion, ensnare his affections and, in doing so, seize the ring.'
    'How will she do that?' I jibed. 'Just ask old Long Nose to hand it over?'
    'No, I will give her an imitation one, an exact replica of what Francis wears. Or at least what I think it looks like. Anyway, it will be exact enough to cause sufficient confusion and allow the girl to steal it.' Benjamin shrugged. 'And, if the French king