The poisoned chalice

disappearance of two English envoys.
    As matters turned out we returned to Maubisson only by the skin of our teeth. We had lost our weapons and our horses, whilst one of Benjamin's boots and both of mine were now in the proud possession of Vauban's bloody cats. We posed as beggars, and that wasn't hard, slipping through the Porte St Denis just before curfew, begging a ride with a carter and reaching Maubisson late the following morning. An alert sentry sent for Dacourt. He came down, huffing and puffing, but Benjamin was strangely silent, refusing to talk to him about our unkempt appearance. Dacourt muttered something about Venner but Benjamin brusquely interrupted.
    'Sir John,' he rasped, 'I wish to see Doctor Agrippa – now!'
    Something in my master's tone made" the old soldier obey with alacrity and we had barely reached our chamber when Agrippa joined us. He was dressed in black the same as ever, but his jovial smile was belied by his hard, enigmatic eyes. Benjamin cut his florid salutations short.
    'Doctor Agrippa, you bear warrants from the king and my uncle. Don't lie,' Benjamin warned. 'I know my uncle and I know you. You bear blank warrants which give you the power of life and death, as well as authority over all the king's subjects. So, I want the chateau sealed, every gate and door locked, archers placed on the parapets. No one is to come in or leave without your permission. Have the messengers returned?' Agrippa nodded, his eyes narrowed.
    'They must stay here, but send some trusted man to Calais with secret messages. Tell the commander of the garrison there to have troops of horsemen ready and mustered near the Pale.' 'And I have something to tell you,' Agrippa replied.
    'Not now, Doctor, please, I beg you. If you do what I ask, we shall trap Raphael.' Agrippa shrugged and waddled off.
    Benjamin waited till the sound of his footsteps faded. 'Come on, Roger, we need to see those messengers. Go and find them. Tell them to come here and bring whatever reply or package they were given at the convent.'
    I found both men sunning themselves in a small paddock near the stables. They seemed unwilling to break their rest but, when I clinked my purse, they promptly rose, disappeared and returned carrying a small canvas bag sealed at the top. I took the pair of them back to my master, who locked the chamber door behind them and almost snatched the bag from the surprised messenger's hand. 'What's the hurry, master?' the man grumbled. Benjamin nodded at me. I produced two pieces of silver and handed them over. 'You were given this at the convent?' 'Yes, for the Lady Clinton.'
    'But,' Benjamin interrupted brusquely, 'on the king's orders you did not tell anyone about it?'
    'No, master, we kept it hidden. No one knows where we went or what we brought back.'
    Benjamin smiled. 'Good! Then let's keep it like that. Do you understand? Good. You may go.'
    As soon as they were gone, Benjamin opened the bag and took out a small package. He ripped open the thick yellow parchment and we both stared in disbelief at the small red and gold quilted cushion which lay there. My master picked it up, weighing it carefully in his hands. 'Your knife, Roger.'
    He took it, slashed the cushion open, crowing with delight at the small phial he found hidden there. 'What is it, master?'
    Benjamin held it up against the light. 'Oh, I think I know,' he murmured. 'But for the time being, Roger, let's leave it.' He hid the phial under his mattress. 'First things first, Roger. Let's cleanse ourselves of the stink of Vauban's leopards and that bloody maze.'
    Servants were summoned with buckets of hot water and we carefully washed ourselves, Benjamin pouring coarse wine over the cuts and abrasions on my hands, arms and legs until I felt as if I had been stuck all over with little pins. We then ate and slept for maybe an hour. I was deep in a beautiful dream about the Lady Francesca when my master shook me awake. Doctor Agrippa, smiling benevolently, sat at the foot of the bed. Benjamin had apparently told him what had happened at the Tour de Nesle. The good doctor congratulated us on our escape before divulging the news he'd tried to give us earlier. 'Venner is dead.' 'Venner!' my master exclaimed. 'When?' 'Yesterday evening.' 'How?'
    'By poison. Apparently Sir Robert and the Lady Francesca always partake of a glass of white wine before retiring. Venner poured it; the jug had been left in their chamber and someone had infused enough white arsenic to