The poisoned chalice

was no longer the fop. His hair was dirty and straggling, his face unshaven and there were large bruises under his dark eyes. His fine shirt was now grimy with dust and his breeches looked as if he hadn't changed them for weeks. His hands were tied securely before him and, when the guards let go of his arms, he sank in a moaning heap on the floor. Benjamin just sat watching this pathetic young man plead his innocence. Suddenly he rose, drew his dagger and, going down on his knees, slashed the prisoner's bonds with one stroke of his knife. 'What are you doing?' Dacourt demanded.
    The young man crouched on the floor and stared tearfully up. Benjamin patted Millet on the back and returned to his chair.
    'I am freeing Michael Millet,' he explained quietly, 'because he is guilty of nothing more than preferring young men to young ladies, as well as having the misfortune of being befriended by one of Monsieur Vauban's innumerable legions of spies.' Benjamin sipped from his cup. I tensed, for the drama was about to begin. 'Michael Millet is not the assassin,' Benjamin continued. 'He is not Raphael, is he, Sir John?' Dacourt just shook his head. 'How do you know that, Sir John?' 'I don't!' Benjamin looked down at Peckle. 'Do you, Walter? Do you believe Millet is an assassin and a spy?' 'I don't know!' was the snarled reply. 'Lady Francesca?' She just stared blankly back. 'And what do you think, Sir Robert? You know Millet is not Raphael, don't you?' 'Why should I?' 'Because, Sir Robert, you are Raphael!'
    The accusation, so quietly uttered, caused immediate outrage and consternation. Clinton sprang to his feet, his hand going to his dagger, but Agrippa banged on the table with his hand.
    'You will sit, Sir Robert, as will you all. Anyone who leaves this chamber without my permission, whether he be the cardinal's nephew or the king's friend, will be killed immediately.' 'How can you say that?' Sir Robert's eyes blazed with fury. 'I wasn't even in France when Abbe Gerard and Falconer died.' He blinked. 'Even if I was the spy, why should I kill Falconer and the Abbe Gerard? They were my friends!' 'So was the king!' Benjamin retorted.
    'Let us examine things carefully,' Agrippa interrupted. 'Master Daunbey, please?'
    My master leaned forward. 'Let us describe how things happened,' he began. 'And only later explain why. For eighteen months,' he continued, 'there has been a spy called Raphael at the heart of the English council. Master Falconer, through one of his most trustworthy agents, learned his name was Raphael. This was in Holy Week when, Sir Robert, you were here at Maubisson.' He waved a hand. 'Please don't give me your protestations that you were working with Falconer. Of course he told you about the spy. After all, you are the king's friend and head of the chancery which deals with French affairs. You passed this information back to your masters at the Louvre Palace and Monsieur Vauban arranged the death of Falconer's agent.
    'Now Falconer became immediately suspicious about this and concentrated on the name Raphael. Before you left for England you probably noticed his change of attitude towards you and decided on a very clever way of removing this dangerous clerk. Remember, it was Holy Week when you left: Falconer, like everyone else, was observing the Church fast, abstaining from meat and wine. But once Lent was over, he would celebrate. He would use his liturgical cup, the Easter goblet, and you smeared that with a very special poison.' Benjamin looked down at his own cup and swilled the lees of wine round the bottom. 'It must have been a unique kind of poison, though quite an easy feat for you with your interest in chemicals and alchemy. I suspect the juice of Ergot or what the herbalists call "Claviceps Purpurea". You see, even Ergot or Mandrake will eventually kill, but rather slowly. Their primary effect is to cause the victim to hallucinate. They feel incredibly happy and believe they can do anything they wish.' Benjamin stared across at Dacourt. 'The wine you shared with Falconer, Sir John, was untainted, but Falconer's cup was not. After you left Falconer fell under the influence of the strong concoction smeared on his cup. He loved birds, loved to study them in flight. It was a warm, spring evening so he went to the top of the tower.' Benjamin shrugged. 'Did he slip or maybe even try to fly? Whatever, with the cup clenched in his hands, he fell to his death.' My master smiled. 'It's not too fanciful. Any man