The poisoned chalice

away, his mouth open in surprise. Benjamin smiled.
    'Monsieur Vauban, an Italian master swordsman taught me that. A clever ploy, isn't it?'
    The smile faded from Vauban's face as he realised he had done his best. Benjamin, who had been schooled by the finest duelling-master Italy could provide, lifted his sword, whilst throwing down his own dagger.
    'Let us be fair, Monsieur. Sword against sword. Now, let's finish this matter. Roger,' he called over his shoulder, 'the Ralembergs. How many did the Luciferi kill?'
    'Four,' I answered. 'Monsieur, Madame, their servant and, of course,' I glared at Vauban, 'Agnes.'
    'And the dog,' Benjamin murmured. 'Don't you remember that, Vauban? The little dog floating amongst the reeds?'
    He shook his head. 'As God is my witness,' he replied hoarsely, 'I did not order that! Ralemberg, yes, but not his wife and child.' He half-smiled and shrugged. 'You don't believe me, do you? I told my master not to play with you.' He half-lowered his sword, glancing at both myself and Benjamin. 'We are the same,' he muttered. 'We live in the shadows of the great ones and thrive in the twilight world of our respective courts. I would kill you, Master Daunbey, and Ralemberg, but not the women!' 'Well, Monsieur,' Benjamin replied, 'your troubles are over. Raphael is dead. Soon you'll join him and dance with the devil in hell for all eternity!'
    The arrogance drained from Vauban's face. He looked over his shoulder to where his wife stood, framed in the window of the garden house. I glimpsed a gentleness in his eyes and knew where I had seen that face before. 'Ralemberg!' I shouted.
    Vauban turned and looked at me. 'How did you guess?' he asked.
    'You have the same look as he had,' I replied. 'Who are you?'
    Vauban drove the point of his sword into the grass. 'Ralemberg was my brother.' 'He never mentioned you. He talked of one…'
    'There were three of us. All Bretons. I was the youngest. My elder brothers believed in Breton independence but they came from the old world. France will be a great nation. One people, one heart, one head!' 'You killed your own brother?' I accused.
    'Yes. He was a member of the Luciferi, he took the oath, but my elder brother won him over. He knew the rules of the game so I fought him. I tracked him down but I was not there when he died. They said it was quick. Only later did I learn about Madame and young Agnes. But come,' he raised his sword and stepped backwards, 'let us put an end to these matters.'
    The swords clashed with renewed fury, Benjamin moving with consummate skill and expertise. He drove Vauban back.
    'How many. Roger, did the Luciferi kill? Ah, yes, five with the dog. For number one!' Benjamin parried, thrust and nicked Vauban in the right shoulder. The Frenchman gasped, his face pallid and sweat-stained. His wife and children cried out in terror. Again the swords clashed. 'Number two!' Benjamin murmured. Again the cut. 'Number three and number four!' Fresh cuts appeared on both of Vauban's arms, the blood seeping out, turning the white sleeves crimson. 'Master!' I shouted.
    (I can't stand the sight of blood, neither mine nor anyone else's.) Benjamin drove Vauban back. 'And now the fifth!' I closed my eyes as the swords clashed. 'Oh, Lord!' I prayed. 'Not dead, not here!'
    I opened my eyes. Vauban still stood but his sword had been knocked clear from his hand whilst the point of Benjamin's was laid carefully against the pulse throbbing in his throat. The Frenchman didn't beg. He just stood for what he was, a beaten man. Behind him his wife wailed. 'Oh, no! No!' above the crying of her children. Benjamin's eyes were half-closed, his face marble white as he waved me over with his other hand. 'You have a choice, Roger. Shall I kill him or will you?'
    (Do you know, I was fascinated by Benjamin. Here he was, a scholar and an academic, gentle and kind. Yet over the last few days I had sensed the dark side of him, and now I saw it in full flower. Something in Vauban had raised the demons in his soul and I wondered about the slippery line which runs through us all, separating what is sane from the dark world of madness. My chaplain, too, is surprised but he doesn't know the full story of my life; how Benjamin and I, years later, clashed sword against sword, dagger against dagger, fighting over a woman whose dark beauty and cruel passions could sever any friendship. Ah, but that's another story.)
    In that quiet Paris garden Vauban stared at me as he waited to die and,