The Relic Murders

sills and ledges were filled with baskets of flowers whilst the furniture had obviously been fashioned by the best carpenters in London.
    Berkeley was a scholar, a collector of books and the lord of a very harmonious household. There was no distinction between those who served and the master. We all sat at the same table in Sir Hubert's long hall and ate the same appetising food and drank the same good wines. Every man, woman and child had their own bed and chest. I was given a clean-swept garret at the top of the house, and was as happy as a little pig in its sty as I became immersed in the routine of the household. Up before dawn, morning prayers, Mass at a nearby church and then work right through to sunset. Of course we were allowed to break our fast and we dined at noon on a light collation. Once dusk fell the shop was closed and we all gathered round the table for the evening meal.
    My duties were light. I was given a war-belt, sword and dagger and I had to look brave, supervising the apprentices and journeymen as they set out the stalls in the two great rooms in front of the house that served as the shop. Now, looking brave, walking with a swagger and glaring fiercely at some ragged-arsed urchin, was easy for old Shallot. I'll be honest, when I saw Will Shakespeare's Henry IV and watched old Nym and Bardolph tread the boards, I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks as I recognised myself.
    Nevertheless, I am quick of wit. I wondered why Sir Hubert should hire me now? A young serving wench, with breasts like plums and a kiss as sweet as sugar, whispered that I was the first such bullyboy to be taken into the household, though Sir Hubert had been looking for someone trustworthy for weeks.
    'So why now?' I asked, unlacing her bodice and wistfully thinking of Lucy Witherspoon.
    'I don't know,' she simpered back. 'But the master has something hidden away in his secret chamber down in the cellars.' 'What?'I asked.
    'I don't know,' she repeated, putting soft arms round my neck. 'But it was brought here by -' she closed her eyes '- a foreign man, dark-faced with strange orange hair.' 'Orange?'
    'That's how it appeared to me. I forget his name. There was an Englishman with him. Sir Thomas Kempe.'
    A chill caught my spine. I knew Kempe. One of the Great Beast's Agentes in Rebus, I had met this collection of lovelies before: a gang of assassins, spies, secret agents whose motto was: 'THE WILL OF THE PRINCE HAS FORCE OF LAW'. If the Great Beast wanted something – anything – they'd oblige!
    I finished my tryst with the young lady but, I'll be honest, my mind was elsewhere. If Kempe was around I intended to stay in the shadows. Two days later, he and the stranger, Theodosius Lord of Egremont, imperial envoy to London, slipped into the shop just before dusk. I stayed at the back of the house because Sir Hubert insisted on dealing with them alone. I heard the clink of steel outside and knew Kempe had brought some of his braves along. I stared through the poor light and caught Egremont's features. He was swarthy-faced, cruel-eyed and narrow-mouthed, lean of visage and his wolf-like face was not helped by his hair, which was dyed a disgusting colour. Sir Hubert took them downstairs to the fortified chambers in the cellars where he kept his most valuable commodities. An hour later they returned, and then Kempe and Egremont disappeared into the night.
    Later on, after supper. Sir Hubert asked me to stay behind. Whilst the hall emptied, he chatted about everyday matters before he grasped my wrist. 'Roger, if something happens to me…' I looked up in alarm.
    'If something happens to me,' he repeated hoarsely, 'go upstairs to my chamber, where there's a tapestry on the wall depicting Daniel come to judgement. Take that down and behind it you'll find a small door. The handle is intricate: you can only open it if you press it down twice, then up three times. It's the work of London's best locksmith. No keys but, remember,' he pointed at me, 'two down, three up, gentle pressure. Anything else and the door will not open.' 'Master,' I whispered, drawing closer. 'What nonsense is this?' 'No, no, listen.' And I had to, even though my stomach was beginning to curdle.
    'In the little recess,' Berkeley continued, 'there are valuables: my will, and certain manuscripts. More importantly, there's a velvet pouch containing two keys: one is to the middle door in my cellars. When you open this you'll find nothing there except a steel box