The Relic Murders

the gatehouse closed. I understand the rest of the archers will camp outside the walls. Is that not right, Sir Thomas?' Kempe nodded.
    'At six in the morning and again at six in the evening Cornelius will light a lantern. Jonathan will reply.' He paused. 'Should the signal not be returned, Cornelius will immediately send for me. I and Sir Thomas will be staying at a local hostelry, The Golden Pyx.' Egremont went across and placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. ‘I have every confidence in you, sir.' He stared at him. 'You are to carry out my orders precisely, do you understand? Even if a man falls ill, he must stay.' 'How long will this last?' Kempe asked testily.
    ‘I have told you, Sir Thomas, until the Imperial ship is ready.' Egremont smiled sourly. 'The ship will be accompanied by the English fleet, not to mention Imperial galleries. We do not want the French to interfere.' 'When will that happen?' 'When I give the word in about five days. Now we should go-'
    Egremont and Kempe addressed the fifteen men left to guard the Orb, and then we left. It was the last time we saw any of them alive.

Chapter 6
    Cornelius, Benjamin, myself and, of course, darling Castor took up residence in the gatehouse. On the heath outside, the rest of the English archers set up their bothies and cooking-pots and, like soldiers anywhere, soon made themselves at home. They were all hardened veterans; constantly armed, they swept the roads keeping everyone away from Malevel. Egremont was a sly fox for, with Cornelius in the chamber above us, Benjamin and I found it very difficult to confer. Mind you, the German was a good companion. Despite his grim appearance, he had a fine singing voice and a very dry sense of humour. He was cultured and learned. On the evening Egremont left I found Cornelius in his chamber writing a letter. I asked if all was well.
    'Oh yes,' he replied. 'I am writing to my daughter Louise. She's married to a merchant. In the spring I might be a grandfather.' His face creased into a gentle smile.
    You know the proverb: 'never judge a book by its cover'? This certainly applied to Cornelius. He was a most dangerous adversary. I have met the kind before: he would question you gently and elicit more information than any torturer. He had a mocking look in his eyes. I knew that he knew that I knew that Henry planned some subtle trick. This made us all very knowledgeable but, as Benjamin and I wondered, God knows how we would achieve it.
    We spent our first evening in the gatehouse whispering about this. Castor stood like a sentinel at the window, watching the royal mastiffs patrolling the grounds. He was an intelligent beast. He never howled but just growled softly in his throat as if he resented not being able to go down and play with them. Benjamin and I saw a window in the manor open and the lantern flickering. Up above we heard Cornelius's footsteps as he replied with the agreed signal.
    'What on earth can we do?' Benjamin murmured. "The mastiffs would tear us to pieces if we tried to cross the grounds. No one can break in to the manor and, even if we did, how long would we survive?' He sighed. 'Ergo, we cannot act until the Orb is moved. On this occasion, Roger, I think we are going to disappoint our royal master.'
    I sat on the edge of my bed and stared glumly at the wall. We had not seen Agrippa today but I had a feeling that he would soon arrive with dire warnings from the Great Beast.
    'Even if we could get in,' Benjamin continued, 'we still don't have the replica.' 'Oh, I am sure we soon will,' I retorted.
    I should have become a fortune-teller, a seer of things yet to come. The next morning, as Benjamin and I prepared to take Castor out on the heath, Kempe arrived. He was by himself and insisted on joining us. We walked out across the sun-dried grass, Kempe chattering about what was happening at court, discussing Skelton's latest satire against Wolsey. However, once we were in the woods and Castor was giving some poor rabbit a run for its life, Kempe led us deeper into the trees. There was an old stump, probably struck by lightning, around which bushes had grown. Kempe pushed his way through these. I glimpsed a hole in the hollowed trunk, into which Kempe put his hand and drew out a large leather bag. He undid the cord and gently shook the Orb of Charlemagne out. I tell you this, Berkeley was not only a brilliant goldsmith but the most skilled of counterfeiters. The Orb was an exact replica of the one I had