The Relic Murders

off. Kempe followed a short while later.
    'Why were you interested in the candle?' I asked, watching Kempe's bullyboys stride off. 'Collect our horses and I'll tell you.'
    Benjamin rode close beside me, as if he sensed we were being followed or watched.
    'Describe the Orb to me. I know I have seen it but just describe it to me.'
    And so I did. Benjamin paused, absentmindedly stroking his horse's muzzle, unaware of the chaos and confusion he was causing in the narrow streets behind him. 'It's the amethyst,' he declared. ‘I beg your pardon, master?'
    'Look around, Roger,' he murmured, stooping to check his saddle as if there was something wrong. 'Is that dog-faced man still following us?' I glanced around but could see no sign of him.
    'He'll be there,' Benjamin declared, urging his horse on. 'Anyway, Roger, I have a deep suspicion that the Orb taken from Malevel Manor was not the genuine one.' 'But Egremont checked it!' I exclaimed. 'And Kempe told us the real Orb contained a secret: surely Egremont would have known this.'
    'Roger,' Benjamin laughed. 'Gold and silver are easy to replicate and you can collect precious stones to match. However, I wager a jug of wine against a jug of wine that the amethyst on the top of the Orb is special: that's why Henley asked for a beeswax candle. The light from a tallow candle is not pure, the wick gives off a great deal of smoke and it splutters. The flame on a beeswax candle provides pure light. I suspect Henley was one of the few people who could recognise the true Orb of Charlemagne. The person who stole it from Malevel Manor took it to Henley for our relic-seller to inspect. He did so, realised it was a forgery and burst out laughing.' 'For which he promptly had his throat cut,' I added.
    'Oh yes, our assassin will be angry.' Benjamin paused. 'We really must check where Kempe, Egremont and Cornelius were yesterday evening.' 'Not to forget Lord Charon?'
    'Yes,' Benjamin agreed. 'Our assassin was not only angry, he had to keep Henley's mouth shut. The relic-seller was a fool. He was dead as soon as he entered that tavern garret.'
    'And you think something in Henley's house will reveal the secret?' I asked. 'Possibly,' Benjamin replied.
    We reached Old Jewry and made our way to the hospital of St Thomas Acorn. A beggar who sat squatting on the steps, scratching his sores, pointed across to a narrow, mean house wedged between two shops.
    'That's where Henley lives,' the fellow croaked. 'We all know what he does. Often comes out to sell his trickery to pilgrims.' We left our horses in a nearby tavern, paid an ostler a coin, walked across and knocked at the door. It was locked but what are keys and bolts to a man like Shallot? I soon had the door open. Inside the house was dark, rather eerie, full of strange smells. The front parlour was all shuttered, cobwebs hung on the walls and dusty sheets covered the furniture. The kitchen and buttery were stale and ill washed. In a room at the back of the house we found Henley's workshop. Here the smell was so offensive we had to open the shutters. Benjamin looked at the pot suspended on an iron rod over the white ash in the hearth. He took his dagger out and fished amongst the contents. I gagged at the mess of cats' heads, birds and other small animals boiled in there. The stench was so bad I drew back and retched. Benjamin remained impervious and went around scrutinising the different items on tables and shelves.
    'A cunning man,' he breathed. 'He could have taught you a trick or two, Roger. Relics are always bones, pieces of cloth, wood or leather.' He picked up a small silver gilt case. 'Henley must have made a prosperous living out of it. He'd take a bit of cat bone, boil it, clean it, place it in a silver-gilt case and there was part of the finger bone of St Amisias, or whoever you want.' My master must have caught the look in my eye.
    'No, Roger, there'll be no more relics at our manor.' He waved a finger at me. 'Relics are forbidden.'
    He went across and looked at a shelf which contained some ledgers. He took them down and glanced through them: they were accounts, showing monies owing or salted away with the bankers.
    'The King will be pleased,' he murmured. 'I am sure Agrippa will tell him about Henley's death and the Lords of the Treasury will soon have their fingers on all this.'
    A leather-bound folio was more interesting. It was an index drawn up by a Dutch scholar, published and printed in Bruges, which listed the principal