The Relic Murders

to inspect some poor man's corpse, I have a question for you. You said that there was a way of knowing the Orb of Charlemagne was genuine?' 'That's correct.'
    'And the clue lies in the amethyst? If you hold it up against the flame you can see, inside the diamond, the faint outline of a cross and Our Saviour's body on it?'
    'That's true,' Kempe replied, his face full of surprise. 'How did you find out?'
    Benjamin just shrugged. 'And you are sure,' Benjamin persisted, 'that the Orb which was given to Lord Egremont was the genuine one?' I saw a shift in Kempe's eyes, a slight flicker: his tongue came out to wet his upper lip, all the signs I’ ve gathered over the years of a man about to lie.
    'But that's ridiculous,' he stammered. 'Of course the Orb was genuine!'
    'In which case,' I spoke up, 'you will not deny us the right to inspect the replica?' 'Of course, at an appropriate time and away from prying eyes.'
    'Good!' Benjamin declared. 'And I have other requests, Sir Thomas.' He pointed at the manor. 'I want a guard left here.' He tapped his pouch. 'The windows are all shuttered and I hold the keys to the doors. No one is to go in there without my permission. Agreed?'
    Kempe shouted an order at the captain of his guard telling him to leave four men.
    'They can use the gatehouse,' I declared. 'My master and I, not to mention Castor, are moving to the Flickering Lamp.'
    'Do you have any other requests, Master Daunbey?' Kempe asked.
    'Yes, I would like to know,' Benjamin said, 'why, when I inspected the quiver of one of your archers, Sir Thomas, some of the arrows were missing? Now in that silent massacre, no long bow was used. I just wondered, Sir Thomas, if one of the archers was sending messages?'
    Kempe's face paled. He opened his mouth to reply but stamped his feet and looked up at the sky.
    'We have to hurry,' he declared. 'I know nothing of what you say, Master Daunbey, but Berkeley's corpse is waiting. Lord Egremont and his creature Cornelius will be joining us.'
    Benjamin let the matter rest. I went up to our chamber where Castor threw himself on me, bouncing up and down, licking my face. I took him for a walk on the heathland and the mad beast ran around chasing crows and rooks and leaving any rabbit stupid enough to come out of its burrow in a state of mortal fear. At last, exhausted, he trotted back. We returned to the gatehouse where Benjamin had packed our saddlebags and, accompanied by a very sullen Kempe, we rode into the city to hire chambers at the Flickering Lamp.
    We had no difficulty getting through the crowds. I tied a piece of rope round Castor's collar and everyone, including the beggars and counterfeit-men, gave us a wide berth. Boscombe seemed pleased to see me. He was in one of his strange moods and had changed his appearance, this time dressing in Lincoln green as if he was one of Robin Hood's men.
    'It's good to see you again,' he grinned. 'I, too, have been away, business in the West Country. You still want your chamber and for your friend…?'
    Boscombe readily agreed to provide a further chamber. He also had the sense to offer Castor a piece of meat. The dog wolfed it down and immediately trotted after Boscombe to a make-shift kennel in a small plot behind the tavern stables. I left our saddlebags in my chamber, came down and pushed my way through the thronged taproom. Even as I did so I glimpsed Cerberus sitting in the corner watching me unblinkingly, his tankard half-raised to his lips.
    We left by Cripplegate, galloping hard along the deserted path. It's a strange place north of the Tower. The soil is poor, its sprawling wild heathland is the haunt of footpads and outlaws. This bleak landscape is broken by thick copses of trees, small wood and the occasional dell where the land abruptly dips. A lonely, brooding place, the silence broken only by the sound of the crows which nested in the trees or the occasional howl of a dog from some lonely farm. At the top of a small hill, Kempe paused: behind us in the far distance I could make out the outlines of the Tower. We caught the salty taste of the river. Kempe pointed to a lonely copse further east, well away from the trackway which wound across the heathland.
    'Amongst the trees,' he explained, 'there are ruins. Some people claim the Romans built an outstation there: others that it was a small castle built by William the Norman.'
    'It's a lonely place,' I replied. 'How was Berkeley's corpse discovered so quickly?'
    'Two journeymen coming