The Relic Murders

English empire in Europe.' He paused. 'And something else, secret, that even the Lord Cardinal doesn't know.'
    I suppose we should have questioned him on that but Agrippa talked on hurriedly about Fat Henry's military ambitions. When he finished Benjamin groaned, and even I could see the folly of it all. The Great Beast hated Francis I: our King also saw himself as a second Alexander, a warrior more puissant than Edward III, The Black Prince or Henry V. Only Calais remained in English hands but Fat Henry wanted to change that: annexe Gascony, Normandy, Maine and Anjou. A war which would turn Europe into a living hell. Agrippa glanced at Benjamin.
    'That's why you are off to Venice. Master Benjamin. The King will need galleys to transport his troops.' He grinned at me. 'The King doesn't want you to go, Master Shallot. He's frightened that you'll start a war with Venice.' 'Tell him-' I started hotly but bit my tongue.
    Agrippa filled his wine glass, which in the flickering light looked like a goblet full of blood. For all I know it probably was!
    'There's more as well,' Agrippa continued. 'The King wants a great alliance with Emperor Charles V of Germany. In return the Emperor has asked for the return of the Orb of Charlemagne.' 'The what?' I asked.
    'The Orb of Charlemagne,' Agrippa explained. 'It's hidden away, kept in a locked coffer in a secret chamber in the Tower. It's a gold ball studded with gems and surmounted by a silver cross and a large amethyst. Now, according to legend, this Orb was sent by Charlemagne to Alfred the Great, not as a gift, but as a symbol of friendship.' 'And the English never returned it?'
    'Precisely. Now Charles V claims it back. Henry has conceded that the Orb is in England and, in return for Hapsburg gold and troops, the Orb will be returned.'
    (I could just imagine that. Long-jawed Charles Hapsburg constantly worried about his soul. He was the ruler of Spain, the Netherlands and most of Germany, and had no difficulty in thinking he was God's Vice-Regent on earth, the reincarnation of the great Emperor Charlemagne. At times, old Charley-boy with his big jaw was like an old woman. Once he wanted something, it was nag, nag, nag until he got it. Catherine of Aragon was his aunt and Charles knew how to apply pressure on Henry. The English treasury was bankrupt. Henry loved his feasts and banquets but they all cost money.)
    'The Orb,' Agrippa continued, 'is precious not only to the House of Hapsburg but also to France and the Papacy. Inside this orb are said to be miraculous relics of great power: some of the Virgin Mary's hair and a phial of Mary Magdalene's blood.' He glanced at Benjamin. 'You've heard the story?' 'Some of it,' Benjamin replied.
    'Well, according to legend,' Agrippa continued, addressing me, 'Mary Magdalene, after the Resurrection of Christ, allegedly fled Palestine and took ship to Marseilles. She was accompanied by Lazarus and others who had known Christ during his lifetime. Well, to cut a long story short, the legend says that Mary Magdalene married and from her line sprang the Merovingians, the sacred, long-haired kings of France who fashioned the Orb.' Agrippa sipped from his goblet. 'So we now have a pretty little potage. The Emperor's men are in London led by their ambassador the Count of Egremont. He is assisted by those they call the Men of the Night, the Noctales.' 'And the French?' I asked. 'They're here too, not to mention the Pope's envoys, all vying to buy the Orb.' 'And the King?'
    'Oh, he's loving every minute of it, like a young maid being courted. First he favours one side, and then another, simpering and pouting.'
    (I could just imagine it. Henry liked to see himself as the warrior, the huntsman, the great lover. Well, if the truth be known, as a warrior he could just about swing a sword. And as a lover? Alas, let's put it this way, he wasn't well endowed. Rather small like a little pig. You don't believe me? Well, I'm a man who has slept with Anne Boleyn and what she told me, between giggles, is not worth repeating, particularly if there are ladies about. My little clerk shakes his head in disbelief. I rap him across the wrist with my ash cane. Go down to the muniment room in the Tower, says I, and search out the last letter poor Anne sent to Henry whilst she lay in the Tower. She makes no bones about it then. What I really want to say is that I sometimes suspect Henry would have loved to have been a woman. He certainly liked to be pursued. He liked to