'Well,' Agrippa stretched out his short legs, 'according to Hopkins, the Grail and the Sword Excalibur still lie in Glastonbury.'
'Where?' I asked.
'Ah!' Agrippa smacked his lips. 'Do you have a wineskin, Shallot?' 'Yes, but it's empty.'
He smiled. 'Ah, well, it will have to wait.' He looked quizzically at Benjamin. 'Hopkins confessed, he does not care now. Other Templars will resolve the riddle.'
'What riddle?'
Agrippa leaned back and closed his eyes, murmuring:
'Beneath Jordan's water Christ's cup does rest,
And above Moses' Ark the sword that's best.'
'What in God's name does that mean?' I asked.
*I don't know. Hopkins found it in a secret chronicle at Glastonbury Abbey so I suppose we will all have to go there.' He stamped his feet against the cold and looked up at the lowering sky. 'It's going to snow,' he murmured. 'Thick and fast. We should leave London with the Santerres as quickly as possible. The snow will make the roads impassable.'
'We?' I cried.
'Oh, yes. Well,' Agrippa smiled, 'you two at least.' 'Why not go back and ask Hopkins what he meant?' I asked.
'I can't ask Hopkins anything.' 'Why?'
'He's dead, I cut his throat.' Agrippa shrugged. 'It was a mercy. What more could I do? The man would have died before the day was out and suffered even more terrible agony so I slit his throat.' He stood up, stamping his feet, and as he turned, his black robes wafting, I caught that strange exotic perfume once more. 'I must drink,' he whispered hoarsely. "There's a fine tavern beyond the Tower gate, The Golden Turk.'
We walked back across the green. Agrippa disappeared into the royal lodgings to rid himself of the priestly robes and returned looking as cheerful as ever, clapping his hands and saying how a cup of fine blood-red claret would suit him. I studied the cunning little bastard with his smiling lips and soulless eyes and made a vow that I'd never turn my back on Doctor Agrippa.
Once we were in The Golden Turk he continued his role of genial friend, ordering trenchers of meat, capon soaked in lemon and a jug of the best Bordeaux.
After he had whetted his appetite and slaked his thirst, he leaned back, fingers locked above his stomach like some genial gnome. He stared at my master who had been quiet and withdrawn during the meal.
'You are suspicious, Master Benjamin?'
'Aye, sir, I am.'
Agrippa made a dismissive gesture with his fingers. 'So you should be, so you should be. But you have my drift? All you have seen so far are the opening lines of a play and what we see touches the fate of Kings, the power of the crown, mystery, treachery, intrigue - and, as you will later discover, bloody murder!' He sipped from his wine cup and smacked his lips. 'Oh, yes, you'll see wickedness,' he breathed, 'the like of which you have never witnessed before!'
Benjamin slammed his own wine cup down, disturbing the other customers, a group of tinkers who were sorting out their sundry relics and other wares to be sold at the nearby market of Smithfield.
'Why not tell us all? And why are you involved?' I stuttered.
Agrippa held out his hand, splaying his fingers. 'There are many routes to heaven,' he murmured. 'But, as long as we get there, who cares! The Cardinal controls the game, Master Shallot, and although I'll deny these words later, I control the Cardinal. Events must pattern out as they are intended and I am here to see that they do.' He wagged a stubby finger at the two of us, and smiled. 'And both of you are here to help me and, in doing so, will win fame and fortune.'
The last words held a sardonic tinge and I caught the wicked look on his face. Puppets, I thought, puppets on a string. But you know old Shallot - once locked in a game I'll play it out.
'Well,' Agrippa continued, 'poor deserted Hopkins's riddle:
"Beneath Jordan's water Christ's cup does rest,
And above Moses' Ark the sword that's best." '
'The River Jordan is in Palestine,' mused Benjamin, 'and I suppose the Ark of Moses refers to the Ark of the Covenant, the chest which carried the ten commandments. Though God knows where that is!' He sipped from his wine cup. 'Of one thing I am certain, my good Agrippa, you'll find neither of these at Glastonbury, so why should we go there?'
My master was out of moods, sickened by Buckingham's death and Agrippa's cool despatch of poor Hopkins. So this was one of the rare occasions I did his thinking for him.
'They must be in Glastonbury,' I insisted. 'Somehow or other the River Jordan and Moses' Ark refer to something there.'
'How do you reach that conclusion?' Benjamin asked.
'Well, the writing is from a secret chronicle at Glastonbury, the scribe must have been a monk there. He must have been writing a riddle known only to a few others, perhaps Templars in refuge. The River Jordan and Moses' Ark probably refer to places in or around Glastonbury.'