'Do you believe all this?' I abruptly asked them the same question I had of Benjamin.
'Do we believe what?' Southgate answered angrily.
'In Arthur's sword and a miraculous chalice?'
'If the King does,' Mandeville replied, 'I do. We also believe, Master Shallot, in the need for good order, strong rule, peace, and no stupid, futile rebellions.'
His two strange secretaries slid into the room and, without a nicker of a glance at us, went to sit at another table.
Mandeville, his mouth full of bread, nodded towards them. 'You consider us ruthless, Shallot? Then think of Cosmas and Damien. Or, even worse, of their elder brother who tried to escape. Do you know what the Turks did? They stripped him naked, pegged him to the soil, tied a hollow pipe to his side and took a starving rat—' Mandeville slurped from his beer '—not one of your English sort. Those in Asia are two foot long from tip to tail. Anyway, they put this rat down the pipe with a fire at the open end. The rat could only go one way, burrowing its way out through the living flesh.'
I gagged and glanced at the two bald-pated twins: they didn't seem so terrible now but rather pathetic. I then stared at Mandeville and Southgate. Whatever they said, these were the real madmen. They had a passion for law and order which bordered on mania, living examples of Machiavelli's The Prince, for what Henry wanted, these men would do.
'Why do we have to go to Glastonbury?' I blurted out before my master could stop me.
Mandeville sneered as his strong teeth tore at the coarse rye bread.
'Master Shallot, you and your master have a growing reputation for quick eyes and subtle wits. Do you ever go hunting?'
'Not if I can help it!'
'You should do, Shallot. Especially with dogs, for that's what we are going to do in Somerset. Hunt down traitors and find what the King wants. We are the huntsmen and you are our dogs.'
I bit back a tart reply as my master tugged at my sleeve and we tactfully took our leave. Outside in the corridor I grabbed him by the elbow.
'I'm no man's dog, Master!'
Benjamin shook his head. 'Just leave it, Roger, leave it! We have other matters to tend to.' 'Such as?'
'Hopkins's sister, not to mention Tailor Taplow.'
'Master Shallot!'
We both spun round. Rachel Santerre stood there, looking as beautiful as a summer's dawn though her face was pale with dark rings round the eyes.
'Master Daunbey, Master Shallot.' She looked fearfully over her shoulder.
'Mistress, what's the matter?' I asked, watching that lovely bosom rise and fall in agitation.
'I don't know,' she stammered. 'But I am fearful. Buckingham's blood is on Sir John's hands, and Mandeville and Southgate frighten me. They are going to stick their noses into matters which do not concern them.'
We looked at her.
'You don't understand,' she whispered hoarsely. 'I live at Templecombe. God forgive me, I feel the ghosts there, the Templar knights.'
'Rachel! Rachel!'
The young woman cast one more despairing glance at us, shook her head and disappeared round the corner to answer her mother's plea.
Benjamin kicked at the rushes. 'Pray,' he muttered. 'Pray, Roger, that we return safe from Templecombe!'
(As if I needed such urging!)
We returned to our chamber for our cloaks and wallets though Benjamin appeared to dally. 'Master, we should go.'
'In a little while, Roger, I am waiting for someone.'
He became lost in one of his dour moods so I let him be and went to the window to stare out at a dairy maid carrying pitchers of milk between the barns and the kitchen. At last there was a knock on the door and a young man entered wearing a battered leather jacket and torn breeches. He bobbed his greasy head at Benjamin as if greeting some great lord.
'You have the address?' my master asked.
'Oh, aye, sir.'
In any other circumstances the young man's burr would have made me laugh. 'Well?'
'Hopkins's sister is a widow and has been for many a year,' the fellow replied. 'She lives in a small alleyway just past The Magpie and Crown off Watling Street.'
'Thank you.' Benjamin slipped the fellow a coin and closed the door behind him.
'Mistress Hopkins,' I asked, 'off Watling Street? What has she to do with this business, Master?'
'She may know something, a piece of tittle-tattle, which may help us.'
'So we are off to Watling Street?'
Benjamin smiled. 'And Newgate Prison.'
Naturally we had to obtain Doctor Agrippa's permission to leave but, within the hour, we were on a barge taking us upriver. It was a cold but beautiful day. The sun shone from blue skies, the water was glassy smooth and, on every side, I felt London press in: the green fields, the orchards, the cries of the boatmen and those of children playing with hoops along the river bank. Suddenly I felt homesick, even before I left, and quietly raged at the royal bastard's devious plans.