"This is Cornelius.' Egremont's voice was soft, his English was good, only the slight roll on the ‘r’ betrayed his foreign origin.
'He is a member of my entourage. A special envoy from the Emperor.'
'And leader of the Noctales?' Agrippa broke in. 'The Men of the Night.'
'Ah yes.' Egremont's face broke into a lopsided grin. 'There are so many legends about these.'
'And they are all true.' Cornelius spoke up, his gaze fastened on me as if inviting contradiction. I just swallowed hard and hoped I didn't start belching, a sign that I was highly nervous. Cornelius took a hand from his gown. I glimpsed the black diamond fixed into the ring that he wore on his little finger.
'Everything they say about us,' he declared, has voice soft, almost dreamlike, 'is true!'
(By the way, have you noticed, as I have in my long and varied life, how foreigners speak better English than we do? I blame our teachers: they all need a damn good thrashing!)
'There's no need to bring your guards to England.' Wolsey's voice was a harsh rebuke.
'I'm not here because the Lord Egremont asked me to be here,' Cornelius retorted.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Theodosius's face. Oh dear, dear, I thought, so there's division in the visitors' camp.
'I am here,' Cornelius continued, 'because His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor wants me to be here.'
I caught the German intonation. Cornelius gestured at me.
'You have your agents, my Lord Cardinal: the Emperor has his.'
And this was certainly true. Old Charles, locked away in a monastery watching his clocks, whilst his Noctales, the Men of the Night, watched his subjects. Brown-coated gnats, the Noctales swarmed over the empire listening at keyholes, collecting scraps of information. That pious fool Philip II inherited them: not a donkey farts in Spain that they don't know about. Later in my life, I had the pleasure of meeting the Noctales in the dungeons of the Escorial palace. They had an original way of making you talk; not for them the clumsy, red-hot pincers of the Inquisition. How would you like to spend a night in a pitch-black room, knowing that, somewhere in the darkness, two poisonous snakes waited to pounce?
'Now, now.' Kempe walked towards Wolsey. 'My Lord Cardinal.'
I caught a hint of arrogance in Kempe's voice and, from that moment, I knew his Satanic eminence was beginning to slip down the greasy pole of preferment.
'My Lord Cardinal.' Kempe declared. 'Matters have now moved apace. Lord Egremont wishes to talk about the transfer of the Orb of Charlemagne and view once more Malevel Manor.'
'Agreed, agreed,' Wolsey murmured, fingering the silver pectoral cross. 'Lord Egremont, my nephew Master Benjamin Daunbey and his servant Roger Shallot will accompany you. They are my personal guarantee, as well as the King's, that the Orb will be transferred safely into your hands.'
'In which case,' Egremont replied icily, 'I shall remember that. On your lives -' he pointed at Benjamin and me '- lies the security of my master's precious relic'
'Aye,' Benjamin replied. 'And on yours too, Lord Egremont.'
Chapter 5
Ah well, on that pleasant note we all left Eltham: Egremont, Kempe, the Noctales, Doctor Agrippa and his lovely group of cutthroats who served as guards and outriders. We forded the Thames and made our way across the fields past the Priory of St John of Jerusalem. We kept well away from the crowds, though we had to stop at a crossroads near Leather Lane, where they were burying two suicides beneath the gibbet, small stakes having been driven through their hearts. Because of the carts, wheelbarrows and crowds thronging about, we had to wait a while and entertained ourselves by watching the mummers, fire-eaters and sword-swallowers: all those golden boys and girls from the twilight of the city who used such occasions to earn a pretty penny as well as pick a purse. Uneasy, still wracked by anger over what had happened to me in Newgate, I was alarmed at Henry's implied threats, not to mention that bloody riddle. I sat fidgeting. Now and again I would look at the faces around me and it was then I glimpsed him. Someone was stalking us through the crowd! A man dressed like a tinker, with a leather apron about his waist and a battered hat pulled well over his face. He turned and I glimpsed the dog-like features of Cerberus, Lord Charon's henchman. My hand dropped to my dagger but the crowd swirled and, when I looked again, the villain had vanished.
We rode on. Cornelius pushed his horse alongside mine. 'You seem lost in thought, Master Shallot?' Despite his appearance the tone was friendly. 'I've been set a riddle by the King,' I retorted, glaring over my shoulder at Agrippa. 'And I have to resolve it!' 'What riddle?' Cornelius asked.
I told him about the bloody fox, the damn chicken and the pathetic bowl of grain, not to mention getting them across the sodding Thames.