'And where's your dog?' he cried. 'Where's poor Castor?'
'He's dead, God rest him!' I snapped. 'And, if you don't bring us food and wine, Boscombe, you'll join him!' A good response, I hate hypocrisy - except in myself.
The taverner grinned and hurried away. I noticed with some amusement that this time he was no longer dressed in the garb of a friar, but that of a scrivener, a long grey robe with an ink pot and quill fastened on his belt. Benjamin had gone up to our chamber: when he returned, he was carrying the cup I had stolen from the Poppleton house. He ignored my questions.
'Let's eat and drink,' he declared and asked Boscombe for some water and salt.
I was busy finishing my meal but, when I drained my wine cup and was about to ask for more, Benjamin held out the Poppleton cup.
'Drink, Roger!'
I took it and sniffed. 'Water?'
'From the rain butt. Drink it!'
I sipped from it and handed it back. Benjamin cradled it in his hands whilst I shouted for more claret. 'Now drink again, Roger.'
I grabbed it from him, slurped from it and then gagged.
'Master, it's got salt in it!' I grasped his wine bowl and sipped from it. 'Some sort of trick, master?'
'No.' Benjamin threw the water on to the rushes. 'Look, Roger, look into the cup!'
'Nothing remarkable,' I declared.
'Do you see anything?'
'Nothing but brass,' I replied.
'No, at the bottom.'
I poked my finger in. At the base of the cup was a circular piece of brass.
'Nothing but this,' I retorted. 'It's where the stem and cup meet.'
'Watch again." Benjamin now held the cup. He did something with the stem and the innocuous clasp at the bottom moved slightly to the side revealing a small hole.
'How did you do that?' I exclaimed.
Benjamin held the cup up, pointing to a small imitation jewel in the middle of the stem.
'You just press that very firmly and the clasp opens. Whilst you were eating I put some salt in the hole. I cleaned the cup then poured in some water. On the first occasion you drank water. I pressed the clasp, swirled the water about and you tasted salt.'
'That's how they did it!' I exclaimed, half rising to my feet. 'That's how those two bastards killed their mother! They must have suspected how I first cured Lucy. They knew I used a potion so they brought that cup up; but first they put poison in the hole at the base.'
Benjamin pushed me back into my seat.
'I listened very carefully to what you told me,' he replied, 'and I realised the Poppletons had tricked you.' His face became grim. (It was one of those few occasions in my life when I realised Benjamin was not just the dreamy scholar: there was a darkness in him. He had not forgotten how, earlier in the year, the Poppletons had spread scandal that he had only opened his school because he liked little boys. Oh yes, the darkness in him could be murderous, but that was for the future.) On that night Benjamin smiled bleakly into the cup. 'When Laxton came and told us about Lucy's death,' he continued, 'how her last words were, "Tell Roger the cup," I sensed something was wrong.'
'Of course,' I replied. 'Otherwise she would have said, "My cup is overflowing"!'
'What I think happened,' Benjamin continued, 'is that, somehow or other, Lucy herself discovered the Poppletons had tricked you. Perhaps she overheard a conversation on how keen the Poppletons were to have that cup back. Poor girl! She might have found it hard to keep it secret and ...'
'So the Poppletons killed her?' I said.
'Oh yes. It has all their hallmarks: attacking a poor girl in a country lane and beating the very life out of her.'
'We should go back,' I replied. 'Let's take horse and ride to Ipswich.'
'That poses difficulties,' Benjamin replied. 'We have no real proof. No, the Poppletons would claim it was not their cup and there's very little evidence for their involvement in Lucy's murder. Moreover, Dearest Uncle and the King want us here.' He picked up his wine bowl. 'Let the evil ones fester for a while, Roger. Tonight, let's drink, celebrate your escape and toast the memories of Lucy and Castor!'
Drink we did and heard the chimes at midnight from the nearby church. Nevertheless, we were up early the next morning, long before the sun peeped its head above St Paul's Cathedral. However, when we arrived at the Tower, we found Justice was an even earlier riser. A royal commission had been set up on the green before the great Norman keep and already the executions were taking place. A long pole had been slung on two uprights which had been driven deep into the ground. From this six of Lord Charon's men were already dangling, whilst others were being tried in front of three Justices brought up especially from Westminster. I tell you this, in Henry's time, justice was short and brutal. 'Give him a fair trial and hang him!' was one of the old bastard's favourite aphorisms and he wasn't joking. There were no hand-wringing pleas for mercy. Henry was as swift and as merciless as a hawk swooping for the kill. On this occasion the process was no different: the trial consisted of little more than a barrage of questions to which the felons, all bloody-mouthed and black-eyed, mumbled some response. The Chief Justice then passed judgement, a black silk cap was placed on his head and the felons despatched to the gallows. The poor unfortunates were made to stand on a table whilst nooses were put round their necks, and then the table was kicked away and they were left to dangle.