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Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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as if the matter he was about to broach was more important than any spy. Undoubtedly, our journey to France was linked to the growing darkness in our king's twisted soul.
'Our noble king,' Agrippa continued, 'in his youth, went to Paris and visited the Chateau de Maubisson. He became friendly with a most learned old priest in the village, Abbe Gerard. Indeed, the abbe was his confessor. Henry gave him a book and now wants it back but the Abbe Gerard is dead, probably also murdered. On the Wednesday after Falconer was killed, the good priest was found floating in his own carp pond, no mark of violence on his body. His house had been searched and the book was missing.' 'What is this book?'
Agrippa grinned. 'A copy of Augustine's work On Chastity:
'Do you think,' Benjamin asked, 'the Luciferi have this book? Why is it so important?'
'No, we think the Luciferi did not find it. The good abbe probably hid it.' Agrippa made a face. 'As for its importance? We do not wish to explain that.' 'And while we are gone?' my master asked. 'What about the manor, my school in Ipswich?'
'All will be well. A steward will manage the manor and My Lord Cardinal has been only too pleased to appoint a schoolmaster so your noble establishment can continue. Now,' Agrippa stirred, 'Master Shallot, Sir Robert, I pray you excuse us. My Lord Cardinal wishes words alone with his nephew.'
Clinton smiled, rose and he and Venner slipped silently out of the room. I would have followed but Benjamin held my wrist fast.
'Master Shallot!' Agrippa repeated. 'I have asked you to leave!'
'Roger is my friend,' Benjamin answered. ‘I trust him with my life.'
' "Master Shallot is my friend!" ' Wolsey mimicked spitefully. 'My good nephew, if you wish to protect Master Shallot, the less he knows the better.' He looked round. 'This is my palace but the king is here and God knows who listens in!'
Benjamin looked at me, his dark eyes troubled. I gently prised my wrist free. 'Master,' I said softly, 'it's best if I go.'
(Quite the diplomat, you think? Oh, no, old Shallot was getting frightened. If knowledge was to be imparted that might threaten me, then it was time to show a clean pair of heels and, perhaps, indulge in some honest lechery.)
My master did not demur and I slipped quietly out of the chamber. I tried to eavesdrop but the door was too thick. So I wandered round the corridors of Hampton Court. Now this was not as magnificent then as it is today. The Great Hall had yet to be built, as had the tennis court and tilt yard. Of course, if you go there now, you can look at the great clock built by those two witches Kratzer and Oursian. You see, when Wolsey fell from power and died in Leicester Abbey, crushing my hand and whispering, 'If I had served my God as well as I served my king, he would not leave me to die like this,' Agrippa transferred his allegiance to Henry and brought those two witches over to build a special clock. It's an astronomical device based on a twenty-four-hour pattern which tells the time of day, the position of the moon, the constellations of the zodiac. You must go and see it. It's a work of art!
Nevertheless, even in my green and salad days (Master Shakespeare has asked to borrow this phrase), Hampton Court was a diamond of a residence. Wainscoted walls. New hangings replaced every week by yeomen and grooms of the wardrobe. Silk coverings on the beds. Massive cupboards which covered an entire wall, all stuffed with silver and gold plate. Fresh water was brought in through leaden pipes built by Italian craftsmen, there were even privies, and underground streams cleaned the sewers. I wandered down to the kitchens where Wolsey's chefs were busy creating subtleties, strange confectionery creations: towers and castles of sugar ready to launch their assault on valiant teeth. The French master chef, dressed in his long bespattered apron, stood by his post chopping, slicing, stirring and mixing with a vigour which drenched him in sweat whilst
'Our noble king,' Agrippa continued, 'in his youth, went to Paris and visited the Chateau de Maubisson. He became friendly with a most learned old priest in the village, Abbe Gerard. Indeed, the abbe was his confessor. Henry gave him a book and now wants it back but the Abbe Gerard is dead, probably also murdered. On the Wednesday after Falconer was killed, the good priest was found floating in his own carp pond, no mark of violence on his body. His house had been searched and the book was missing.' 'What is this book?'
Agrippa grinned. 'A copy of Augustine's work On Chastity:
'Do you think,' Benjamin asked, 'the Luciferi have this book? Why is it so important?'
'No, we think the Luciferi did not find it. The good abbe probably hid it.' Agrippa made a face. 'As for its importance? We do not wish to explain that.' 'And while we are gone?' my master asked. 'What about the manor, my school in Ipswich?'
'All will be well. A steward will manage the manor and My Lord Cardinal has been only too pleased to appoint a schoolmaster so your noble establishment can continue. Now,' Agrippa stirred, 'Master Shallot, Sir Robert, I pray you excuse us. My Lord Cardinal wishes words alone with his nephew.'
Clinton smiled, rose and he and Venner slipped silently out of the room. I would have followed but Benjamin held my wrist fast.
'Master Shallot!' Agrippa repeated. 'I have asked you to leave!'
'Roger is my friend,' Benjamin answered. ‘I trust him with my life.'
' "Master Shallot is my friend!" ' Wolsey mimicked spitefully. 'My good nephew, if you wish to protect Master Shallot, the less he knows the better.' He looked round. 'This is my palace but the king is here and God knows who listens in!'
Benjamin looked at me, his dark eyes troubled. I gently prised my wrist free. 'Master,' I said softly, 'it's best if I go.'
(Quite the diplomat, you think? Oh, no, old Shallot was getting frightened. If knowledge was to be imparted that might threaten me, then it was time to show a clean pair of heels and, perhaps, indulge in some honest lechery.)
My master did not demur and I slipped quietly out of the chamber. I tried to eavesdrop but the door was too thick. So I wandered round the corridors of Hampton Court. Now this was not as magnificent then as it is today. The Great Hall had yet to be built, as had the tennis court and tilt yard. Of course, if you go there now, you can look at the great clock built by those two witches Kratzer and Oursian. You see, when Wolsey fell from power and died in Leicester Abbey, crushing my hand and whispering, 'If I had served my God as well as I served my king, he would not leave me to die like this,' Agrippa transferred his allegiance to Henry and brought those two witches over to build a special clock. It's an astronomical device based on a twenty-four-hour pattern which tells the time of day, the position of the moon, the constellations of the zodiac. You must go and see it. It's a work of art!
Nevertheless, even in my green and salad days (Master Shakespeare has asked to borrow this phrase), Hampton Court was a diamond of a residence. Wainscoted walls. New hangings replaced every week by yeomen and grooms of the wardrobe. Silk coverings on the beds. Massive cupboards which covered an entire wall, all stuffed with silver and gold plate. Fresh water was brought in through leaden pipes built by Italian craftsmen, there were even privies, and underground streams cleaned the sewers. I wandered down to the kitchens where Wolsey's chefs were busy creating subtleties, strange confectionery creations: towers and castles of sugar ready to launch their assault on valiant teeth. The French master chef, dressed in his long bespattered apron, stood by his post chopping, slicing, stirring and mixing with a vigour which drenched him in sweat whilst
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