really happened to its former owner, the ancient Isabelle Malevel? My master was also quiet. I questioned him closely and found another reason for his misery.
'It's Miranda,' he replied dolefully.
My heart skipped a beat.
'She's not unwell?'
'No, worse. She has travelled north to stay with relatives in York. She went shortly after I went to Venice.'
(Ah well, the affairs of the heart are always troublesome and, in this story, the beautiful Miranda does not figure but later on, oh yes, she plays a part!)
Benjamin and I went out to the gatehouse and Cornelius joined us. We inspected our chambers: the gatehouse was quite extensive with two chambers on the top floor and two on the bottom, as well as a small buttery or kitchen. Cornelius took one of the top chambers and my master and I the lower two chambers. They were nothing more than narrow cells but they were comfortable. Cornelius inspected the window through which he would show the lantern and pronounced himself satisfied. We heard Kempe calling to us from below. My master went down but Cornelius caught at my sleeve as I prepared to follow.
'I like you, Shallot.' His hooded eyes held mine.
'Oh, thank you very much,' I replied but grew uneasy. I wondered if Cornelius was one of those bum boys. I know I am not very pretty but, with some people, it's any port in a storm!
‘I have to go,' I declared.
‘I like you, Shallot.'
'Yes, of course you do,' I said. 'And I am a great admirer of your good self.'
‘I had a brother just like you, who had a cast in one eye. He was as full of roguery as a vat is full of ale: he died of the plague in Innsbruck.'
Those hooded eyes still gazed unblinkingly at me.
'You should be very careful,' Cornelius continued. 'Your king is as mad - how do you say - as a March hare?'
'Nonsense!' I replied. 'He's one of the wisest men in Christendom.'
Cornelius smirked. 'Read that on the way back." He handed across a scrap of parchment. I walked to the door.
'Oh, and Shallot, take this.' Cornelius came over and dropped a small sack into my hands. I felt it carefully, it was some form of powder.
'When you win your prize, use that!' I gazed quizzically back. 'You'd better go.'
I went down the stairs to where Kempe and the others were waiting. ‘I paused halfway down and undid the scrap of parchment. The writing was small and neat, the letters perfectly formed. I read it once, twice, then grinned and put it back in my wallet: I knew the solution to the Great Beast's riddle!
We arrived back at court just before sunset. The Great Bastard was in one of his moods of revelry. He had spent the afternoon flying his falcons out above the marshes so he was in fine fettle, still playing the role of the great statesman relaxing at his pleasures. We met in the same room though, this time, tables had been laid out, covered in silken cloths and decorated with the most beautiful silverware. Henry sat in the middle of a small horseshoe of tables. He was dressed in velvet buckram, his bonnet rakishly pulled to one side of his head. His other cronies were there: Norreys, Brandon the Earl of Suffolk, and their ladies. One beauty caught my eye: tall, elegant, dark-haired and sallow-faced, she was strikingly attractive, dressed in dark-green. She reminded me of some beautiful phantasm, some goddess who appears to huntsmen in the depths of dark woods. Raven brows over eyes full of sensuality. Anne Boleyn! I tell you this - she's been in her grave more than sixty years, buried deep beneath the cold flagstones of St Peter's ad Vincula in the Tower, nevertheless, I can remember every detail about her from that evening. Modest yet saucy, retiring yet alluring, soft spoken and unobtrusive, she drew your eyes and made your heart beat a little faster. I tell the Great Elizabeth whenever she visits: her mother was every inch a woman. Beautiful beyond compare! Like Helen of Troy, mortal sin in clothes. Henry was infatuated with her. You could tell that. He was showing
'It's Miranda,' he replied dolefully.
My heart skipped a beat.
'She's not unwell?'
'No, worse. She has travelled north to stay with relatives in York. She went shortly after I went to Venice.'
(Ah well, the affairs of the heart are always troublesome and, in this story, the beautiful Miranda does not figure but later on, oh yes, she plays a part!)
Benjamin and I went out to the gatehouse and Cornelius joined us. We inspected our chambers: the gatehouse was quite extensive with two chambers on the top floor and two on the bottom, as well as a small buttery or kitchen. Cornelius took one of the top chambers and my master and I the lower two chambers. They were nothing more than narrow cells but they were comfortable. Cornelius inspected the window through which he would show the lantern and pronounced himself satisfied. We heard Kempe calling to us from below. My master went down but Cornelius caught at my sleeve as I prepared to follow.
'I like you, Shallot.' His hooded eyes held mine.
'Oh, thank you very much,' I replied but grew uneasy. I wondered if Cornelius was one of those bum boys. I know I am not very pretty but, with some people, it's any port in a storm!
‘I have to go,' I declared.
‘I like you, Shallot.'
'Yes, of course you do,' I said. 'And I am a great admirer of your good self.'
‘I had a brother just like you, who had a cast in one eye. He was as full of roguery as a vat is full of ale: he died of the plague in Innsbruck.'
Those hooded eyes still gazed unblinkingly at me.
'You should be very careful,' Cornelius continued. 'Your king is as mad - how do you say - as a March hare?'
'Nonsense!' I replied. 'He's one of the wisest men in Christendom.'
Cornelius smirked. 'Read that on the way back." He handed across a scrap of parchment. I walked to the door.
'Oh, and Shallot, take this.' Cornelius came over and dropped a small sack into my hands. I felt it carefully, it was some form of powder.
'When you win your prize, use that!' I gazed quizzically back. 'You'd better go.'
I went down the stairs to where Kempe and the others were waiting. ‘I paused halfway down and undid the scrap of parchment. The writing was small and neat, the letters perfectly formed. I read it once, twice, then grinned and put it back in my wallet: I knew the solution to the Great Beast's riddle!
We arrived back at court just before sunset. The Great Bastard was in one of his moods of revelry. He had spent the afternoon flying his falcons out above the marshes so he was in fine fettle, still playing the role of the great statesman relaxing at his pleasures. We met in the same room though, this time, tables had been laid out, covered in silken cloths and decorated with the most beautiful silverware. Henry sat in the middle of a small horseshoe of tables. He was dressed in velvet buckram, his bonnet rakishly pulled to one side of his head. His other cronies were there: Norreys, Brandon the Earl of Suffolk, and their ladies. One beauty caught my eye: tall, elegant, dark-haired and sallow-faced, she was strikingly attractive, dressed in dark-green. She reminded me of some beautiful phantasm, some goddess who appears to huntsmen in the depths of dark woods. Raven brows over eyes full of sensuality. Anne Boleyn! I tell you this - she's been in her grave more than sixty years, buried deep beneath the cold flagstones of St Peter's ad Vincula in the Tower, nevertheless, I can remember every detail about her from that evening. Modest yet saucy, retiring yet alluring, soft spoken and unobtrusive, she drew your eyes and made your heart beat a little faster. I tell the Great Elizabeth whenever she visits: her mother was every inch a woman. Beautiful beyond compare! Like Helen of Troy, mortal sin in clothes. Henry was infatuated with her. You could tell that. He was showing
Similar Books
