Then a strange thing happened. Old Shallot has always put a high price on his own skin but that blow on the buttocks stirred my pride (wherever it was hiding) and I recalled the words of my duelling master. I opened my eyes and stared at this braggart dancing before me. He represented everything that was wrong in old Shallot's life: the mocking dismissal of Wolsey, the patronising attitude of Agrippa, the sly taunting jibes that I hid behind my master's skirts. In other words, I lost my temper and found my courage.
My sword came down. I narrowed my eyes and took up a proper fighting stance and a different duel began. I wanted to kill that bastard and he knew it: red spots appeared high on his cheeks, his eyes became fearful, mouth half-open. His breath came in short gasps as we feinted and parried, cut and thrust. Poor sod! He was just a street brawler and, as God is my witness, I only meant to wound him. I thrust, aiming for his fighting arm, he moved with me, and my sword went in, deep into the soft flesh beneath the rib cage.
I let go the handle and stood back in horror.
The fellow stared at me, clutching the blade of my sword as blood spurted out of the wound. He dropped his own weapon, took one step towards me, his life blood shot out of his mouth and his eyes, still filled with astonishment, glazed over as he collapsed to the ground.
Benjamin turned him over.
'Dead as a stone,' he muttered. 'Sweet Lord, Roger, you had no choice.' He smiled faintly at me. 'I never thought you were a duellist.'
'Neither did I, Master!'
I sat down on the grass in a half-faint. I had just retrieved my sword when the gates of the courtyard were suddenly thrust open and a group of the Cardinal's halberdiers hurried across. Pikes lowered, they ringed both of us. The captain, fat-faced with a russet beard, plucked the sword out of my hand.
'Sir, by what name?'
He clicked his fingers and two of the soldiers dragged me to my feet.
'My servant's name is Roger Shallot,' Benjamin declared.
"This fellow challenged him to a duel and would not let him go-'
The captain made a face. 'That may well be.' He peered closer. 'You are Master Da unbey, the Cardinal's nephew?' ‘I am.'
'Then, sir, you should know that duelling is expressly forbidden by His Majesty and to draw swords in anger in the King's own palace is high treason. Master Shallot, you are under arrest!'
I gazed speechlessly at Benjamin's white face. He shrugged helplessly.
'Go with them, Roger,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I will see my uncle.'
Ringed by the group of halberdiers, I was half-pushed out of the courtyard. We turned and went down a passageway. Mandeville and Southgate had been standing in the gallery watching the entire spectacle through a window. The two bastards seemed to be enjoying themselves but Southgate held up his hand and the guard stopped whilst Mandeville grabbed my wrist.
'You had no choice, Master Shallot,' he murmured. 'That is why we left so abruptly. We saw the bully-boy coming and thought he might be trouble.'
Oh, thank you very much, I thought. But that's the way of the world. If there's a mound of shit, old Shallot is always dropped in it!
Mandeville and Santerre stood aside and I was marched down to a small narrow cellar which also served as the palace dungeon. I was thrust in, given a candle, a cup of watered wine and a loaf of the hardest bread the kitchen could supply. It was tinged with green mould and, as I sat gnawing on it, reflecting on my fortunes, I realised that bastard of a one-eyed cook had apparently missed the capon I had stolen. I sat there for hours.
At first the blood ran hot in my veins and I loudly protested my innocence to the cold grey walls and to two large rats which seemed to appear from nowhere. They listened to my declarations of innocence and, when I fell into a fitful sleep, gnawed the bread and drank what wine was left in the battered cup. When I awoke it was dark and cold and I became frightened. The bully-boy, God
My sword came down. I narrowed my eyes and took up a proper fighting stance and a different duel began. I wanted to kill that bastard and he knew it: red spots appeared high on his cheeks, his eyes became fearful, mouth half-open. His breath came in short gasps as we feinted and parried, cut and thrust. Poor sod! He was just a street brawler and, as God is my witness, I only meant to wound him. I thrust, aiming for his fighting arm, he moved with me, and my sword went in, deep into the soft flesh beneath the rib cage.
I let go the handle and stood back in horror.
The fellow stared at me, clutching the blade of my sword as blood spurted out of the wound. He dropped his own weapon, took one step towards me, his life blood shot out of his mouth and his eyes, still filled with astonishment, glazed over as he collapsed to the ground.
Benjamin turned him over.
'Dead as a stone,' he muttered. 'Sweet Lord, Roger, you had no choice.' He smiled faintly at me. 'I never thought you were a duellist.'
'Neither did I, Master!'
I sat down on the grass in a half-faint. I had just retrieved my sword when the gates of the courtyard were suddenly thrust open and a group of the Cardinal's halberdiers hurried across. Pikes lowered, they ringed both of us. The captain, fat-faced with a russet beard, plucked the sword out of my hand.
'Sir, by what name?'
He clicked his fingers and two of the soldiers dragged me to my feet.
'My servant's name is Roger Shallot,' Benjamin declared.
"This fellow challenged him to a duel and would not let him go-'
The captain made a face. 'That may well be.' He peered closer. 'You are Master Da unbey, the Cardinal's nephew?' ‘I am.'
'Then, sir, you should know that duelling is expressly forbidden by His Majesty and to draw swords in anger in the King's own palace is high treason. Master Shallot, you are under arrest!'
I gazed speechlessly at Benjamin's white face. He shrugged helplessly.
'Go with them, Roger,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I will see my uncle.'
Ringed by the group of halberdiers, I was half-pushed out of the courtyard. We turned and went down a passageway. Mandeville and Southgate had been standing in the gallery watching the entire spectacle through a window. The two bastards seemed to be enjoying themselves but Southgate held up his hand and the guard stopped whilst Mandeville grabbed my wrist.
'You had no choice, Master Shallot,' he murmured. 'That is why we left so abruptly. We saw the bully-boy coming and thought he might be trouble.'
Oh, thank you very much, I thought. But that's the way of the world. If there's a mound of shit, old Shallot is always dropped in it!
Mandeville and Santerre stood aside and I was marched down to a small narrow cellar which also served as the palace dungeon. I was thrust in, given a candle, a cup of watered wine and a loaf of the hardest bread the kitchen could supply. It was tinged with green mould and, as I sat gnawing on it, reflecting on my fortunes, I realised that bastard of a one-eyed cook had apparently missed the capon I had stolen. I sat there for hours.
At first the blood ran hot in my veins and I loudly protested my innocence to the cold grey walls and to two large rats which seemed to appear from nowhere. They listened to my declarations of innocence and, when I fell into a fitful sleep, gnawed the bread and drank what wine was left in the battered cup. When I awoke it was dark and cold and I became frightened. The bully-boy, God
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