The White Rose murders

Chapter 12

'The roots of this tragedy,' Benjamin began, 'go back ten years when Queen Margaret, a lusty young princess, was first married to James IV of Scotland – a prince who loved the joys of the bed chamber and had a string of mistresses to prove it; indeed, he had bastard children by at least two of his paramours.'

Catesby nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.

'Now, Margaret,' Benjamin continued, 'was joined in Scotland by yourself, the young squire Robert Catesby. You were devoted to your Queen and watched with her as James moved from one amorous exploit to another. A deep hatred was kindled in Margaret's heart, made all the more rancorous by James's open support for the Yorkist Pretenders. Margaret retaliated, or so my uncle the Lord Cardinal told me privily, by sending information to James's main rival and opponent, King Henry of England.'

'You speak the truth, Master Daunbey!'

'He does, Sir Robert!' I said, taking up the story. 'Matters came to a head when King James planned his invasion of England which culminated in the tragedy at Flodden Field. Queen Margaret and, I suspect, yourself played upon King James's fertile imagination. You plotted a number of stratagems to create unease in him and his principal commanders: the famous vision of St John where James was rebuked for his love of harlotry; the death-bearing voice, prophesying at Edinburgh Market Cross on the stroke of midnight that James and all his commanders would go down to Hades. These were planned by you, weren't they?'

Catesby smiled and stroked the side of his cheek with his hand.

'You succeeded brilliantly,' Benjamin spoke up. 'James became uneasy, indeed he may have begun to suspect that malcontents in his kingdom might use the Flodden campaign to stage his murder. Accordingly, during the campaign as well as the actual battle, James dressed a number of soldiers in royal livery so as to deflect any assassination attempt. Now, the battle was a disaster. A number of the royal look-alikes were killed – I suspect a few by assassins as well as by the English. Surrey found one of these corpses, proclaimed it was James's body and sent it south to his master, King Henry.'

Catesby glowered at Benjamin.

'That is why,' I added, 'the corpse did not have the penitential chain James wore round his waist. Or why Margaret never asked for the corpse to be returned for burial. Was she frightened,' I jibed, 'that someone in Scotland might discover it was not the King's body?'

Catesby beat his hand upon his thigh. 'And I suppose,' he guffawed, 'you will tell me that King James himself escaped?'

'You know he did!' Benjamin snapped. 'He was dressed in ordinary armour. He and a knight of the royal household, Sir John Harrington, together with Selkirk, fled to Kelso Abbey. There, King James dictated a short letter which he sealed with his signet ring and despatched via Selkirk to his wife, begging for aid and sustenance. The physician took this message to the Queen sheltering at Linlithgow but, instead of sending help, she sent assassins to kill her husband and Harrington.'

Catesby's face now assumed a haunted, gaunt look.

'The perfect murder,' Benjamin whispered. 'How can you be accused of killing a prince whom the world already reckons is dead? God knows what happened to the body but, when Selkirk returned to Kelso, his master was gone and the monks were too frightened to speak. Selkirk escaped from your clutches to France where his mind, tortured by the horror of these events, slipped into madness. Of course, you searched him out but it was too late – the Lord Cardinal's men had already found him. Naturally, you were relieved to discover that Selkirk, due to the passage of time and his own insanity, jabbered his secrets only in obscure verse.'

'James was an adulterer,' Catesby muttered as if to himself. 'He was like Ahab of Israel, not fit to rule, and so God struck him down!'

Benjamin shook his head. 'If James was Ahab,' he replied, 'then Margaret was Jezebel. She murdered James, not because she hated him but because she, too, had been a faithless spouse. She had to hide her own infidelities with Gavin Douglas, Earl of Angus.'

'That's a lie!' Catesby rasped.

'Oh, no, it isn't!' I answered. 'Margaret's second son, Alexander, Duke of Ross, was born on the thirtieth of April 1514. He was born, so I have discovered, two months early, in which case it should have been June 1514. If we go back nine months, or the thirty-eight weeks of a natural pregnancy, that would place the time of conception at the end of September, no less than a fortnight after James was killed.'

I licked my lips, watching the two clansmen who were becoming restless, as if bored by this chatter of strange tongues.

'Oh,' I murmured, 'we can play with the dates. James left Edinburgh with his army in August. The records of the household will prove the last time he and Margaret were together as man and wife was in the previous July. I am correct?'

Catesby just glared.

'Indeed,' I continued, 'we know Margaret was playing the two-backed beast with Gavin Douglas some time before Flodden.'

'You insult the Queen!' Catesby raged. He glared at us and I realised that Catesby loved Margaret and couldn't accept his golden Princess being proved a lecherous adulteress.

'We have proof,' I sang out, my voice ringing clear as a bell through that ghostly church. 'Selkirk claimed that after Flodden he, together with James and Harrington, discussed what they should do. In his confession Selkirk mentioned the King being uneasy about the malicious gossip which had reached his ears concerning Margaret. No wonder James lost his army at Flodden: visions, voices of doom, rumours about his wife, possible threats against his life!'

'I wonder,' Benjamin interrupted, 'if the King ever put the two things together: the rumours about an assassin on the loose and the gossip about his wife?'

'Mere fancies!' Catesby snapped.

'No, they're not,' I replied. 'Selkirk rode through the night to Linlithgow yet, as soon as he met the Queen, he became uneasy. Your mistress was hardly the grieving widow. Selkirk became suspicious and hurried back to Kelso but the King and Harrington were gone.'

'And I suppose this Harrington,' Catesby queried, 'just allowed his King to be murdered?'

I glanced at Benjamin and noticed his eyes flicker, always an indication that my master, an honest man, was about to tell some half-truth.

'Harrington,' he replied, 'was only one man, exhausted after the battle. He would be little protection for James. Harrington, too, was probably murdered. Do you know,' he continued, 'when I was in Scotland I saw a Book of the Dead in the royal chapel of St Margaret's in Edinburgh, a list of those who had fallen at Flodden. I can't recollect seeing the name Harrington.' My master looked quickly at me and I knew he was lying. He didn't find out about Harrington until after we had met in Paris.

'So,' I taunted quickly, 'Margaret and Douglas were lovers before Flodden.'

'That's why they married so hastily,' Benjamin added. 'To provide Ross with some legitimacy. Who knows, even the present Scottish heir may be a Douglas! Is this, together with King James's murder, the bond which still binds Margaret to the Earl?'

Catesby leaned forward, his face white and skull-like as if quietly relishing the death he planned for us.

'So,' Benjamin continued, trying to distract his attention, 'Selkirk's verses are now explained: the lamb is Angus, who rested in the falcon's nest, namely James's bed. The Scottish King is also the Lion who cried even though he died, and the phrase "Three less than twelve should it be", together with Selkirk's mutterings about how he could "count the days", is a reference to the secret and adulterous conception of Alexander, Duke of Ross. Selkirk, a physician, suspected that Alexander was not King James's son.'

" 'What proof do you have of this?' Catesby jibed, standing up.

'Oh,' I replied, 'as it says in the last verses of Selkirk's poem: he wrote his confession in a secret cipher and left it with the monks at St Denis outside Paris.'

'Mere jabberings!' Catesby accused. 'Of a feckless fool!'

Benjamin shook his head. 'Ah, no, Selkirk left proof. He'd kept all the warrants issued to him by King James during his reign. At first, I thought they meant nothing, after all there were scores of them, but then I found one dated the twelfth of September 1513, dated and sealed three days after James was supposed to have died at Flodden!'

Catesby just stared, dumbstruck.

'Of course,' Benjamin continued quietly, 'after James's death Margaret soon tired of Angus. She quarrelled with him, tried to seize control of the children and, when baulked of that, fled south to her brother in England.'

Catesby pursed his lips. 'Lies!' he muttered as if talking to himself. 'All lies!'

'No, they're not,' I answered tartly. 'Margaret was frightened lest her secret be discovered. Who knows, perhaps she suspected King James might still be alive, lurking in some dark wood or lonely moor. She had to be sure that Angus, who had been party to her husband's death, would also keep silent, which is why we were sent to Nottingham. We found Angus sulky,' I glanced at the two Highlanders who glared back malevolently, and Lord d'Aubigny suspicious, but no hint of scandal. Queen Margaret,' I concluded bitterly, 'now knows she is safe and has planned her return to Scotland.'

Catesby cradled his hands in his lap. 'Do you know,' he observed as if we were a group of friends gathered in a cosy tavern, 'I considered you buffoons, two idiots who would blunder about in the dark and go before us to seek out any dangers. I was so wrong.'

'Yes, you were,' Benjamin answered. 'You grew alarmed when Selkirk began to talk to me, so he had to die, though you probably planned his death before Roger and I joined this murderous dance. Nevertheless, Selkirk did talk and Ruthven began to reflect on his own suspicions so he, too, had to die.'

One of the clansmen suddenly stepped forward, like a hunting dog sensing danger. Catesby snapped his fingers. The fellow drew his dagger while his master stood peering into the darkness.

Catesby listened for a moment. 'Nothing,' he murmured. 'Only the dark.' He looked down and smiled. 'And the soft brush of Death's dark dream.'

'You are going to kill us?' I spoke up, desperately looking around for some route of escape.

'Of course,' he whispered. 'I cannot let you live. Now everything will end well. The Queen will return to Scotland, and I shall look after her whilst young James grows to manhood.'

'You forget Selkirk's manuscripts.'

'They can disappear!' Catesby snarled.

‘And us?'

Catesby nodded to the wild heathland outside the church. 'Such thick copses and deep marshes; other bodies he buried there, why not yours?' He looked down at

Benjamin. 'Goodbye,' he whispered, and turned to the clansmen. 'Yes, yes, you had better kill them now!'

I stood up but Corin knocked me to the floor. I glimpsed Alleyn grasp my master by the shoulder as he drew his hand back for the killing blow. Suddenly a voice called out: 'Catesby, stop!'

The murderer ran down the steps, gazing into the darkness.

'Catesby, on the orders of the King, desist!'

I looked up, the Highlander grinned, and the long, pointed dagger began its descent. I heard the rasp of something through the air. I opened my eyes. The clansman was still standing but his face was now crushed into a bloody pulp by the crossbow bolt buried there. I flung myself to one side. The other clansman was still standing above Benjamin but his back was arched, his hands out as he stared down in disbelief at the crossbow quarrel embedded deeply in his chest. He opened his mouth, whimpered like a child and crashed to the sanctuary floor.

Both Benjamin and I turned; Catesby was about to draw his own sword but Doctor Agrippa and soldiers wearing the Cardinal's livery were already sweeping up the darkened nave. The doctor threw us a glance, snapped his fingers and, before Catesby could proceed any further, both sword and dagger were plucked from his belt.

The Cardinal's men examined the two corpses of the clansmen and kicked them as you would dead dogs. Another soldier ran down the steps and came back shouting that two more bodies were down in the crypt. Agrippa drew back the hood of his cloak and smiled benevolently at us.

'We should have come sooner,' he observed quietly. 'Perhaps intervened earlier, but what you were saying was so interesting.'

He picked up Catesby's sword, gave it to Benjamin and gestured at the prisoner, who stood sullen-faced between two guardsmen.

'Kill him!' Agrippa ordered. 'Let's make things neat and orderly.' He thrust the sword into Benjamin's hand. 'Kill him,' he repeated. 'He deserves to die.'

My master let the sword fall to the ground with a clang.

'No,' he murmured. 'He deserves a trial then to be hanged like the murderer he is.'

Agrippa pursed his lips. 'No,' he whispered. 'Nothing like that.' He picked up the fallen sword and thrust it at me. 'You, Shallot, kill him.'

'Let the sword fall,' Benjamin warned. 'Roger, you may be many things but not this.'

I let the sword clatter on to the flagstoned floor.

'He is not to die,' Benjamin repeated.

Doctor Agrippa shrugged and turned to the captain of the guard. 'Take Catesby to the Tower,' he ordered. 'Into its deepest and darkest dungeon. Queen Margaret is not to be told.'

The fellow nodded, seized Catesby by the arm. The arch murderer smiled at us as he allowed himself to be led away.

Agrippa issued more orders and the soldiers hurried down into the crypt, dragging up Melford's and Scawsby's corpses which they laid next to the bodies of the two Highlanders. Agrippa examined each, making strange signs above them in the air.

'Catesby was right in one thing,' he murmured, 'the heathland outside makes a good cemetery. Let them be buried there.'

After that Agrippa hardly spoke to us but took us back to the Tower where we were lodged in comfortable imprisonment. Benjamin was silent; for at least two hours he could hardly stop shivering. I had my own remedies. I demanded a jug of wine and hours later slumped down on the pallet-bed blind drunk.

The next morning a still taciturn Agrippa took us along Billingsgate, Thames Street, through Bowyers Row on to Fleet Street and down to Westminster. We were followed by a heavily armed, mounted escort who screened us as we were pushed through a maze of corridors at the palace and into a small comfortable chamber next to St Stephen's Chapel where the Lord Cardinal was waiting for us.

I remember it was a fine day. The sun had broken through a thick layer of clouds and a touch of spring freshened the air.

Wolsey greeted us warmly. No insults now but rather 'Dearest Nephew' and 'My redoubtable Shallot'. The Cardinal cleared the chamber of clerks and minions, only Agrippa remaining, then made Benjamin relate the previous evening's encounter with Catesby. Now and again Wolsey would nod or ask a question of Benjamin or me. Once my master was finished, the Lord Cardinal, a half-smile on his face, shook his head in wonderment.

'So much evil!' he whispered. 'So many murders. Such a great secret.'

'But you suspected as much, dear Uncle, did you not?'

Wolsey stretched his great bulk and yawned. 'Yes, yes, dearest Nephew, I did. Didn't we, good doctor?'

Agrippa murmured his assent.

'You used us!' Benjamin accused. 'Catesby was right about that. We were hired,' he continued, 'to blunder about like fools and open doors for others to enter!'

Agrippa looked embarrassed. The Cardinal gazed fondly at his nephew.

'Yes, I used you, dearest Nephew,' he replied. 'But only because you were the best person for the task.' He smiled thinly. 'And, of course, the ever trusty Shallot.' He placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. 'You saw what good actors they were, Benjamin? Catesby with his open, trusting face and air of anxious concern, whilst Queen Margaret can simulate rage better than her brother.'

'My Lord Cardinal,' Agrippa intervened, 'must not be judged too harshly. Catesby had a hand in your appointment for My Lord Cardinal described your exploits at a banquet held at Greenwich. Catesby made his own enquiries and the rest followed as naturally as night follows day.'

'Was Scawsby part of the plan?' I asked.

'Yes,' Agrippa murmured. 'Catesby undoubtedly heard of young Shallot's strokes against the Scawsby family and realised their enmity would only add spice to the game. Moreover, if murder was planned, Catesby did not want some physician with a keen eye and sharp brain. Scawsby was a quack, a pedlar, a man who would do as he was told.'

'Was he party to Catesby's plot?' I repeated.

'No!' The Lord Cardinal gazed down at me like a hawk. 'Scawsby certainly knew there was a mystery but he saw the appointment as royal preferment. Of course, he hated you and rejoiced in your discomfiture. His death, Master Shallot,' he added meaningfully, 'was, according to the law, an unlawful slaying.'

'Roger did not kill Scawsby!' Benjamin interrupted. 'The physician allowed his greed to get the better of him. Moreover,' he concluded slyly, 'Scawsby is best out of the way. He never could keep a still tongue in his head.'

The Cardinal nodded. 'True, true,' he murmured. 'Scawsby is dead and Roger shall have a pardon issued under the Great Seal for his part in the slaying.'

'You suspected me, did you not?' Agrippa abruptly accused.

'At one time I did. Catesby was so convincing, he could have caught spiders in the web he wove.'

'But why?' I interrupted. 'Why all this charade?'

Agrippa looked at Wolsey and the Cardinal nodded.

'No!' I exclaimed before the doctor could speak. "There are other matters. How did Catesby know about the Church of St Theodore? And your arrival, Agrippa, was so opportune.'

'That was my fault,' Benjamin muttered. 'I really did think Agrippa could be the murderer or, at least, his associate. You said it was a gamble, Roger, and so it was – before we left the Tower I informed the good doctor here of where we were going. There could have only been one logical outcome: if he was the murderer, he would have arrived first, and Catesby would be innocent.'

'Of course,' Agrippa interrupted, 'if I was innocent but suspected the game being plotted, I would ensure Catesby knew of your trap at St Theodore's and ensure I arrived when everyone had laid their cards on the table.' He shrugged. 'Scawsby was acting suspiciously, he kept to himself and left the Tower early. I, of course, hurried to Queen Margaret and spun some tale about how young Benjamin had solved the riddles and had their solution at St Theodore's. The rest,' he spread his hands, 'happened as you know it did.'

'You could have been late!' I accused.

Agrippa shook his head. 'All life is a gamble, Roger. The Cardinal's men were ready. We arrived to arrest Catesby and rescue you from his clutches.'

'And if you had been too late?'

'We would have arrested Catesby and made sure your bodies were given honourable burial.'

I glared back furiously. Benjamin just shook his head.

'You see,' Agrippa rose and paced restlessly round the room, 'we live in stirring times. Across the Channel, France is united under a powerful King whose hungry eyes are on Italy. To the south lies Spain, building massive fleets and searching out new lands. Further east is the Holy Roman Empire with its tentacles in every merchant's pie. And England?' Agrippa paused for a moment. 'England is balanced on a tightrope above these clashing powers and dare not make a mistake. These islands should be united – England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales -under the one King, and who better than our noble Henry?' Agrippa paused, looked at me sardonically, and I remembered his words on the lonely wastelands outside Royston. 'Our King needs such a challenge,' he continued. 'He has the energy to achieve it. He must have a vision or he will turn in on himself and God knows what will happen then.'

'So he must control Scotland,' my master intervened quickly.

'Yes,' Wolsey answered. 'Scotland must be controlled. King Henry thought he could do this through the marriage of his sister to James IV but that came to naught. Indeed, the marriage was a disaster and worse followed: James began negotiations with France, which threatened to crush England between the teeth of two pincers, Scotland in the north, France in the south. Henry begged his sister to intervene and Margaret did what she could.' He paused and stared at the jewels sparkling on his purple-gloved fingers. 'Old Surrey saved the day,' he murmured, 'that and Margaret's intense hatred for her own husband.' He glanced up at Benjamin. 'Oh, you were right, dear Nephew,' he continued in a half-whisper, 'the Queen played upon James's mind and undoubtedly had a hand in his murder. Now,' he smiled thinly, 'Scotland has no King, the country is divided and poses no threat to our security.'

'But how did you suspect James was not killed at Flodden?'

'Hell's teeth, Shallot!' Agrippa remarked, quoting my favourite oath. 'You were there. Surrey did comb the battlefield. He found at least six royal corpses, none with a penitential chain around its waist. Our suspicions began then.'

'And Irvine?' I asked.

The cunning Cardinal made a face. 'We already knew that Irvine had discovered rumours of James being seen at Kelso. He probably learnt them from Oswald the moss trooper.'

'But you brought him south and informed Catesby of his arrival?'

'Irvine was a lure,' Agrippa snapped, 'to panic Margaret and Catesby. They rose to the bait.'

Oh, I stored that away. In Wolsey's and Agrippa's eyes, everyone was expendable.

'What will happen now?' Benjamin asked.

'Oh, the King will have a quiet word with his sister Margaret. She will return to Scotland where she will do exactly what we say or face the consequences. The Careys can go with her.'

'And Catesby?' I asked.

'In the Tower,' Agrippa replied, echoing the words of the soldier I had met there, 'are dungeons which just disappear.' He toyed with the silver pentangle which hung round his neck. 'Even now,' he concluded flatly, 'a trusted mason is bricking up the entrance to his cell. We will hear no more of Catesby.'

'There are others!' the Cardinal rasped. 'The lady prioress at Coldstream will answer for her crimes, and the Earl of Angus will receive a sharp rap across the knuckles.'

'Now that puzzles me, dear Uncle.'

'What, Nephew?'

'Why did the Earl of Angus and Queen Margaret become so intimately involved, marry so hastily after Flodden, and so bitterly repent of their impetuous passion?'

Wolsey smiled. 'My noble master, the good King Henry,' he murmured, 'has the Earl of Angus in his pocket.' He pursed his lips. 'No, you deserve to know the full truth. King Henry bought Angus long before Flodden: he was a handsome, charming coxcomb whom Henry paid to seduce his sister.' The Cardinal made a moue. 'After Flodden and Angus's marriage to Margaret, the King could see no point in wasting more good silver.'

Now I just stared dumbstruck. I am a wicked man but here was a Cardinal coolly telling us that a king had paid a nobleman to seduce his own sister, blinding her with passion so that he could control the kingdom she ruled! I suddenly saw the terrible beauty of King Henry's evil design, one repeated by succeeding English monarchs. Even without Flodden, James would have been brought low. Sooner or later Margaret's adulterous liaison would have been discovered. James would have gone to war. Scotland would have been divided as he and the Douglas clan fought to the bitter end.

Do you know something? I once told young Elizabeth about her father's crafty plot and what did she do? Exactly the same! She arranged for that nincompoop Darnley to marry Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary fell in love with Bothwell, there was murder, civil war, and the rest is history. Oh, Lord, the subtle devices of Princes!

Nonetheless, on reflection, Henry wasn't as cunning as he thought. He spent his reign going from one spouse to the next in order to produce lusty male heirs. And what did he get? Poor, mewling Edward. Once he was born Henry tried to get his puny son married to a Scottish princess in the hopes of uniting England and Scotland under one crown. What really warms the cockles of my heart and makes me giggle is that his sister Margaret's escapades turned the whole thing topsy-turvy. Can't you see? (My chaplain shakes his head.) If the young boy, James, was the product of Queen Margaret's adulterous liaison with Douglas, then James's grandson, the present King of Scotland, is also of bastard issue yet, when old Elizabeth dies, he will inherit the crowns of both England and Scotland. Isn't it funny? England and Scotland being ruled by a bastard who is a descendant of bastards! Bluff King Hal must be spinning like a top in Hell!

'You did well, Master Benjamin,' the Cardinal trumpeted. 'You and your friend, Shallot, shall not be forgotten.'

Beside Wolsey, Agrippa grinned like a small, black cat at the Cardinal's pun on my name.

'There will be other matters,' the Cardinal continued airily, 'but for the time being, dearest Nephew, accept this as a token of our appreciation.' He opened a small coffer beside him and tossed a fat, clinking purse to Benjamin. I caught it deftly and hid it beneath my robe.

'You have certain papers?' Agrippa interrupted silkily. 'Master Selkirk's secrets from Paris?'

'You have them now,' my master snapped. 'When you came to collect us this morning, you picked up the casket.'

Agrippa looked at the Cardinal. 'Oh, there's proof enough in there,' he answered. 'James's warrants, your nephew's translation of Selkirk's secret confession. Though,' his eyes flickered towards Benjamin, 'only the copy, not the original.'

'I had that at St Theodore's,' Benjamin replied. 'Catesby seized it off me and destroyed it. You have everything else.'

Agrippa nodded benevolently. Wolsey extended one fat hand for us to kiss and we were dismissed with the Cardinal's praises ringing loudly in our ears.

'Keep walking, Roger!' Benjamin hissed as we strode quickly down the corridor. 'Don't stop, though be most prudent. Every so often make sure we are not being followed.'

Benjamin and I left Westminster as if we planned to take the road north to Holborn but then he suddenly changed his mind and we hurried back into the palace yard, pushing aside servants, clerks and scullions as we ran down to King's Steps on the riverside. Benjamin jumped into a boat, dragging me after him. He rapped out orders to the surprised boatman to pull away immediately and, for twice the fee, to row as fast as he could up river.

The oarsman pulled with a will. Soon we were out in mid-stream hidden by a light river mist.

'What's the matter, Master?' I asked.

'In a while, Roger, the last piece of the puzzle will slip into its rightful place.'

Once we were past the Fleet where the refuse of the city floated in a thick oozy mess on the surface of the river, Benjamin ordered the oarsman to pull in and we disembarked at Paul's Wharf. He tossed some coins at the boatman and we hurried up Thames Street. Now old Shallot thought the game was over. I wanted to stop and stare, drink in the sights, sounds and smells of the city, particularly the fat merchants and their silk-garbed wives and pretty buxom daughters hiding their lovely and lusting faces under caps of gold. Benjamin, however, hurried me on, past beautifully carved, half-timbered houses, their plaster brightly painted and gilded, some a washed cream, others snow white, a few even pink. We ran down stinking alleyways and through the gardens of the rich with their elegant fountains, trimmed hedges and sweet-smelling herb gardens. We continued up Bread Street, then turned right into Watling, cutting across a garden, ignoring the astonished cries of servants and children. We entered Budge Row near the Chancellor's inn. Only then did Benjamin stop at the mouth of an alleyway to see if anyone was pursuing us.

'No,' he murmured. 'We are safe!'

He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow and, linking his arm through mine, walked me into the musty but warm embrace of the Kirtle tavern.

'You have Uncle's gold, Roger?'

I nodded.

'Then, Master Innkeeper,' Benjamin called across, 'we wish to hire a chamber for the day and the best meal your kitchens can offer.'

Oh, believe me, we ate well. Even now, staring at the green, neatly clipped privet hedge of my maze, I can picture that chamber, warmed by chafing dishes and small glowing braziers. We dined on fish soup, a haunch of beef cooked in a sauce of wine and spices, and thin white wafers soaked in garlic. Benjamin matched me cup for cup of robust claret, sweet malmsey and the chilled wine of Alsace. I supposed we were celebrating the end of the business, the solution to the mystery, our escape from Catesby, as well as relishing the fulsome praises of the Cardinal.

'So, you think the game is over, Roger?'

I leaned back and considered what had happened in the Cardinal's chambers. 'Yes, though of course you told one lie – Catesby never destroyed that manuscript. And why should anyone follow us now?'

Benjamin pulled off one of his boots and from the lining drew out three neatly folded pieces of parchment.

One was yellow with age but the other two were still fresh and cream-coloured. He tossed the battered parchment to me.

'You recognise that?'

I unfolded and studied it.

'Of course. It's Selkirk's secret confession. The one we found in Paris. Why didn't you give it to Agrippa?'

Benjamin picked up the other two pieces and unfolded them.

'Ah, yes,' he murmured, handing one over. 'Now read this.'

I studied the neat, careful hand-writing.

'Master, you're playing games. This is your translation of Selkirk's confession.'

Benjamin lifted up his hand. 'Then read it, Roger, one more time. Read it aloud!'

' "I, Andrew Selkirk, royal physician," ' I intoned, ' "courtier as well as friend of James IV of Scotland, do now make my confession to God and the world in this secret code about the events which followed our disastrous defeat at Flodden in September 1513. Be it known to all that as dusk fell and the Scottish Army broke, King James and I fled from the field of slaughter. The King had fought all day dressed as a mere knight. He confided in me that he feared assassination by some unknown hand. Certain of his household knights as well as squires of the body had been dressed in the royal armour and tabard, not out of fear or cowardice in the face of the enemy, but as protection against stealthy murder.

' "Know you that on that same night we reached Kelso Abbey, we were joined by Sir John Harrington, knight banneret and one of those the King had chosen to wear his colours during the battle. Now the King, Harrington and I took secret lodgings in the abbot'- house and planned counsel on what we should do next. His Grace and Harrington decided that they should stay whilst I would take a letter from the King to his wife, Queen Margaret, at Linlithgow, asking for her help. His Grace, however, seemed most reluctant. Indeed, he confessed that before the battle his mind had been turned by the phantasms he had seen as well as secret and malicious gossip regarding his Queen." '

I stopped and looked at Benjamin. 'Master, we have read this before.'

'Roger, please keep reading. You may jump a few lines.'

I hurriedly scanned the page. ' "I arrived at Linlithgow," ' I continued, echoing the dead Scotsman's words,' "and delivered His Grace's message. The Queen was closeted with the Earl of Angus and I was surprised for the Queen had already received news from the battle field about her husband's death. I was ordered to take refreshment in the hall. An hour later the Earl of Angus came down and said riders had been despatched to collect the King and bring him to the Queen. I must confess I was ill at ease. The Queen's demeanour had surprised me: she was not a distressed widow who had lost her husband or a Queen who had seen the flower of her army massacred. Sick at heart, I hurried back to Kelso. I arrived early in the morning and, after diligent enquiries, learnt that Harrington had fled whilst men from the Hume and Chattan clans, common soldiers, had taken the King away." '

I looked up in astonishment.

'But, Master, in the confession you showed me in the tower, Selkirk claimed Harrington was also taken by the soldiers.' I snatched up the second piece of cream-coloured parchment and scanned it quickly. 'Yes, look, it's written here!' I threw it back. 'So, what is the truth?'

Benjamin grinned and picked up Selkirk's secret confession.

'The truth is in this: Selkirk confessed that Harrington had fled. I translated it but then began to wonder. So I copied it out again, only this time changing it slightly to make it appear that Harrington, too, was captured.' Benjamin tossed Selkirk's confession on to the charcoal brazier. I watched the flames lick the corners of the paper and turn it to smouldering black ash.

'Why?' I asked. 'What's so important about Harrington?'

'Well,' Benjamin leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, 'when I was studying Selkirk's original poem, I remembered certain letters in particular had been capitalised. Now,' he continued, 'when I talked to Selkirk in the Tower, he said that he was a good poet, and so was the King. He also mentioned a court troubadour called Willie Dunbar.' Benjamin stared across at me. 'Have you ever read any of Dunbar's poetry?'

I shook my head.

'I did,' Benjamin answered, 'when I was in Scotland. Now Dunbar is one of these crafty fellows who likes to garnish his verse with subtle devices and secret codes which hold special meanings to the chosen few. Selkirk's poem borrowed such a device.' Benjamin picked it up. 'I have looked at this again,' he continued. 'I find it strange that the following letters in certain words were capitalised: the "L" in lion; the "N" in Now, the "S" in Stands, as well as the first letters of "In Sacred Hands". Put all these words together and you get "The Lion Now Stands In Sacred Hands." '

'That's not possible!' I whispered.

'Oh, yes, it is.' Benjamin tossed the poem across and I perceived the cunning subtlety of Selkirk's verse.

'But Selkirk said men from the Hume and Chattan clans took James away?'

Benjamin rose and clapped his hands. 'No, he doesn't. All he repeats is what he was told at the abbey. This confession was to demonstrate James survived the battle as well as the evil intentions of Queen Margaret and the Earl of Angus. However, the message left in code in the poem is for the close friends of James who would realise that the King had fled abroad.'

'In other words,' I interrupted, 'Margaret's soldiers, mere commoners who would keep their mouths shut, took from Kelso Abbey a man dressed in royal armour. Of course,' I murmured, 'Sir John Harrington!'

Benjamin nodded. 'Who knows? James may have given him the chain round his waist as well as other royal insignia. Harrington sacrificed himself for James!'

'And the King?' I interrupted. 'What did happen to him?'

Benjamin made a face. 'What could he do? Announce that he had survived the battle? Who would believe him? The royal corpse was supposedly in England. James had been rejected by his wife and, even if he did come forward, he would have only been arrested as an imposter and secretly executed in some dungeon. Don't forget, Roger, James had just suffered one of the most disastrous defeats in Scottish history. He would not be popular.'

'But where is he?' I asked. 'What are these "Sacred Hands"?'

'When I was in Scotland,' Benjamin replied, 'I heard stories about James's romantic dreams of being a crusader. God knows, he may have gone to Outremer and joined one of the crusading orders.'

'So you changed the confession to protect him?'

'Of course. Uncle is very cunning. He may have begun to speculate on who actually did escape from Kelso. Our noble Henry had a passionate hatred for the Scottish King. If he even half-suspected James had survived and might still be alive, his agents would hunt him down.'

'I wonder if Queen Margaret really knows the truth?'

Benjamin shrugged. 'Perhaps she suspects it. The soldiers she sent would have killed the man they took from Kelso. Perhaps her exiled husband sent her a secret message.' He stirred excitedly in his chair. 'That's why,' he whispered, 'she was frightened: the reason she fled Scotland – not because she murdered her husband, but because she has a suspicion he may still be alive!' Benjamin refilled his cup. 'Do you remember when we left the Tower for St Theodore's? I said I had been to see the Queen about Sir John Harrington – I acted the hypocrite, the dumb fool. I claimed that the Regent had asked me if I knew of Harrington's whereabouts. Had he fled to England? I put this to the Queen. My God, you should have seen her pale!' Benjamin beat the top of the table excitedly. 'The bitch may think it's safe now to return to Scotland but the fear will never leave her.'

'Why didn't you tell Catesby this?'

'For the same reason I never told Uncle – something may have gone wrong. Murder is still murder, Roger. What difference does it make if it was Harrington or James?' Benjamin picked up the pieces of manuscript from the table before him.

'Don't burn them, Master!' I shouted. 'Let me have them!'

Benjamin paused and pushed them across the table.

'Take them, Roger,' he whispered, 'but hide them well. They could be your death warrant.'

We spent the rest of the day carousing. We had fought the good fight, finished the race, kept faith with our masters and, though he did not know it, with King James of Scotland. Oh, we became the Cardinal's friends, swore to be his servants in peace and war but we also secretly pledged each other to watch 'Dear Uncle' most closely. We were committed to his service and the White Rose murders were only the first of a succession of mysteries.