The White Rose murders

Chapter 7

We returned to our chamber and spent the rest of the day preparing for the banquet or listening to Doctor Agrippa. He joined us full of his customary bonhomie and scurrilous jokes about the French and Scottish courts. My master listened to him half-heartedly, more engrossed in studying a piece of parchment on which he was writing cryptic notes in a cipher even I did not understand.

At last the sun began to set and Agrippa took us down to the courtyard to watch the other great Scottish lords arrive. Each was accompanied by a fearsome retinue of men armed to the teeth with sword, mace, dagger and small shields or targets. Most of the latter were Scottish but a few were mercenaries from Denmark, Ireland, and as far afield even as Genoa. The Great Hall had been specially prepared for the festive occasion. Huge cresset torches were placed high on the walls, the tables had been covered with white linen and the only plate used was of the best thick silver.

D'Aubigny held court from his chair on the great dais. He was dressed in a rich robe of gold, fringed with black velvet, over a doublet of blood-red silk and black and white hose. On his head was a rakishly set bonnet, pinned to his hair by a silver brooch fashioned in a shape of a fleur de lys. When he took his seat, the trumpets blew and the dinner was served by a long line of servants who carried in plates of steaming hot boar's meat, brawn, beef, sturgeon, fish, bowls of cream containing sugared strawberries, and jug after jug of different wines.

We were placed near the dais on d'Aubigny's right; the conversation, the strange accents and oaths washed around us like water. Agrippa did the talking for us, I ate as if there was no tomorrow whilst Benjamin seemed fascinated by someone further down the hall. After the banquet an Italian performed a subtle and cunning rope trick, then a troupe of girls danced a vigorous whirling jig which left the faces of the spectators, as well as theirs, red with excitement as they kicked their legs high and let their skirts go up, revealing to all and sundry what lay beneath. I noticed there were no other women present and later learnt this was the Scottish custom. Not that they treat their women badly – rather both sexes go their own way, the ladies of the nobility preferring to take their refreshment by themselves in another chamber. Once the festivities were over and d'Aubigny rose to withdraw, so did my master, refusing Agrippa's invitation to stay and talk awhile.

I wanted to tarry. One of the dancing girls with flame-red hair, skin as soft and white as silk and large dark eyes, had caught my fancy. She smiled at me and I wondered if she would be interested in another type of jig! Benjamin, however, squeezed me by the wrist and I followed him, taking some consolation in the fact that I had hidden two knives, three spoons and a small silver plate used for sweetmeats inside my jerkin.

We had turned off the main passageway into a narrow corridor leading to the stairs of our room, when our way was suddenly blocked by two savage creatures who seemed to step out of the darkness. Both looked very similar, faces and hair as white as snow whilst their eyes were strangely blue though red-rimmed. They were dressed in leather jerkins and thick, woollen green and black skirts which the Scots call kilts. On their feet were sandals very similar to those worn by a friar, but there was nothing peace-loving about this pair of demons. They were armed to the teeth with dagger, sword, dirk and a small array of throwing knives strapped in broad leather belts across their chests. One of them approached my master and tapped him gently on the chest, speaking in a high singsong fashion. My master smiled, looked at them and shrugged.

'No thank you,' he said, trying to step aside. 'We have eaten enough and now we wish to retire.'

The man smiled and shook his head. I felt queasy with fright for his teeth had been filed down as sharp as dagger points. He had no need of knives – his teeth alone could have ripped out my throat. Benjamin stepped to one side as if to pass and both men stood back, their hands going to their swords. The second one shook his head and gestured we should follow.

'Agreed,' my master said softly. 'In the circumstances, I think we will follow you, but let me remind you that we are envoys of His Gracious Majesty King Henry VIII of England.'

The second of our unwanted guests must have understood for he turned, raised a leg and farted like a dog. They took us back into the main passageway, past the hall and into a small chamber where Gavin Douglas, Earl of Angus, whom I had glimpsed during the banquet, now lounged in a chair. He had a brimming goblet of wine in one hand, the other up the skirt of the dancing girl who had caught my eye earlier. Angus was stroking her, caressing her thighs and making her squirm and moan with pleasure. Of course, he was as drunk as any sot on May Day, his scarlet damask robe, green jacket and purple hose stained with gross globules of meat and large drops of wine.

'Ah, the envoys of my dear wife,' he announced thickly. Unable to use his hands, he raised a leather-booted foot towards us. I would have fled if the Earl's retainers had not been standing right behind me. I stood still. I did not know where to look; at the girl now moaning with pleasure or Angus's slack-mouthed face. Benjamin, however, smiled coolly at the Earl as if the Scottish bastard was his long-lost brother.

'My Lord, what can we do for you?' he asked.

Angus pursed his lips. 'Oh, what can I do for you?' he mimicked in reply. 'First, if you or your misbegotten entity there,' he gestured towards me, 'plot any design against me, then the two gentlemen standing behind you have orders to slash your throats!' He smiled falsely. 'You have met them? They are Corin and Alleyn, two killers from the clan Chattan: they do not give a donkey's arse whether you have been sent by the Pope himself!' He drank the wine in the goblet in one noisy gulp and threw down the cup.

My master bowed. 'Your Grace,' he said softly, 'I thank you for your courtesy and your…'

Angus, his face now red and glistening with sweat, got up and stood before us.

'I have news for you!' he grated. 'Tell my beloved wife I know her secrets!' He clicked his fingers and the two Highlanders stepped forward. 'Whether you like it or not,' Angus rasped, 'I have instructed Doctor Agrippa that Corin and Alleyn will go south with you. They have their orders. I hate my wife but we are bound by a bond which these two will defend.'

He turned to the Highlanders and stretched out a hand. Immediately the two brutes knelt, licking his fingers as if they were pet dogs. Angus talked to them in a strange tongue. The two rogues, their blue eyes gleaming with pleasure, nodded and repeated some secret oath. Benjamin, however, refused to be abashed. When the two Highlanders stood, he sauntered up and touched each gently on the chest.

'You must be Corin and you must be Alleyn?'

The two assassins, a curious look in their eyes, stared back and did not resist even when my master shook them vigorously by the hand.

'Good night, gentlemen!' he called out merrily, and humming a hymn, led me out of the room.

Once the door was closed, I remonstrated angrily but Benjamin just shook his head.

'Forget Angus!' he said. 'Come with me. I saw something in that hall tonight which I have kept secret. Let us wait in the shadows.'

He refused to answer my persistent questions. We went out and stood in the bailey, taking advantage of the bothies and the huddled tenements built against the castle wall which provided shadows deep enough to hide Satan's Army. We lurked for hours as different revellers left, Benjamin diligently watching each go. At last a lone figure staggered out, singing raucously as he swaggered in a drunken stupor. Benjamin turned and nudged me alert.

'The quarry's in sight, Roger. Now let's follow!'

I didn't know what he was talking about but I dutifully obeyed and we trailed the shambling figure as he made his way drunkenly out through a postern gate and down the steep, narrow alleyways of Nottingham. We crossed the market square, passing the makeshift scaffold where the bloody corpses of the men executed earlier still lay bound in dirty canvas sheets. Our quarry stopped in front of a tavern, light and noise pouring stridently through its open windows. The fellow swayed on his feet and staggered through the doorway. Benjamin and I followed a few minutes later.

Inside the din was terrible. Revellers, their tankards frothing to the brim, shouted and sang. Our quarry secured a table in the far corner and, as soon as I glimpsed him, I could have laughed for sheer joy. He was one-eyed with a great purple birthmark across his face; he must be the same fellow who had been closeted so secretly with Irvine at the Sea Barque in Leicester. Benjamin turned and smiled at me.

'Now you see, Roger. When the Scots came south, this fellow was probably in their retinue and must have searched Irvine out.' He nudged me like an urchin planning a prank. 'Let's see if he can babble to us as much as he did to Irvine.'

We pushed our way through the throng and stood before the fellow as he slouched over the grease-stained table.

'May we join you, sir?'

The man looked up. In the flickering candle light, his twisted face looked as ghastly as a gargoyle's. 'Who are you?' he slurred.

'Benjamin Daunbey and Roger Shallot, two English gentlemen, close friends and acquaintances of the Lord d'Aubigny.'

'And what do you wish with me?'

'A few words and the offer of deep cups of claret.'

The fellow's good eye gleamed. 'And what else?'

'Oh,' Benjamin replied, 'we can commiserate over past glories and dead friends.'

'Such as?'

'The glories of Flodden and the murder of John Irvine.'

The fellow became more watchful.

'What do you mean?' he rasped.

Benjamin leaned over the table. ' "Three less than twelve should it be," ' he chanted, ' "Or the King, no prince engendered he." '

Well, the fellow's face paled!

'Sit down,' he hissed.

'What's your name?' Benjamin asked.

The drunkard grinned, displaying rows of blackened stumps of teeth. 'You can call me Oswald, a mosstrooper now serving the Lord d'Aubigny.'

Benjamin turned and shouted for more wine. Once the slattern had served us, Benjamin toasted our newfound friend.

'Now, Oswald, tell us what you told Irvine.' 'Why should I?'

'If you do,' Benjamin replied quietly, 'you will leave Nottingham a rich man.' 'And if I don't?'

Benjamin's smile widened. 'Then, Oswald, you will leave Nottingham a dead man!' My master leaned across the table. 'For God's sake!' he whispered. 'We are friends. We wish you well but Irvine is dead. What do you know?'

The villain studied Benjamin carefully, his one eye shining gimlet hard. At last he dropped his gaze.

'You look an honest man,' he mumbled blearily. He stared quickly at me. 'Which is more than I can say for your companion. Anyway, you said I would be rich?'

Benjamin drew three gold coins from his purse and placed them in the centre of the table. 'Begin your story, Oswald. You were at Flodden, were you not?'

'Aye, I was,' Oswald replied, a distant look in his eye. 'Somehow or other I had been placed near the King. It was a massacre,' he whispered. 'A bloody massacre! Forget the stories about chivalrous knights and the clash of arms – it was one gory, blood-spattered mess. Men falling everywhere, writhing on the ground, huge gashes in their faces and stomachs.' He drank deeply from his cup. 'I glimpsed the King in his brilliant surcoat standing before the royal banners, the Lion and the Falcon. He fell, and so did they.' Oswald sat up, shaking his head as if freeing himself from a trance. 'I was knocked unconscious. In the morning I awoke, thick-headed and a prisoner. Surrey, the English general, forced me and other Scots to comb the battlefield for King James's body.'

'Did you find it immediately?'

'No, it took some hours before we dragged the body from beneath a mound of soggy corpses. There was an arrow still lodged in the throat. The face and right hand had been badly mauled.'

'What then?' my master asked. 'What happened to the corpse?'

'Surrey had it stripped. The bloody jacket was sent south as a trophy and the mangled remains turned over to the embalmers. The stomach and entrails were removed and the corpse stuffed with herbs and spices.'

'You are sure it was the King's corpse?'

Oswald smiled evilly. 'Ah, that's the mystery. You see, James used to wear a chain round his waist as an act of mortification.'

'And?'

'The corpse bore no chain.'

'Was it the King's body?'

'Well, it could have been…'

'But you say it did not have the chain on it?'

'Ah!' Oswald wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Just before the battle, James is supposed to have made love to Lady Heron. During his lovemaking, the damsel complained bitterly about how the chain round the King's waist chafed her skin, so James removed it.' Oswald's hand crept out to seize the gold. Benjamin fended him off.

'Oh, there's more than that, surely? Don't play games! What happened to the corpse?'

'It was sent south.'

'And then what?'

'Then nothing.'

Benjamin scooped the gold back into his hand. 'Well, Master Oswald, nothing comes of nothing.'

[I remembered this phrase and gave it to William Shakespeare. You watch, you'll see it in one of his plays.]

Benjamin made to rise. 'So, Oswald, you are no richer but we are wiser. What profit now?'

The fellow gazed suspiciously round the crowded tavern. 'What do you mean?' he slurred.

' "Three less than twelve should it be," ' I chanted, ' "Or the King, no prince engendered he!" '

'Not here!' the fellow muttered. 'Come!'

He rose and staggered out and we followed him into a stinking alleyway a short distance from the tavern.

'Well, Oswald, what do these verses mean?'

'At Kelso…' the fellow slurred, then suddenly he went rigid, chest out, face forward, and I watched fascinated as the blood gurgled out of his mouth like water from an overflowing sewer: his eyes rolled in their sockets, his tongue came out as if he wished to talk, then he collapsed, choking on his own blood, on to the shit-strewn cobbles. Benjamin and I turned, daggers drawn, staring into the shadows, but only silence greeted us as if assassination and murder were common events. Indeed, the dagger could have come from anywhere: a darkened window, a shadowed door or from the top of any of the low squat buildings which stood on either side of the alleyway.

'Do not be frightened, Roger,' Benjamin whispered. 'They have killed their quarry.'

He bent over and prised out the dagger embedded deep between Oswald's shoulder blades. It came out with a sickening plop and a gushing gout of blood. I turned the man over. He was not dead; his lips bubbled with a bloody froth and his eyelids fluttered.

'A priest!' he murmured.

Benjamin leant closer.

'A priest!' Oswald whispered again.

His eyes opened, staring up into the dark night sky.

'Absolution,' Benjamin whispered, 'depends on the truth. Tell us what you know.'

'At Flodden,' the fellow murmured, 'at Kelso… Selkirk knew the truth.'

Oswald opened his mouth again as if to continue but he coughed, choking on his own blood and his head fell to one side, his solitary eye fixed in a glassy trance. Benjamin felt his neck for a pulse or any sign of life and shook his head. I crouched down, trying to ease the spasms of fear in my own body.

'Come, Roger,' Benjamin whispered. 'He's dead. Let us walk back to the tavern as if there is nothing wrong.'

Of course, I agreed. There is nothing like the sight of death and blood to make old Shallot want a cup of sack or a goblet of wine! We pushed our way back into the tavern and ordered fresh cups. Benjamin leaned across the table, ticking the points off on his long fingers.

'First, let us forget the murders – Selkirk, Ruthven, Irvine and now Oswald. They are merely bubbles on a dark pool. What else do we know?'

I decided to show my hand.

'Some of the meaning of Selkirk's verses is now apparent,' I replied. 'The first line is still a mystery but the falcon is James. That's why Irvine sketched the rough drawing on the tavern wall – a huge bird, the wench said, with a crown. James IV's personal emblem was a crowned hawk or falcon.'

Benjamin smiled. 'And the lamb?'

'The Earl of Angus,' I replied. 'Play with the letters of his title and Angus becomes Agnus, the Latin for lamb.'

Benjamin nodded. 'Of course,' he whispered. 'That explains the lines, "And the lamb did rest in the falcon's nest".'

'In other words,' I answered, 'the Earl of Angus bedded where once the falcon had, between the sheets with Queen Margaret.'

Benjamin's eyes narrowed as if, for the first time, he was judging me at my real worth. 'Go on, Roger!'

'The Lion,' I whispered, 'is also James. The royal banner of Scotland is the Red Lion Rampant.'

Benjamin pursed his lips. 'Agreed,' he replied, 'but how could this Lion cry even though it died?'

'I think Oswald was about to tell us,' I replied, 'before someone's dagger took him firmly in the back. Who do you think his killers were?'

Benjamin swilled the wine around in his goblet.

'God knows,' he replied. 'It could be anyone. Agrippa, Angus, his hired assassins, or someone under orders from the arch murderer at Royston.' He leaned back against the wall, oblivious to the raucous din around us. 'Recite the verses again,' he said.

I began to chant quietly:

'Three less than twelve should it be,

Or the King, no prince engendered he.

The lamb did rest, In the falcon's nest.

The Lion cried, Even though it died.

The truth Now Stands, In the Sacred Hands,

Of the place which owns Dionysius' bones.'

Benjamin sat forward. 'We know James is, or was, the falcon and the Lion; the Earl of Angus is the lamb. But the rest?' He paused and shook his head. 'I wonder,' he continued, 'what Selkirk meant by the phrase he could "count the days"?' He stared round the noisy tavern. 'And why are we envoys?' He looked anxiously at me. 'You heard d'Aubigny – Queen Margaret is welcome back in Scotland so why this farce of a meeting with the "Scottish envoys? The Queen must be frightened of something. What secrets does she share with her second husband, the Earl of Angus?'

'The dead child,' I answered. 'Alexander, Duke of Ross. There's a mystery there.'

Benjamin tapped the table top with his fingers. 'Aye,' he said, 'I wonder…'

'What, Master?'

'Nothing,' he replied. 'Just a wild thought.' He rested his head between his hands and stared at me. 'But,' he continued, 'I think I know how Selkirk and Ruthven died. Still, I must reflect further, look around, marshal my facts.' He straightened up. 'One thing is certain – we cannot stay with Queen Margaret's party. We have already been warned by the white rose left in our chamber. It's time we left!'

'We cannot run back to Uncle!' I mocked.

Benjamin grinned. 'Oh, no, not that, Roger! We must separate. Agrippa has blank warrants and letters from the Cardinal. We will return to Royston for a while but then it's Scotland for me and France for you. Paris, in fact!'

'France! Paris!' I yelled. 'Master, surely not?'

Benjamin grabbed my hand. 'Roger, we are finished here. What more can we discover? So far we have gone where other people have sent us, being told to go here, go there, like children in a maze. It's time to take some control of events and do what is not expected.'

'But why Scotland?' I queried. 'And why me to Paris?'

'Our dead friend Oswald mentioned something about Kelso. Some Scots fled to the abbey there after Flodden.'

'And Paris?'

'Selkirk lived there. Remember, he talked about Le Coq d'Or tavern? You know some French?' he challenged.

'A little,' I replied, 'culled from a horn book. But let's go together.'

Benjamin's face grew serious. 'We cannot waste the time, and you'll be safer in Paris than Scotland. The Earl of Angus would not interfere with the Cardinal's nephew, and the French have no interest in this. So, you will be secure, provided you keep your own counsel and stay well away from any English envoys there.' He smiled. 'Not that any would have anything to do with you! Look,' he said, 'you are to be in France by the beginning of December. I shall join you at Le Coq d'Or by the fourth Sunday in Advent.' His dark eyes beseeched me. 'You will go?'

'Yes,' I replied, 'I will.' And added my own selfish after-thought that the whores in Paris were the most skilled in the world, whilst cups of claret were as cheap as water there!

We returned without incident to the castle and slept safely in our own chamber. The next morning Benjamin rose early and said he wished to watch the clerks at work in the scriptorium. He came back an hour later, looking as smug as a cat who'd stolen the cream. I asked him why but he just smiled, shook his head and said he would tell me in his own good time. The castle was now a hive of activity. The Scots, their mission completed, packed coffers and chests and prepared to leave, intending to go under safe conduct to Yarmouth where their ships would take them back to the Port of Leith in Edinburgh. Doctor

Agrippa, who surprisingly had kept well out of our way, now came to dance attendance on us. We made no mention of Oswald or his murder; he seemed totally oblivious of that, being more concerned to hear about our private conversation with Lord d'Aubigny. The Earl of Angus, too, had not forgotten us. His two silent assassins, Corin and Alleyn, attached themselves to Agrippa like dogs to a new master and where he went, they followed. The magician didn't seem to mind, especially as the two clansmen seemed very much in awe of him although they studied Benjamin and myself like two hawks would chickens, as if savouring the thought of a meal to come.

The following day Agrippa announced we would leave and we slipped quietly out of Nottingham and took the road south. Behind us, loping along like two white wolves, trotted Corin and Alleyn, seemingly oblivious to the miles we covered, padding silently behind our horses without murmur or protest. At night, when we slept in taverns, they stayed in the outhouses, fending for themselves like two animals. If Agrippa gave an order they obeyed with alacrity, but sometimes I caught them watching me and shuddered at the amusement in their icy, pale-blue eyes.

We found Royston much as we had left it. Of course, Queen Margaret and Catesby questioned us, paying particular attention to how d'Aubigny looked, what he said and how he treated us, until my head reeled with their constant petty questions. Strangely, never once did they mention the mysteries of Selkirk's and Ruthven's deaths; I got the distinct impression that both of them were relieved by what they heard. Indeed, Catesby seemed quite excited and both he and his Queen openly announced they would return to Scotland as soon as possible.

'We shall go back to London!' Catesby grandly proclaimed. 'Re-order the household, gather our possessions and, when the Council of Scottish lords sends us safe conduct, travel north to the border.'

Now Agrippa looked withdrawn and quietly anxious.

'But Les Blancs Sangliers!. he protested. 'The deaths of Selkirk and Ruthven, not to mention Irvine – these must be investigated and avenged!'

'Nonsense!' Catesby replied. He pointed to the two killers the Earl of Angus had sent south. 'We have protection enough. Let the Yorkist traitors plot in their secret covens. Such matters do not concern us now.'

I was as bemused as anyone by the sudden resurgence of optimism in Catesby. I also noticed how Corin and Alleyn, once we had reached Royston, switched their allegiance to him. If they obeyed Agrippa, they openly fawned on Catesby and Queen Margaret, with a subservience which belied their previously threatening attitude and hostile intentions towards myself and Benjamin. Agrippa, of course, protested again.

'There are still matters which need to be resolved,' he stormed angrily.

Catesby ridiculed his suggestion and Queen Margaret jubilantly derided it.

'The Council wish me back!'; she announced pompously. 'My young son the King wants to see his mother. Surely,' she added slyly, 'my good brother would not put obstacles between a queen and her throne or a mother and her son?' She turned to us, her fat bottom moving smoothly over the polished seat of her chair. 'Master Benjamin,' she cried, her voice echoing through the Chapter House, 'your uncle the Lord Cardinal cannot object! After all,' she added slyly, 'I shall report how your mission to Nottingham was a great success.'

'Your Grace,' Benjamin replied coolly, 'I thank you for that but I must agree with Doctor Agrippa – there are matters still unresolved.'

'Such as?'

'Selkirk's verse and his death. Ruthven's murder, and the violent destruction of John Irvine, the Cardinal's special envoy to Scotland.'

'And how,' she asked sweetly, 'can these matters be resolved?'

Benjamin's gaze held hers.

'I shall go to Scotland alone,' he quietly announced, 'whilst Shallot will travel to Paris. In Scotland I may find some answers. In France Shallot may find the truth behind Selkirk's obtuse warnings.' He smiled. 'Your Grace cannot object? We may be in your household but we work under the direct orders of the Lord Cardinal.'

Of course, the royal bitch agreed. Catesby just smirked. Agrippa, although he objected at first, reluctantly consented to write out the warrants and disburse the necessary silver for our journeys.

The rest of Queen Margaret's household ignored us, taken up with preparations for their own journey back to London. The Careys glared at me, Scawsby sneered and enquired sarcastically after my health whilst Melford, whenever his gaze caught mine, let his hand fall to the dagger at his belt. Moodie was different. He was withdrawn and seemed rather frightened. Just before Benjamin and I left, he searched me out, a small package in his hand.

'You go to Paris?' he asked.

I nodded.

'To Le Coq d'Or tavern?' 'Yes,' I replied. 'Why?'

Moodie shamefacedly extended the package he held. 'In a street nearby,' he mumbled, 'at the Sign of the Pestle in the Rue des Moines, would you leave this? It's for…' He looked away, embarrassed. 'It's for a Madame Eglantine who calls there. I knew her once,' he stuttered, 'it's a gift.'

I looked at the little priest and grinned at Benjamin. 'Of course,' I replied. 'Even priests have friends, be they male or female.'

[Now there goes my clerk again, protesting as if he was as chaste as the driven snow. He squirms his little bum on the stool. 'I suppose Moodie's going to be the murderer!' he yelps: I tell the little bastard to shut up. There are more terrors to come, more mysteries and secrets than he could ever know. Something which, if I lived to be two hundred years old then went and announced it at St Paul's Cross, would rock the very throne of England and scandalise the courts of Europe! Good, that's shut the little bastard up. Now I can get back to my story.]

Benjamin and I left Royston in the last week of November, when the days grew dark early and the sun disappeared a few hours after noon. The mist had lifted from a countryside now hard and black under an iron frost. We reached the crossroads. I looked mournfully at Benjamin.

'We part here, Master?'

He looked around as if to make sure Agrippa or any other spy was not lurking in the hedgerow, and shook his head in contradiction.

My heart quickened. 'So I'm not off to France?'

'In due course, Roger, but surely you realise where we must go first?'

'Master, I am in no mood for riddles. I am cold and getting more frightened by the hour. I wish to God this business was done and we were back in Ipswich!'

Benjamin patted me on the shoulder. 'Listen, Roger,' he explained, 'at Sheen Palace lies the corpse of James IV of Scotland. Now, we saw Queen Margaret mourning her husband; we have Selkirk's riddle about a Lion that cried even though it died; Oswald the moss trooper's tale about more than one royal corpse being discovered at Flodden…' Benjamin shook his head. 'I know he didn't actually say that but it was implicit in his words. Above all, we have his strange reference to Kelso. Roger, I believe all these mysteries are rooted in King James's death at Flodden. Accordingly, we must examine the corpse at Sheen.'

'Hell's teeth!' I exclaimed. 'We just can't march up to Sheen Palace and demand to see a royal corpse!'

Benjamin pulled Wolsey's warrants out of his wallet. 'Oh, yes, we can, Roger. These warrants allow us to go wherever we wish. They order every servant of the Crown, on their loyalty to the King, to give us aid and assistance.'

'Ah, well, Master,' I smiled, 'if you put it like that, of course, it makes sense!'

[Now there's my little clerk sniggering away just because I was frightened. He forgets I can lean forward in this great chair and give him a good whack across the shoulders. On second thoughts, I won't. He's right. I was terrified and my fear was born of shadowy terrors yet to come.]

We struck south-west for the old Roman Road which runs from Newark to London. Benjamin had another reason for our sudden change of plan.

'You see, Roger,' he commented, 'you were expected to take the road to Dover whilst I was bound for Scotland. If anyone is preparing an ambush or some stealthy assassin lies lurking in a tavern, their wait will be both long and fruitless.'

Poor Benjamin, he could be so innocent. He forgot we had to travel back!