The White Rose murders

Chapter 6

We bribed the guide with silver and a promise of more to take us to Leicester. A day later, we were struggling through the runnels and alleyways of that city. The good Lord knows what a dirty, loathsome task it was: the crowded houses, and the stinking sewers which smelt like a boiling cauldron in the heat of the city. At last we discovered the Sea Barque in a rundown market square just under the city walls. The houses on each side of this gloomy square were dirty and ramshackle; an old dog lay panting under the small market cross. Now and again it would rise and lick the feet of a sore-infested beggar fastened tight in the stocks. It was eventide, the market was finished and both the hucksters and their customers were sheltering under the striped canvas awnings of the small ale booths. Benjamin pointed to the Sea Barque, a narrow tenement three storeys high with a great ale stake tucked under its eaves and a gaudily painted sign hanging tipsily over the battered door. Around this entrance were a small group of tinkers and pedlars selling brightly coloured ribbons, gloves, plums and green apples. We pushed through these into the tavern whilst our guide stayed outside to hold the horses.

The taproom of the Sea Barque was cool although musty, its tables nothing but barrels, with a few rickety stools and benches round the walls. We had been warned by a merchant on the road not to drink either the water or the muddy-coloured ales because the plague had recently been raging in the city and the streams might still be infected. My master ordered a jug of wine and questioned the slattern, a pretty, fresh-cheeked wench, who would have been quite comely if she had kept her teeth. Benjamin, courteous as ever, let her sip from his cup and thrust a penny into her small but calloused hand.

'Child,' he remarked, 'do you remember a man called Irvine – fresh-faced, sandy-haired, perhaps secretive and sly? He talked like a Scotsman?'

The girl looked puzzled so I repeated the description and recognition dawned in her bright blue eyes. She nodded her head vigorously and chattered gaily though I could only understand half of what she said. Apparently Irvine had been a constant patron of the place.

'At first he came alone,' the slattern announced. 'He ate and drank generously and was well liked by the other customers, even though he was a Scotsman.' She stopped speaking and winked at my master, taking another sip from his goblet and grabbing the second penny he offered. 'But then,' she continued like a child reciting a story, 'he became secretive and withdrawn and took to meeting in a corner with a sinister-looking fellow.' She screwed up her eyes to remember. 'This stranger had dark brown hair, a patch over one eye and a large purple birth mark which stretched across his cheek.'

'Was he English?' I asked.

She laughed and shook her head. 'A true Scotsman. He could drink like a fish and I couldn't understand his coarse speech.'

'And did Irvine leave anything?' my master asked.

'Oh, no. I cleaned his room.' She looked slyly at me. 'Or, at least, I tried to.'

'Why do you say that?' Benjamin snapped.

'Because he left a drawing on the wall. The landlord was furious and told me to wash it off.'

'What was it?' I asked.

'A large bird,' she answered. 'He drew it with a piece of charcoal. A large bird with a cruel beak and a crown on its head.'

'Like an eagle?' I queried.

'Yes, yes,' the girl replied.

'And Irvine's strange companion?' Benjamin asked. 'What did he do?'

'Nothing but chatter to Irvine, then he left, and Irvine shortly afterwards.'

We thanked the wench who could tell us nothing else. We spent some more time moving around Leicester, going from tavern to tavern trying to discover if anyone else had seen Irvine's strange companion. We met with nothing but failure. The end of the second day in the city found us faded, dirty and eager to leave.

We spent two days travelling back to Royston with a guide who was as tired of us as we were sick of him. The manor house, despite a change in the weather, still looked grim: a gloomy, squat huddle of buildings hiding behind a cracked, moss-covered curtain wall. Melford and a group of bowmen greeted us at the gate. Above them, his feet kicking, his hose stained, face black and tongue protruding, danced one of the kitchen minions.

'Hanged!' Melford cheerily announced. 'For stealing household goods and trying to sell them in the surrounding villages.'

The bastard smiled evilly at me as if he would have loved to have put a noose round my neck and had me swinging on a branch of the overhanging elm tree. We hid our disgust and made our way up to the main door where the ever-benevolent Doctor Agrippa was waiting for us. Whilst grooms took our horses away, we were led into the dreary Chapter House, now made a little more comfortable with hangings and arras, cushions and chairs, from Queen Margaret's stores.

'Irvine's news?' Agrippa demanded at once as Catesby bolted the door behind us and scrutinised the long, low-ceilinged chamber as if eavesdroppers lurked in its very shadows. He came and stood over us.

'Irvine?' he repeated hoarsely. 'What news do you bring?'

My master flicked the dust from his cloak. 'Sir Robert, I am dirty, tired, saddle-sore and thirsty. I would like some wine.'.

Two goblets slopping with wine were hastily served. My master drank deeply while I studied Agrippa's cherubic face and the anxious, worried frown on Catesby's.

'Irvine is dead,' Benjamin announced flatly.

Catesby moaned and turned away. Agrippa fidgeted excitedly in his chair.

'How?' he asked softly. 'How was Irvine killed?'

'He never reached the convent,' my master lied. 'Oh, we waited for him but then a pedlar brought in his corpse. His throat had been cut from ear to ear and his wallet had been filched.' Benjamin shrugged. 'We failed.'

'We were meant to fail!' I interrupted hoarsely. 'Irvine was ambushed. Somebody knew he was coming, and the only people who did are here in Royston Manor!'

'What are you saying?' Catesby demanded.

'That someone from Royston ambushed Irvine and murdered him,' I replied coolly, ignoring the rage which changed Catesby's open-faced, ploughboy looks into a mask of fury.

'How do we know you two did not kill him?'

'Ask our guide,' Benjamin answered. 'Ask the ladies of the convent – we were never out of their sight.'

I remembered the long, graceful legs of the prioress wrapped firmly around me and hid my smile.

'So,' Benjamin continued, 'where was everybody when we were visiting Coldstream?'

'I was at Nottingham!' Catesby snapped. 'We left here the same day you did, November the eighth. Melford and I were in Nottingham on the morning of the ninth. The Constable there will vouch for our movements.'

'And here at Royston?'

Agrippa never took his eyes off mine.

'A good point, Master Shallot.' He spread his hands. 'None of us can account for our movements precisely. Carey was scouring the countryside for provisions.

Indeed, he was away three days. Moodie was sent to Yarmouth by Her Grace the Queen.' 'And you yourself?'

Agrippa grinned. 'Like the good doctor Scawsby, I was completing certain errands – Scawsby was buying medicines for the Queen,' he yawned, 'I, of course, for the Lord Cardinal.'

I stared into those dark, enigmatic eyes. Was he mocking me? Had he been on the Cardinal's business or lying in ambush for Irvine? I remembered the mist-shrouded countryside and shivered. Or had he been immersed in his Black Arts, calling up a demon from hell in some lonely wood or deserted copse? But why should I suspect him? His answer was very clever: no one could really account for their movements but once again Benjamin and I had drunk deeply from the cup of failure. Catesby pulled a stool across and slumped down, burying his face in his hands.

'Selkirk's dead!' he intoned, like a priest beginning the prayers for the dying. 'Ruthven's murdered and now Irvine!' He glanced sideways at Agrippa. 'In time, perhaps, these deaths will be avenged, but the Queen is insistent that we should meet the Scottish envoys.' He glanced at the hour candle burning on the table. 'The situation is this: the Queen fled from Scotland leaving her infant sons, James and Alexander.' He paused. 'Alexander sickened and died. The Queen has no great love for her second husband but she does for Scotland. The Scottish envoys will be led by Lord d'Aubigny, the Regent's right-hand man. The Queen's husband, Douglas, Earl of Angus, has also insisted on coming. You are to demand of them Queen Margaret's return. They should arrive at Nottingham this evening. Tomorrow you must travel there, Master Benjamin and Shallot, and this time the good doctor Agrippa will accompany you.' Catesby stared at us from red-rimmed eyes. 'This time do not fail!' he snapped. 'Now I must tell the Queen.' He rose and left, slamming the door behind him.

'Did you murder Irvine?' I flung the accusation at the smiling Agrippa.

The good doctor threw back his head and laughed merrily, the sound echoing strangely in that dark, forbidding hall. He got up, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and came to stand over me. He cupped my face in small, soft hands.

'One day, Roger,' he whispered, 'you will detect the solution to great mysteries. I have looked into the shadows which are not yet realities. But, oh dear, you still have so much to learn.' He withdrew his hands, smiled at Benjamin and slipped quietly out of the room.

We spent the rest of the day recovering from our journey and doing our best to avoid the other members of the household, who soon learnt of our failure and hid their satisfaction behind smug looks or sour smiles. Dinner that evening was not a happy affair. Queen Margaret and Catesby glowered at us from the head of the table. Melford, now he had tasted blood, seemed to be revelling in some private joke. Moodie looked sanctimonious whilst Scawsby could hardly hide his crows of triumph. Carey looked worried and Doctor Agrippa sat as if a spectator at some masque or mummer's play.

We sat there toying with our food. Perhaps I drank too deeply because one of old Shallot's mottos is, and always has been: 'When you are frightened and there's wine about, drink as much as you can.' At last my master, tired of the ominous silence, tugged at my sleeve. We rose, bowed to Queen Margaret, mumbled our apologies and crept out of the hall.

'Master Daunbey!' Doctor Agrippa's voice called us back. 'We are to leave for Nottingham at first light.'

Benjamin pursed his lips and shook his head. 'No need to summon us, good doctor. You will find us waiting for you outside Royston. The sooner we leave here the better!'

When we returned to our own chamber, I turned drunkenly on Benjamin. 'What did you mean?'

'About what?'

'When Agrippa summoned us back?'

Benjamin chewed on his lip and shook his head. 'You are tired and half drunk, Roger. Go to bed.'

And, without a word more, Benjamin turned his back on me. I staggered off to sleep and was awakened by my master, his face bathed in a pool of candle light.

'Roger!' he whispered. 'Get up – now!'

'What's the matter?' I replied crossly.

Benjamin kept shaking me and half-dragged me out of bed. He pointed to a tray bearing some loaves and watered wine.

'Break your fast!' he hissed. 'The food is not tainted. We may be in danger here!'

I cursed but did as he requested and afterwards we slipped down the darkened stairway out of the main door where Benjamin had ordered a sleepy-eyed groom to bring round the horses. We mounted and rode across the darkened causeway, past the sentry, half-sleeping at the open gates and on to the trackway. The corpse of the household servant still swung from the branch of an elm tree. Good Lord, I remember the scene well to this day. Terror seemed to permeate the very air. It was bitterly cold, at that moment just before dawn when the demons and evil sprites which live under heaven make their final assault against the human soul. I looked round to glimpse the dark mass of Royston Manor and the swaying corpse of the hanged man caught my glance. Panic throbbed through my body and, if I hadn't been made of sterner stuff, I would have dug spurs into my horse and galloped as fast as I could back to Ipswich. The guard did not challenge us and we followed the faint trackway till Benjamin reined in and offered me a bulging wineskin.

'Drink as much as you want, Roger,' he whispered. 'I understand. I found this on our table when I woke.'

He stretched out his hand and I saw the small, faded, white rose lying there. I shivered at the warning. Benjamin threw the rose down.

'Now, Roger,' he continued briskly, 'I apologise for my rudeness yesterday evening but you do realise we are in great danger? There's something about this matter which could lead us to the gallows or on to the knife of some hired assassin. A dark, sinister masque is being played out and we do not know whom to trust. My uncle? The King? Queen Margaret? Doctor Agrippa? Something does not ring true… but what can we do? If we return to London empty-handed, we are finished. If we pursue this, we could very well be placing our heads in a noose. We do not know who are our friends and who our enemies. Two things may protect us: first, the Lord Cardinal treats me as his favourite nephew and that will afford us some protection; secondly, our investigations safeguard us. There are those who skulk behind and let us run hither and thither while they watch what we find out.'

His cool eyes holding mine, he leaned closer. 'We are in a dance of death. As long as the dance continues we are safe, but if we try to step out we will either be pushed back or killed. By whom I do not know but I intend to find out. For what else is there, Roger? Who is waiting for you or me?' He blinked and looked away. 'Who would miss us?' he added softly. 'Who loves you, Roger? Who loves me? Where is our home, where our loved ones? Look at us now, on this wild heathland with only the grass and the sky to keep us company. And our defence? Our health, the weapons we carry and the money we share. That's all there is, Roger.'

For once in my life I admit my master truly terrified me because he was right. My belly rolled in terror. I could have vomited with fear and had difficulty controlling my breathing at the silent horrors my master described. Benjamin took me firmly by the wrist and my horse whickered softly.

'Yet I have you, Roger, your friendship, and you have mine.' He threw back his head and laughed at the grey, lonely skies. 'What more could a man want?' He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. 'I mean, Roger, how many friends does the Lord Cardinal have? Not the King!' He suddenly sobered. 'Sometimes,' he whispered, as if the very bushes concealed royal agents or spies, 'I fear for my uncle.'

'What do you mean, Master?'

'Although he has the King's friendship…'Benjamin was on the point of replying when we heard the clip-clop of horses' hooves and saw Doctor Agrippa making his way slowly towards us; his mount, a gentle cob, ambling along as if it was a balmy summer's day.

'Good morning, Benjamin, Roger.' The doctor drew back his dark cowl. 'You were in a hurry to leave Royston.'

Benjamin grunted.

'Why?' Agrippa continues. 'What dangers threaten you?'

'You know very well,' Benjamin snapped back. 'Murder lurks there. Selkirk, Ruthven, Irvine… sooner or later it will be our turn. I am right, am I not?'

Agrippa's candid eyes rounded in mock amazement. 'But you are the Cardinal's nephew and Roger is your good friend. Your deaths,' he emphasised, 'would have to be explained, if not avenged.'

'Don't play games, Doctor. We air stand on the edge of a darkened ring. There is a great mystery here.'

Agrippa turned to me. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

'And you, Roger, if your remarks in the Chapter House mean anything, believe I am at the centre of this darkened ring?'

My long-suffering patience broke. 'Who are you?' I accused. 'What magic arts do you dabble in?'

Agrippa shrugged. 'What is magic, Roger?' He pointed down to his stirrup. 'Many centuries ago, a Roman Army was wiped out by the Goths at Adrianopolis. Do you know why?'

I shook my head.

'The Goths wore stirrups and, because they did, could fight more efficiently on horseback. To many Romans at the time, the Goths were demons who used magical arts to gain victory.' He shook his head. 'And what was their magic? Something we don't even think about today.'

'You weave spells,' I challenged. 'Carey says his father saw you in Antioch years ago! How can a man live so long?'

Agrippa laughed softly. 'You are right, Shallot. Nothing is what it seems to be.' He leaned forward, his face serious. 'Who I am and what I do does not concern you. I am the Lord Cardinal's man!'

'Does the Cardinal need such protection?' Benjamin queried.

Agrippa chewed his lip. 'Your uncle is hated. He needs to protect himself: men say he has a magic ring which he uses to raise demons to control the King. They also claim that the Lord Cardinal has hired a famous witch, a murderess named Mabel Brigge, who has King Henry in thrall through the St Trinian's fast, a three-day period of abstinence from food and drink which leaves the strongest subjects under her control.' Agrippa stopped and looked at a lonely bird shrieking above us as if it was a devil let loose to wander this lonely wilderness.

I shivered as more silent terrors gripped my soul.

'I don't believe that,' my master replied.

'Oh, yes, you do,' Agrippa murmured. 'The only man your uncle should fear is the King himself. You have heard the prophecies?'

Now fascinated by Agrippa's sepulchral tones, I shook my head and wondered what powers he really had. The good doctor looked at us sharply.

'I trust both of you, so I shall tell you. They say King Henry is the Dark One, he is the Mouldwarp, the Prince of Darkness foretold by Merlin, the great wizard of King Arthur's court. According to his prophecies, the king of the twelfth generation after John will be the Mouldwarp, a hairy man whose skin will be as thick as a goat's. At first he will be greatly praised by his people, before sinking down into the dark pit of sin and pride. He is condemned by God to end his reign in gore and destruction. We are the twelfth generation after John and Henry is our King. We see him now as a golden sun but what will happen to him as the day dies and the sun begins to set? Then how long will he tolerate your uncle? And if the Lord Cardinal goes, falling from the heavens like Lucifer, you, the little ones, will be dragged down in his wake!' He spurred his horse. 'That is why we must succeed, not just for ourselves but for the Lord Cardinal. Who knows whether our success or failure might bring the prophecies about?' He glanced over his shoulder. 'We must go on, lest the shadows catch up with us.'

We urged our horses forward. I forget the details of the journey. Both Benjamin and I were lost in our own thoughts and I was mystified by Agrippa's revelations. A strange man whose like you will not meet again in my memoirs.

[Do you know, I lately financed a trip under one of Raleigh's captains to the Americas. When the fellow returned I entertained him here in the manor house. He told me strange stories of red-skinned men who wore eagle feathers, and their wise man fitted Doctor Agrippa's description. A strange world isn't it? My chaplain snorts in derision but what does he know? He lusts after Fat Margot's tits and is jealous because tonight I'll cup them in my hands. Oh, yes, the juices still run hot and I, past ninety, can do what many a thirty year old finds impossible! Do you think I am lying? Read my memoirs. When I was locked hidden away in Suleiman the Magnificent's harem, I satisfied every one of his houris but, as I keep saying, that's another story.]

Eventually, Agrippa, Benjamin and I entered Nottingham, going through the main archway into a dirty maze of streets. After the fresh airs of the countryside, we gagged at the smell of stale urine, stinking cats and rotting vegetables. The open sewer in the high street looked as if it had never been cleaned and at times we squelched ankle deep in human excrement. Our horses had more sense and refused to go further so we stabled them at a local inn where we satisfied our hunger on a dish of fish cooked over charcoal before making our way up to the castle.

We crossed the huge market square where a great throng had gathered to witness the execution of two brothers found guilty by the Judges of Assizes of plotting against the King. The press was too great and we found ourselves trapped by the crowd just in front a massive, black-timbered scaffold. The headsman was already waiting. He stood before the rusty, blood-stained block, his face covered by a black hood as he leaned on a great two-edged axe. He was two-thirds drunk but, there again, I suppose any man ordered to discharge such a duty would need some wine to gladden the heart and dull the brain.

The two brothers were conducted in a cart to the macabre beat of a single drum. They were dressed simply in hose and open-necked shirts. The captain of the guard led them on to the scaffold, a scrawny-faced clerk gabbled out the sentence of the court. The younger man pressed forward, his hands tied behind his back. He looked grievingly at his elder brother who muttered something. The man became calmer, sank to his knees and allowed the executioner to bend him so his neck fitted over the block. Again the drum beat, the great axe swirling in the sunlight. There was a crunch, the hot spatter of blood and a deep sigh from the crowd. The eldest brother refused to have his hands tied but coolly watched as his brother's carcase was rolled away. He then knelt at the block like a priest before his prie dieu. He positioned his head, made a gesture with his hand, the axe swirled again, his body jerked, the head bounced on to the scaffold in a great spurt of scarlet. A guard kicked away a dog who tried to run under the scaffold to lick the dripping blood.

My master, pale-faced, his forehead covered with a sheen of sweat, groaned and turned away. Agrippa beckoned me to follow. A cook, sitting in the shade of a market stall, cackled with laughter and performed his own minor execution of a hapless chicken, slicing the neck and allowing the headless corpse to totter for a while before it collapsed in a heap of bloody feathers. My master hurried away to vomit in a corner. Agrippa waited for him to regain his composure.

'I told you,' he murmured, 'the blood letting by our King is just beginning. The Kingdom will be covered by dark pools of blood.'

Agrippa urged us on and we climbed the hill towards the main gates of the castle where the Red Lion Rampant banner of Scotland fluttered in the wind. A wild thought occurred to me and, for the first time, one of the threads in the mystery of Selkirk's poem began to unravel.

We crossed the lowered drawbridge and went under an arched entrance depicting the wonderfully carved scene of the Annunciation. A burly captain of the guard arranged for our horses to be stabled and immediately took us upstairs into what Agrippa called the Lion Chamber, a long, wooden-panelled room with black and white floor tiles which shimmered in the torch light. These were lozenge-shaped and I remembered them particularly because they were decorated with golden love knots. At the south end of the hall was a huge canopied fireplace and, above it, a blue and gold tapestry bearing the royal arms of Scotland. Beneath this was a large, oaken table and two high-backed chairs, also of oak, cushioned with cloth of gold and fringed with silver silk.

'The Scottish lords have made themselves at home,' Agrippa muttered.

The captain invited us brusquely to sit on a bench before the table and hurried out of a side door. We must have waited half an hour. A serving wench brought us flagons of watered beer. Both my master and myself took in our surroundings, whilst Agrippa, perched on the edge of the bench, hummed softly to himself, rocking to and fro like some cheerful sparrow.

At last the captain re-entered, accompanied by three soldiers. Behind them were two men. One was dressed in a dark blue jerkin and hose. He was an elegant fellow with steel-grey hair and bronzed face, his sensuous mouth fringed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. His companion, swathed in a dark tawny robe as if he felt the cold, was a different kettle of fish: jet black hair framed a white face. He would have been handsome had it not been for the close-set eyes and the petulant cast to his mouth.

'My Lord d'Aubigny and Gavin Douglas, Earl of Angus!' Agrippa hissed as we rose to greet them.

I must say this openly: d'Aubigny I liked immediately, a gentleman born and bred, a true courtier like myself. All Angus did was pull his robe tighter around him and slump in one of the high-backed chairs to glower at us. D'Aubigny, however, came down from the dais and shook Agrippa's hand vigorously before allowing the doctor to introduce both my master and myself. He talked to us kindly, his grey eyes dancing with amusement as he questioned us about our journey. Had it been safe? What troubles had we encountered? His English was very good, though tinged with a pronounced French accent. I looked at him curiously for Master Benjamin and Doctor Agrippa had told me about him on our journey to the castle. He was a distant cousin to James IV but his father had been exiled to France so he had been reared and educated in the French fashion. D'Aubigny waved aside our letter of introduction and called for more refreshments before joining Angus on the other side of the table.

'Well, Master Daunbey,' d'Aubigny began, 'a representative of the English King is always welcome but doubly so when he is the nephew of the great Lord Cardinal.' He leaned forward with his hands clasped together on the table. 'So, Master Envoy, what messages do you bring?'

My master looked nervously at the Earl of Angus who had hardly moved except to gulp noisily from a goblet of wine. D'Aubigny himself acted as if Angus was scarcely there.

'Queen Margaret,' my master began bluntly, 'wishes to return to Scotland.'

D'Aubigny spread his hands. 'There is no obstacle,' he replied. 'The Queen is always welcome back. I have said this many times, Doctor Agrippa, have I not?'

The good doctor nodded his head vigorously. When I glanced sideways I noticed how his face had changed; the air of bonhomie and lazy good humour had disappeared. His eyes were hard now, glaring at d'Aubigny with the occasional sideways knowing glance at the sulky Angus.

'I repeat,' d'Aubigny continued, 'the Queen is welcome back. I will take an oath over a casket of the most sacred relics on this. I have explained to King Henry many times that his worthy sister left Scotland of her own accord -or, should I say, fled? We did not separate her from her children, but the Council cannot allow our infant King to wander where he will.'

D'Aubigny shifted in his seat. Perhaps he was disturbed by Agrippa's hard glance. He began to emphasise his points with one hand.

'The Lady Margaret was appointed Regent by no less a person than her late husband in his will. However, she infringed that mandate by marrying My Lord of Angus within a year of her husband's death!' D'Aubigny turned to his companion. 'My Lord, you would corroborate that?'

Angus slouched like a spoiled brat, nodded and began to tap noisily on the table top with his fingers. Again d'Aubigny repeated the question, this time a little more harshly.

'My Lord Douglas, you will corroborate that?'

This time d'Aubigny waited and would have done till the Second Coming. Angus stirred.

'Och, aye!' the fellow replied sourly. 'I will confirm that. Perhaps we were too hasty. The marriage brought neither of us happiness, especially when my lady wife insisted on hiding in one castle or the other so I could not follow her.' He smiled sardonically at Agrippa. 'You know the Douglas motto – "Better to hear the lark sing in the woods and fields than the mouse squeak in the corridors and chambers of the castle." '

'What My Lord Douglas is saying,' d'Aubigny said meaningfully, 'is that the Queen hid herself away, first in Stirling, then in other castles. There was an attempt,' he added, 'aided and abetted by other nobles, to rescue the Queen's children from the rightful custody of the Council. But this came to naught and so Queen Margaret slipped over the border into England.'

'Your Grace,' Agrippa interrupted harshly, 'a mother's place is with her children. In your custody her second babe, Alexander, Duke of Ross, died!'

'A Queen's rightful place,' d'Aubigny tartly replied, 'is in her kingdom with her children, one of whom, although still a bairn, is the appointed King.' D'Aubigny's eyes softened. 'C'est vrai, Alexander did die, but he was a sickly boy, born two months early. Anyway, I do not think we should discuss the young Duke of Ross, should we?'

I looked sideways. Do you know, the little bugger Agrippa actually blushed whilst Douglas lost his solemn look. Indeed, the fellow became agitated. I saw my master stiffen, those mild, blinking blue eyes had caught something, though God knows what. D'Aubigny sensed he had triumphed in this repartee and stood up, smiling kindly at us.

'You see, your mission is ended. Master Benjamin, Her Grace is most welcome back. Indeed, I could invite the Archangel Gabriel from Heaven – but it would be up to him whether he came or not!'

My master rose and bowed.

'Your Grace, I thank you for your time.'

'Tush, man,' d'Aubigny replied, 'it was nothing. In the morning we will meet again.' He looked at Angus and his smile faded. 'This time alone.'

I tried to question my master on what he had learnt from d'Aubigny, once we were shown up to our chamber, but Master Benjamin was in one of his more withdrawn moods. He wandered off then came back to lie on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Now and again he would glance at me.

'There is a mystery here,' is all he would murmur. When I looked again, he had fallen fast asleep. Thankfully, the good Doctor Agrippa did not share our chamber. I padded round the room and quietly filched any precious object there: a small set of silver candlesticks, two finely chased pewter goblets and a cunningly wrought steel crucifix which hung on the wall. Satisfied with the day's proceedings, I went to bed and slept like a child until awoken, long after dawn, by my master. He smilingly proffered me a cup of watered wine in one of the goblets I had hidden away the previous evening. I gazed quickly around the room and sighed bitterly. Benjamin had replaced everything. As usual, he paid no thought to the future and the prospect of where our next mouthful of bread might come from. He went across and began washing himself at the lavarium.

'Come, come, Roger!' he said in reply to my glare. 'We cannot take from our hosts. D'Aubigny is the perfect gentle knight. We have enough silver. Remember the scripture – "Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." '

I felt tempted to tell him that I had begun to glimpse some of the mystery behind Selkirk's verses but my anger kept me silent.

Benjamin smiled at me. 'I think,' he continued as if he could read my thoughts, 'logic has shown me a way to solve the murders of Selkirk and Ruthven.'

I started up. 'And Irvine?'

Benjamin shook his head. 'No, but Catesby must be innocent of that at least. Last night, I went to see the Constable: Catesby and his manservant arrived here on the morning of October the ninth. In no manner could they have delayed to ambush poor Irvine.'

'And the other deaths?' I asked crossly.

Benjamin put his fingers to his lips. 'Not now,' he replied, 'as yet I detect only faint glimmerings.' He sighed. 'As I said, "sufficient for the day…".'

I felt like murmuring the verses about Judas going out and hanging himself, and that he should go and do likewise, but Benjamin looked so quietly pleased with himself that I bit my tongue. I threw some of the water from the bowl over my own face and drank the rest for I was thirsty, then followed him down to the Great Hall. Thankfully, Doctor Agrippa had made himself scarce, realising that d'Aubigny's invitation did not extend to him. He was probably closeted with that sullen turd, Angus. Good riddance, I thought. A steward wearing d'Aubigny's livery, blue with silver fleur de lys, announced His Lordship was waiting for us outside. I thought the fellow meant the bailey but he took us out into a garden which ran down towards a small river. The Scottish envoy was waiting for us, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, talking to one of his clerks who tactfully withdrew as we approached. D'Aubigny was dressed simply in a dark brown tunic like a forester and I gathered he was about to go hunting. He seemed vulnerable but then I heard the chink of armour and, looking carefully through the trees which swept up from the river, caught a glimpse of colour and steel and knew that help, if he needed it, was never far away. Nottingham Castle may have been put at his disposal but d'Aubigny did not trust our Henry. A wise man!

D'Aubigny rose, greeted us civilly and indicated we should sit with him. He looked round, first towards the trees where his bodyguards were grouped and then, tilting his head back, listened carefully. There were no sounds except the soft cooing of wood pigeons, the gurgle of the water and the strident cry of the snow white peacocks rising above the castle walls. He came swiftly to the point. Opening a small casket, he took out copies of letters sent by Queen Margaret in the year following her husband's death. If they had come from any other man or woman in the kingdom of Scotland, they would have been considered treasonable; writing to her brother Henry, Margaret made constant pleas for the English to send troops into Scotland to restore her as Regent and crush any opposition to her and the Earl of Angus. Henry's replies were equally blunt; he offered help but said it would take time and, if matters should prove too difficult, she was to return immediately to England. My master read these through carefully like a clerk marking up a ledger.

'Why are you showing me these documents?' he asked when he had finished reading them and passed them to me.

D'Aubigny shrugged. 'I am tired of Queen Margaret's constant stream of invective. We did not drive her from Scotland, and her infant son died because he was born too early – her eldest boy is hale and hearty. Queen Margaret is most welcome to return but she must not bring an army of twenty thousand English "advisers" with her. Scotland is an independent sovereign nation. Queen Margaret's brother, the great Harry himself, has no authority there.' He bit his lip. 'We begged the Queen to return. Even when she crossed the border and stayed at Hexham, messengers carried importunate pleas to her, all of which were ignored.' He signed. 'You may wonder why Queen Margaret does not return.' He blew out his cheeks in exasperation. 'The Council and I are continually speculating on that.' He pointed to the letters. 'Perhaps she knew we had proof of her treachery, but there is no need for her to fear our vengeance.' He screwed up his eyes and stared into the middle distance. 'No, there is something else… Why will she not return? What is she so frightened of?'

'Who could threaten her?' my master queried innocently.

'The Earl of Angus for one!'

'He seemed most amenable last night.'

D'Aubigny grinned. 'His Grace now knows how to behave. He will not try and seize her son again.' 'My Lord,' I blurted out.

D'Aubigny looked at me quizzically. 'What is it, fellow?'

'Last night, when you mentioned the Queen's second son, the child who died, Alexander, Duke of Ross… His Grace and Doctor Agrippa appeared…'

'Discomfited?' D'Aubigny added.

I nodded. He grinned at Benjamin.

'Your servant is no fool. There is a great deal of mystery about that child.'

'Such as what, Your Grace?'

D'Aubigny just grimaced, rose and dusted the grass from his hose. 'James died at Flodden in September 1513. Alexander, Duke of Ross, was born before his time on the thirtieth April 1514!'

On that abrupt note, d'Aubigny extended his hand for my master to kiss as a sign that the audience was finished. He added that we must be his guests at the great banquet he was holding that night for other Scottish lords who had come south with him. My master watched him go.

'A strange man,' he murmured, and looked at me. 'There is something terrible happening here,' he added. 'Something very dangerous. All is not what it seems to be.'

'Like what, master?' I asked. Benjamin shook his head. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'But I think the darkness is about to lift.'