'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 secur
e, 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.
The White Rose Page 14