The White Rose

by Michael Clynes

  'Master Benjamin,' he asked gaily, 'when we are gone, what then?'

  Benjamin shrugged. 'God knows, Master Scawsby. My uncle the Lord Cardinal may have other tasks for us. Once, of course, we have finished this one.'

  Benjamin's quiet words stilled the clamour.

  'What do you mean?' Carey barked.

  Benjamin smiled and turned back to his food.

  'Yes,' Agrippa spoke up, 'what do you mean, Master Daunbey?'

  'He means,' I said, standing up, 'that we know the mystery behind Selkirk's poem. We know also how Selkirk, Ruthven, Irvine and Moodie died!'

  Well, you could have heard a needle drop. They all sat rigid, like figures in a painting: Queen Margaret, a cup hovering half-way to her lips, Catesby about to speak to her, the Careys with their mouths wide open. Melford, Agrippa and Scawsby just sat pop-eyed. The only exceptions were the two Highlanders but they sensed that what I was saying was important. I have never enjoyed myself so much in my life! Agrippa was the first to stir.

  'Do explain, Roger,' he said silkily. 'Pray do.'

  'When I was in Paris,' I lied, 'I did not find Selkirk's secret but something more important - a man who fought with the late James IV of Scotland at Flodden.'

  Benjamin looked strangely at me as I strayed from the agreed text.

  'This man,' I continued meaningfully, 'was with James until he died.'

  'Who is he?' Queen Margaret rasped, half-rising out of her chair. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Oh, he's here in London, Your Grace. Soon we will meet him. He has enough evidence to prove what he says is the truth.'

  Now Benjamin rose and took me by the arm. 'You have said enough, Roger. We must go.'

  We both swept out of the hall, trying hard to hide our excitement at the dangerous game we were playing. Benjamin pushed me across the bailey.

  'Why did you mention this person?' he demanded crossly. 'We did not agree to that.'

  I smiled. 'We now play a dangerous game, Master. Fortune has dealt us each a hand. We discovered the truth by chance, so let chance still have some say in what will happen.'

  Benjamin agreed though he was both anxious and angry. 'We cannot stay in the Tower,' he murmured. 'The murderer may strike now and finish the game.'

  So we packed our saddle bags, Benjamin managing to draw from the Tower stores two small crossbows and an arbalest as well as fresh swords and daggers. We left the fortress. Benjamin told me to stay at a small ale-house near the postern gate and slipped away. I whiled away the time eyeing the bright-cheeked young slattern and trying to persuade her oafish swain to hazard a few coins at dice. At last I got bored and sat back, sipping from a black jack of ale and remembering what we had learnt from Selkirk's confession.

  [Oh, I wish my chaplain would stop interrupting. I'll tell him what it said in due course!]

  I could scarcely believe it and wondered what had become of the knight Selkirk mentioned, Sir John Harrington. I also relished my own subtle trickery and hoped its victim would fall meekly into the prepared trap. Suddenly I recalled my mother and one of her favourite sayings, a quotation from the Psalms: 'He fell into a snare which he had prepared for others.' I took another gulp from the black jack of ale and hoped this would not happen to me. Once again I scrutinised what I'd planned. No, the plot was primed. All we had to do was keep our nerve.

  After a while Benjamin returned. His face looked white and drawn but his eyes were feverish with excitement.

  'Where have you been?' I snapped.

  He stared innocently back.

  'To see the Queen, of course.'

  I groaned. 'What for, Master? We agreed to leave that fat bitch well alone.'

  Benjamin grimaced. 'I had to, Roger,' he muttered. 'You have been thinking of Selkirk's confession?'

  I nodded.

  'Well, all I did was ask her about Sir John Harrington, a Scottish knight who fought with her husband.' He grinned. 'Let's be on our way!

  'I also told Doctor Agrippa about our meeting place,' he muttered as we slipped down a darkened alleyway.

  'Was that wise?' I asked.

  'We shall see,' he replied. 'As you said, Roger, Agrippa may be the murderer so he must know where the last act of the play is to take place.'

  'And the rest?'

  Benjamin stopped. 'They will find out, Roger, so we must make sure we are ready.'

  We lodged in a small tavern just off Poor Jewry and slept late the following morning. Benjamin went about his business and I seized the opportunity to go about mine. I went to a scrivener in Mincing Lane off Eastcheap, who, for a price, wrote out my message in a good clerkly hand. I also drew three gold pieces from a merchant in Lombard Street and he agreed to send my small package, sealed in a leather wallet, to the Tower. Next I bought an hour candle, a great thick wax article divided neatly into twelve divisions, and went back to our lodgings to clean the swords and daggers and ensure that the arbalest was in good working order. Just before dusk we slipped out of our chamber, made our way up Aldgate Street, across the stinking City ditch into Portsoken, and then turned south across the wasteland towards the ruins of St Theodore's Church.

  In day time this had been sombre; in the cold darkness it was positively eerie. Dark-feathered birds rustled at the top of broken pillars, an owl hooted from the surrounding trees, and the silence was broken now and again by the long mournful howl of a dog from a nearby farm.

  [A wise hag once told me to be wary of ruined churches. They draw in those restless spirits who have not yet gone to heaven or hell but spend their time in Purgatory on the wastelands of the earth.

  Of course, my little chaplain chuckles and titters. As I have said, he doesn't believe in ghosts. He should go to the ruined priories and monasteries, now shells of their former glory, thanks to Bluff Hal - he'll find ghosts enough there. Or walk along the moon-swept galleries of Hampton Court and hear the ghost of Catherine Howard scream as she did in life when Henry's guards came to arrest her.]

  Anyway, in that ruined church, Benjamin and I set the scene for the final act. We crept down to the crypt. I fastened the hour candle on top of one of the tombs, struck a tinder, and the thick, white wick flared into life. Benjamin then emptied charcoal at the foot of a tomb and, taking a flame, blew the coals into life. We looked around, pronounced ourselves satisfied and left the crypt, making sure the door remained ajar. From the top of the steps, we could see the light from the candle and the charcoal glow invitingly through the darkness.

  We hid ourselves deep in the shadows, growing accustomed to the eerie, mournful sounds of the night. The clouds broke and a full moon bathed the ruins of the church in a ghostly light. At one time I tensed, whispering that I had heard a noise. I crouched, ears straining, but heard nothing else. More time passed and, just as I was about to fall into a deep warm sleep, I heard a sound under the ruined archway. I nudged Benjamin awake and turned to watch a dark, cowled figure scurry like a spider up the nave and scuffle down the steps. Benjamin made to rise but I held him back.

  'What time do you think it is?' I asked.

  'About eight or nine o'clock!' he hissed. 'Why, what does it matter? Roger, what have you done?'

  'Stay awhile,' I murmured.

  We heard a movement from the person in the crypt as if he was about to remount the steps. Another shape, catlike, crept up the nave. Benjamin craned forward.

  'As I thought!' he hissed. 'But who's down there already?'

  I just looked away and smiled. The second figure slipped down the stairs. We heard the crypt door open and an angry shout followed by a terrible abrupt scream.

  'Come on!' Benjamin ordered and, taking the loaded crossbows, we ran to the stairs.

  Inside the crypt lay a figure, tossed like a bundle of rags in the corner. A pool of blood was forming around the body from the great wound caused by the dagger embedded deep in the chest. The dead face was turned away from us. As we entered the other man whirled round, the hood slipping off his head.

  'Melford!' Be
njamin exclaimed.

  The mercenary's face was alive with excitement, like all killers' just after they have tasted blood.

  'Master Benjamin and young Shallot!' he murmured. 'How good of you to come.' His hand crept towards the crossbow on top of the tomb next to the candle. He nodded to the corpse. 'Was he one of you?' he asked.

  'Who?'

  Melford went over and, grasping the corpse by the hair, half-dragged the body up to reveal the haggard, horror-stricken face of Scawsby.

  'Secretly,' Melford said, letting the body fall with a crash, 'he must have been one of you. He came from the same town, didn't he?'

  Benjamin glanced sideways at me but I watched Melford as he sauntered back to the tomb, getting as close as possible to the arbalest resting there. He smiled wolfishly.

  'Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps I came down here and found you red-handed, guilty of his murder. Now, what would the Lord Cardinal say to that?'

  'Melford!' I shouted.

  The mercenary turned. Even as he grasped the crossbow, I brought up my own, releasing the catch. The bolt took the mercenary full in the chest just under the neck. He tottered towards me, his hands going up as if to beseech some favour.

  'Why?' he muttered even as the blood swilled into his mouth and bubbled at his lips.

  'You're a killer,' I replied. 'And you talk too much!'

  Melford's eyes opened, he coughed and the blood gushed out of both mouth and nose. He pitched forward on to the crypt floor.

  Benjamin went across and examined both corpses.

  'Dead!' he announced quietly. He looked up. 'And you are responsible, Roger.'

  I placed another bolt in the crossbow.

  'Melford was an assassin's tool. He was as guilty, perhaps even more so, than any man hanged at Tyburn.'

  'Did you want Scawsby's death so badly?'

  'Yes,' I answered. 'But not as badly as God did or my mother's ghost. Scawsby was a murderer. He killed my parents and nearly had me hanged. As long as he was alive I would never be safe. Nor,' I added, 'would you or yours.'

  'How did you get him here?'

  'Scawsby was a greedy miser,' I replied. 'I sent an anonymous letter telling him that if he came here, he would find a great treasure and the means to rid the Queen of me. Three gold coins accompanied the letter as surety of the writer's good faith. I knew Scawsby could not resist such a promise.'

  'And if Melford had arrived here first?'

  'Scawsby would still have died. I am sure Melford's orders were to kill whoever he found here.'

  Benjamin stared at me. 'Perhaps you are right, Roger.' He blew out the candle. 'Leave the corpse alone, this masque is not yet over.'

  We walked back up the crypt steps. Even then I knew something was wrong. I sensed the menace in the air, the deep cloud of unease, the watching malevolent shadows. We had only walked a few paces when I heard a tinder strike behind me and a low voice chanted: ' "Three less than twelve should it be, Or the King, no prince engendered he!" '

  Benjamin and I turned: in the sanctuary two candles had been lit and we glimpsed shadowy figures.

  'Place the crossbows on the ground, Master Daunbey. And you, Shallot, your sword and dirk, then come forward!'

  I took a step back and a crossbow bolt skimmed the air between Benjamin's head and mine.

  'I shall not ask again!' the voice warned. It sounded hollow and unnatural in the echoing ruins of the church.

  'Do as he says, Roger!' Benjamin murmured.

  We threw the arbalests down and unbuckled our sword belts.

  'Now, come forward,' the voice rasped, 'slowly to the foot of the steps!'

  Cresset torches flared into life, shedding a pool of light around the old altar plinth where Catesby sat enthroned. On either side of him stood the two Highlanders; like Catesby they were armed to the teeth with sword, dagger and crossbow.

  'Well, well, well!' Catesby smiled. In the flickering torchlight he looked older, more cunning. The boyish face had a twisted, crafty slant.

  [Have you noticed that? How, when the veil drops, the true character is exposed in the face and eyes? I wonder what my chaplain would really look like then?]

  Catesby's languid posture betrayed a truly evil man, openly rejoicing in plot and counter-plot.

  'Benjamin,' he half-whispered, 'you seem surprised?'

  'I thought it would be Agrippa.'

  I glanced sideways at Benjamin and wondered how Catesby knew where to come.

  'Ah!' Sir Robert smiled again. 'And Captain Melford?'

  'He's dead.'

  'And whom did he kill?' 'Scawsby.'

  'Was he . . .?' Catesby broke off and grinned at me. 'That was clever, Shallot, very clever indeed!' The villain shrugged. 'I did not like him, but he had sworn to kill you.' He sighed. 'Now I'll have to do it for him.'

  'The Lord Cardinal will miss us,' Benjamin spoke up.

  'Now, now, Master Daunbey, don't tell lies. I had you watched. You've sent no letter to your uncle, nor have you visited him.' Catesby sat up straight. 'If you had, the Lord Cardinal's men would be here. Moreover, what could you tell him? You suspected Agrippa, didn't you?'

  Benjamin just stared back.

  'Anyway,' Catesby continued briskly, 'my friends here will kill you, we'll tell the fat cardinal some lie, and within days I'll be over the Scottish border.' He pointed to the ground before him. 'Sit down, Benjamin. Roger, join him!'

  Once we did so, Catesby leaned forward like some malevolent school master relishing the prospect of a beating he'd planned for two hateful pupils.

  'Let's see how much you know,' he began. 'You claimed Moodie was murdered?'

  Benjamin smiled back. 'Yes. You told Moodie, an innocent pawn, to give Roger that red silk sash, a sign to your agents in Paris that he was to die there. When we returned to England you organised the attack outside London and, when that failed, Moodie had to die. Of course, you were in a hurry. I suspect poor Moodie was drugged. You took his wrist, you and your hired killer Melford, and slashed the veins. You would enjoy that, wouldn't you, Catesby? You love the stink of death! But, as I have said, you were in a hurry. You are left-handed; Moodie was right-handed. If he had slashed his wrist he would have held the razor or knife in the right and slashed the left. But you, being left-handed, slashed his right wrist.'

  Catesby sat back. 'But his chamber was locked from the inside!'

  Benjamin laughed. 'Sir Robert, you are an evil but intelligent man. Do not dismiss me as a complete fool. The only proof we have that the chamber was locked is that you told us so.'

  Catesby flicked his hand like a gambler dismissing a bad throw of the dice. 'And Selkirk and Ruthven?'

  'Ah!'

  Beside me Benjamin pulled his cloak close about him as if he was really enjoying the story he was about to tell. 'Now, their deaths were very cunning. Both were poisoned but no trace of any potion was found in any cup or food. Nor was any poison discovered in Selkirk's cell or

  Ruthven's chamber at Royston. Now I thought about that and, when I was in Nottingham Castle, I went down to the scriptorium. I watched the clerks as they used their quills over their accounts and memoranda. Do you know, there must have been a dozen clerks in that hall and each of them, at some time or other, put the end of their quill in their mouth?'

  Benjamin paused and I saw Catesby's face harden like some evil boy who senses his terrible prank had gone awry.

  'After I had seen Selkirk that evening,' Benjamin continued, 'the poor madman picked up a quill to continue his insane scribblings. The quill was new and coated with a deadly poison. What was it? Belladonna, the juice of nightshade or red arsenic? A few licks of any of these would stop a man's heart; Selkirk would drop the quill, perhaps rise and stagger to his bed before collapsing and dying. The next morning a distressed Constable took you to the chamber. In the confusion you picked up the deadly quill and replaced it with another.'

  Benjamin paused, breathing deeply. I was watching the two Highlanders who stood there like statues. O
nly their eyes, which never left us, betrayed their malevolence and lust to kill.

  'At Royston you followed the same plan. You were in charge of the Queen's household, you allocated the chambers, and whilst pieces of baggage were being brought upstairs, it would be so easy to slip into Ruthven's chamber and leave a poisoned quill. Now, that's where you made a mistake. You see, Ruthven always had his cat with him. Whatever he ate or drank he always shared with his pet. Yet the animal escaped unscathed. I reached the logical conclusion that the cause of Ruthven's death was something he put into his mouth which the animal would never share, and that must have been the quill.' He paused but Catesby stared coolly back. 'The chamber door was forced, people rushed in, and of course everyone gathered round the corpse. Once again you, or your creature Melford, must have changed the quill. In that crowded, untidy chamber, even if you had the keen eyesight of a hawk, the swift exchange of something so small would be very difficult to detect.' Benjamin stopped speaking.

  'Very good,' Catesby muttered. 'And you, Shallot, you verminous little cretin, you were party to this?'

  'I helped my master in his observations,' I replied. 'We examined Master Ruthven's corpse and found a substance caught between his teeth. A morsel of goose-quill. Benjamin experimented by chewing a piece himself, and found it was similar to the substance from Ruthven's mouth. This confirmed our hypothesis that Ruthven's quill had been poisoned.'

  Catesby clapped his hands in mocking applause.

  'Finally, there's Master Irvine,' I continued. 'Once again, Sir Robert, you were very clever. You ensured that you were at Nottingham though you left orders at Royston which sent the other members of the Queen's household hither and thither. Now, when we were in Nottingham, we learnt that you and your manservant had arrived on November the ninth, so it would appear impossible for you to be involved in Irvine's death.'

  My master touched me on the arm and took up the story.