The White Rose murders srs-1

by Paul Doherty

  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on what he had learnt from d'Aubigny, once we were shown up to our chamber, but Master Benjamin was in one of his more withdrawn moods.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.'

  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 h
ide 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?'