by Paul Doherty
'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 aroun
d us. 'Recite the verses again,' he said.
I began to chant quietly:
'Three less than twelve should it be,
Or the King, no prince engendered he.
The lamb did rest, In the falcon's nest.
The Lion cried, Even though it died.
The truth Now Stands, In the Sacred Hands,
Of the place which owns Dionysius' bones.'
Benjamin sat forward. 'We know James is, or was, the falcon and the Lion; the Earl of Angus is the lamb. But the rest?' He paused and shook his head. 'I wonder,' he continued, 'what Selkirk meant by the phrase he could "count the days"?' He stared round the noisy tavern. 'And why are we envoys?' He looked anxiously at me. 'You heard d'Aubigny – Queen Margaret is welcome back in Scotland so why this farce of a meeting with the "Scottish envoys? The Queen must be frightened of something. What secrets does she share with her second husband, the Earl of Angus?'
'The dead child,' I answered. 'Alexander, Duke of Ross. There's a mystery there.'
Benjamin tapped the table top with his fingers. 'Aye,' he said, 'I wonder…'
'What, Master?'
'Nothing,' he replied. 'Just a wild thought.' He rested his head between his hands and stared at me. 'But,' he continued, 'I think I know how Selkirk and Ruthven died. Still, I must reflect further, look around, marshal my facts.' He straightened up. 'One thing is certain – we cannot stay with Queen Margaret's party. We have already been warned by the white rose left in our chamber. It's time we left!'
'We cannot run back to Uncle!' I mocked.
Benjamin grinned. 'Oh, no, not that, Roger! We must separate. Agrippa has blank warrants and letters from the Cardinal. We will return to Royston for a while but then it's Scotland for me and France for you. Paris, in fact!'
'France! Paris!' I yelled. 'Master, surely not?'
Benjamin grabbed my hand. 'Roger, we are finished here. What more can we discover? So far we have gone where other people have sent us, being told to go here, go there, like children in a maze. It's time to take some control of events and do what is not expected.'
'But why Scotland?' I queried. 'And why me to Paris?'
'Our dead friend Oswald mentioned something about Kelso. Some Scots fled to the abbey there after Flodden.'
'And Paris?'
'Selkirk lived there. Remember, he talked about Le Coq d'Or tavern? You know some French?' he challenged.
'A little,' I replied, 'culled from a horn book. But let's go together.'
Benjamin's face grew serious. 'We cannot waste the time, and you'll be safer in Paris than Scotland. The Earl of Angus would not interfere with the Cardinal's nephew, and the French have no interest in this. So, you will be secure, provided you keep your own counsel and stay well away from any English envoys there.' He smiled. 'Not that any would have anything to do with you! Look,' he said, 'you are to be in France by the beginning of December. I shall join you at Le Coq d'Or by the fourth Sunday in Advent.' His dark eyes beseeched me. 'You will go?'
'Yes,' I replied, 'I will.' And added my own selfish after-thought that the whores in Paris were the most skilled in the world, whilst cups of claret were as cheap as water there!
We returned without incident to the castle and slept safely in our own chamber. The next morning Benjamin rose early and said he wished to watch the clerks at work in the scriptorium. He came back an hour later, looking as smug as a cat who'd stolen the cream. I asked him why but he just smiled, shook his head and said he would tell me in his own good time. The castle was now a hive of activity. The Scots, their mission completed, packed coffers and chests and prepared to leave, intending to go under safe conduct to Yarmouth where their ships would take them back to the Port of Leith in Edinburgh. Doctor
Agrippa, who surprisingly had kept well out of our way, now came to dance attendance on us. We made no mention of Oswald or his murder; he seemed totally oblivious of that, being more concerned to hear about our private conversation with Lord d'Aubigny. The Earl of Angus, too, had not forgotten us. His two silent assassins, Corin and Alleyn, attached themselves to Agrippa like dogs to a new master and where he went, they followed. The magician didn't seem to mind, especially as the two clansmen seemed very much in awe of him although they studied Benjamin and myself like two hawks would chickens, as if savouring the thought of a meal to come.
The following day Agrippa announced we would leave and we slipped quietly out of Nottingham and took the road south. Behind us, loping along like two white wolves, trotted Corin and Alleyn, seemingly oblivious to the miles we covered, padding silently behind our horses without murmur or protest. At night, when we slept in taverns, they stayed in the outhouses, fending for themselves like two animals. If Agrippa gave an order they obeyed with alacrity, but sometimes I caught them watching me and shuddered at the amusement in their icy, pale-blue eyes.
We found Royston much as we had left it. Of course, Queen Margaret and Catesby questioned us, paying particular attention to how d'Aubigny looked, what he said and how he treated us, until my head reeled with their constant petty questions. Strangely, never once did they mention the mysteries of Selkirk's and Ruthven's deaths; I got the distinct impression that both of them were relieved by what they heard. Indeed, Catesby seemed quite excited and both he and his Queen openly announced they would return to Scotland as soon as possible.
'We shall go back to London!' Catesby grandly proclaimed. 'Re-order the household, gather our possessions and, when the Council of Scottish lords sends us safe conduct, travel north to the border.'
Now Agrippa looked withdrawn and quietly anxious.
'But Les Blancs Sangliers!. he protested. 'The deaths of Selkirk and Ruthven, not to mention Irvine – these must be investigated and avenged!'
'Nonsense!' Catesby replied. He pointed to the two killers the Earl of Angus had sent south. 'We have protection enough. Let the Yorkist traitors plot in their secret covens. Such matters do not concern us now.'
I was as bemused as anyone by the sudden resurgence of optimism in Catesby. I also noticed how Corin and Alleyn, once we had reached Royston, switched their allegiance to him. If they obeyed Agrippa, they openly fawned on Catesby and Queen Margaret, with a subservience which belied their previously threatening attitude and hostile intentions towards myself and Benjamin. Agrippa, of course, protested again.
'There are still matters which need to be resolved,' he stormed angrily.
Catesby ridiculed his suggestion and Queen Margaret jubilantly derided it.
'The Council wish me back!'; she announced pompously. 'My young son the King wants to see his mother. Surely,' she added slyly, 'my good brother would not put obstacles between a queen and her throne or a mother and her son?' She turned to us, her fat bottom moving smoothly over the polished seat of her chair. 'Master Benjamin,' she cried, her voice echoing through the Chapter House, 'your uncle the Lord Cardinal cannot object! After all,' she added slyly, 'I shall report how your mission to Nottingham was a great success.'
'Your Grace,' Benjamin replied coolly, 'I thank you for that but I must agree with Doctor Agrippa – there are matters still unresolved.'
'Such as?'
'Selkirk's verse and his death. Ruthven's murder, and the violent destruction of John Irvine, the Cardinal's special envoy to Scotland.'
'And how,' she asked sweetly, 'can these matters be resolved?'
Benjamin's gaze held hers.
'I shall go to Scotland alone,' he quietly announced, 'whilst Shallot will travel to Paris. In Scotland I may find some answers. In France Shallot may find the truth behind Selkirk's obtuse warnings.' He smiled. 'Your Grace cannot object? We may be in your household but we work under the direct orders of the Lord Cardinal.'
Of course, the royal bitch agreed. Catesby just smirked. Agrippa, although he objected at first, reluctantly consented to write out the warrants and disburse the necessary silver for our journeys.
The rest of Queen Margaret's household ignored us, taken up with preparations for their own journe
y back to London. The Careys glared at me, Scawsby sneered and enquired sarcastically after my health whilst Melford, whenever his gaze caught mine, let his hand fall to the dagger at his belt. Moodie was different. He was withdrawn and seemed rather frightened. Just before Benjamin and I left, he searched me out, a small package in his hand.
'You go to Paris?' he asked.
I nodded.
'To Le Coq d'Or tavern?' 'Yes,' I replied. 'Why?'
Moodie shamefacedly extended the package he held. 'In a street nearby,' he mumbled, 'at the Sign of the Pestle in the Rue des Moines, would you leave this? It's for…' He looked away, embarrassed. 'It's for a Madame Eglantine who calls there. I knew her once,' he stuttered, 'it's a gift.'
I looked at the little priest and grinned at Benjamin. 'Of course,' I replied. 'Even priests have friends, be they male or female.'
[Now there goes my clerk again, protesting as if he was as chaste as the driven snow. He squirms his little bum on the stool. 'I suppose Moodie's going to be the murderer!' he yelps: I tell the little bastard to shut up. There are more terrors to come, more mysteries and secrets than he could ever know. Something which, if I lived to be two hundred years old then went and announced it at St Paul's Cross, would rock the very throne of England and scandalise the courts of Europe! Good, that's shut the little bastard up. Now I can get back to my story.]
Benjamin and I left Royston in the last week of November, when the days grew dark early and the sun disappeared a few hours after noon. The mist had lifted from a countryside now hard and black under an iron frost. We reached the crossroads. I looked mournfully at Benjamin.
'We part here, Master?'
He looked around as if to make sure Agrippa or any other spy was not lurking in the hedgerow, and shook his head in contradiction.
My heart quickened. 'So I'm not off to France?'
'In due course, Roger, but surely you realise where we must go first?'
'Master, I am in no mood for riddles. I am cold and getting more frightened by the hour. I wish to God this business was done and we were back in Ipswich!'
Benjamin patted me on the shoulder. 'Listen, Roger,' he explained, 'at Sheen Palace lies the corpse of James IV of Scotland. Now, we saw Queen Margaret mourning her husband; we have Selkirk's riddle about a Lion that cried even though it died; Oswald the moss trooper's tale about more than one royal corpse being discovered at Flodden…' Benjamin shook his head. 'I know he didn't actually say that but it was implicit in his words. Above all, we have his strange reference to Kelso. Roger, I believe all these mysteries are rooted in King James's death at Flodden. Accordingly, we must examine the corpse at Sheen.'