The White Rose murders srs-1

by Paul Doherty

Catesby's humour changed again and he smiled. 'Of course!' He picked up a wineskin from the ground beside him and offered it to Benjamin who shook his head. 'Oh, it's not poisoned!' the murderer quipped and, unstopping the neck, lifted it until the red wine poured into his mouth, spilling thin red rivers down his chin. He reseated it and tossed it to me. I needed no second bidding. A little wine can comfort the stomach; I half-emptied it in one gulp as my master began to decipher the riddle of Selkirk's poem.

  Chapter 12

  'The roots of this tragedy,' Benjamin began, 'go back ten years when Queen Margaret, a lusty young princess, was first married to James IV of Scotland – a prince who loved the joys of the bed chamber and had a string of mistresses to prove it; indeed, he had bastard children by at least two of his paramours.'

  Catesby nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.

  'Now, Margaret,' Benjamin continued, 'was joined in Scotland by yourself, the young squire Robert Catesby. You were devoted to your Queen and watched with her as James moved from one amorous exploit to another. A deep hatred was kindled in Margaret's heart, made all the more rancorous by James's open support for the Yorkist Pretenders. Margaret retaliated, or so my uncle the Lord Cardinal told me privily, by sending information to James's main rival and opponent, King Henry of England.'

  'You speak the truth, Master Daunbey!'

  'He does, Sir Robert!' I said, taking up the story. 'Matters came to a head when King James planned his invasion of England which culminated in the tragedy at Flodden Field. Queen Margaret and, I suspect, yourself played upon King James's fertile imagination. You plotted a number of stratagems to create unease in him and his principal commanders: the famous vision of St John where James was rebuked for his love of harlotry; the death-bearing voice, prophesying at Edinburgh Market Cross on the stroke of midnight that James and all his commanders would go down to Hades. These were planned by you, weren't they?'

  Catesby smiled and stroked the side of his cheek with his hand.

  'You succeeded brilliantly,' Benjamin spoke up. 'James became uneasy, indeed he may have begun to suspect that malcontents in his kingdom might use the Flodden campaign to stage his murder. Accordingly, during the campaign as well as the actual battle, James dressed a number of soldiers in royal livery so as to deflect any assassination attempt. Now, the battle was a disaster. A number of the royal look-alikes were killed – I suspect a few by assassins as well as by the English. Surrey found one of these corpses, proclaimed it was James's body and sent it south to his master, King Henry.'

  Catesby glowered at Benjamin.

  'That is why,' I added, 'the corpse did not have the penitential chain James wore round his waist. Or why Margaret never asked for the corpse to be returned for burial. Was she frightened,' I jibed, 'that someone in Scotland might discover it was not the King's body?'

  Catesby beat his hand upon his thigh. 'And I suppose,' he guffawed, 'you will tell me that King James himself escaped?'

  'You know he did!' Benjamin snapped. 'He was dressed in ordinary armour. He and a knight of the royal household, Sir John Harrington, together with Selkirk, fled to Kelso Abbey. There, King James dictated a short letter which he sealed with his signet ring and despatched via Selkirk to his wife, begging for aid and sustenance. The physician took this message to the Queen sheltering at Linlithgow but, instead of sending help, she sent assassins to kill her husband and Harrington.'

  Catesby's face now assumed a haunted, gaunt look.

  'The perfect murder,' Benjamin whispered. 'How can you be accused of killing a prince whom the world already reckons is dead? God knows what happened to the body but, when Selkirk returned to Kelso, his master was gone and the monks were too frightened to speak. Selkirk escaped from your clutches to France where his mind, tortured by the horror of these events, slipped into madness. Of course, you searched him out but it was too late – the Lord Cardinal's men had already found him. Naturally, you were relieved to discover that Selkirk, due to the passage of time and his own insanity, jabbered his secrets only in obscure verse.'

  'James was an adulterer,' Catesby muttered as if to himself. 'He was like Ahab of Israel, not fit to rule, and so God struck him down!'

  Benjamin shook his head. 'If James was Ahab,' he replied, 'then Margaret was Jezebel. She murdered James, not because she hated him but because she, too, had been a faithless spouse. She had to hide her own infidelities with Gavin Douglas, Earl of Angus.'

  'That's a lie!' Catesby rasped.

  'Oh, no, it isn't!' I answered. 'Margaret's second son, Alexander, Duke of Ross, was born on the thirtieth of April 1514. He was born, so I have discovered, two months early, in which case it should have been June 1514. If we go back nine months, or the thirty-eight weeks of a natural pregnancy, that would place the time of conception at the end of September, no less than a fortnight after James was killed.'

  I licked my lips, watching the two clansmen who were becoming restless, as if bored by this chatter of strange tongues.

  'Oh,' I murmured, 'we can play with the dates. James left Edinburgh with his army in August. The records of the household will prove the last time he and Margaret were together as man and wife was in the previous July. I am correct?'

  Catesby just glared.

  'Indeed,' I continued, 'we know Margaret was playing the two-backed beast with Gavin Douglas some time before Flodden.'

  'You insult the Queen!' Catesby raged. He glared at us and I realised that Catesby loved Margaret and couldn't accept his golden Princess being proved a lecherous adulteress.

  'We have proof,' I sang out, my voice ringing clear as a bell through that ghostly church. 'Selkirk claimed that after Flodden he, together with James and Harrington, discussed what they should do. In his confession Selkirk mentioned the King being uneasy about the malicious gossip which had reached his ears concerning Margaret. No wonder James lost his army at Flodden: visions, voices of doom, rumours about his wife, possible threats against his life!'

  'I wonder,' Benjamin interrupted, 'if the King ever put the two things together: the rumours about an assassin on the loose and the gossip about his wife?'

  'Mere fancies!' Catesby snapped.

  'No, they're not,' I replied. 'Selkirk rode through the night to Linlithgow yet, as soon as he met the Queen, he became uneasy. Your mistress was hardly the grieving widow. Selkirk became suspicious and hurried back to Kelso but the King and Harrington were gone.'

  'And I suppose this Harrington,' Catesby queried, 'just allowed his King to be murdered?'

  I glanced at Benjamin and noticed his eyes flicker, always an indication that my master, an honest man, was about to tell some half-truth.

  'Harrington,' he replied, 'was only one man, exhausted after the battle. He would be little protection for James. Harrington, too, was probably murdered. Do you know,' he continued, 'when I was in Scotland I saw a Book of the Dead in the royal chapel of St Margaret's in Edinburgh, a list of those who had fallen at Flodden. I can't recollect seeing the name Harrington.' My master looked quickly at me and I knew he was lying. He didn't find out about Harrington until after we had met in Paris.

  'So,' I taunted quickly, 'Margaret and Douglas were lovers before Flodden.'

  'That's why they married so hastily,' Benjamin added. 'To provide Ross with some legitimacy. Who knows, even the present Scottish heir may be a Douglas! Is this, together with King James's murder, the bond which still binds Margaret to the Earl?'

  Catesby leaned forward, his face white and skull-like as if quietly relishing the death he planned for us.

  'So,' Benjamin continued, trying to distract his attention, 'Selkirk's verses are now explained: the lamb is Angus, who rested in the falcon's nest, namely James's bed. The Scottish King is also the Lion who cried even though he died, and the phrase "Three less than twelve should it be", together with Selkirk's mutterings about how he could "count the days", is a reference to the secret and adulterous conception of Alexander, Duke of Ross. Selkirk, a physician, suspected that Alexander was
not King James's son.'

  " 'What proof do you have of this?' Catesby jibed, standing up.

  'Oh,' I replied, 'as it says in the last verses of Selkirk's poem: he wrote his confession in a secret cipher and left it with the monks at St Denis outside Paris.'

  'Mere jabberings!' Catesby accused. 'Of a feckless fool!'

  Benjamin shook his head. 'Ah, no, Selkirk left proof. He'd kept all the warrants issued to him by King James during his reign. At first, I thought they meant nothing, after all there were scores of them, but then I found one dated the twelfth of September 1513, dated and sealed three days after James was supposed to have died at Flodden!'

  Catesby just stared, dumbstruck.

  'Of course,' Benjamin continued quietly, 'after James's death Margaret soon tired of Angus. She quarrelled with him, tried to seize control of the children and, when baulked of that, fled south to her brother in England.'

  Catesby pursed his lips. 'Lies!' he muttered as if talking to himself. 'All lies!'

  'No, they're not,' I answered tartly. 'Margaret was frightened lest her secret be discovered. Who knows, perhaps she suspected King James might still be alive, lurking in some dark wood or lonely moor. She had to be sure that Angus, who had been party to her husband's death, would also keep silent, which is why we were sent to Nottingham. We found Angus sulky,' I glanced at the two Highlanders who glared back malevolently, and Lord d'Aubigny suspicious, but no hint of scandal. Queen Margaret,' I concluded bitterly, 'now knows she is safe and has planned her return to Scotland.'

  Catesby cradled his hands in his lap. 'Do you know,' he observed as if we were a group of friends gathered in a cosy tavern, 'I considered you buffoons, two idiots who would blunder about in the dark and go before us to seek out any dangers. I was so wrong.'

  'Yes, you were,' Benjamin answered. 'You grew alarmed when Selkirk began to talk to me, so he had to die, though you probably planned his death before Roger and I joined this murderous dance. Nevertheless, Selkirk did talk and Ruthven began to reflect on his own suspicions so he, too, had to die.'

  One of the clansmen suddenly stepped forward, like a hunting dog sensing danger. Catesby snapped his fingers. The fellow drew his dagger while his master stood peering into the darkness.

  Catesby listened for a moment. 'Nothing,' he murmured. 'Only the dark.' He looked down and smiled. 'And the soft brush of Death's dark dream.'

  'You are going to kill us?' I spoke up, desperately looking around for some route of escape.

  'Of course,' he whispered. 'I cannot let you live. Now everything will end well. The Queen will return to Scotland, and I shall look after her whilst young James grows to manhood.'

  'You forget Selkirk's manuscripts.'

  'They can disappear!' Catesby snarled.

  ‘And us?'

  Catesby nodded to the wild heathland outside the church. 'Such thick copses and deep marshes; other bodies he buried there, why not yours?' He looked down at

  Benjamin. 'Goodbye,' he whispered, and turned to the clansmen. 'Yes, yes, you had better kill them now!'

  I stood up but Corin knocked me to the floor. I glimpsed Alleyn grasp my master by the shoulder as he drew his hand back for the killing blow. Suddenly a voice called out: 'Catesby, stop!'

  The murderer ran down the steps, gazing into the darkness.

  'Catesby, on the orders of the King, desist!'

  I looked up, the Highlander grinned, and the long, pointed dagger began its descent. I heard the rasp of something through the air. I opened my eyes. The clansman was still standing but his face was now crushed into a bloody pulp by the crossbow bolt buried there. I flung myself to one side. The other clansman was still standing above Benjamin but his back was arched, his hands out as he stared down in disbelief at the crossbow quarrel embedded deeply in his chest. He opened his mouth, whimpered like a child and crashed to the sanctuary floor.

  Both Benjamin and I turned; Catesby was about to draw his own sword but Doctor Agrippa and soldiers wearing the Cardinal's livery were already sweeping up the darkened nave. The doctor threw us a glance, snapped his fingers and, before Catesby could proceed any further, both sword and dagger were plucked from his belt.

  The Cardinal's men examined the two corpses of the clansmen and kicked them as you would dead dogs. Another soldier ran down the steps and came back shouting that two more bodies were down in the crypt. Agrippa drew back the hood of his cloak and smiled benevolently at us.

  'We should have come sooner,' he observed quietly. 'Perhaps intervened earlier, but what you were saying was so interesting.'

  He picked up Catesby's sword, gave it to Benjamin and gestured at the prisoner, who stood sullen-faced between two guardsmen.

  'Kill him!' Agrippa ordered. 'Let's make things neat and orderly.' He thrust the sword into Benjamin's hand. 'Kill him,' he repeated. 'He deserves to die.'

  My master let the sword fall to the ground with a clang.

  'No,' he murmured. 'He deserves a trial then to be hanged like the murderer he is.'

  Agrippa pursed his lips. 'No,' he whispered. 'Nothing like that.' He picked up the fallen sword and thrust it at me. 'You, Shallot, kill him.'

  'Let the sword fall,' Benjamin warned. 'Roger, you may be many things but not this.'

  I let the sword clatter on to the flagstoned floor.

  'He is not to die,' Benjamin repeated.

  Doctor Agrippa shrugged and turned to the captain of the guard. 'Take Catesby to the Tower,' he ordered. 'Into its deepest and darkest dungeon. Queen Margaret is not to be told.'

  The fellow nodded, seized Catesby by the arm. The arch murderer smiled at us as he allowed himself to be led away.

  Agrippa issued more orders and the soldiers hurried down into the crypt, dragging up Melford's and Scawsby's corpses which they laid next to the bodies of the two Highlanders. Agrippa examined each, making strange signs above them in the air.

  'Catesby was right in one thing,' he murmured, 'the heathland outside makes a good cemetery. Let them be buried there.'

  After that Agrippa hardly spoke to us but took us back to the Tower where we were lodged in comfortable imprisonment. Benjamin was silent; for at least two hours he could hardly stop shivering. I had my own remedies. I demanded a jug of wine and hours later slumped down on the pallet-bed blind drunk.

  The next morning a still taciturn Agrippa took us along Billingsgate, Thames Street, through Bowyers Row on to Fleet Street and down to Westminster. We were followed by a heavily armed, mounted escort who screened us as we were pushed through a maze of corridors at the palace and into a small comfortable chamber next to St Stephen's Chapel where the Lord Cardinal was waiting for us.

  I remember it was a fine day. The sun had broken through a thick layer of clouds and a touch of spring freshened the air.

  Wolsey greeted us warmly. No insults now but rather 'Dearest Nephew' and 'My redoubtable Shallot'. The Cardinal cleared the chamber of clerks and minions, only Agrippa remaining, then made Benjamin relate the previous evening's encounter with Catesby. Now and again Wolsey would nod or ask a question of Benjamin or me. Once my master was finished, the Lord Cardinal, a half-smile on his face, shook his head in wonderment.

  'So much evil!' he whispered. 'So many murders. Such a great secret.'

  'But you suspected as much, dear Uncle, did you not?'

  Wolsey stretched his great bulk and yawned. 'Yes, yes, dearest Nephew, I did. Didn't we, good doctor?'

  Agrippa murmured his assent.

  'You used us!' Benjamin accused. 'Catesby was right about that. We were hired,' he continued, 'to blunder about like fools and open doors for others to enter!'

  Agrippa looked embarrassed. The Cardinal gazed fondly at his nephew.

  'Yes, I used you, dearest Nephew,' he replied. 'But only because you were the best person for the task.' He smiled thinly. 'And, of course, the ever trusty Shallot.' He placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. 'You saw what good actors they were, Benjamin? Catesby with hi
s open, trusting face and air of anxious concern, whilst Queen Margaret can simulate rage better than her brother.'

  'My Lord Cardinal,' Agrippa intervened, 'must not be judged too harshly. Catesby had a hand in your appointment for My Lord Cardinal described your exploits at a banquet held at Greenwich. Catesby made his own enquiries and the rest followed as naturally as night follows day.'

  'Was Scawsby part of the plan?' I asked.

  'Yes,' Agrippa murmured. 'Catesby undoubtedly heard of young Shallot's strokes against the Scawsby family and realised their enmity would only add spice to the game. Moreover, if murder was planned, Catesby did not want some physician with a keen eye and sharp brain. Scawsby was a quack, a pedlar, a man who would do as he was told.'

  'Was he party to Catesby's plot?' I repeated.

  'No!' The Lord Cardinal gazed down at me like a hawk. 'Scawsby certainly knew there was a mystery but he saw the appointment as royal preferment. Of course, he hated you and rejoiced in your discomfiture. His death, Master Shallot,' he added meaningfully, 'was, according to the law, an unlawful slaying.'

  'Roger did not kill Scawsby!' Benjamin interrupted. 'The physician allowed his greed to get the better of him. Moreover,' he concluded slyly, 'Scawsby is best out of the way. He never could keep a still tongue in his head.'

  The Cardinal nodded. 'True, true,' he murmured. 'Scawsby is dead and Roger shall have a pardon issued under the Great Seal for his part in the slaying.'

  'You suspected me, did you not?' Agrippa abruptly accused.

  'At one time I did. Catesby was so convincing, he could have caught spiders in the web he wove.'

  'But why?' I interrupted. 'Why all this charade?'

  Agrippa looked at Wolsey and the Cardinal nodded.

  'No!' I exclaimed before the doctor could speak. "There are other matters. How did Catesby know about the Church of St Theodore? And your arrival, Agrippa, was so opportune.'

  'That was my fault,' Benjamin muttered. 'I really did think Agrippa could be the murderer or, at least, his associate. You said it was a gamble, Roger, and so it was – before we left the Tower I informed the good doctor here of where we were going. There could have only been one logical outcome: if he was the murderer, he would have arrived first, and Catesby would be innocent.'