Paul Doherty - The White Rose murders

'Is anything wrong?' Carey called from the hall below.

'No answer,' Melford shouted back. 'Was Ruthven seen this morning?'

Carey hurried up, then Catesby, followed by Moodie and a worried servant.

'Try the door again,' Carey ordered.

Benjamin joined us. We knocked, shouted and pushed. Catesby instructed us to take a bench leaning against the far wall and, though the space was narrow, we began to pound at the door like besiegers breaking into a castle. The old steward came hurrying up, huffing and puffing, but Carey snarled at him so he slunk away. One final shove and the buckled door flew back on its leather hinges.

I'll describe things as they were: Ruthven was slumped across the desk, his head on his arm, his face a whitish-blue, mouth open, eyes staring but sightless. In the far corner, the cat cowered as if it knew it was in the presence of death. On the table near Ruthven stood an empty pewter goblet. Carey lifted the body carefully.

'Dead,' he muttered. 'Dead as a stone! Place him on the bed.'

We carried him across, arranging the cold, lifeless form, trying to impose some dignity for already rigor mortis had set in. The look on the dead man's face was ghastly, as if some phantom of the night had stopped his heart. I wondered where the soul had gone. Was it still with us? Do the souls of the dead stand behind some invisible mirror, watching us who cannot see them?

'Look!' Moodie suddenly yelled.

He pointed to the bolster at the top of the bed where a small, white rose lay like some gift waiting to be presented. We all stood staring at the flower as if it were responsible for Ruthven's death.

'What's the matter?' Agrippa, accompanied by Scawsby, stood in the doorway. Melford pointed to the corpse on the bed and the flower still lying there. Scawsby hurried over, full of his own importance. The fool failed to realise the significance of the white rose, but instead peered down at Ruthven.

'A seizure!' he announced. 'Quite common in a man of choleric humour.'

Melford snorted, mocking him. Agrippa smiled, going up beside the doctor and picking up the white rose.

'I think not, good physician,' he whispered. 'Master Ruthven was murdered and the assassin left his token.' He twirled the rose between his fingers as he looked around. 'The murderer is here in Royston. The question is, who?'

We just stared back. The last time I had seen a white rose had been in that filthy room in the Tower. My master stared at the flower curiously before bending over Ruthven's corpse. He examined the eyes, tongue and nails of the dead man minutely, taking deep sniffs at the gaping mouth.

'Master Ruthven was poisoned,' he declared. 'But how?' He walked over and picked up the pewter goblet, sniffing at it carefully. 'Nothing,' he murmured, 'but the faint tinge of claret. Who brought this up?'

Agrippa shrugged. 'Ruthven did so himself. I saw him as he left the table last night.'

'I smell no potion,' Benjamin replied. He turned to 'Scawsby. 'Master Physician,' he asked tactfully, 'you would agree?'

Scawsby took the wine cup and held it under his long, arrogant nose.

'Nothing,' he answered.

Agrippa took the cup from him, rubbed his finger around it to collect the dregs and, despite the gasps of Moodie and Carey, licked it noisily.

'Correct, Master Daunbey, no poison.'

'Are you an authority on poisons, Master Daunbey?' Melford asked sharply.

'No,' Benjamin replied tartly. 'But as Physician Scawsby will testify, as Clerk to the Justices I have viewed enough corpses and have some knowledge of…'

His voice trailed away as Doctor Agrippa spread his hands.

'Yet,' Agrippa interrupted briskly, 'Ruthven was poisoned, even though he ate and drank only what we all did yesterday evening. So, did anyone else visit him in his room?'

A chorus of denials greeted his question and, because of my sleepless night, I could confirm these. I had heard no human footfalls in the corridor.

Carey stepped forward. 'So Ruthven locks himself in his chamber, he visits no one and no one visits him, but the next morning he is found poisoned and a white rose discovered lying on the bed.'

'Just like Selkirk,' Agrippa added flatly.

'Are there any secret passages?' Moodie squeaked.

Catesby glanced despairingly at the ceiling; still, the old steward was summoned and questioned. The man was frightened, unable to tear his eyes away from Ruthven's corpse, but he shook his head.

'No tunnels,' he declared roundly. 'No passageways or trap doors, but there are ghosts,' he said defiantly. 'The monk knights still walk the corridors.'

Melford sneered in derision.

'Did Master Ruthven go down to the kitchen or buttery or ask for any victuals to be sent up?' asked Catesby.

The old man shook his head and was dismissed.

'Is there anything else?' my master asked.

'What do you mean?' snapped Carey.

'Something in the room perhaps?'

A brief search was made but nothing untoward was found. Ruthven's ink-stained quill was lying on the floor. My master picked it up, scrutinised it carefully then threw it on the table.

'A mystery,' Agrippa announced. He glared round at all of us. 'But someone here is a murderer who knows how Ruthven died!' He sighed and looked at Carey. 'Enough of this, Queen Margaret must be informed.'

We all trooped downstairs, my master staying behind to scrutinise the room once more then joining me outside, shaking his head.

'Doctor Agrippa is right,' he whispered. 'A true mystery. How can a man, hale and hearty before he retired, be found poisoned the next morning, when no one visited him and he remained locked in his room?' He looked at me sharply. 'You saw him?'

I nodded. 'You heard me,' I replied. 'He opened his chamber door, smiled at me and picked up his cat.'

'So how was he poisoned?'

The question dominated our discussions as we gathered in what used to be the long Chapter Room of the Knights Templar.

Queen Margaret sat at the head of the cracked, dangerously shaky table whilst Catesby ordered benches to be brought in for the rest. The King's sister was white-faced and tight-lipped, obviously finding it difficult to control her anger.

'Someone here,' she snapped, her eyes darting round us, 'murdered Ruthven! Someone here is also a traitor, guilty of the blackest treason. Why does the House of York plague us with their romantic dreams and stupid ambitions? The assassins, in their temerity, even left a white rose to mock us! Doctor Agrippa…' her voice trailed off.

The good doctor beamed around.

'We must account for our movements,' he said. 'Each and every one of us.'

His prompting was summarily answered. No one had approached Ruthven. Both Master Benjamin and myself had heard nothing amiss and Moodie, who had been in the chamber adjoining Ruthven's on the other side, could also confirm this.

'How was Ruthven?' Catesby asked. 'I mean, in the days before his death? Did he say or do anything untoward?' He looked around. 'To whom did he talk?'

'He talked to Moodie,' Melford observed.

'Well?' Agrippa asked.

The mouse-faced chaplain became even more agitated than usual.

'Ruthven kept to himself,' he stammered. 'He was distant, lost in his own thoughts.' 'What did he talk about?'

'About Selkirk's murder. He found the fellow's mutterings strange.' 'Anything else?'

Moodie licked his lips and looked nervously at Queen

Margaret. Then, placing his hands on the table, he looked down, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

'We also talked about the days before Flodden – the doings of the late King and the gossip of the court.'

'What gossip?' Queen Margaret asked smoothly.

'Nothing, My Lady. Just memories… recollections of happier days. I assure you, that was all.'

'The rose?' Benjamin asked abruptly.