Paul Doherty - The White Rose murders

'What about it?' Agrippa retorted.

'Well, there are no roses here!'

'There were in Canterbury,' Scawsby pointed out. 'Small, white rosebuds, the type which come late in the year.'

'So,' Benjamin continued, 'the murderer planned Ruthven's death, then…' He let his comment hang like a rope in the air.

'There is no doubt,' Agrippa intervened silkily, 'that Ruthven died by the same hand and in the same way as Selkirk in the Tower.' He took us all in with one sombre glance. 'How Ruthven was murdered, and why, is a mystery.' He looked at Scawsby. 'There was no food or wine in the room?'

The old quack shook his head.

'And you, Shallot, were the last person to see him alive?'

'And I heard no one come up!' I snapped.

Agrippa took a deep breath, placing both hands on the table before him.

'Is it possible, Master Physician, for poison to be administered in slow drops?'

Scawsby grimaced. 'I suppose so, but that would be dangerous. The poisoner would have to infuse the potions many times and, if he was caught…'

'Is it possible,' Catesby grated, 'for a poison to be slow acting?'

Scawsby smiled peevishly. 'I have never heard of such a potion. And, even if one existed, Ruthven would surely have felt the effects before he retired.'

'Master Scawsby is correct,' Benjamin added. 'Ruthven was meant to die in that room, behind a locked and barred door.' He waved a bony finger in the air. 'Remember, the door was locked and bolted from the inside. The assassin is subtle and clever. No one heard him come up but he must have got in for Ruthven to die and the white rose to be found.'

'And you, Master Daunbey, were in the chamber next to him,' Lady Carey retorted. She glanced balefully at me. 'Your servant was the last man to see him alive. Isn't it strange that you, Benjamin, were the last person to see Selkirk alive!'

'I am sure,' Queen Margaret intervened smoothly, 'no suspicion of foul play can fall on the Cardinal's nephew.' She glanced angrily at Lady Carey, then smiled falsely at us.

But, oh, that was a clever move by Carey! The damage had been done because when you fling dirt, some sticks. The rest of the group stared at us like a hanging jury before sentence is passed. Benjamin smiled as if savouring a secret joke.

'Lady Carey is correct in some of what she says but her logic is faulty,' he commented. 'Ruthven died because he knew something. He was probably the only one, besides the murderer, to understand all or some of Selkirk's verses.' He leaned forward. 'The murderer is definitely here. I wonder which of us has Yorkist sympathies. Melford?'

The mercenary stirred like a cat alerted to danger.

'What is it, Daunbey?'

'Didn't your family fight for the White Rose once?'

The mercenary smirked. 'Yes, but that's true of everyone here. Isn't it, Carey?'

The old soldier fidgeted as memories stirred. Accusations grew heated, voices were raised. The sum total of charge and counter charge was that every person in the room, besides myself and Benjamin, had some affinity or link with the House of York and the cause of the White Rose. Queen Margaret sat back in her chair watching disdainfully. Catesby looked furious whilst Doctor Agrippa, eyes closed, arms folded, sat like some benevolent friar after a hearty meal. At last he stirred. Drawing a long, thin stiletto from his belt, he rapped the top of the table.

'Come, come!' he shouted. 'You are like children playing a game. These angry words prove nothing. Ruthven could have been killed by magic' He grinned down at me. 'But we are here on other business.'

'Master Daunbey, we have lost enough time over Ruthven's death.' Catesby interrupted. 'Have your bags packed. You are to leave within the hour. The steward will provide you with a local guide.'

Benjamin tugged at my sleeve. We rose, bowed to the head of the table and left our companions to their baleful conjecturing. Benjamin skipped lightly up the stairs but, instead of going to our own chamber, took me into Ruthven's. The corpse still lay sheeted on the bed. Benjamin scrutinised the room, especially the objects on the desk, picking up the quill, the ink and paper. He sniffed at each, shook his head and put them back.

'What are you looking for, Master?'

'I don't really know,' he replied.

He went across to the bed and pulled back the sheet. He scrutinised Ruthven's corpse, paying particular attention to the hands and closely examining the callous on Ruthven's third finger. Again he sniffed carefully.

'No poison there,' he whispered. He prised open Ruthven's mouth. I stood behind him, trying to conceal my fear and distaste. Surely the dead man's ghost would object to this? Was his soul still earthbound? Would it stay here forever or be freed only when his murderer was brought to justice? Benjamin examined the yellowing teeth. He took a small pin from the sleeve of his doublet and began to scrape between the yellow stumps until he extracted small, grey fragments still wet with mucus.

Benjamin held the pin up to the light, staring at these scrapings.

'What is it, master?' I whispered.

Benjamin shook his head. 'I don't know. It could be food, perhaps some bread.'

'What are you doing, Benjamin?'

Both my master and I turned quickly. Doctor Agrippa and Sir Robert Catesby stood in the doorway. Benjamin beamed.

'Nothing, good doctor. Lady Carey insinuated I might be involved in Ruthven's death. I thought I might find something to show I was not.'

'And have you?' Catesby asked.

Unobserved, Benjamin let the pin drop to the floor.

'No, not at all.'

Catesby waved us forward. 'Then come!'

We went into our own chamber. Catesby, closing the door behind him, told us to sit.

'Forget Ruthven's death,' he began. 'The Scottish envoys will soon land at Yarmouth. They have safe conducts and passes to travel to Nottingham where you will meet them. Queen Margaret's second husband, the Earl of Angus, will be present but the delegation is led by Lord d'Aubigny, one of the Regent's lieutenants. You will treat with him about Queen Margaret's return to Scotland. You will offer nothing, but listen most carefully to what is said. We have arranged for you to be there on the Feast of St Cecilia, the twenty-second of November. However, before that, in two days' time, on the Feast of St Leo the Great, you will meet Irvine, My Lord Cardinal's spy, at Coldstream Priory which lies about thirty miles from here. Irvine's information may well be given in cipher. You will memorise the message and bring it back to me and Doctor Agrippa.'

'Why the secrecy?' I asked. 'Why can't Irvine come here? Why are the Scottish envoys coming by sea? And why Nottingham? Moreover,' I glanced sideways at my master, 'surely the Scottish nobles will want to treat with someone more important than the Cardinal's nephew and,' I added bitterly, 'his manservant.'

Agrippa smirked. 'Shallot!' he murmured. 'Use your head. Irvine cannot come here – there is a traitor and a murderer in the Queen's party. Despite Lady Carey's accusations, you and Benjamin,' he glanced slyly at Catesby, 'are the only ones above suspicion. Moreover, if the Lord Cardinal trusts you implicitly, so will Irvine. As for the Scottish envoys… first, a journey by land is too dangerous; secondly, our good King Henry believes this is a Scottish matter and does not wish to intervene officially; finally, Queen Margaret and her household, on the other hand, do not wish to be seen to have anything to do with the men who drove her from Scotland.' Agrippa leaned closer and I smelt that strange perfume he always wore. 'So, Shallot, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The Scots will talk with Master Benjamin. They know he acts on the personal authority of the Cardinal.'

'And the rest?' Benjamin spoke up. 'You all stay at Royston?'