Paul Doherty - The White Rose murders

'Irvine's news?' Agrippa demanded at once as Catesby bolted the door behind us and scrutinised the long, low-ceilinged chamber as if eavesdroppers lurked in its very shadows. He came and stood over us.

'Irvine?' he repeated hoarsely. 'What news do you bring?'

My master flicked the dust from his cloak. 'Sir Robert, I am dirty, tired, saddle-sore and thirsty. I would like some wine.'.

Two goblets slopping with wine were hastily served. My master drank deeply while I studied Agrippa's cherubic face and the anxious, worried frown on Catesby's.

'Irvine is dead,' Benjamin announced flatly.

Catesby moaned and turned away. Agrippa fidgeted excitedly in his chair.

'How?' he asked softly. 'How was Irvine killed?'

'He never reached the convent,' my master lied. 'Oh, we waited for him but then a pedlar brought in his corpse. His throat had been cut from ear to ear and his wallet had been filched.' Benjamin shrugged. 'We failed.'

'We were meant to fail!' I interrupted hoarsely. 'Irvine was ambushed. Somebody knew he was coming, and the only people who did are here in Royston Manor!'

'What are you saying?' Catesby demanded.

'That someone from Royston ambushed Irvine and murdered him,' I replied coolly, ignoring the rage which changed Catesby's open-faced, ploughboy looks into a mask of fury.

'How do we know you two did not kill him?'

'Ask our guide,' Benjamin answered. 'Ask the ladies of the convent – we were never out of their sight.'

I remembered the long, graceful legs of the prioress wrapped firmly around me and hid my smile.

'So,' Benjamin continued, 'where was everybody when we were visiting Coldstream?'

'I was at Nottingham!' Catesby snapped. 'We left here the same day you did, November the eighth. Melford and I were in Nottingham on the morning of the ninth. The Constable there will vouch for our movements.'

'And here at Royston?'

Agrippa never took his eyes off mine.

'A good point, Master Shallot.' He spread his hands. 'None of us can account for our movements precisely. Carey was scouring the countryside for provisions.

Indeed, he was away three days. Moodie was sent to Yarmouth by Her Grace the Queen.' 'And you yourself?'

Agrippa grinned. 'Like the good doctor Scawsby, I was completing certain errands – Scawsby was buying medicines for the Queen,' he yawned, 'I, of course, for the Lord Cardinal.'

I stared into those dark, enigmatic eyes. Was he mocking me? Had he been on the Cardinal's business or lying in ambush for Irvine? I remembered the mist-shrouded countryside and shivered. Or had he been immersed in his Black Arts, calling up a demon from hell in some lonely wood or deserted copse? But why should I suspect him? His answer was very clever: no one could really account for their movements but once again Benjamin and I had drunk deeply from the cup of failure. Catesby pulled a stool across and slumped down, burying his face in his hands.

'Selkirk's dead!' he intoned, like a priest beginning the prayers for the dying. 'Ruthven's murdered and now Irvine!' He glanced sideways at Agrippa. 'In time, perhaps, these deaths will be avenged, but the Queen is insistent that we should meet the Scottish envoys.' He glanced at the hour candle burning on the table. 'The situation is this: the Queen fled from Scotland leaving her infant sons, James and Alexander.' He paused. 'Alexander sickened and died. The Queen has no great love for her second husband but she does for Scotland. The Scottish envoys will be led by Lord d'Aubigny, the Regent's right-hand man. The Queen's husband, Douglas, Earl of Angus, has also insisted on coming. You are to demand of them Queen Margaret's return. They should arrive at Nottingham this evening. Tomorrow you must travel there, Master Benjamin and Shallot, and this time the good doctor Agrippa will accompany you.' Catesby stared at us from red-rimmed eyes. 'This time do not fail!' he snapped. 'Now I must tell the Queen.' He rose and left, slamming the door behind him.

'Did you murder Irvine?' I flung the accusation at the smiling Agrippa.

The good doctor threw back his head and laughed merrily, the sound echoing strangely in that dark, forbidding hall. He got up, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and came to stand over me. He cupped my face in small, soft hands.

'One day, Roger,' he whispered, 'you will detect the solution to great mysteries. I have looked into the shadows which are not yet realities. But, oh dear, you still have so much to learn.' He withdrew his hands, smiled at Benjamin and slipped quietly out of the room.

We spent the rest of the day recovering from our journey and doing our best to avoid the other members of the household, who soon learnt of our failure and hid their satisfaction behind smug looks or sour smiles. Dinner that evening was not a happy affair. Queen Margaret and Catesby glowered at us from the head of the table. Melford, now he had tasted blood, seemed to be revelling in some private joke. Moodie looked sanctimonious whilst Scawsby could hardly hide his crows of triumph. Carey looked worried and Doctor Agrippa sat as if a spectator at some masque or mummer's play.

We sat there toying with our food. Perhaps I drank too deeply because one of old Shallot's mottos is, and always has been: 'When you are frightened and there's wine about, drink as much as you can.' At last my master, tired of the ominous silence, tugged at my sleeve. We rose, bowed to Queen Margaret, mumbled our apologies and crept out of the hall.

'Master Daunbey!' Doctor Agrippa's voice called us back. 'We are to leave for Nottingham at first light.'

Benjamin pursed his lips and shook his head. 'No need to summon us, good doctor. You will find us waiting for you outside Royston. The sooner we leave here the better!'

When we returned to our own chamber, I turned drunkenly on Benjamin. 'What did you mean?'

'About what?'

'When Agrippa summoned us back?'

Benjamin chewed on his lip and shook his head. 'You are tired and half drunk, Roger. Go to bed.'

And, without a word more, Benjamin turned his back on me. I staggered off to sleep and was awakened by my master, his face bathed in a pool of candle light.

'Roger!' he whispered. 'Get up – now!'

'What's the matter?' I replied crossly.

Benjamin kept shaking me and half-dragged me out of bed. He pointed to a tray bearing some loaves and watered wine.

'Break your fast!' he hissed. 'The food is not tainted. We may be in danger here!'

I cursed but did as he requested and afterwards we slipped down the darkened stairway out of the main door where Benjamin had ordered a sleepy-eyed groom to bring round the horses. We mounted and rode across the darkened causeway, past the sentry, half-sleeping at the open gates and on to the trackway. The corpse of the household servant still swung from the branch of an elm tree. Good Lord, I remember the scene well to this day. Terror seemed to permeate the very air. It was bitterly cold, at that moment just before dawn when the demons and evil sprites which live under heaven make their final assault against the human soul. I looked round to glimpse the dark mass of Royston Manor and the swaying corpse of the hanged man caught my glance. Panic throbbed through my body and, if I hadn't been made of sterner stuff, I would have dug spurs into my horse and galloped as fast as I could back to Ipswich. The guard did not challenge us and we followed the faint trackway till Benjamin reined in and offered me a bulging wineskin.

'Drink as much as you want, Roger,' he whispered. 'I understand. I found this on our table when I woke.'

He stretched out his hand and I saw the small, faded, white rose lying there. I shivered at the warning. Benjamin threw the rose down.

'Now, Roger,' he continued briskly, 'I apologise for my rudeness yesterday evening but you do realise we are in great danger? There's something about this matter which could lead us to the gallows or on to the knife of some hired assassin. A dark, sinister masque is being played out and we do not know whom to trust. My uncle? The King? Queen Margaret? Doctor Agrippa? Something does not ring true… but what can we do? If we return to London empty-handed, we are finished. If we pursue this, we could very well be placing our heads in a noose. We do not know who are our friends and who our enemies. Two things may protect us: first, the Lord Cardinal treats me as his favourite nephew and that will afford us some protection; secondly, our investigations safeguard us. There are those who skulk behind and let us run hither and thither while they watch what we find out.'