Paul Doherty - The White Rose murders

His cool eyes holding mine, he leaned closer. 'We are in a dance of death. As long as the dance continues we are safe, but if we try to step out we will either be pushed back or killed. By whom I do not know but I intend to find out. For what else is there, Roger? Who is waiting for you or me?' He blinked and looked away. 'Who would miss us?' he added softly. 'Who loves you, Roger? Who loves me? Where is our home, where our loved ones? Look at us now, on this wild heathland with only the grass and the sky to keep us company. And our defence? Our health, the weapons we carry and the money we share. That's all there is, Roger.'

For once in my life I admit my master truly terrified me because he was right. My belly rolled in terror. I could have vomited with fear and had difficulty controlling my breathing at the silent horrors my master described. Benjamin took me firmly by the wrist and my horse whickered softly.

'Yet I have you, Roger, your friendship, and you have mine.' He threw back his head and laughed at the grey, lonely skies. 'What more could a man want?' He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. 'I mean, Roger, how many friends does the Lord Cardinal have? Not the King!' He suddenly sobered. 'Sometimes,' he whispered, as if the very bushes concealed royal agents or spies, 'I fear for my uncle.'

'What do you mean, Master?'

'Although he has the King's friendship…'Benjamin was on the point of replying when we heard the clip-clop of horses' hooves and saw Doctor Agrippa making his way slowly towards us; his mount, a gentle cob, ambling along as if it was a balmy summer's day.

'Good morning, Benjamin, Roger.' The doctor drew back his dark cowl. 'You were in a hurry to leave Royston.'

Benjamin grunted.

'Why?' Agrippa continues. 'What dangers threaten you?'

'You know very well,' Benjamin snapped back. 'Murder lurks there. Selkirk, Ruthven, Irvine… sooner or later it will be our turn. I am right, am I not?'

Agrippa's candid eyes rounded in mock amazement. 'But you are the Cardinal's nephew and Roger is your good friend. Your deaths,' he emphasised, 'would have to be explained, if not avenged.'

'Don't play games, Doctor. We air stand on the edge of a darkened ring. There is a great mystery here.'

Agrippa turned to me. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

'And you, Roger, if your remarks in the Chapter House mean anything, believe I am at the centre of this darkened ring?'

My long-suffering patience broke. 'Who are you?' I accused. 'What magic arts do you dabble in?'

Agrippa shrugged. 'What is magic, Roger?' He pointed down to his stirrup. 'Many centuries ago, a Roman Army was wiped out by the Goths at Adrianopolis. Do you know why?'

I shook my head.

'The Goths wore stirrups and, because they did, could fight more efficiently on horseback. To many Romans at the time, the Goths were demons who used magical arts to gain victory.' He shook his head. 'And what was their magic? Something we don't even think about today.'

'You weave spells,' I challenged. 'Carey says his father saw you in Antioch years ago! How can a man live so long?'

Agrippa laughed softly. 'You are right, Shallot. Nothing is what it seems to be.' He leaned forward, his face serious. 'Who I am and what I do does not concern you. I am the Lord Cardinal's man!'

'Does the Cardinal need such protection?' Benjamin queried.

Agrippa chewed his lip. 'Your uncle is hated. He needs to protect himself: men say he has a magic ring which he uses to raise demons to control the King. They also claim that the Lord Cardinal has hired a famous witch, a murderess named Mabel Brigge, who has King Henry in thrall through the St Trinian's fast, a three-day period of abstinence from food and drink which leaves the strongest subjects under her control.' Agrippa stopped and looked at a lonely bird shrieking above us as if it was a devil let loose to wander this lonely wilderness.

I shivered as more silent terrors gripped my soul.

'I don't believe that,' my master replied.

'Oh, yes, you do,' Agrippa murmured. 'The only man your uncle should fear is the King himself. You have heard the prophecies?'

Now fascinated by Agrippa's sepulchral tones, I shook my head and wondered what powers he really had. The good doctor looked at us sharply.

'I trust both of you, so I shall tell you. They say King Henry is the Dark One, he is the Mouldwarp, the Prince of Darkness foretold by Merlin, the great wizard of King Arthur's court. According to his prophecies, the king of the twelfth generation after John will be the Mouldwarp, a hairy man whose skin will be as thick as a goat's. At first he will be greatly praised by his people, before sinking down into the dark pit of sin and pride. He is condemned by God to end his reign in gore and destruction. We are the twelfth generation after John and Henry is our King. We see him now as a golden sun but what will happen to him as the day dies and the sun begins to set? Then how long will he tolerate your uncle? And if the Lord Cardinal goes, falling from the heavens like Lucifer, you, the little ones, will be dragged down in his wake!' He spurred his horse. 'That is why we must succeed, not just for ourselves but for the Lord Cardinal. Who knows whether our success or failure might bring the prophecies about?' He glanced over his shoulder. 'We must go on, lest the shadows catch up with us.'

We urged our horses forward. I forget the details of the journey. Both Benjamin and I were lost in our own thoughts and I was mystified by Agrippa's revelations. A strange man whose like you will not meet again in my memoirs.

[Do you know, I lately financed a trip under one of Raleigh's captains to the Americas. When the fellow returned I entertained him here in the manor house. He told me strange stories of red-skinned men who wore eagle feathers, and their wise man fitted Doctor Agrippa's description. A strange world isn't it? My chaplain snorts in derision but what does he know? He lusts after Fat Margot's tits and is jealous because tonight I'll cup them in my hands. Oh, yes, the juices still run hot and I, past ninety, can do what many a thirty year old finds impossible! Do you think I am lying? Read my memoirs. When I was locked hidden away in Suleiman the Magnificent's harem, I satisfied every one of his houris but, as I keep saying, that's another story.]

Eventually, Agrippa, Benjamin and I entered Nottingham, going through the main archway into a dirty maze of streets. After the fresh airs of the countryside, we gagged at the smell of stale urine, stinking cats and rotting vegetables. The open sewer in the high street looked as if it had never been cleaned and at times we squelched ankle deep in human excrement. Our horses had more sense and refused to go further so we stabled them at a local inn where we satisfied our hunger on a dish of fish cooked over charcoal before making our way up to the castle.

We crossed the huge market square where a great throng had gathered to witness the execution of two brothers found guilty by the Judges of Assizes of plotting against the King. The press was too great and we found ourselves trapped by the crowd just in front a massive, black-timbered scaffold. The headsman was already waiting. He stood before the rusty, blood-stained block, his face covered by a black hood as he leaned on a great two-edged axe. He was two-thirds drunk but, there again, I suppose any man ordered to discharge such a duty would need some wine to gladden the heart and dull the brain.

The two brothers were conducted in a cart to the macabre beat of a single drum. They were dressed simply in hose and open-necked shirts. The captain of the guard led them on to the scaffold, a scrawny-faced clerk gabbled out the sentence of the court. The younger man pressed forward, his hands tied behind his back. He looked grievingly at his elder brother who muttered something. The man became calmer, sank to his knees and allowed the executioner to bend him so his neck fitted over the block. Again the drum beat, the great axe swirling in the sunlight. There was a crunch, the hot spatter of blood and a deep sigh from the crowd. The eldest brother refused to have his hands tied but coolly watched as his brother's carcase was rolled away. He then knelt at the block like a priest before his prie dieu. He positioned his head, made a gesture with his hand, the axe swirled again, his body jerked, the head bounced on to the scaffold in a great spurt of scarlet. A guard kicked away a dog who tried to run under the scaffold to lick the dripping blood.