Paul Doherty: The White Rose murders

After these came heavy carts and carriages, loaded high with his baggage. Young boys scattered rose water to lay the dust, then came the Cardinal himself, tall and massive, mounted on a mule. By tradition this is a humble beast but My Lord Cardinal's was carefully groomed, caparisoned in crimson and velvet and carried stirrups of gilded copper. His attendants took over the main chambers of the Guildhall. Benjamin and I watched them arrive but my master did not expect the personal summons he received from the Cardinal later in the day.

We changed into our best doublets, slops and hose and hurried to the Guildhall where yeomen wearing the Lord Cardinal's livery took us along to the audience chamber. I tell you now, it was like entering Paradise. The floors were strewn with carpets, the most modest being of pure lambswool, the richest of silk imported by Venetian merchants from Damascus. Rich jewels and ornaments, images of saints, fine cloth of gold, damask copes and other vestments lay scattered round the chamber. There were chairs upholstered in crimson velvet, others in black silk, all embroidered with the Wolsey coat of arms. Tables of cypress and chairs of pine were covered with a great number of cushions, appropriately decorated with cardinals' hats, dragons, lions, roses and gold balls. Oh, how my fingers itched to filch something!

The prelate himself sat in robes of state on a high episcopal chair stolen from the nearby cathedral. He was dressed from head to toe in pure purple silk, a small skull cap of the same colour on his head, and even his cushioned slippers bore a coat of arms. He was as proud as he looked with his square-jawed, heavy face, skin white as snow, lips full and sensuous but eyes half-closed black pools of arrogance.

On the Cardinal's right, like a spider, sat a black-garbed figure, cowl thrust back to reveal a cherubic face and shining bald pate. This was Doctor Agrippa, envoy and spy for the greatest in the land. I studied him curiously.

'A strange man, Doctor Agrippa,' Benjamin had once remarked. 'He has personal acquaintance with the Lord of the Cemeteries, a man steeped in magic who dabbles in the Black Arts.'

On closer inspection, I could hardly believe that: Agrippa's face was smooth and kindly, the eyes steadfast and sure in their gaze, though I did glimpse the silver pentangle hanging round his neck. People said he was Wolsey's familiar, his link with the demons of the underworld. On the other side of the Lord Cardinal was a bland young man with sandy hair, sea green eyes and a boyish, freckled face. He smiled at us in a gap-toothed way. I asked Benjamin who he was but my master hoarsely told me to keep quiet. Wolsey waved one purple-gloved hand and Benjamin hurried forward, kneeling at the footstool to kiss the heavy gold ring slipped over the Cardinal's silken glove. Wolsey ignored me, flicking his fingers at us to sit down on two quilted stools. I kept bobbing my head vigorously to placate the Lord Cardinal who sat studying us pensively.

'Benjamin, Benjamin, my dearest nephew.'

My master squirmed uneasily.

'My favourite nephew Benjamin,' Wolsey continued in a silky voice, 'and, of course, Shallot, his faithful amanuensis.'

(To those who don't know Greek, that means secretary.)

Wolsey abruptly leaned forward in his chair. Oh, Lord, I was so frightened, my heart as well as my bowels seemed to turn to liquid. Had the Lord Cardinal found out about the sheep? I wondered.

'What am I going to do with you?' the Cardinal snapped. 'Failed farmer! Failed merchant!' (That was another undertaking which went wrong.) 'Failed scholar! Failed spy!' (I'll tell you about that presently.) Wolsey brought his hand crashing down on the arm of his chair. I glanced sideways at Benjamin. His face was pale but he was not frightened; those curiously innocent eyes gazed steadily back at his uncle. I detected no smell of fear. (Believe me, I know that perfume well!) No, my master was serene, undoubtedly drawing strength from my presence. I quietly preened myself.

'When,' the Lord Cardinal barked, 'are you going to rid yourself of that?'

I heard Agrippa giggle. I thought Wolsey was pointing at my master's cloak for, as I've remarked, I have a slight cast in one eye, then I realised the Cardinal meant me. Doctor Agrippa giggled again whilst the young man on Wolsey's left looked embarrassed.

'Dearest Uncle,' my master replied, 'Roger is both my secretary and my friend. He is shrewd, learned in the arts, of prodigious character and a strong protector. I will always value his companionship.'

'Master Shallot,' Doctor Agrippa intervened smoothly, 'is a lying, base-born rogue who disgraced himself at Flodden and, by all rights, should be drying out in the sun on the town's scaffold!'

I was hurt by Agrippa's words. The Cardinal smiled and stared at his nephew. God be my judge, I saw a look of rare tenderness and gentle irony in the Cardinal's eyes.

'You wrong Shallot,' Benjamin spoke up. 'He has his vices but also has his virtues.'

(A rare perceptive man, my master.)

Wolsey made a rude sound with his tongue and flicked his hand at Agrippa. The magician rose and took three chessmen from a lacquered board on the table beside him.

'You may still redeem yourself,' Wolsey began. 'Explain, Doctor Agrippa.'

The fellow crouched in front of us, his black cloak billowing like a dark cloud around him.

'There are three strands to this tapestry I paint,' he began.

I stared, fascinated by Agrippa's eyes which seemed to change colour from a light blue to a liquid black whilst his voice grew deeper and more soporific.

'This,' Doctor Agrippa remarked, holding up a small white pawn, 'represents the Yorkists driven from power in 1485 when their leader, the Usurper Richard, was killed at Bosworth by the present King's father. This,' the doctor now held up the white king, 'is our noble lord, Henry VIII, by the grace of God our King. And this,' he held up the white queen, 'is our beloved King's sister, Queen Margaret, widow of James IV, who was killed at Flodden, now unjustly driven from her kingdom of Scotland.'

I stared, half listening to Doctor Agrippa, now convinced I was in the presence of a powerful magician. As he spoke Agrippa's voice changed timbre and his eyes constantly shifted in colour, whilst sometimes as he moved I sniffed the rottenness of the kennel, and then at others the most fragrant of perfumes. The magician turned and grinned at Wolsey.

'Shall I continue, My Lord?'

The Cardinal nodded. Agrippa cleared his throat.

'The Yorkists are traitors but they survive in secret covens and conspiracies, calling themselves Les Blancs Sangliers after the White Boar, the personal insignia of Richard III. They were once shown favour by James IV of Scotland, and now they plot and threaten England's security.'

'Tell them about the White Queen,' Wolsey interrupted testily.

Doctor Agrippa licked his lips and smirked. 'Queen Margaret always objected to her late husband's involvement with Les Blancs Sangliers and eventually persuaded him to withdraw his support for them but not his enmity against England. Then came Flodden.' Doctor Agrippa shrugged. 'James was killed. Queen Margaret, desolate, was left alone with her baby son and pregnant with another. She was distressed and vulnerable. She looked for friends and found one in Gavin Douglas, Earl of Angus. The Scottish Council was furious and, led by the Duke of Albany, attacked Margaret who fled into England.'

[God's teeth, looking back it's a wonder the fellow didn't choke on his words! Never have I heard such a farrago of lies!]

'Naturally,' Wolsey intervened, 'King Henry protected his beloved sister, who now repents of her hasty marriage and wishes to be restored to Scotland.' He paused and stared at his nephew.

'Dearest Uncle,' Benjamin began, 'what has that to do with me? How can I help Her Grace the Queen of Scotland?'