Paul Doherty - The White Rose murders

Wolsey turned to the young man who had been sitting silently beside him.

'May I introduce Sir Robert Catesby, clerk to Queen Margaret's privy chamber? He, together with the Queen's personal retinue, now resides in the royal apartments in the Tower.' Wolsey stopped and sipped from a goblet.

(Here it comes, I thought.)

'In a different part of the Tower,' Wolsey continued slowly, 'held fast in a prison cell, is Alexander Selkirk, formerly physician to the late King James. The fellow was brought there by my agents in Paris.' Wolsey smiled sourly. 'Yes, dear nephew, the same man I sent you across to find and whom you let slip so easily between your fingers. Anyway, Selkirk is captured. He holds information which could assist Queen Margaret's return to Scotland. We also think he is a member of Les Blancs Sangliers and could give us information about other members of that secret coven.'

' [My chaplain mutters, 'What was Benjamin doing in Dieppe?' I rap him across the knuckles, I'll come to that!] 'Selkirk is not a well man,' Sir Robert continued. His voice was cultured but tinged with a slight accent. 'He is weak in both mind and body. We make no sense of him. He writes doggerel poetry and stares blankly at the walls of his cell, demanding cups of claret and alternating between fits of drunkenness and bouts of weeping.'

'How can I help?' Benjamin replied. 'I am no physician.'

'You are, Benjamin,' Wolsey answered, his voice warm with genuine kindness, 'a singular young man. You have a natural charm, a skill in unlocking the hearts of others.' The cardinal suddenly grinned. 'Moreover, Selkirk has fond memories of you, even though his wits do wander. He said you treated him most courteously in Dieppe and regrets any inconvenience he may have caused.'

Oh, I thought, that was rich, but I let it pass. The hairs pricking on the nape of my neck were alerting me to danger. There was something else, a subtle, cloying menace beneath the Cardinal's banal remarks. Why was "Selkirk so important? He apparently knew something which the Cardinal and his bluff royal master wanted to share. Benjamin and I were on the edge of a calm, clear pool but, no doubt, its depths were deep, murky and tangled with dangerous weeds. I would have run like a hare from that chamber but, of course, dear Benjamin, as was his wont, took his uncle at face value.

'I will do all I can to assist,' he answered.

The Cardinal smiled whilst his two companions visibly relaxed. Oh, yes, I thought, here we go again, head first into the mire. Wolsey waved a hand.

'Sir Robert, inform my nephew.'

'Queen Margaret and her retinue, as the Lord Cardinal has already stated, are now in residence in the Tower. Queen Margaret wishes to be close to Selkirk, who holds information valuable to her. Her household is as follows: I am her secretary and chamberlain; Sir William Carey is her treasurer; Simon Moodie is her almoner and chaplain; John Ruthven is her steward; Matthew Melford is sergeant-at-arms and her personal bodyguard, whilst Lady Eleanor Carey is her lady-in-waiting. The rest are servitors.'

'All of these,' Doctor Agrippa interrupted, 'including

Sir Robert, served Queen Margaret when she was in Scotland. I will also join her household. Now, Sir Robert's loyalty can be guaranteed though it is possible – and Sir Robert must take no offence at this – that any of the exiled Queen's household could be allies to her opponents in Scotland and any one of them could be a member of Les Blancs Sangliers.' Agrippa frowned and looked at me. 'There is one further person whom I believe, Master Shallot, you know well. His Majesty has been pleased to appoint a new physician to his sister's retinue – a Hugh Scawsby, burgess of this good town.'

Wolsey smirked, Catesby looked puzzled, whilst my master rubbed his jaw.

'I am sure,' Doctor Agrippa continued, 'Master Scawsby will be delighted to renew his acquaintance with you.'

I looked away. I don't like sarcastic bastards and I didn't relish the prospect of having old Scawsby peering over my shoulder. None the less, I nodded wisely like the merry fellow I pretended to be.

'Nephew,' Wolsey extended his hand as a sign that the meeting was over, 'prepare yourself – and you too, Master Shallot. On the day after Michaelmas, Sir Robert and Doctor Agrippa will meet you here at noon and escort you to the Tower.'

Wolsey straightened up, a silver bell tinkled and behind us the door was flung open. Both Benjamin and I backed out, heads bobbing, although Wolsey had already forgotten us and was now talking to Catesby in deep hushed tones. Outside the chamber, I noticed Benjamin's face was flushed, his eyes glittering. He spoke never a word until we cleared the Guildhall and entered the musty darkness of a nearby tavern.

'So, Roger, we are to be gone from here in two days.' He looked anxiously at me. 'I know there's more to my uncle's business than meets the eye.'

He sighed. 'Yet it's the best I can do. We are finished here, there's nothing for us in Ipswich.'

'What was this business about Dieppe?' I asked.

Benjamin drained his cup. 'Before your appearance at the Sessions House, Uncle sent me on a mission to arrest Selkirk. I captured him just outside Paris and took him to Dieppe. The seas were rough so we sheltered in a tavern.' He sighed. 'To cut a long story short, the fellow's a half-wit. I became sorry for him and released him from his chains. One morning I rose late, Selkirk was gone, and all I had to show were a set of rusty manacles.' He smiled at me. 'Now Uncle wishes me to finish the task. We have no choice, Roger, we have to go.'

I stared around the tavern, now full of farmers and stall holders making merry and drinking the profits of their day. Yes, we were finished here. Still, I shivered as if some invisible terror, a cold hand from the grave, had rubbed its clawlike fingers down my back. The real terrors were about to begin. The ghosts of Flodden had finally caught up with me.

Two days later we packed and, as arranged, found Sir Robert and Doctor Agrippa waiting for us outside the Ipswich Guildhall. They greeted us merrily enough, insisting that, before we leave, we should dine at the Golden Lion, the costliest eating house in Ipswich. I am proud to say I made a complete pig of myself on succulent capon, gold-encrusted pastries, roast plover garnished in a rich egg sauce, crackling pork and cheese tarts covered in cream. I drank generously from deep-bowled cups full of wine from the black grapes of Auvergne. After that Doctor Agrippa did not seem so menacing although I kept an eye on him: sometimes I caught him making strange signs and gestures in the air as if he was speaking to someone we could not see. Young Catesby, however, proved to be the most amiable of companions. He diverted us with the gossip of the court about the masques and mummers' plays, the dancing and the revelry, as well as the new wench in the King's bed, Bessie Blount, with her corn-coloured hair, saucy eyes and luscious body.

I suppose you take things as they appear. Catesby seemed a good man, albeit a dark pool with shadowy currents. A good fighting man who showed himself adept with sword and dirk when some mountebanks attacked us on the London Road, Catesby was left-handed, a subtle device, for what the fools thought was his blind side proved to be the place they died, choking on their blood as his sword rose and fell in a hissing arc of silver steel. For the rest, our journey was uneventful and on the morning of 2 October, the Feast of Christ's Holy Angels, we passed St Mary of Bethlehem Church and entered London along Bishopsgate Street.

We found the city in the final, lingering embrace of a terrible plague which caused a great sweating and stinking, redness of the face, a continual thirst and a crushing headache. At the last, pimply rashes would appear on the skin, small pricks of blood. After this the only consolation was that death followed swiftly. People fell ill on the streets, at work, during Mass, and went home to collapse and die. Some perished opening their windows, some playing with their children; men who were merry at dinner were dead by supper time. I saw people massed as thick as flies rushing through the streets away from the presence of an infected person. Fortunately, I remained in good health but Catesby, whilst at our inn, the Red Tongue on Gracechurch Street, fell ill. Doctor Agrippa bought mercury and nightshade mixed with swine's blood, infusing in it a concoction of dragon water with half a nutshell of crushed unicorn horn. He forced Catesby to drink this as he made strange signs in the air. Despite all this mummery, Catesby recovered and Doctor Agrippa announced it was now safe to proceed towards the Tower.