The White Rose (29 page)

'How can we do that?'

Benjamin shrugged. 'Reveal a little of what we know and choose a place, lonely and deserted, where the murderer, wanting to silence us, will make his presence felt.' Benjamin walked and leaned against the wall staring out through one of the arrow slits. 'It can't be here,' he murmured. 'Or in London.'

I rose and stood beside him. 'I know a place nearby, Master, where we could set our trap and watch the murderer fall into it.'

Benjamin gazed around as if the very walls had ears. 'It could be dangerous, Roger.'

I shrugged. 'Master, we suspect who the murderer may be. We have proof but we must make him show his hand.

[I see the clerk sniggering, he thinks my courage was bravado, perhaps it was.]

However, my master took me at my word and gently patted my shoulder.

'Then so be it, Roger.' He murmured. 'So be it.'

We did not go down to the hall for dinner that evening but had a servant bring us cold meats and a jug of watered wine from the garrison kitchen. We spent the night like two artificers planning a subtle masque or Twelfth Night game but at last we were agreed. The next morning we left the Tower and went past St Mary Grace's Church to the fields which stretched north from Hog Street to Aldgate, a deserted barren area like the blasted heath in one of Will Shakespeare's plays. Now, in the middle of these wild moorlands was an old, derelict church, once dedicated to St Theodore of Tarsus.

In more prosperous times there had been a village there but, since the Great Plague, all had decayed. The village had gone and the church was in disrepair. The roof had been stripped, the nave stood open to the elements, the chancel screen was long gone to some builder's yard whilst the sanctuary was only discernible by the steps and stone plinth on which the altar had once rested. To the right of the nave, in one of the aisles, were steps leading down to a darkened crypt. Benjamin and I went down these. Surprisingly, the door was still there. We pushed it open on its creaking, rusty hinges and found the crypt dark and deserted except for the squeaking of mice and the rustling wings of some bird nesting on the sill of the open window high in the wall. A rank, fetid place, sombre and cold, I sensed it was full of ghosts. In the far corner were decaying tombs with effigies on top, knights clasping their swords, now crumbling to a white powdered dust. I looked around and shivered. 'This will do, Master?'

Benjamin smiled thinly. 'Yes, Roger, it will. Not for tonight but certainly tomorrow!'

We stayed away from the Tower for most of the day. Benjamin visited a distant relative in Axe Street near the Priory of St Helen but we made sure we were back in the Tower for the evening meal. Queen Margaret and all her retinue were there: Catesby, full of his own importance, issuing orders, loudly declaring how they would be on the road north before the Feast of the Annunciation. Agrippa looked quiet and withdrawn. Melford and the rest chose to ignore us but Benjamin and I, like good actors, had learnt our lines and so waited. Of course, Scawsby, as expected, rose to the bait.

'Master Benjamin,' he asked gaily, 'when we are gone, what then?'

Benjamin shrugged. 'God knows, Master Scawsby. My uncle the Lord Cardinal may have other tasks for us. Once, of course, we have finished this one.'

Benjamin's quiet words stilled the clamour.

'What do you mean?' Carey barked.

Benjamin smiled and turned back to his food.

'Yes,' Agrippa spoke up, 'what do you mean, Master Daunbey?'

'He means,' I said, standing up, 'that we know the mystery behind Selkirk's poem. We know also how Selkirk, Ruthven, Irvine and Moodie died!'

Well, you could have heard a needle drop. They all sat rigid, like figures in a painting: Queen Margaret, a cup hovering half-way to her lips, Catesby about to speak to her, the Careys with their mouths wide open. Melford, Agrippa and Scawsby just sat pop-eyed. The only exceptions were the two Highlanders but they sensed that what I was saying was important. I have never enjoyed myself so much in my life! Agrippa was the first to stir.

'Do explain, Roger,' he said silkily. 'Pray do.'

'When I was in Paris,' I lied, 'I did not find Selkirk's secret but something more important - a man who fought with the late James IV of Scotland at Flodden.'

Benjamin looked strangely at me as I strayed from the agreed text.

'This man,' I continued meaningfully, 'was with James until he died.'

'Who is he?' Queen Margaret rasped, half-rising out of her chair. 'What are you talking about?'

'Oh, he's here in London, Your Grace. Soon we will meet him. He has enough evidence to prove what he says is the truth.'

Now Benjamin rose and took me by the arm. 'You have said enough, Roger. We must go.'

We both swept out of the hall, trying hard to hide our excitement at the dangerous game we were playing. Benjamin pushed me across the bailey.

'Why did you mention this person?' he demanded crossly. 'We did not agree to that.'

I smiled. 'We now play a dangerous game, Master. Fortune has dealt us each a hand. We discovered the truth by chance, so let chance still have some say in what will happen.'

Benjamin agreed though he was both anxious and angry. 'We cannot stay in the Tower,' he murmured. 'The murderer may strike now and finish the game.'

So we packed our saddle bags, Benjamin managing to draw from the Tower stores two small crossbows and an arbalest as well as fresh swords and daggers. We left the fortress. Benjamin told me to stay at a small ale-house near the postern gate and slipped away. I whiled away the time eyeing the bright-cheeked young slattern and trying to persuade her oafish swain to hazard a few coins at dice. At last I got bored and sat back, sipping from a black jack of ale and remembering what we had learnt from Selkirk's confession.

[Oh, I wish my chaplain would stop interrupting. I'll tell him what it said in due course!]

I could scarcely believe it and wondered what had become of the knight Selkirk mentioned, Sir John Harrington. I also relished my own subtle trickery and hoped its victim would fall meekly into the prepared trap. Suddenly I recalled my mother and one of her favourite sayings, a quotation from the Psalms: 'He fell into a snare which he had prepared for others.' I took another gulp from the black jack of ale and hoped this would not happen to me. Once again I scrutinised what I'd planned. No, the plot was primed. All we had to do was keep our nerve.

After a while Benjamin returned. His face looked white and drawn but his eyes were feverish with excitement.

'Where have you been?' I snapped.

He stared innocently back.

'To see the Queen, of course.'

I groaned. 'What for, Master? We agreed to leave that fat bitch well alone.'

Benjamin grimaced. 'I had to, Roger,' he muttered. 'You have been thinking of Selkirk's confession?'

I nodded.

'Well, all I did was ask her about Sir John Harrington, a Scottish knight who fought with her husband.' He grinned. 'Let's be on our way!

'I also told Doctor Agrippa about our meeting place,' he muttered as we slipped down a darkened alleyway.

'Was that wise?' I asked.

'We shall see,' he replied. 'As you said, Roger, Agrippa may be the murderer so he must know where the last act of the play is to take place.'

'And the rest?'

Benjamin stopped. 'They will find out, Roger, so we must make sure we are ready.'

We lodged in a small tavern just off Poor Jewry and slept late the following morning. Benjamin went about his business and I seized the opportunity to go about mine. I went to a scrivener in Mincing Lane off Eastcheap, who, for a price, wrote out my message in a good clerkly hand. I also drew three gold pieces from a merchant in Lombard Street and he agreed to send my small package, sealed in a leather wallet, to the Tower. Next I bought an hour candle, a great thick wax article divided neatly into twelve divisions, and went back to our lodgings to clean the swords and daggers and ensure that the arbalest was in good working order. Just before dusk we slipped out of our chamber, made our way up Aldgate Street, across the stinking City ditch into Portsoken, and then turned south across the wasteland towards the ruins of St Theodore's Church.

In day time this had been sombre; in the cold darkness it was positively eerie. Dark-feathered birds rustled at the top of broken pillars, an owl hooted from the surrounding trees, and the silence was broken now and again by the long mournful howl of a dog from a nearby farm.

[A wise hag once told me to be wary of ruined churches. They draw in those restless spirits who have not yet gone to heaven or hell but spend their time in Purgatory on the wastelands of the earth.

Of course, my little chaplain chuckles and titters. As I have said, he doesn't believe in ghosts. He should go to the ruined priories and monasteries, now shells of their former glory, thanks to Bluff Hal - he'll find ghosts enough there. Or walk along the moon-swept galleries of Hampton Court and hear the ghost of Catherine Howard scream as she did in life when Henry's guards came to arrest her.]

Anyway, in that ruined church, Benjamin and I set the scene for the final act. We crept down to the crypt. I fastened the hour candle on top of one of the tombs, struck a tinder, and the thick, white wick flared into life. Benjamin then emptied charcoal at the foot of a tomb and, taking a flame, blew the coals into life. We looked around, pronounced ourselves satisfied and left the crypt, making sure the door remained ajar. From the top of the steps, we could see the light from the candle and the charcoal glow invitingly through the darkness.

We hid ourselves deep in the shadows, growing accustomed to the eerie, mournful sounds of the night. The clouds broke and a full moon bathed the ruins of the church in a ghostly light. At one time I tensed, whispering that I had heard a noise. I crouched, ears straining, but heard nothing else. More time passed and, just as I was about to fall into a deep warm sleep, I heard a sound under the ruined archway. I nudged Benjamin awake and turned to watch a dark, cowled figure scurry like a spider up the nave and scuffle down the steps. Benjamin made to rise but I held him back.

'What time do you think it is?' I asked.

'About eight or nine o'clock!' he hissed. 'Why, what does it matter? Roger, what have you done?'

'Stay awhile,' I murmured.

We heard a movement from the person in the crypt as if he was about to remount the steps. Another shape, catlike, crept up the nave. Benjamin craned forward.

'As I thought!' he hissed. 'But who's down there already?'

I just looked away and smiled. The second figure slipped down the stairs. We heard the crypt door open and an angry shout followed by a terrible abrupt scream.

'Come on!' Benjamin ordered and, taking the loaded crossbows, we ran to the stairs.

Inside the crypt lay a figure, tossed like a bundle of rags in the corner. A pool of blood was forming around the body from the great wound caused by the dagger embedded deep in the chest. The dead face was turned away from us. As we entered the other man whirled round, the hood slipping off his head.

'Melford!' Benjamin exclaimed.

The mercenary's face was alive with excitement, like all killers' just after they have tasted blood.

'Master Benjamin and young Shallot!' he murmured. 'How good of you to come.' His hand crept towards the crossbow on top of the tomb next to the candle. He nodded to the corpse. 'Was he one of you?' he asked.

'Who?'

Melford went over and, grasping the corpse by the hair, half-dragged the body up to reveal the haggard, horror-stricken face of Scawsby.

'Secretly,' Melford said, letting the body fall with a crash, 'he must have been one of you. He came from the same town, didn't he?'

Benjamin glanced sideways at me but I watched Melford as he sauntered back to the tomb, getting as close as possible to the arbalest resting there. He smiled wolfishly.

'Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps I came down here and found you red-handed, guilty of his murder. Now, what would the Lord Cardinal say to that?'

'Melford!' I shouted.

The mercenary turned. Even as he grasped the crossbow, I brought up my own, releasing the catch. The bolt took the mercenary full in the chest just under the neck. He tottered towards me, his hands going up as if to beseech some favour.

'Why?' he muttered even as the blood swilled into his mouth and bubbled at his
lips
.

'You're a killer,' I replied. 'And you talk too much!'

Melford's eyes opened, he coughed and the blood gushed out of both mouth and nose. He pitched forward on to the crypt floor.