The White Rose (8 page)

'My master is not responsible for the poison!' I shouted.

[Do you know, that's the bravest thing I have ever done in my life.]

'I hope not,' Scawsby sardonically replied, 'otherwise you will be dead within the hour.'

'I look well, Master Scawsby,' I replied, 'and feel well - which is more than can be said for you!'

'No quarrels,' Doctor Agrippa interrupted. 'And no one leaves this room. There is more, is there not?'

Farringdon went to the table, removed a piece of parchment and tossed a faded white rose on to the floor.

'Selkirk was discovered half-lying on the bed. On the desk we found this white rose.'

'The White Rose of York and the mark of
Les Blancs Sangliers,'
Catesby muttered.

His words stilled the room but Benjamin, a determined look on his face, refused to be overawed.

'We have a problem here,' he announced. 'Selkirk had his evening meal before I joined him last night - yes?'

Farringdon nodded.

'I came up with a flagon of wine. Now, both Selkirk's food and wine were tasted by me and the guards?' 'Yes, that's so,' Farringdon replied. 'After I left, did anyone visit Selkirk?' 'No!' the guards chorused.

Benjamin shook his head. 'Impossible. Surely someone visited him?'

'There were two guards at the foot of the steps,' Farringdon replied. 'And two guards outside the prisoner's chamber. The door remained bolted and locked.'

'Except for the usual procedure,' one of the soldiers interrupted.

'What's that?' Catesby asked.

'Well, after Master Daunbey left, we always wait a while, then we open the chamber door to ensure all is well.'

'And?' Benjamin asked.

'Nothing. Selkirk was just sitting at the desk humming to himself.'

'Is there a secret passageway to this room?' I queried.

Farringdon snorted with laughter. 'For God's sake, man, this is the Tower of London, not some brothel! See for yourself.' He waved at the grey granite walls. 'And, before you say it, not even a dwarf could climb thirty or forty feet of sheer wall and slip through these arrow-slit windows!'

'Perhaps it's not murder,' Agrippa announced. 'Perhaps it was suicide.'

'Impossible,' Farringdon replied. 'Master Catesby and I have searched the room. There is nothing here.'

Benjamin took me by the sleeve and we went across to Selkirk's desk but there was nothing amiss: shards of parchment, greasy pieces of vellum and two dirty quills, cracked and dried, littered its surface. Benjamin picked these up and sniffed at them, shook his head and threw them back.

'I have already said,' Farringdon shouted, 'I have searched this room - there's nothing amiss!'

Catesby suddenly pushed forward, an anxious look on his face.

'Here's a merry mystery. A man sits in a locked and guarded chamber. He has no poison and no potions are brought in to him, yet in the morning he is found murdered with no trace of the physic which killed him.'

'Or the assassin,' Benjamin added. 'He must have been here to leave that white rose.'

'The only answer,' I interrupted, not giving a damn but staring hard at Agrippa, 'is that Selkirk was killed in a manner which defies any natural law.'

'Selkirk,' Doctor Agrippa replied smoothly, 'was murdered - and I believe his murderer now stands in this chamber.' He raised a hand to still any protest. 'This is not the time or the place to discuss this. The Queen must be informed. We shall meet later in her chambers.'

Catesby ordered Selkirk's corpse to be removed and the contents of the chamber to be placed in a canvas sack.

We all left quietly, each of us knowing that Dr Agrippa spoke the truth. One of us was a murderer.

An hour later we met in Queen Margaret's luxurious, silk-draped private chamber in the royal apartments. I remember it was dark; a thunder storm had swept in over the Thames and fat drops of rain beat against the stained glass windows of the room. Beeswax candles made the silver and gold ornaments shimmer with light as we took our seats around a long, polished table. Queen Margaret sat hunched at its head, Catesby and Agrippa sitting on either side of her, whilst behind them stood the dark sinister figure of Captain Melford. All her household, as well as Constable Farringdon, was in attendance. The Queen looked furious. She drummed the top of the table with her knuckles.

'Selkirk was murdered!' she began. 'The murderer is here in the Tower - perhaps in this chamber. The assassin is also a traitor, being a member of
Les Blancs Sangliers.
The question is, why was Selkirk murdered and, more importantly, how? There is no need,' she continued, throwing a venomous look at me, 'to talk of magic and the Black Arts. Murder is something tangible and Selkirk's killer will feel the hempen cord when it is placed around his neck! But first,' she looked kindly at Benjamin, 'did the prisoner reveal anything?'

Benjamin frowned, half-listening to the rain drops falling outside.

'What he told me I have already reported to Sir Robert Catesby. Selkirk was insane, with brief moments of lucidity. Your Grace, he talked of your late husband, the redoubtable King James, and about his own wanderings in Paris. And he kept chanting:

"Three less than twelve should it be. Or the King, no prince engendered he." '

'Anything else?'

'I asked him why he was imprisoned and on one occasion he replied it was because "I can count the days".'

'Is that all?' Catesby asked.

'Yes, Sir Robert. Why? Should there be more?'

'Then let us account for our movements,' Queen Margaret quickly interrupted. 'Sir Robert and I were in the city. We left, Master Daunbey, at the same time as you went to Selkirk's chamber. Doctor Agrippa was with His Eminence the Cardinal. Where was everyone else?'

I half-listened to their explanations: everyone, including myself, could give a good account of what they had done the night Selkirk had been murdered. I was more interested in Ruthven's expression. He was staring at Benjamin, his mouth half-open, as if my master had revealed some great secret.

'Master Constable,' Queen Margaret snapped when her household had recounted their movements, 'My retainers can give a good account of themselves.'

'As can mine!' Farringdon snarled back.

Carey spoke up, his voice squeaking in protest: 'But how can a man be murdered while locked and guarded in a cell? The assassin must have got in to administer the poison as well as leave the white rose!'

'And if,' Moodie commented, 'the murderer did get in, why didn't Selkirk object or cry out?'

'Perhaps he knew him,' Agrippa replied in dry, clipped tones.

'Master Constable,' Catesby asked, 'you are sure of the guards?'

'As I am that I am sitting here,' Farringdon replied. 'They are mercenaries, seeing Selkirk as merely another prisoner. One guard could be bought but not all four. They watch each other. Moreover, both I and my lieutenant did our rounds last night and found them all at their posts. If there was anything amiss,' he concluded, 'all four would swing from a gibbet and they know it.'

Queen Margaret nodded and smiled sourly. She stared coolly at Benjamin as did the rest. Oh, I knew what they were thinking! He was the last person to talk to Selkirk and the old principle in law still stands: the man who saw the victim last must,
prima facie,
be chief suspect. But Benjamin also knew the law.

'Who discovered the corpse?' he loudly asked.

Catesby pointed at Farringdon.

'One of the guards opened the door and saw Selkirk lying there. He sent for me, and I sent for Catesby.'

'I and the Queen,' Sir Robert murmured, 'had come back to the Tower in the early hours. I was in my chamber talking to Melford. Both of us went across.' He shrugged. 'You know the rest.'

'My Lord Cardinal must be informed,' Queen Margaret interrupted. 'Melford, take a message now.' She rose. 'The rest of you are dismissed, though none - I repeat,
none
- must leave the Tower!'

Benjamin and I walked back across the eerie, mist-laden Tower Green. My master was white-faced and withdrawn, conscious of the unspoken accusations levelled against him. I must admit, God forgive me, there was a doubt niggling in my own mind.

'What are you thinking, Roger?'

Benjamin had stopped and turned to me, pulling the hood of his cloak closer about him.

'Nothing,' I lied. 'Well . . .'

'Speak!'

'Why was Selkirk murdered now? I mean, he has been in the Tower for weeks. Why did the bearer of the white rose only strike within days of our arrival here?'

'Go on, Roger.'

'Well,' I stammered, 'it makes
you
look like the assassin.'

'You mean, I was brought here for that purpose?'

'Either that,' I replied slowly, 'or else you discovered something from Selkirk which meant he had to be killed.'

'True!' Benjamin peered through the mist around us. We stood and listened to the muffled sounds of sentries on the ramparts above us, the neighing of horses from the stables and the rattling of cart wheels across the cobbles.

'What I know, Queen Margaret and her household know also. Yet what is it except a few mumbled phrases?' He stared at me, his mind elsewhere. 'Selkirk said the walls had ears. He also giggled and claimed they had secrets. They have removed his body. Come, Roger!'

We went back to Selkirk's deserted chamber in Broad Arrow Tower which had now been stripped of everything except for a few sticks of furniture. The corpse had already been sheeted and moved to the death house near the Tower Chapel.

[Looking back, I wonder if Selkirk's ghost now joins those regularly seen making their spectral way round the fortress. My chaplain shakes his head. 'There's no such thing as ghosts,' he murmurs. Now isn't that little know-all going to be in for a shock?]

Anyway, back in Selkirk's chamber, Benjamin began to study the walls carefully. Now and again he would find a place where the mortar had been chipped away. We poked and probed each of the crevices but found nothing except a trickle of sand or a few pebbles. I remembered how tall the dead man had been and, at my insistence, we both climbed on the desk and began to examine the holes and gaps high in the wall. After an hour we were successful. We found a gap between the bricks and Benjamin drew out a small, yellowing, twisted piece of parchment. We jumped down and, like two schoolboys who had found some treasure, hurried back to our own chamber. Decades later I still recall the lines of that doggerel verse which contained so many secrets and was responsible for such bloody murder.

Three less than twelve should it be,

Or the King, no prince engendered he.

The lamb did rest In the falcon's nest,

The Lion cried, Even though it died.

The truth Now Stands, In the Sacred Hands,

Of the place which owns Dionysius' bones.

'Hell's teeth, Master!' I whispered. 'What does it mean?'

'The first two lines,' Benjamin replied, 'are what Selkirk was always chanting. Perhaps it's a cipher? Each word standing for something else?'

'At least,' I replied bitterly, 'we have something to show the Cardinal when he sends for us!'

Chapter 3

My words were prophetic. The next morning was clear and bright. A strong sun was burning off the river mist as Melford swaggered into our chamber and announced, 'The Lord Cardinal wishes to see you both. He has also ordered that on the way I should show you something.'

Do you know, I sensed what was coming as we grabbed ' our cloaks and followed Melford out of the Tower. My worst fears were confirmed when, instead of taking a barge, Melford, striding ahead of us, took us up Aldgate and into the stinking city streets. Benjamin sidled closer.

'What do you think is going to happen, Roger? Where is Melford taking us? Is my uncle the Lord Cardinal angry? I am no assassin.'

'Oh, I am sure there is nothing to worry about,' I lied. 'Melford is going to show us the marvels of the city, perhaps buy us a pastry and a pie from the cookshops. Maybe a visit to a bear garden or a drink in some snug tavern.'

My master smiled, the cloud lifting from his open face. I glanced away in desperation. (He was, in some ways, such an innocent!) We walked on past St Mildred's Church, Scalding Alley and the Poultry Compter. I pointed out the mansion near the Walbrook which Sir Thomas More had recently bought, and the houses of other court dignitaries. I had to chatter to still my nerves. We went through Cheapside where the rickety stalls of the poor traders housed loud-mouthed apprentices who offered us garish threads, fustian hats, trinkets, gee-gaws and other baubles.