by Paul Doherty
'Of course,' Agrippa interrupted, 'if I was innocent but suspected the game being plotted, I would ensure Catesby knew of your trap at St Theodore's and ensure I arrived when everyone had laid their cards on the table.' He shrugged. 'Scawsby was acting suspiciously, he kept to himself and left the Tower early. I, of course, hurried to Queen Margaret and spun some tale about how young Benjamin had solved the riddles and had their solution at St Theodore's. The rest,' he spread his hands, 'happened as you know it did.'
'You could have been late!' I accused.
Agrippa shook his head. 'All life is a gamble, Roger. The Cardinal's men were ready. We arrived to arrest Catesby and rescue you from his clutches.'
'And if you had been too late?'
'We would have arrested Catesby and made sure your bodies were given honourable burial.'
I glared back furiously. Benjamin just shook his head.
'You see,' Agrippa rose and paced restlessly round the room, 'we live in stirring times. Across the Channel, France is united under a powerful King whose hungry eyes are on Italy. To the south lies Spain, building massive fleets and searching out new lands. Further east is the Holy Roman Empire with its tentacles in every merchant's pie. And England?' Agrippa paused for a moment. 'England is balanced on a tightrope above these clashing powers and dare not make a mistake. These islands should be united – England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales -under the one King, and who better than our noble Henry?' Agrippa paused, looked at me sardonically, and I remembered his words on the lonely wastelands outside Royston. 'Our King needs such a challenge,' he continued. 'He has the energy to achieve it. He must have a vision or he will turn in on himself and God knows what will happen then.'
'So he must control Scotland,' my master intervened quickly.
'Yes,' Wolsey answered. 'Scotland must be controlled. King Henry thought he could do this through the marriage of his sister to James IV but that came to naught. Indeed, the marriage was a disaster and worse followed: James began negotiations with France, which threatened to crush England between the teeth of two pincers, Scotland in the north, France in the south. Henry begged his sister to intervene and Margaret did what she could.' He paused and stared at the jewels sparkling on his purple-gloved fingers. 'Old Surrey saved the day,' he murmured, 'that and Margaret's intense hatred for her own husband.' He glanced up at Benjamin. 'Oh, you were right, dear Nephew,' he continued in a half-whisper, 'the Queen played upon James's mind and undoubtedly had a hand in his murder. Now,' he smiled thinly, 'Scotland has no King, the country is divided and poses no threat to our security.'
'But how did you suspect James was not killed at Flodden?'
'Hell's teeth, Shallot!' Agrippa remarked, quoting my favourite oath. 'You were there. Surrey did comb the battlefield. He found at least six royal corpses, none with a penitential chain around its waist. Our suspicions began then.'
'And Irvine?' I asked.
The cunning Cardinal made a face. 'We already knew that Irvine had discovered rumours of James being seen at Kelso. He probably learnt them from Oswald the moss trooper.'
'But you brought him south and informed Catesby of his arrival?'
'Irvine was a lure,' Agrippa snapped, 'to panic Margaret and Catesby. They rose to the bait.'
Oh, I stored that away. In Wolsey's and Agrippa's eyes, everyone was expendable.
'What will happen now?' Benjamin asked.
'Oh, the King will have a quiet word with his sister Margaret. She will return to Scotland where she will do exactly what we say or face the consequences. The Careys can go with her.'
'And Catesby?' I asked.
'In the Tower,' Agrippa replied, echoing the words of the soldier I had met there, 'are dungeons which just disappear.' He toyed with the silver pentangle which hung round his neck. 'Even now,' he concluded flatly, 'a trusted mason is bricking up the entrance to his cell. We will hear no more of Catesby.'
'There are others!' the Cardinal rasped. 'The lady prioress at Coldstream will answer for her crimes, and the Earl of Angus will receive a sharp rap across the knuckles.'
'Now that puzzles me, dear Uncle.'
'What, Nephew?'
'Why did the Earl of Angus and Queen Margaret become so intimately involved, marry so hastily after Flodden, and so bitterly repent of their impetuous passion?'
Wolsey smiled. 'My noble master, the good King Henry,' he murmured, 'has the Earl of Angus in his pocket.' He pursed his lips. 'No, you deserve to know the full truth. King Henry bought Angus long before Flodden: he was a handsome, charming coxcomb whom Henry paid to seduce his sister.' The Cardinal made a moue. 'After Flodden and Angus's marriage to Margaret, the King could see no point in wasting more good silver.'
Now I just stared dumbstruck. I am a wicked man but here was a Cardinal coolly telling us that a king had paid a nobleman to seduce his own sister, blinding her with passion so that he could control the kingdom she ruled! I suddenly saw the terrible beauty of King Henry's evil design, one repeated by succeeding English monarchs. Even without Flodden, James would have been brought low. Sooner or later Margaret's adulterous liaison would have been discovered. James would have gone to war. Scotland would have been divided as he and the Douglas clan fought to the bitter end.
Do you know something? I once told young Elizabeth about her father's crafty plot and what did she do? Exactly the same! She arranged for that nincompoop Darnley to marry Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary fell in love with Bothwell, there was murder, civil war, and the rest is history. Oh, Lord, the subtle devices of Princes!
Nonetheless, on reflection, Henry wasn't as cunning as he thought. He spent his reign going from one spouse to the next in order to produce lusty male heirs. And what did he get? Poor, mewling Edward. Once he was born Henry tried to get his puny son married to a Scottish princess in the hopes of uniting England and Scotland under one crown. What really warms the cockles of my heart and makes me giggle is that his sister Margaret's escapades turned the whole thing topsy-turvy. Can't you see? (My chaplain shakes his head.) If the young boy, James, was the product of Queen Margaret's adulterous liaison with Douglas, then James's grandson, the present King of Scotland, is also of bastard issue yet, when old Elizabeth dies, he will inherit the crowns of both England and Scotland. Isn't it funny? England and Scotland being ruled by a bastard who is a descendant of bastards! Bluff King Hal must be spinning like a top in Hell!
'You did well, Master Benjamin,' the Cardinal trumpeted. 'You and your friend, Shallot, shall not be forgotten.'
Beside Wolsey, Agrippa grinned like a small, black cat at the Cardinal's pun on my name.
'There will be other matters,' the Cardinal continued airily, 'but for the time being, dearest Nephew, accept this as a token of our appreciation.' He opened a small coffer beside him and tossed a fat, clinking purse to Benjamin. I caught it deftly and hid it beneath my robe.
'You have certain papers?' Agrippa interrupted silkily. 'Master Selkirk's secrets from Paris?'
'You have them now,' my master snapped. 'When you came to collect us this morning, you picked up the casket.'
Agrippa looked at the Cardinal. 'Oh, there's proof enough in there,' he answered. 'James's warrants, your nephew's translation of Selkirk's secret confession. Though,' his eyes flickered towards Benjamin, 'only the copy, not the original.'
'I had that at St Theodore's,' Benjamin replied. 'Catesby seized it off me and destroyed it. You have everything else.'
Agrippa nodded benevolently. Wolsey extended one fat hand for us to kiss and we were dismissed with the Cardinal's praises ringing loudly in our ears.
'Keep walking, Roger!' Benjamin hissed as we strode quickly down the corridor. 'Don't stop, though be most prudent. Every so often make sure we are not being followed.'
Benjamin and I left Westminster as if we planned to take the road north to Holborn but then he suddenly changed his mind and we hurried back into the palace yard, pushing aside servants, clerks and scullions as we ran down to King's Steps on the riverside. Benjam
in jumped into a boat, dragging me after him. He rapped out orders to the surprised boatman to pull away immediately and, for twice the fee, to row as fast as he could up river.
The oarsman pulled with a will. Soon we were out in mid-stream hidden by a light river mist.
'What's the matter, Master?' I asked.
'In a while, Roger, the last piece of the puzzle will slip into its rightful place.'
Once we were past the Fleet where the refuse of the city floated in a thick oozy mess on the surface of the river, Benjamin ordered the oarsman to pull in and we disembarked at Paul's Wharf. He tossed some coins at the boatman and we hurried up Thames Street. Now old Shallot thought the game was over. I wanted to stop and stare, drink in the sights, sounds and smells of the city, particularly the fat merchants and their silk-garbed wives and pretty buxom daughters hiding their lovely and lusting faces under caps of gold. Benjamin, however, hurried me on, past beautifully carved, half-timbered houses, their plaster brightly painted and gilded, some a washed cream, others snow white, a few even pink. We ran down stinking alleyways and through the gardens of the rich with their elegant fountains, trimmed hedges and sweet-smelling herb gardens. We continued up Bread Street, then turned right into Watling, cutting across a garden, ignoring the astonished cries of servants and children. We entered Budge Row near the Chancellor's inn. Only then did Benjamin stop at the mouth of an alleyway to see if anyone was pursuing us.
'No,' he murmured. 'We are safe!'
He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow and, linking his arm through mine, walked me into the musty but warm embrace of the Kirtle tavern.
'You have Uncle's gold, Roger?'
I nodded.
'Then, Master Innkeeper,' Benjamin called across, 'we wish to hire a chamber for the day and the best meal your kitchens can offer.'
Oh, believe me, we ate well. Even now, staring at the green, neatly clipped privet hedge of my maze, I can picture that chamber, warmed by chafing dishes and small glowing braziers. We dined on fish soup, a haunch of beef cooked in a sauce of wine and spices, and thin white wafers soaked in garlic. Benjamin matched me cup for cup of robust claret, sweet malmsey and the chilled wine of Alsace. I supposed we were celebrating the end of the business, the solution to the mystery, our escape from Catesby, as well as relishing the fulsome praises of the Cardinal.
'So, you think the game is over, Roger?'
I leaned back and considered what had happened in the Cardinal's chambers. 'Yes, though of course you told one lie – Catesby never destroyed that manuscript. And why should anyone follow us now?'
Benjamin pulled off one of his boots and from the lining drew out three neatly folded pieces of parchment.
One was yellow with age but the other two were still fresh and cream-coloured. He tossed the battered parchment to me.
'You recognise that?'
I unfolded and studied it.
'Of course. It's Selkirk's secret confession. The one we found in Paris. Why didn't you give it to Agrippa?'
Benjamin picked up the other two pieces and unfolded them.
'Ah, yes,' he murmured, handing one over. 'Now read this.'
I studied the neat, careful hand-writing.
'Master, you're playing games. This is your translation of Selkirk's confession.'
Benjamin lifted up his hand. 'Then read it, Roger, one more time. Read it aloud!'
' "I, Andrew Selkirk, royal physician," ' I intoned, ' "courtier as well as friend of James IV of Scotland, do now make my confession to God and the world in this secret code about the events which followed our disastrous defeat at Flodden in September 1513. Be it known to all that as dusk fell and the Scottish Army broke, King James and I fled from the field of slaughter. The King had fought all day dressed as a mere knight. He confided in me that he feared assassination by some unknown hand. Certain of his household knights as well as squires of the body had been dressed in the royal armour and tabard, not out of fear or cowardice in the face of the enemy, but as protection against stealthy murder.
' "Know you that on that same night we reached Kelso Abbey, we were joined by Sir John Harrington, knight banneret and one of those the King had chosen to wear his colours during the battle. Now the King, Harrington and I took secret lodgings in the abbot'- house and planned counsel on what we should do next. His Grace and Harrington decided that they should stay whilst I would take a letter from the King to his wife, Queen Margaret, at Linlithgow, asking for her help. His Grace, however, seemed most reluctant. Indeed, he confessed that before the battle his mind had been turned by the phantasms he had seen as well as secret and malicious gossip regarding his Queen." '
I stopped and looked at Benjamin. 'Master, we have read this before.'
'Roger, please keep reading. You may jump a few lines.'
I hurriedly scanned the page. ' "I arrived at Linlithgow," ' I continued, echoing the dead Scotsman's words,' "and delivered His Grace's message. The Queen was closeted with the Earl of Angus and I was surprised for the Queen had already received news from the battle field about her husband's death. I was ordered to take refreshment in the hall. An hour later the Earl of Angus came down and said riders had been despatched to collect the King and bring him to the Queen. I must confess I was ill at ease. The Queen's demeanour had surprised me: she was not a distressed widow who had lost her husband or a Queen who had seen the flower of her army massacred. Sick at heart, I hurried back to Kelso. I arrived early in the morning and, after diligent enquiries, learnt that Harrington had fled whilst men from the Hume and Chattan clans, common soldiers, had taken the King away." '
I looked up in astonishment.
'But, Master, in the confession you showed me in the tower, Selkirk claimed Harrington was also taken by the soldiers.' I snatched up the second piece of cream-coloured parchment and scanned it quickly. 'Yes, look, it's written here!' I threw it back. 'So, what is the truth?'
Benjamin grinned and picked up Selkirk's secret confession.
'The truth is in this: Selkirk confessed that Harrington had fled. I translated it but then began to wonder. So I copied it out again, only this time changing it slightly to make it appear that Harrington, too, was captured.' Benjamin tossed Selkirk's confession on to the charcoal brazier. I watched the flames lick the corners of the paper and turn it to smouldering black ash.
'Why?' I asked. 'What's so important about Harrington?'
'Well,' Benjamin leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, 'when I was studying Selkirk's original poem, I remembered certain letters in particular had been capitalised. Now,' he continued, 'when I talked to Selkirk in the Tower, he said that he was a good poet, and so was the King. He also mentioned a court troubadour called Willie Dunbar.' Benjamin stared across at me. 'Have you ever read any of Dunbar's poetry?'
I shook my head.
'I did,' Benjamin answered, 'when I was in Scotland. Now Dunbar is one of these crafty fellows who likes to garnish his verse with subtle devices and secret codes which hold special meanings to the chosen few. Selkirk's poem borrowed such a device.' Benjamin picked it up. 'I have looked at this again,' he continued. 'I find it strange that the following letters in certain words were capitalised: the "L" in lion; the "N" in Now, the "S" in Stands, as well as the first letters of "In Sacred Hands". Put all these words together and you get "The Lion Now Stands In Sacred Hands." '
'That's not possible!' I whispered.
'Oh, yes, it is.' Benjamin tossed the poem across and I perceived the cunning subtlety of Selkirk's verse.
'But Selkirk said men from the Hume and Chattan clans took James away?'
Benjamin rose and clapped his hands. 'No, he doesn't. All he repeats is what he was told at the abbey. This confession was to demonstrate James survived the battle as well as the evil intentions of Queen Margaret and the Earl of Angus. However, the message left in code in the poem is for the close friends of James who would realise that the King had fled abroad.'
'In other words,' I interrupted, 'Mar
garet's soldiers, mere commoners who would keep their mouths shut, took from Kelso Abbey a man dressed in royal armour. Of course,' I murmured, 'Sir John Harrington!'
Benjamin nodded. 'Who knows? James may have given him the chain round his waist as well as other royal insignia. Harrington sacrificed himself for James!'
'And the King?' I interrupted. 'What did happen to him?'
Benjamin made a face. 'What could he do? Announce that he had survived the battle? Who would believe him? The royal corpse was supposedly in England. James had been rejected by his wife and, even if he did come forward, he would have only been arrested as an imposter and secretly executed in some dungeon. Don't forget, Roger, James had just suffered one of the most disastrous defeats in Scottish history. He would not be popular.'
'But where is he?' I asked. 'What are these "Sacred Hands"?'
'When I was in Scotland,' Benjamin replied, 'I heard stories about James's romantic dreams of being a crusader. God knows, he may have gone to Outremer and joined one of the crusading orders.'
'So you changed the confession to protect him?'
'Of course. Uncle is very cunning. He may have begun to speculate on who actually did escape from Kelso. Our noble Henry had a passionate hatred for the Scottish King. If he even half-suspected James had survived and might still be alive, his agents would hunt him down.'
'I wonder if Queen Margaret really knows the truth?'
Benjamin shrugged. 'Perhaps she suspects it. The soldiers she sent would have killed the man they took from Kelso. Perhaps her exiled husband sent her a secret message.' He stirred excitedly in his chair. 'That's why,' he whispered, 'she was frightened: the reason she fled Scotland – not because she murdered her husband, but because she has a suspicion he may still be alive!' Benjamin refilled his cup. 'Do you remember when we left the Tower for St Theodore's? I said I had been to see the Queen about Sir John Harrington – I acted the hypocrite, the dumb fool. I claimed that the Regent had asked me if I knew of Harrington's whereabouts. Had he fled to England? I put this to the Queen. My God, you should have seen her pale!' Benjamin beat the top of the table excitedly. 'The bitch may think it's safe now to return to Scotland but the fear will never leave her.'
