'You see, your mission is ended. Master Benjamin, Her Grace is most welcome back. Indeed, I could invite the Archangel Gabriel from Heaven – but it would be up to him whether he came or not!'
My master rose and bowed.
'Your Grace, I thank you for your time.'
'Tush, man,' d'Aubigny replied, 'it was nothing. In the morning we will meet again.' He looked at Angus and his smile faded. 'This time alone.'
I tried to question my master on what he had learnt from d'Aubigny, once we were shown up to our chamber, but Master Benjamin was in one of his more withdrawn moods. He wandered off then came back to lie on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Now and again he would glance at me.
'There is a mystery here,' is all he would murmur. When I looked again, he had fallen fast asleep. Thankfully, the good Doctor Agrippa did not share our chamber. I padded round the room and quietly filched any precious object there: a small set of silver candlesticks, two finely chased pewter goblets and a cunningly wrought steel crucifix which hung on the wall. Satisfied with the day's proceedings, I went to bed and slept like a child until awoken, long after dawn, by my master. He smilingly proffered me a cup of watered wine in one of the goblets I had hidden away the previous evening. I gazed quickly around the room and sighed bitterly. Benjamin had replaced everything. As usual, he paid no thought to the future and the prospect of where our next mouthful of bread might come from. He went across and began washing himself at the lavarium.
'Come, come, Roger!' he said in reply to my glare. 'We cannot take from our hosts. D'Aubigny is the perfect gentle knight. We have enough silver. Remember the scripture – 'Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.' '
I felt tempted to tell him that I had begun to glimpse some of the mystery behind Selkirk's verses but my anger kept me silent.
Benjamin smiled at me. 'I think,' he continued as if he could read my thoughts, 'logic has shown me a way to solve the murders of Selkirk and Ruthven.'
I started up. 'And Irvine?'
Benjamin shook his head. 'No, but Catesby must be innocent of that at least. Last night, I went to see the Constable: Catesby and his manservant arrived here on the morning of October the ninth. In no manner could they have delayed to ambush poor Irvine.'
'And the other deaths?' I asked crossly.
Benjamin put his fingers to his lips. 'Not now,' he replied, 'as yet I detect only faint glimmerings.' He sighed. 'As I said, 'sufficient for the day…'.'
I felt like murmuring the verses about Judas going out and hanging himself, and that he should go and do likewise, but Benjamin looked so quietly pleased with himself that I bit my tongue. I threw some of the water from the bowl over my own face and drank the rest for I was thirsty, then followed him down to the Great Hall. Thankfully, Doctor Agrippa had made himself scarce, realising that d'Aubigny's invitation did not extend to him. He was probably closeted with that sullen turd, Angus. Good riddance, I thought. A steward wearing d'Aubigny's livery, blue with silver fleur de lys, announced His Lordship was waiting for us outside. I thought the fellow meant the bailey but he took us out into a garden which ran down towards a small river. The Scottish envoy was waiting for us, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, talking to one of his clerks who tactfully withdrew as we approached. D'Aubigny was dressed simply in a dark brown tunic like a forester and I gathered he was about to go hunting. He seemed vulnerable but then I heard the chink of armour and, looking carefully through the trees which swept up from the river, caught a glimpse of colour and steel and knew that help, if he needed it, was never far away. Nottingham Castle may have been put at his disposal but d'Aubigny did not trust our Henry. A wise man!
D'Aubigny rose, greeted us civilly and indicated we should sit with him. He looked round, first towards the trees where his bodyguards were grouped and then, tilting his head back, listened carefully. There were no sounds except the soft cooing of wood pigeons, the gurgle of the water and the strident cry of the snow white peacocks rising above the castle walls. He came swiftly to the point. Opening a small casket, he took out copies of letters sent by Queen Margaret in the year following her husband's death. If they had come from any other man or woman in the kingdom of Scotland, they would have been considered treasonable; writing to her brother Henry, Margaret made constant pleas for the English to send troops into Scotland to restore her as Regent and crush any opposition to her and the Earl of Angus. Henry's replies were equally blunt; he offered help but said it would take time and, if matters should prove too difficult, she was to return immediately to England. My master read these through carefully like a clerk marking up a ledger.
'Why are you showing me these documents?' he asked when he had finished reading them and passed them to me.
D'Aubigny shrugged. 'I am tired of Queen Margaret's constant stream of invective. We did not drive her from Scotland, and her infant son died because he was born too early – her eldest boy is hale and hearty. Queen Margaret is most welcome to return but she must not bring an army of twenty thousand English 'advisers' with her. Scotland is an independent sovereign nation. Queen Margaret's brother, the great Harry himself, has no authority there.' He bit his lip. 'We begged the Queen to return. Even when she crossed the border and stayed at Hexham, messengers carried importunate pleas to her, all of which were ignored.' He signed. 'You may wonder why Queen Margaret does not return.' He blew out his cheeks in exasperation. 'The Council and I are continually speculating on that.' He pointed to the letters. 'Perhaps she knew we had proof of her treachery, but there is no need for her to fear our vengeance.' He screwed up his eyes and stared into the middle distance. 'No, there is something else… Why will she not return? What is she so frightened of?'
'Who could threaten her?' my master queried innocently.
'The Earl of Angus for one!'
'He seemed most amenable last night.'
D'Aubigny grinned. 'His Grace now knows how to behave. He will not try and seize her son again.' 'My Lord,' I blurted out.
D'Aubigny looked at me quizzically. 'What is it, fellow?'
'Last night, when you mentioned the Queen's second son, the child who died, Alexander, Duke of Ross… His Grace and Doctor Agrippa appeared…'
'Discomfited?' D'Aubigny added.
I nodded. He grinned at Benjamin.
'Your servant is no fool. There is a great deal of mystery about that child.'
'Such as what, Your Grace?'
D'Aubigny just grimaced, rose and dusted the grass from his hose. 'James died at Flodden in September 1513. Alexander, Duke of Ross, was born before his time on the thirtieth April 1514!'
On that abrupt note, d'Aubigny extended his hand for my master to kiss as a sign that the audience was finished. He added that we must be his guests at the great banquet he was holding that night for other Scottish lords who had come south with him. My master watched him go.
'A strange man,' he murmured, and looked at me. 'There is something terrible happening here,' he added. 'Something very dangerous. All is not what it seems to be.'
'Like what, master?' I asked. Benjamin shook his head. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'But I think the darkness is about to lift.'
Chapter 7
We returned to our chamber and spent the rest of the day preparing for the banquet or listening to Doctor Agrippa. He joined us full of his customary bonhomie and scurrilous jokes about the French and Scottish courts. My master listened to him half-heartedly, more engrossed in studying a piece of parchment on which he was writing cryptic notes in a cipher even I did not understand.
At last the sun began to set and Agrippa took us down to the courtyard to watch the other great Scottish lords arrive. Each was accompanied by a fearsome retinue of men armed to the teeth with sword, mace, dagger and small shields or targets. Most of the latter were Scottish but a few were mercenaries from Denmark, Ireland, and as far afield even as Genoa. The Great Hall had been specially prepared for the festive occasion. Huge cresset torches were placed high on the walls, the tables had been covered with white linen and the only plate used was of
