'The glories of Flodden and the murder of John Irvine.'
The fellow became more watchful.
'What do you mean?' he rasped.
Benjamin leaned over the table. ' 'Three less than twelve should it be,' ' he chanted, ' 'Or the King, no prince engendered he.' '
Well, the fellow's face paled!
'Sit down,' he hissed.
'What's your name?' Benjamin asked.
The drunkard grinned, displaying rows of blackened stumps of teeth. 'You can call me Oswald, a mosstrooper now serving the Lord d'Aubigny.'
Benjamin turned and shouted for more wine. Once the slattern had served us, Benjamin toasted our newfound friend.
'Now, Oswald, tell us what you told Irvine.' 'Why should I?'
'If you do,' Benjamin replied quietly, 'you will leave Nottingham a rich man.' 'And if I don't?'
Benjamin's smile widened. 'Then, Oswald, you will leave Nottingham a dead man!' My master leaned across the table. 'For God's sake!' he whispered. 'We are friends. We wish you well but Irvine is dead. What do you know?'
The villain studied Benjamin carefully, his one eye shining gimlet hard. At last he dropped his gaze.
'You look an honest man,' he mumbled blearily. He stared quickly at me. 'Which is more than I can say for your companion. Anyway, you said I would be rich?'
Benjamin drew three gold coins from his purse and placed them in the centre of the table. 'Begin your story, Oswald. You were at Flodden, were you not?'
'Aye, I was,' Oswald replied, a distant look in his eye. 'Somehow or other I had been placed near the King. It was a massacre,' he whispered. 'A bloody massacre! Forget the stories about chivalrous knights and the clash of arms – it was one gory, blood-spattered mess. Men falling everywhere, writhing on the ground, huge gashes in their faces and stomachs.' He drank deeply from his cup. 'I glimpsed the King in his brilliant surcoat standing before the royal banners, the Lion and the Falcon. He fell, and so did they.' Oswald sat up, shaking his head as if freeing himself from a trance. 'I was knocked unconscious. In the morning I awoke, thick-headed and a prisoner. Surrey, the English general, forced me and other Scots to comb the battlefield for King James's body.'
'Did you find it immediately?'
'No, it took some hours before we dragged the body from beneath a mound of soggy corpses. There was an arrow still lodged in the throat. The face and right hand had been badly mauled.'
'What then?' my master asked. 'What happened to the corpse?'
'Surrey had it stripped. The bloody jacket was sent south as a trophy and the mangled remains turned over to the embalmers. The stomach and entrails were removed and the corpse stuffed with herbs and spices.'
'You are sure it was the King's corpse?'
Oswald smiled evilly. 'Ah, that's the mystery. You see, James used to wear a chain round his waist as an act of mortification.'
'And?'
'The corpse bore no chain.'
'Was it the King's body?'
'Well, it could have been…'
'But you say it did not have the chain on it?'
'Ah!' Oswald wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Just before the battle, James is supposed to have made love to Lady Heron. During his lovemaking, the damsel complained bitterly about how the chain round the King's waist chafed her skin, so James removed it.' Oswald's hand crept out to seize the gold. Benjamin fended him off.
'Oh, there's more than that, surely? Don't play games! What happened to the corpse?'
'It was sent south.'
'And then what?'
'Then nothing.'
Benjamin scooped the gold back into his hand. 'Well, Master Oswald, nothing comes of nothing.'
[I remembered this phrase and gave it to William Shakespeare. You watch, you'll see it in one of his plays.]
Benjamin made to rise. 'So, Oswald, you are no richer but we are wiser. What profit now?'
The fellow gazed suspiciously round the crowded tavern. 'What do you mean?' he slurred.
' 'Three less than twelve should it be,' ' I chanted, ' 'Or the King, no prince engendered he!' '
'Not here!' the fellow muttered. 'Come!'
He rose and staggered out and we followed him into a stinking alleyway a short distance from the tavern.
'Well, Oswald, what do these verses mean?'
'At Kelso…' the fellow slurred, then suddenly he went rigid, chest out, face forward, and I watched fascinated as the blood gurgled out of his mouth like water from an overflowing sewer: his eyes rolled in their sockets, his tongue came out as if he wished to talk, then he collapsed, choking on his own blood, on to the shit-strewn cobbles. Benjamin and I turned, daggers drawn, staring into the shadows, but only silence greeted us as if assassination and murder were common events. Indeed, the dagger could have come from anywhere: a darkened window, a shadowed door or from the top of any of the low squat buildings which stood on either side of the alleyway.
'Do not be frightened, Roger,' Benjamin whispered. 'They have killed their quarry.'
He bent over and prised out the dagger embedded deep between Oswald's shoulder blades. It came out with a sickening plop and a gushing gout of blood. I turned the man over. He was not dead; his lips bubbled with a bloody froth and his eyelids fluttered.
'A priest!' he murmured.
Benjamin leant closer.
'A priest!' Oswald whispered again.
His eyes opened, staring up into the dark night sky.
'Absolution,' Benjamin whispered, 'depends on the truth. Tell us what you know.'
'At Flodden,' the fellow murmured, 'at Kelso… Selkirk knew the truth.'
Oswald opened his mouth again as if to continue but he coughed, choking on his own blood and his head fell to one side, his solitary eye fixed in a glassy trance. Benjamin felt his neck for a pulse or any sign of life and shook his head. I crouched down, trying to ease the spasms of fear in my own body.
'Come, Roger,' Benjamin whispered. 'He's dead. Let us walk back to the tavern as if there is nothing wrong.'
Of course, I agreed. There is nothing like the sight of death and blood to make old Shallot want a cup of sack or a goblet of wine! We pushed our way back into the tavern and ordered fresh cups. Benjamin leaned across the table, ticking the points off on his long fingers.
'First, let us forget the murders – Selkirk, Ruthven, Irvine and now Oswald. They are merely bubbles on a dark pool. What else do we know?'
I decided to show my hand.
'Some of the meaning of Selkirk's verses is now apparent,' I replied. 'The first line is still a mystery but the falcon is James. That's why Irvine sketched the rough drawing on the tavern wall – a huge bird, the wench said, with a crown. James IV's personal emblem was a crowned hawk or falcon.'
Benjamin smiled. 'And the lamb?'
'The Earl of Angus,' I replied. 'Play with the letters of his title and Angus becomes Agnus, the Latin for lamb.'
Benjamin nodded. 'Of course,' he whispered. 'That explains the lines, 'And the lamb did rest in the falcon's nest'.'
'In other words,' I answered, 'the Earl of Angus bedded where once the falcon had, between the sheets with
