'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, 'Margaret'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?'
