There was a long silence. No one around the table moved. Albany himself sat staring at the piece of paper as if turned to stone, his face expressionless. Finally, after what seemed an age, he shifted in his chair, expelling his pent-up breath and turning his gaze in my direction.
‘So … Well, this must certainly be looked into, without delay, as soon as we return to Edinburgh. Meantime-’ he raised his beaker — ‘drink up. A toast, gentlemen! To Roger’s ability to uncover the truth!’
Flattered — fool that I was — I lifted my beaker and, being thirsty, swallowed half the contents in almost one gulp.
Twenty
There were lights everywhere.
At first, they were simply a golden glow, spreading inside my eyelids, adding to the confusion of mind as I struggled to recognize where I was and what had happened to me. My body felt like lead and, for the second time, I felt as though a mule had kicked me in the back of my head. I tried to lift my arms, only to discover that something was preventing movement, but at that point I wasn’t particularly worried as I teetered once more towards the edge of sleep. Unconsciousness seemed eminently desirable, and I let my body go slack, greeting oblivion like a welcome friend …
Then, suddenly, I was wide awake, my heart pounding in unison with my throbbing head as I realized that I was bound upright to some sort of pillar by several coils of rope — ankles, calves, thighs, waist and chest — my arms pulled behind me around the pillar and my wrists lashed together in a very painful fashion.
I opened my eyes and it was then that I saw the lights; what seemed like a myriad candles illuminating the interior of one of the most extraordinary buildings I have ever seen. Everywhere I looked was a riot, an abundance of imagery. Dragons, imps, angels, what appeared to be Judaic and Arabic symbols cheek by jowl, fruit, flowers, sea-serpents, not painted but carved from stone. Heaven knows who were the masons who had done such work; I have never seen anything in the whole of my life to equal it, not even in some of the greatest churches. They had used the stone as if it were clay to be moulded at will to the greater glory of God.
But as I continued to stare around me, I began to wonder uneasily if the glory was indeed to God. In whichever direction I looked, a head of the Green Man met my eyes, an abundance of foliage spilling out of his mouth. The chapel — for I had guessed by this time that I was inside the chapel built by the Sinclairs forty years earlier — was lit by six windows on either side, and every one was surrounded by mouldings of this ancient spirit of renewal and replenishment as he spewed his bounty on to the earth beneath. But there were others, everywhere …
The sudden awareness of acute physical discomfort dispersed my awe and amazement. The pillar to which I was bound was also a marvel of the stonemason’s art, being not only ribbed, but also carved with great swathes of vegetation that spiralled around it, standing proud and digging into my shoulders, back and legs or any other part of my anatomy they happened to touch. As the drug with which my drink had been laced wore off, the pain grew increasingly intense. I struggled to free myself, knowing full well that it was impossible, whilst my bolting senses told me that I was in an exceedingly dangerous predicament. Not to overstate the matter, I was probably going to be killed.
But why? And who were my potential killers?
The second question was easily answered. It had to be Albany and his bunch of henchmen. They had brought me here, to Roslin, but their motive was still obscure. All the same, a nasty suspicion was beginning to form at the back of my mind as I recalled someone — exactly who I could not now remember — telling me that this pillar was thought to be modelled on one that had supported an inner porch of King Solomon’s Temple and, in the same breath, had mentioned the slaying of Hiram Abif, the architect, as a ritual sacrifice. And hadn’t the apprentice who built this pillar also been killed by a blow to the head?
I closed my eyes against the lights and tried to rid myself of the images of death swirling inside my brain. Why would Albany want me dead? What for? He had always claimed me as a friend. Indeed, I had been a friend to him in the past, a fact he seemed to have acknowledged with becoming gratitude for one in so exalted a position. But there, of course, was the rub. ‘Put not your trust in princes’ was a maxim I fervently believed in, yet on this occasion I had let myself ignore it; not completely, it was true, but I had been sufficiently careless to overlook certain warning signs. And, as a result, here I was, in a situation of extreme peril from which, I felt sure, I would be lucky to escape alive.
I tried, unsuccessfully, to lift my back away from the swag of stone foliage that was cutting me between the shoulder blades. My feet and hands were starting to go numb, while a lesser, but more humiliating discomfort began to occupy my mind. My bladder was full to bursting point with the quantity of drink I had taken, and the urge to relieve myself where I stood was overwhelming. But that would be assumed by my captors to be an indication of fear — quite rightly as it happened — and I wasn’t prepared to give them that satisfaction. I gritted my teeth and attempted to give my thoughts a different direction.
That wasn’t difficult. Where on earth were Albany and the rest? Why didn’t they come and put me out of my misery, at least if it was only to tell me what they intended, and what this charade was all about?
The thought had hardly formed before I heard the chapel door creak open. The candle flames tore sideways in the draught, then steadied as the door was closed again. There was the soft pad of booted feet across the flagstones and they stood before me; six men, their features concealed behind masks of the Green Man.
I knew them at once, of course: there had been no other attempt at disguise. Their height, their girth, the shape of their hands and feet, above all, their clothes, still mud-spattered from our morning’s ride, all proclaimed their identity. A sudden surge of anger replaced, if only for a moment, my fear.
‘You might as well take off those damned comic masks,’ I snarled. ‘If you think I can’t recognize you, you’re very much mistaken.’ I let the fury take hold of me. ‘If you knew how crass, how stupid you all look …’ I let the sentence hang as terror once more rendered me silent.
Somewhat to my surprise, Albany complied, letting the mask swing from his fingers by its ties. John Tullo would have followed suit, but Davey’s hand shot out and clutched the groom’s wrist, preventing him.
The duke smiled sadly at me.
‘Roger, I’m sorry about this. I had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. And if all had gone to plan, it wouldn’t have been. If my brother’s army had been defeated in battle by the Sassenachs and Edinburgh conquered by force of arms, James taken prisoner or, even better, killed, then, by now, I would have been accepted as King of Scotland. Unfortunately — ’ he shrugged — ‘these plans were thwarted by my uncles’ totally unlooked-for decision to rid the country of James’s gaggle of disreputable favourites at Lauder Bridge. Oh, don’t think I blame them! It was retribution well deserved and long overdue. But the moment, from my point of view, could not have been more ill-chosen. My brother is a prisoner, but not of the English. And one of my countrymen’s conditions — indeed, the chief one — for a peaceful settlement is his restoration to his throne.’
‘So?’ I croaked.
He smiled again with even greater regret. ‘So, I must look for non-human aid in order to achieve my ambition. I must sacrifice to the Green Man, symbol of change and renewal.’
‘Sacrifice?’ I could barely get the word out. My lips felt so stiff they would barely function.