Crown in Darkness

NINE

The next morning the Prior brought a letter for Corbett; a simple note which said that Benstede had been attacked by unknown assailants the previous morning, that he was safe but advised Corbett to be most cautious. Corbett quietly vowed he would. He washed, dressed and took Ranulf down to the refectory for bread, cheese, a little ripe fruit and some watered wine. Afterwards, he ensured the men who had accompanied him to Scotland were well before sending Ranulf off to wash their clothes and busy himself about the abbey.

Corbett returned to his cell, carefully bolted the door and drew from a large leather pouch, parchment, pumice-stone, inkhorn, quill pens, a long thin razor-edged knife and a wad of red sealing-wax. He unrolled the parchment, scrubbed it with the pumice-stone and gently blew the fragments away, dipped his quill into the unclasped inkhorn and began to draft a letter to Burnell. It took hours and it was not until the late afternoon that he began the final copy.

'Hugh Corbett, clerk to Robert Burnell, Bishop of Bath and Wells, Chancellor, greetings. I have continued to stay at the Abbey of Holy Rood involved in the matter assigned to me. Let me first say that rumour and gossip abound, many shadows but so far very little substance. Common report now believes that Alexander III, King of Scotland, accidentally fell to his death from Kinghorn Ness on 18th March 1286. The King had convened a special meeting of the Council to discuss the imprisonment of a Galloway baron in England. The meeting was attended by the principal barons, both lay and ecclesiastic, of the kingdom. The King came in, sullen and withdrawn, but his mood changed rapidly. The business of the Council was soon dealt with and merged into general feasting when the King surprised everyone by announcing he intended to join the Queen at Kinghorn. Many remonstrated with him for a howling storm was raging outside, it was night and the journey was a dangerous one. The King brushed this opposition aside and left, taking two body squires with him, Patrick Seton and Thomas Erceldoun. They rode to Queensferry and persuaded the master boatman, against his better judgement, to ferry them across the Firth of Forth to Inverkeithing. They arrived safely and were met by the royal purveyor from Kinghorn (also called Alexander) who had brought horses down to the beach for the royal party; these included the King's favourite, a white mare called Tamesin which he had left at Kinghorn for the Queen's own use. The purveyor also attempted to reason with the King but to no avail. His Grace rode off. One of the grooms, Seton (a reputed lover of the King), knew the paths well and, in the darkness, somehow got far in advance of the King and so reached Kinghorn Manor. Erceldoun fared much worse. He could not control his horse which finally bolted so he and the royal purveyor stayed drinking in Inverkeithing. Meanwhile, King Alexander reached the top of Kinghorn Ness where both rider and horse toppled over the cliff to their deaths.

The next morning a search-party found the corpses on the sand below. The King's neck was broken, his face almost unrecognisable, his body a mass of bruises. The royal physician dressed the corpse for burial and it was interred eleven days later at Jedburgh. A Council of Regency was set up to supervise affairs: the Queen is pregnant and, if nothing comes of it, the Council will ensure that the crown of Scotland passes to Alexander Ill's granddaughter, Princess Margaret of Norway. However, there are others, notably the Bruces, who are more than prepared to advance their own claims to the throne. The real subject of my mission is the death of Alexander and certain conclusions can now be reached regarding it: Item – Alexander III was well-known for his mad galloping around the countryside in pursuit of some lady. There is no reason why he should treat a new bride any different.

Item – On the night of March 18th, there was a fierce storm; Alexander was not drunk but he had been drinking heavily. Moreover, he was riding a dangerous path. It may well be pointed out that he could have taken a safer route but this was not possible. Kinghorn is near the waters of the Forth, its most accessible route is the cliff-top track. The King could have ridden further inland, but he would have lost his way on the wild, grassy moorland which conceals marsh and bog to trap the unwary traveller. Consequently, Alexander followed the usual route, albeit in very dangerous circumstances. There may be a number of explanations for Alexander's death. Item – It was an accident. The King's horse, given all the conditions described above, could well have slipped and tumbled over the cliffs, taking his rider with him. Item – It may have been brought about by negligence. The purveyor, Alexander, is a drunkard. He could have resented being called out on such a dark, stormy night, not saddled the King's horse properly and this caused the accident on Kinghorn Ness. Yet, if this is so, why did the accident not happen earlier? And would such negligence have taken both horse and rider over the cliff's edge? Item – Did Alexander III die on Kinghorn Ness or was it some cunning stratagem of the King? Alexander III was known for his love of disguises, masques and jests. Did he arrange his mock death for some secret reason? I appreciate that this is a fantasy and there is no real proof for it. Moreover, the accident occurred over two months ago and no one has any reason to refute the obvious, that the King is dead and lies buried at Jedburgh Abbey. Item – King Alexander III was murdered by Person or Persons unknown though for what reasons, and by what means, are still a mystery. A number of unexplained factors make this a possibility.

Item – Why did the King leave Edinburgh on such a night just to be with his Queen? He could have waited till the morning. If it was lust, there were other ladies ready and willing. If it was love, why was Queen Yolande so calm and not grief-stricken by his death?

Item – The King arrived sullen to the Council meeting, convened for the most petty of reasons, then suddenly his mood changed, he became joyful, happy as a groom on his wedding night. What happened to cause this? Item – The most mysterious aspect of this is that there is no evidence that when the King came to the Council meeting he intended to leave but decided to do so there and then. However, messages had already been sent to Kinghorn instructing the purveyor to be on the beach with horses ready for the King, hours before the Council convened. Who sent these orders and how did they cross the Forth?

Finally, there are the prophecies of Alexander's imminent death which were circulating weeks before his death. What were the sources of these predictions? If it was murder (and I have slender evidence that it was) then, my Lord, let us remember Cicero's question – "Cui bono".? Who would profit from it? Bruce, bitter at the crown being taken from him in 1238? Resentful at Alexander and fearful that the King might beget an heir by his new queen and so lose for a second time the opportunity to advance the claims of his own house?

Yolande, his queen, who could not even be bothered to inspect her dead husband's corpse but keeps herself closeted at Kinghorn, claiming she is pregnant? She knew her husband was coming that evening but, when he failed to arrive, did not even bother to send out any search-party to look for him.

Patrick Seton, the King's squire and body-servant. He loved Alexander the King as a man loves a woman. He was jealous of Yolande and was the only person with the King when he died. I do wonder if the King's mad gallop through a storm-blown night finally unhinged his mind and so he caused the King's death and later died of a broken heart? I cannot understand why, after arriving at Kinghorn, he refused to wait up for his royal master and did not go looking for the King. Did he know his master was already dead?

The French, too, gained great advantage from the death of Alexander. Their new king, Philip IV, is devoting all his energies and resources to building up alliances in Europe. Alexander, God knows for what reason, always spurned them; now he is gone, Philip can weave fresh webs, gain an ally with a knife at England's back. Perhaps he also hoped, and still does, that our Liege Lord, King Edward, will be drawn into Scottish affairs and so divert resources England might have used in protecting her possessions in Gascony.

There is our sly, secretive Father in Christ, Bishop Wishart. A close adviser of the dead King, he now wields power because of that King's death. Why was he (and it must have been him) so quick in sending off horsemen early on the morning of 19th March to check on the King's safety? Did he already know something was wrong? Unfortunately I cannot question him or, as yet, the men he sent who actually discovered the King's corpse.

Of course, and I hesitate to broach the matter, the English may have arranged Alexander Ill's death but to what advantage? There are other and better suspects. Edward is involved in France and I can see no profit for him in the death of an ally.

Other problems obscure the issue; whoever killed Alexander must surely have got to the ferry first, crossed the Firth of Forth, knew the route the King was to take, carried out their plan and got away, hoping the King's companions would not discover this. And done all this in the blackness of night? The Good God knows I would dismiss the matter as fanciful and accept that the Scottish King died of an accidental fall from his horse except for what I found, those little shreds clinging to a thorn bush on Kinghorn Ness crying out "Murder" to the world. Even if there is an answer for these, other questions still remain beating like blood about my head. They can only be resolved at great danger to myself and so I beg you, my Lord, to order my withdrawal from this country for Satan walks here. It is a bubbling pot and soon it will boil and spill over, scalding and burning all who are near it. My life and that of Benstede are under threat from God knows whom, for people believe we are here on a secret mission connected with the succession to the Scottish throne. I beg you to keep this in mind. God save you. Written on 18th June 1286 at the Abbey of Holy Rood.'

Corbett sat and studied the letter he had written.

Darkness fell and he put the report away while he lay on his bed and considered its contents. There must be, he thought, some key, some crack in this mystery he could use to achieve an answer. He remembered the old adage from his studies, "If a problem exists then a logical solution must also exist. It is only a matter of time before you find it". If you find it, Corbett added bitterly to himself. He felt he was involved in some royal masque, a diversion, a play where he was one of the mummers, blundering around in the dark to the silent laughter of an audience who always stayed in the shadows. Hasty rides at midnight along windswept cliffs, a King falling into darkness, prophecies of doom. Corbett reconsidered the prophecies. Surely, if he could find this source then he might find a lot more? If the prophecies were innocent, then who was responsible and, more importantly, who ensured other people knew about them? Corbett tried to think back, unravelling the skein of information he had gathered. Someone had named the Prophet? Someone called Thomas? Thomas the Rhymer – Thomas of Learmouth. Corbett swung his legs off the bed and, with a tinder, lit the room's three large candles, took out Burnell's letter and sealed it. He decided it would go as it was written while he proceeded with other matters.

The abbey bells rang for vespers but Corbett waited till he heard the monks returning from the chapel, before going down to join Ranulf in the whitewashed refectory. A plain meal of bread, soup and watered wine was served while one of the brothers read from the Scriptures. Corbett sat impatiendy throughout, his only consolation being the amusement he derived from Ranulf s face as he ate his simple food amidst such sanctified surroundings. Once the meal was over and the thanksgiving intoned, Corbett whispered to Ranulf to return to their chamber while he sought an interview with the Prior. The latter readily agreed, inviting Corbett to walk with him in the silent, shadowy cloisters, taking advantage of the first soft breezes of early summer. For a while they strolled in silence before Corbett began to ask the Prior about his vocation to the monastic life, enjoying the sardonic replies and surprised to find that the Prior was both a distant kinsman to Robert Bruce and a keen herbalist, interested in medicine, with a passion for concocting simples, potions and cures. Corbett gently led the conversation on to the late King and was surprised at the outburst he drew. 'A good, strong ruler,' the Prior commented, 'but as a man, well…' his voice trailed off, leaving the silence to be broken only by the sound of his sandalled feet pattering against the slabstones. 'What do you mean?' Corbett asked. 'I mean,' the Prior heatedly retorted, 'he was a lecher, who forsook his duties. For ten, eleven years he was a widower with every opportunity to marry and beget a son. Instead, he pursues his lusts, marries late and then dies in pursuit of that lust, leaving Scotland without an heir.' Corbett noted that the bitter anger deep within the Prior was about to well over and tactfully he remained silent. 'Even here,' the Prior continued, 'in the Abbey of the Holy Rood, he pursued his lusts! A young noblewoman, a widow on a journey to her late husband's grave, but the King came and saw her. He pursued her, showering her with gifts, jewels and precious cloths. Then he seduced her, not in his castle or one of his manors but here in open defiance of his vows and ours. I remonstrated with him but he just laughed in my face.' The Prior paused. 'A fitting end,' he commented. 'God save him and pity him. I should have attended that Council meeting you know?' he added more lightly, 'but I was busy, I sent my excuses. Who knows, perhaps I could have prevailed with him.' He lapsed into silence and

Corbett, stealing a sideways glance, noted, even in the shadowy moonlight, how tense and bitter the Prior had become. 'Father,' Corbett cautiously asked, 'you say the King almost brought about his own death?' The Prior pursed his lips and nodded. 'Then,' Corbett continued, 'did others think that? I mean, would this be the source of the many prophecies that some evil would befall the King?' The Prior shrugged and continued to walk, his hand leaning gendy on Corbett's arm. 'Yes,' he answered. 'People did think the King acted rashly but there were other prophecies, not just pious speculation. These were uttered by that strange creature, Thomas the Rhymer, or Thomas of Learmouth.' 'Why strange?' 'In both appearance and ways. He is for ever issuing his four-line stanzas predicting the future for individuals or even entire families. A strange man with a mysterious past. There are rumours that he disappeared for nine years in Elfland!' 'Could I meet him?' Corbett asked brusquely. 'Is it possible?' The Prior turned and smiled thinly. 'I wondered why you wanted to speak to me. Thomas is a minor laird; he holds land near Earlston in Roxburghshire. I know him, I have even protected him on a number of occasions against scurrilous attacks by fellow priests.' He stopped and put a hand on Corbett's shoulder. 'I will write to him and see what I can do, but be careful, Hugh, be very careful!'