Crown in Darkness

THIRTEEN

Early the next morning, Corbett and his party left for Queensferry, fully armed. They encountered no opposition though Ranulf maintained that he had seen a rider watching them as they crossed the bridge at Dalmeny. Corbett heeded the warning, telling his companions to be most vigilant until they were across the Forth. They stabled their horses at the ferrymaster's house, paying for their fodder and keep until they returned. The ferrymaster was absent across the Forth so Corbett told his escort to rest; they opened their provisions, ate and drank and then lay on the sand-strewn grass, enjoying the warm noon sun and listening to the birds overhead and the constant chatter of the bees and crickets. Corbett fell into a light sleep and was awakened by Ranulf with the news that the ferrymaster had returned. Corbett went to meet him; at first the fellow refused to go, saying he was tired and wanted to rest. Corbett offered to double the usual fee and they were soon climbing into the skiff and making their way out across the Forth. The ferrymaster eyed Corbett's heavy purse and slyly asked if there was anything else Corbett wished to know. The clerk shook his head. 'Well,' the man replied between gasps as he heaved at the oars, 'there is something I can tell you.' 'What is it?' Corbett asked excitedly. The man grinned. 'Nothing is free, sir, and a man has to work to earn his money.' Corbett dug into his purse and brought out a few coins. 'Then let us see if you have earned it.' The man rested on his oars. 'The ferryman who drowned. The day before the King crossed, early in the morning, he took a Frenchman across the Forth.' 'Is that all?' Corbett asked disappointedly. The man shrugged. 'That is what his widow said,' he replied. 'I thought it was worth something!' Corbett tossed the coins into his lap and the man began rowing once more.

They landed at Inverkeithing and made their way up the cliffs, the summer sun warming their backs, past Aberdour onto Kinghorn Ness, Corbett showing them the place King Alexander III allegedly fell, before going down the path to the royal manor. They found the place in uproar: the courtyard was full of carts piled high with trunks, chests and bundles of clothing. Servants hurried around, to the shrieked orders of officials, and they had to tend to their own horses in the now emptying stables. Corbett told his companions to wait while he searched for the purveyor, Alexander. He found him in a corner of the hall, already half-drunk. He stared Wearily at Corbett, his slack mouth half-open. 'Whish, it is Corbett, the English clerk,' he muttered. 'Any more questions?' Corbett smiled tactfully and sat down opposite him. 'Yes,' he replied. 'As a matter of fact I have. Why all the commotion? What is happening?' 'Happening?' Alexander said. 'The Queen is leaving, that's what is happening. The French ships are at sea. They'll be at Leith in a matter of days and then she'll be gone.' He belched loudly. 'Good riddance, I say. Pregnant! She was no more pregnant than I am!' 'Then why did she claim to be?' Corbett enquired. The purveyor wiped his mouth with the dirty hem of his sleeve. 'I don't know. A woman's condition, I've heard it's happened before or,' he leaned across and slyly tapped the side of his pocked red nose, 'maybe it was the French! 'What do you mean?' Corbett snapped. 'Ah,' Alexander replied. 'Maybe the French told her to act pregnant and so lengthen her stay in Scotland!' 'Why should they want that?' Alexander stared at a point above Corbett's head. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'It's just a thought. That's all!' Corbett paused. 'Tell me?' he asked. 'Did the French envoy arrive here that morning, the day the King died?' Alexander shook his head. 'Are you sure?' Corbett persisted. 'Sometime early in the day?' 'No,' Alexander answered emphatically. The only visitor was the messenger who arrived about that time and left a message that the King would be coming to Kinghorn later that day!' 'You are sure?' 'I am certain. The only visitor who came to Kinghorn was Benstede, who came the day before.' 'What did he want?' Corbett snapped. 'How should I know?' the purveyor crossly replied. 'He came with that strange quiet creature, stayed with the Queen for a while and then left.' 'Did the King come to Kinghorn frequently?' 'At first, yes, and he often summoned the Queen to meet him across the Forth, but in the weeks before he died, his visits became less frequent. A man of impetuous passion,' the purveyor drunkenly concluded. 'Is it possible for me to see the Queen now?' Corbett asked. Alexander shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'She will not see anybody today. Perhaps tomorrow,' he looked speculatively at Corbett. 'Perhaps, for a consideration, I might be able to arrange something.' Corbett slipped a silver coin across the table. 'I would be grateful for that.' He nodded at Alexander, rose and returned to Ranulf.

They were able to pay to stay in a small chamber of the manor and bought their meals at the kitchen and buttery. Corbett was worried as the silver Burnell had furnished him with was nearly gone. He had some more coins stitched into his broad leather pouched belt as well as his own money, but he did not wish to use that. When he returned to London it would take months of arguing with some scrupulous clerk of the Exchequer to get it reimbursed. Corbett only hoped the Queen would see him soon. She did not. The next day, and the day after, his requests for an audience met with a blunt refusal and the clerk had to stay and hope for the best. He met Agnes, the brazen lady-in-waiting, whom he had met on his last visit to Kinghorn. She flirted outrageously, promising that she would secure an interview for him with the Queen but she always seemed to fail. Corbett became tired of her constant witticisms and sly innuendoes so she transferred her attention to Ranulf, who was overjoyed to see the tedium of staying in a manor on the Scottish coast so pleasantly broken. They became constant companions and Corbett often found them playing cat's-cradle in some corner or window embrasure.

For his part, Corbett could only fret and decided to draw up a memorandum on what he had learnt so far:

– Why did Benstede visit the Queen?

– Why did the French envoy take a ferry across the Forth but never arrive at Kinghorn?

– Who delivered the message at Kinghorn gate, a letter to the Queen saying the King could be arriving that evening and telling her to instruct the purveyor to have horses at Inverkeithing, particularly his favourite, the white Tamesin? More mysterious, why was such a message delivered hours before the King actually decided to leave for Kinghorn.

– Most importantly, what did Alexander learn at that Council meeting which changed his attitude, sending him on a journey in very dangerous conditions to court a queen he could scarcely be bothered with a few weeks before?

– Why, when the King did not arrive at Kinghorn, did Queen Yolande not send out a search-party? What was the real reason behind Queen Yolande's false pregnancy?

Corbett studied the list wearily. He was making no real progress. Perhaps, he decided, it was time to leave and report his failure to Burnell. He tried once more to see the Queen but her fat, pompous chamberlain rudely announced that Lady Yolande was leaving Scotland and had no wish to discuss anything with anyone. Corbett dejectedly decided to stay a little longer in Kinghorn and then leave. Meanwhile, he asked Ranulf to learn what he could from his new-found paramour though, privately, he believed nothing would come of that. Two more days passed, the Queen sent no invitation so Corbett angrily ordered Ranulf to pack. His servant protested but Corbett was adamant so the young man prepared to leave. Ranulf muttered indignantly against his strange master who dragged him across this wild country so different from the narrow streets of London and so utterly tedious as well. Now, when he had found a pot of honey, Corbett was hurrying him away. Ranulf thought of the Lady Agnes and moaned; she had proved a fiery lover from the time he had first flung her on her back and lifted her lace-trimmed skirts. After that she needed no invitation and, when he was lying exhausted beside her, she would send him into loud peals of laughter with her spicy, tart wit and skill at mimicry, particularly of that rather stuffy English clerk, Hugh Corbett. Ranulf sighed, he would never understand his master. He slowly packed, made sure his companions did likewise and bade an affectionate farewell to Lady Agnes. A week after they arrived at Kinghorn, they were on the road back to Inverkeithing.

Ranulf tried to engage his master in conversation but Corbett was too depressed to respond. 'The Lady Yolande was not worth visiting,' Ranulf said reassuringly. 'Lady Agnes told me, laughing at a virgin pretending to be pregnant!' Corbett stopped his horse and turned to the startled Ranulf. 'You what?' he roared. 'She said what?' Ranulf repeated what he had said. 'Is that correct?' 'Of course,' Ranulf replied bleakly. 'Those were her very words. Why?' 'Never mind.' Corbett dug into his leather pouch. 'Take these gold coins and go, beg your lady to join us at Inverkeithing. If she will not accept the gold, then tell her I will be back with a warrant for her arrest. Now go!' He turned to one of Burnell's messengers. 'Lend him your horse, you can walk.' Corbett continued into Inverkeithing and went straight to the ale-house where he had told Ranulf to meet him. The clerk could scarcely control his excitement, the dull image which had formed in his mind was beginning to take flesh. The shadows were disappearing, something of substance was there. He hired a greasy table and sat, impatiently, waiting for Ranulf to arrive. When he did, with a flustered Lady Agnes in tow, Corbett abruptly told him to leave and asked Agnes to sit on the crude bench opposite him. He poured her a cup of the best wine the dingy house could offer, and leaned forward. 'Lady Agnes, what did you mean by referring to Queen Yolande as a virgin pretending to be pregnant?' The woman's high colour deepened and she fumbled with the cup of wine. 'It was a jest,' she protested. 'A funny story to amuse Ranulf.' 'No, Agnes,' Corbett snapped. 'Do you remember when I met Lady Yolande? She told me she was pregnant or, as she put it, "enceinte". You laughed then. So tell me, or I will arrange for others to take over the questioning.'

Agnes bit her fleshy lower lip and stared anxiously around. 'I suppose it does not matter now the French bitch is leaving. Oh,' she continued softly, 'King Alexander was hot for her but the marriage was never consummated.' 'What!' Corbett exclaimed. 'After five months of marriage?' 'The Lady Yolande first protested she was unwell from the sea voyage, then it was her time of the month when…" Agnes' voice faltered, 'when a woman's body bleeds. Then she made complaints about the King's mistresses and demanded their total removal from court. The King, she announced, would have to prove his household was cleared of these doxies before she allowed him into her bed. In the weeks before His Grace's sudden death, it was just excuses, a total refusal to consummate the marriage.' 'How do you know this? You were scarce close confidantes. I noticed that on my first visit to Kinghorn.' Agnes nodded. 'I hated the spoilt bitch. King Alexander ordered me into her retinue; I got bored and used to listen to her conversations with the one French lady-in-waiting she brought with her, a girl called Marie. They thought I could not understand French; I can, my mother was French. That is why I was put in her household. I am fluent in the tongue. I fully understood what she was saying to you the day you visited Kinghorn, which is why I almost burst out laughing.' 'For what reason?' enquired Corbett. 'Do you think Yolande refused to consummate the marriage?' Agnes shrugged. 'I have heard of similar cases. Young girls frightened of the pain the act causes. Nunneries are full of them.' She laughed at her own joke. 'Yolande could well have been terrified of Alexander, or,' she added, 'Yolande may have been a lover of other women. When I watched her and the girl Marie I sometimes wondered. The King,' she added thoughtfully, almost to herself, 'could have forced her but that was not Alexander's way. He never forced a woman in his life. I also believe he genuinely loved her.' 'That is all you can tell me?' Corbett asked. 'That,' said Lady Agnes, rising to her feet, 'is all I can tell you because that is all I know. I would be grateful if you would let Ranulf escort me back to Kinghorn.' Corbett nodded and Lady Agnes swept out of the room.

The clerk waited till Ranulf returned and, when he did, they all made their way down to the ferry and across the Forth. The ferrymaster regaled them with spicy stories about the comings and goings of King Alexander. Ranulf laughed and baited him, Corbett heard him out until they had reached the jetty at Dalmeny. 'Tell me,' he said, 'the other ferryman, you said he had a widow. Where does she live?' The ferryman pointed to a thatched, low-roofed timbered hut further along the shoreline. 'You'll find her there, poor woman. Joan Taggart. Her husband only received the letters patent from the King to act as ferryman just before his death.' Corbett nodded; he told Ranulf to collect and saddle their horses while he walked down to Joan Taggart's house. A small, brown-haired woman met him at the door, surrounded by a group of noisy, dirty children who eyed Corbett boldly, then ran to hide and giggle behind their mother's skirts. Corbett bowed. 'Joan Taggart?' he said. 'Aye.' 'I am Hugh Corbett, clerk. I wish to talk to you about your husband's death. I do not wish to upset you.' The woman just stared at him. 'Do you speak English?' 'I am English,' the woman replied abrupdy. 'I come from the border lands. What do you want with my husband's death?' 'He died the same night as the King?' Corbett asked. 'He didn't die,' replied Joan, 'he was murdered, but no one believes me.' She turned and shooed the flock of children away. 'Nobody believes me,' she continued, 'but my husband was a sailor, he knew the water.' She squinted up at the sun. 'A Frenchman, I don't know who, was using him. The same day the King died, late in the morning, this mysterious Frenchman hired my husband's boat and services to take him across to Inverkeithing. My husband came back excited and said he would be going out again late in the evening. The storm came up and burst on the Forth. I begged my husband to stay but he was excited. He said the Frenchman would pay generously.' 'And then what?' Corbett asked. 'He left.' The woman stopped speaking, blinked back the tears from her eyes and swallowed before continuing. 'The next morning, he was found, head down, bobbing like some stupid cork in the shallow water.' 'And his boat?' Corbett queried. 'Still tied up,' the woman replied. 'The coroner came and said my husband must have been drunk, fell and drowned. After all, there was no mark on the body.' 'So, what makes you think it was murder?' Corbett persisted with his questioning. Joan pushed the greying hair from her brow. 'At first,' she replied slowly, 'I accepted it was an accident but then later, when it was too late to do anything about it, I remembered the way the boat had been tied up.' She looked directly at Corbett. 'Every sailor has his own way of tying a knot. My husband's boat was beached and tied but he never fastened that knot. I believe he went out that night with the Frenchman, whoever he is, and crossed the Forth. When he returned, he was murdered. His boat beached and tied up by other hands, probably the same ones which murdered him.' Corbett stared past her at the timbered house. 'You are sure,' he questioned, 'that it was a Frenchman?' 'Yes, my husband called him that. Why, do you know him?' Corbett thought of de Craon's evil smirk and then Bruce with his cruel mouth and perfect knowledge of French. 'No, Madam,' he lied. 'I know no one of that nationality. But why do you not tell the authorities, petition the Council?' Joan shrugged. 'And who would believe me?' 'True, Madam! True!' Corbett muttered, bowed and was about to turn away when the woman caught his arm. 'Sir!' she exclaimed. 'My children and I now starve!' Corbett looked into her harassed face and fearful eyes and, digging into his purse, drew out some coins and handed them to her. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Perhaps I can do more! I will see what I can do.'

Corbett strode back to where Ranulf and his companions sat with the horses. 'Make yourselves comfortable here,' he snapped. 'I intend to return across the Forth. 'Tis a minor matter,' he continued, ignoring Ranulf s groan, 'but there is something I must find.' He then went down the slope to where the ferrymaster was preparing to beach his craft. 'I wish to return,' Corbett said. The man shrugged. 'It will cost you.' 'Yes, I know,' answered Corbett testily. 'But this time I want to land, not at Inverkeithing but,' he stared across the water, 'at some secret place far from public view where I could stable a horse without arousing suspicion or interest.' The ferryman nodded. 'Yes, I know of such a place, but it is going to cost you even more. You had best get in.' They both clambered aboard and the man pulled the boat out into the main current. As he rowed, the man explained. 'There are,' he said, 'caves up from the beach, just across the Forth to the west of Inverkeithing. I will take you there.'

The man was true to his word. They landed on a sandy, gravel beach; above them rose cliffs which ran along the entire coast. The ferryman indicated with a wave of his hand. 'If you go up there,' he said, 'you will see them. They are like small chambers; they were once used by pirates, only His Grace, the late King, cleared them out with fire, sword, and gallows. Do you wish me to stay?' 'Yes,' Corbett said. 'If I am not successful in finding what I am looking for I shall return and tell you.'

Corbett slipped another coin into the man's hand and, while the ferryman made himself comfortable in the shadow of his boat, Corbett began the long arduous climb up the hill. Soon he reached the top where the hills levelled out and stretched to the hard rock face of the towering cliffs. He immediately saw what the ferrymaster had been talking about. At the base of these cliffs, almost as if they had been hewn in the rock by men, were three, four or five cave-mouths, chamber-like, as if they were a row of monastic cells in some monastery. Corbett made his way through the thick clogged sand and entered the first one. There were signs of human habitation, scraps of litter, faint smells, broken pottery, strange markings on the walls of the caves which seemed to stretch for ever down into the blackness beneath the cliffs. Corbett's heart sank when he noticed this. If all the chambers were as long as this, or if they were only used by people who had gone down deep into them, then his search would take months. He decided to go on to the second and third caves, determined to find what he was looking for. In the fourth cavern he did. Just within the entrance there were mounds of horse dung. He picked some up in his hand and crumbled it. Corbett reckoned horses had been stabled there within the last two or three months. There were other signs, a ragged, empty bag bearing traces of oats and a clump of dark wet material which, Corbett realised, was once hay. Satisfied, he knelt and cleansed his hands in a pool of salt water and walked back down to where the ferryman was patiently waiting for him.