Crown in Darkness

FIFTEEN

The following day Corbett was busy in the abbey scriptorium, seated at a small desk, writing out a list of facts, snorting with fury at his own mistakes which he would angrily cross out with a score of his pen and begin again. Ranulf came in with a series of plaintive questions but Corbett dismissed him with a look. The Prior, ever curious, also tried to intervene but Corbett, taciturn and withdrawn, made it plain he did not want to answer questions. Once this list was completed and each point neady itemised, Corbett picked it up, left the sweet, fragrant-smelling library to walk slowly round the cloisters, muttering to himself, referring now and again to the piece of parchment held tightly in his hand, like some preacher learning his words, or a student preparing to discuss his treatise. The monks, unused to such curious behaviour, gossiped with relish about the strange eccentricities of this English clerk. Corbett did not mind; he broke off his constant walking for a meal of fish broiled in milk and herbs, then returned to his task. The images so vague in his mind were now quite clear and distinct but he had to be certain: the solution must be presented like a concise clear legal document, everything in its right place and, unfortunately, there were still gaps to be filled and ragged ends tidied up.

Late in the afternoon, he asked and obtained from the now bemused Prior the services of the lay brother who had accompanied them to Earlston. Ranulf was ordered to saddle the horses and Corbett led his little party from the abbey and up into the town. He was pleased to see that as soon as they left the abbey gate, they were joined by the soldiers Sir James Selkirk had stationed near the abbey. Corbett was oblivious to everything else as he travelled down into the city: the dirty streets, the noisy clamour of the traders, even the mixture of rich smells from bakeries, cookshops and heaps of human and animal ordure steaming in the summer sun. He was trying to remember the route he had taken the morning de Craon's men had stopped him. The heat in the narrow packed streets was stifling and Sir James' men began to complain loudly; the lay brother, used to Corbett's strange ways, slumped resignedly on his gentle cob whilst Ranulf looked askance at his erratic and peculiar master.

At last, Corbett found the narrow alleyway and pushed his horse through the crowd to the battered ale-stake above the dingy house. Ranulf and the escort were told to wait outside but the lay brother was asked to come in for he could, as Corbett put it, "talk in the common language". Ranulf, outside, peered through the small window, its shabby wooden shutters flung wide to let in the air and light. The place was just like any ale-house or tavern in Southwark with its dirt-beaten floor and ramshackle tables, filled with traders and peasants eager to spend the profits of market day. Ranulf watched Corbett, the lay brother acting as interpreter, in deep conversation with the tavern-keeper. After a while, Corbett nodded, handed over a few coins and left, his face wreathed in a complacent smile.

They made their way back, not to the abbey but the castle, Corbett sending ahead one of his escort to ask Wishart for an audience and when they arrived the old, foxy-faced Bishop was waiting for them in his now sweltering chambers, though still swathed in fur-trimmed robes. 'The blood thins, Master Clerk,' he apologised. 'I go to meet my death. One day, perhaps sooner than you think, you might meet yours!' Corbett ignored the hidden threat and relaxed in the chair the servant had brought him. Apart from Selkirk, they were alone, for Corbett had left Ranulf and the escort to relax and refresh themselves.

'You wanted to see me, Master Clerk, so come to the point!' Corbett sensed the Bishop was tense, anxious, even frightened. 'My Lord,' he said. 'Did the late King ever discuss his marriage with you?' 'No,' the Bishop was emphatic. 'His Highness was, er, loath to discuss such matters with me.' 'With anyone then?' 'Not to my knowledge. The King kept personal matters to himself.' 'Were the French envoys an exception, particularly in the days preceding his death?' Corbett persisted with his questioning. 'Yes,' the Bishop replied slowly, trying to create time to think. 'But this is not an English trial, Master Corbett. So, why the pert questions? Am I before a court?' 'My Lord,' Corbett genuinely apologised. 'I did not intend to give offence but I can see an end to this matter. I will inform you of it but I am impatient.' Corbett paused before continuing. 'Well, were the French envoys privy to the King's secrets?' The Bishop picked up a long thin parchment-knife and balanced it in a vein-streaked, brown-spotted hand. 'Alexander was a good king,' he replied cautiously. 'He kept Scotland peaceful, but, as a man, he was ruled by his codpiece. When his children died, he dallied, did not enter into a marriage contract but then agreed to marry the Princess Yolande. At first, matters went well. The kingdom hoped for an heir but the King became surly, angry and withdrawn; he shunned the French envoys but, yes, in the days preceding, even the day before his death, he was closeted with them.'

Wishart squirmed in his seat, angry and impatient at the impertinent questions of this English clerk. He would have liked to order him from the kingdom, send him trussed across the border with a curt note to his arrogant king. The Bishop looked at the white, lean-faced clerk. There were many things he would have liked to have done but he needed this man, who, with a combination of chance and logic, could reach the truths which might affect the realm.

Wishart leaned forward and fished amongst the pieces of parchment on his table, took up a thin scroll and tossed it to Corbett. 'You asked for this,' he commented, 'or rather the man you sent demanding an audience asked for it.' Corbett nodded muttering his thanks and carefully unrolled it. The parchment was merely a list drawn up in a clerkly hand describing the effects and property of one "Patrick Seton Esquire". Corbett studied the list intently, grunted with pleasure, handed it back to Wishart and rose. 'My Lord,' he said, 'thank you for your time and assistance. I would like to ask one more question of Sir James Selkirk?' Wishart shrugged. 'Ask it!' he replied. 'I believe,' began Corbett, turning to Selkirk, 'that you were sent by Bishop Wishart early on the morning of 19th March to ensure that all was well with the King. You took the ferry at Dalmeny and then used the horses from the royal stables at Aberdour to journey to Kinghorn, and it was then you found the King's body lying on the beach?' The knight grunted. 'Yes,' he replied. 'That is what happened. There is nothing extraordinary in that, is there?' 'Oh, but there is,' Corbett said smoothly. 'Was it common practice for you to journey after the King to ensure all was well. And, if you were riding along the cliffs at Kinghorn, how on earth did you see the King's corpse lying on the rocks below?' Selkirk grasped Corbett hard by the wrist. 'I do not like you, English Clerk,' he muttered menacingly. 'I do not like your arrogance and your questions, and if I had my way I would arrange an accident or have you thrown into some deep dungeon until everyone had forgotten about you!' 'Selkirk,' Wishart snapped. 'You forget yourself! You know there is an answer to the clerk's questions, so why not give it!' Selkirk released his grip on Corbett and fell back in his chair. 'It was common practice,' he commented, 'for Alexander III to ride like a demon around his kingdom. This was not the first time and, if he had survived, certainly would not have been the last. The King was constantly on the move. It was almost as if there was a devil inside him. He could not rest. His Grace the Bishop,' he nodded towards his patron, 'often sent me after the King to ensure that all was well. On a number of occasions I found members of the royal household resting. Their horses blown and they themselves suffering some injury. I expected no different when his Lordship sent me out on the morning of the 19th. Accompanied by two men-at-arms, I crossed the Forth at Dalmeny and took horses from the royal stable at Aberdour. You know little about Scotland, Master Corbett, or about the sea. By the time we crossed the Forth, it was early morning, the tide was out, so we did not take the cliff-top path but rode along the beach. The storm had petered out, it was a good morning and our horses were fresh. We galloped along the sand, and I knew what had happened long before we reached the rocks where the King lay. I saw the white of Tamesin, the dead King's horse, as well as Alexander's purple cloak blowing in the wind. The King was lying amongst the rocks and it was apparent he was dead. He had fallen between two sharp jagged-edge boulders and the angry tide had battered his body between them. His face was a mass of wounds, his neck completely broken. If it had not been for his clothes and the rings on his fingers I would have scarcely recognised him.' 'And the horse?' Corbett queried. 'Not worth looking at,' Selkirk replied. 'Again, a mass of wounds, two of its legs broken, the head fully twisted round. We removed the harness from the horse and made a rough bier for the King's corpse. After which we returned to Aberdour where a royal barge later brought the King's body across the Firth of Forth.' 'So,' Corbett enquired, 'you never went along to Kinghorn Ness or examined the place where the King may have fallen?' 'No,' Selkirk replied slowly. 'Though we knew by the place where he had fallen that it must have been at the very summit just as the path runs down the cliff to Kinghorn Manor.' Corbett smiled tactfully. 'Then I owe you the most sincere apologies, Sir James,' he commented. 'I always thought you went along Kinghorn Ness and found the body below you and then had it raised by ropes.' Selkirk snorted with laughter. 'Why should I do that? I have already told you that the tide was out. Any traveller would have taken the same route as I did. You only use the path along the cliff in bad weather or if there is a possibility you might be trapped by the tide. But your question about ropes and tackle lifting the body is pure nonsense, man!'

Corbett nodded his acceptance. 'There is one further favour, your Lordship,' Corbett said slowly. 'But it needs to be done, even though it may give offence to the French.' 'Go on,' said Wishart wearily. 'I have been to Kinghorn Manor,' Corbett continued. 'I have attempted to see Queen Yolande to ask her why she did not send out a search-party for the King when he failed to arrive at Kinghorn Manor. I find it strange that a wife, a queen, a princess with responsibilities, who had been informed in no uncertain fashion that her husband was to join her, fails to do anything when he does not arrive. Any woman with commonsense would immediately become alarmed and send out some of her household to find the King. After all, he could have been thrown from his horse and been lying injured on the moors in the middle of a fierce storm. I must ask Queen Yolande why she acted as she did.' Corbett watched the old Bishop carefully. On the one hand he saw his own suspicions mirrored in the Bishop's eyes, on the other Wishart realised that such an interview might alienate the French and cause more trouble than it was worth. Corbett decided to press the point. 'For all we know, your Lordship, it is possible that Queen Yolande was involved in her husband's death. For her sake, for France's sake, for Scotland's sake, such suspicions must be cleared!' Wishart nodded slowly. 'Queen Yolande,' he replied, 'is to leave on tomorrow's tide just after dawn. A French galley will pick her up off the coast of the Forth and take her out to the sea where other ships are waiting to escort her back to France. I understand that the French envoy, de Craon, will be seeing her off.' The Bishop heaved a sigh. 'If the French ship leaves the Forth,' he continued, 'there is little chance that they will stop to answer your questions, Master Clerk. So you must stop her before her ship leaves the Forth.' The Bishop suddenly stirred himself. 'Do we have a ship, Sir James?' the Bishop asked. 'Of course,' Selkirk replied. 'I mean,' the Bishop retorted brusquely, 'is there a ship in the port of Leith we can use?' Selkirk rubbed his mouth with his hand. 'There is the "St. Andrew",' he said, 'a cog we often use to protect our ships from English pirates.' He looked sideways at Corbett. 'It has a full complement, a crew, an armoury and is good for putting to sea at a moment's notice.' 'Ah well,' Wishart smiled. 'Sir James, take our English visitor to the port of Leith and order the captain to follow his directions

across the Forth. He is to stop the ship, speak to Queen Yolande and not allow her to leave the Firth of Forth until Corbett has satisfactory answers to questions which intrigue even me. I will give you the necessary warrants and letters.'