Crown in Darkness

SIXTEEN

Within an hour Corbett and Selkirk, accompanied by a dozen mounted men-at-arms, were pounding along the muddy track which led from Edinburgh to the port of Leith. Their progress was fast, the ground had hardened after the rains while Sir James had unfurled the royal standard of Scotland to make it obvious to any others using the road to stand aside quickly and let them pass. They galloped into Leith, up its narrow winding streets, across the cobbled market-place where Corbett had met Bruce's retainers, and then down to the quayside. There was a mass of shipping in the port, small skiffs, boats, the huge heavy-bottomed sterns of Hanseatic merchantmen. Small cranes were dragging out or depositing bales, barrels, chests and huge leather bags. There was a confusion of sounds, strange oaths, cries and orders, while ships arrived or prepared to depart. Sir James paid no heed, leading his small party along the quayside, ordering people aside and ignoring the oaths and catcalls which followed them.

Eventually they found the "Saint Andrew", a large warlike craft with a bluff tub-like hull. The body of the ship rose high above the quay, its stern crowned by small castles or crenellated fighting-platforms to protect archers and soldiers during battle. The huge single mast had its large sail furled under the platform used by the look-out. Sir James hailed the ship, telling the crew they were coming aboard and a large gangplank was lowered. Sir James ordered one of his retinue to stay and stable the horses while he and Corbett, accompanied by the remainder of his party, made their way carefully up the gangplank and into the busy ship. The crew moved about jostling each other; Corbett gathered that the ship had recently returned to port and the crew were busily cleaning the decks. He saw a vast patch of blood and guessed that the ship must have been in one of the many petty skirmishes which took place at sea, for ships of various nations, Norway, Denmark, England, Scotland and France used these waters for fishing, trade and piracy.

A young, red-haired man, dressed simply in a leather jerkin, leggings and boots, came up to Corbett and spoke in an accent the English clerk could not even hope to follow. Selkirk, however, made himself clearly understood. The man, curious, looked narrowly at Corbett and was about to refuse until Selkirk showed him Wishart's sealed warrant. The captain, for Corbett guessed it must be he, let out a litany of rich oaths in a variety of languages leaving Corbett in no doubt about his feelings concerning the mission. Nevertheless, the fellow began to bark orders. The decks were cleared; sailors began to run like monkeys up the rigging unfurling the great sail, while two more were sent up to the stern-castle to manage the huge tiller. After a while the captain, much calmer, took Selkirk and Corbett down to his cabin under the fo'castle, a small, dingy room smelling of tar and salt, and containing a simple cot bed, trunk, table and a number of stools. Corbett, unused to the gentle rocking of the ship and the low beams, banged his head as he straightened up. The pain was intense and though the captain laughed at his discomfort, he offered Corbett a cup of surprisingly good wine to ease the pain and, as Selkirk put it, strengthen his stomach for the coming voyage.

Within an hour of embarkation, the "Saint Andrew" had turned and was making its way across the Firth, The pain in Corbett's head subsided only to be replaced by a growing sense of nausea as the ship rocked and rolled on the water. Selkirk sat enjoying the English clerk's discomfort. 'Come, Master Corbett,' he said jovially. 'You had best come up on deck if you are to be sick. You cannot vomit here and upset our host. Moreover, he will need direction.' Corbett muttered curses but followed Selkirk up the ladder and on to the deck of the ship. The large sail, now unfurled, was billowing in the strong wind as the ship circled across the water towards the far-distant shoreline. The Firth was much broader here than at Dalmeny and, if it had not been a clear day, Corbett could have almost believed they were out on the open sea. The captain showed them a rough map drawn crudely on tough, brown vellum and with a stubby finger and guttural comments pointed out the coastline of Fife, the manor of Kinghorn and the possible place where the French could dock to pick up a party from the beach. 'What is he saying?' Corbett asked. Selkirk shrugged. 'There is no port at Kinghorn but there are a number of fishing villages and coves along the coast where Queen Yolande would go to wait for the ship. It is a question of simply following the coast down until we actually catch sight of the ship itself.' Selkirk looked up at the darkening sky. 'It will soon be night,' he commented, 'and we won't be able to see anything. The captain has promised to reach the coastline by early dawn and follow it down to the sea. It is our only hope.' Selkirk talked to the captain for a while in a language which he later explained was Erse, the tongue of the Isles, before taking Corbett back to the cabin.

Corbett then spent what must have been one of the most miserable nights he had ever experienced. The captain gave him a bowl of cold stew which he could only swallow by gulping it down with wine. Selkirk threw him a cloak, telling the clerk to make himself as comfortable as possible and Corbett slept fitfully, waking once or twice to go up on deck to vomit his dinner into the sea amidst the jeering catcalls of the night watch. Eventually Corbett decided to stay there, leaning against the rail, watching the day break above him. The captain was true to his word. The ship reached the coastline just after sunrise and began to follow it in a south-easterly direction down to the sea. Their task was not as difficult as Corbett had thought. The crew hailed a fishing-skiff who gave them information that a French ship had been seen making its way up the Firth the previous day. After that, it was simply a matter of having a strong wind, the sailors climbing up and down the rigging, adjusting the sail to catch every breeze and puff of air while look-outs were posted high above the mast.

The ship settled down to a monotonous routine until the cries of the look-outs brought Selkirk and the captain back onto the deck. The "Saint Andrew" nosed by a headland and into a small cove where a large two-masted galley was preparing to make sail. 'What shall we do now?' Corbett asked. 'Stop it!' Selkirk replied tersely. He ordered the captain to display the royal standard on the stern, just in case the French believed they were pirates, as the "Saint Andrew" began to run down alongside the galley. Selkirk, stationing himself on the fo'castle, hailed the ship in Scottish and French. At first he was greeted by shouts and catcalls and Corbett wondered if the galley would refuse to heave-to and continue in its dash for the open sea. He joined Selkirk on the poop and watched the figures on the French ship scurrying backwards and forwards on deck. 'De Craon is there,' Selkirk rasped and pointed to a figure at the centre of the galley just between the two masts. The two craft were now alongside, only yards apart on the bobbing water; the Scottish ship had loosened its sail while the oars of the galley were now clear of the sea. Selkirk hailed the French envoy by name, a more civilised conversation ensued, and the "Saint Andrew" was allowed to come alongside. Corbett and Selkirk, accompanied by four men-at-arms, clambered rather ungracefully down a rope-ladder and were bundled aboard with whispered curses by the French oarsmen. De Craon, accompanied by a number of soldiers dressed in half-armour, came up to greet them. 'Sir James Selkirk,' he said. 'Why such concern? What is the problem? Our master, King Philip IV, will not be pleased with the news that his ships cannot enter and leave the ports of Scotland without hindrance!' There is no hindrance!' Selkirk retorted. 'We simply wish to have a conversation with you and you have agreed. You know Master Corbett, the English envoy?' De Craon gave the sketchiest of bows. 'I think everyone knows Master Corbett!' he replied, 'with his eternal questions and his ability to stick his nose into matters which do not concern him. What is it this time, English Clerk?' 'His Grace, the Bishop of Glasgow,' Corbett replied, 'has asked me to request an audience with the Lady Yolande in order to clarify certain matters regarding the death of her late husband, King Alexander III of Scotland.' 'Certain matters!' de Craon snapped. 'I know your meddling, clerk! You came to Kinghorn and the Queen graciously granted you an audience during which you disturbed her. However, on the second occasion, she refused to see you and she will not see you now!'

Corbett stared at the hard-eyed French envoy and realised that it was impossible to press the matter. The galley was well-armed and it was unlikely that Sir James would give any assistance. Consequently, he was rather surprised when Selkirk spoke out. 'Monsieur de Craon,' he said. 'Your ship is in our waters, the Lady Yolande was married to a Scottish King. We bear warrants from the Council of Guardians of Scotland and yet you ignore us. If you wish, go on your way, but we shall report your rudeness and obduracy to Philip IV of France, who would not be too pleased to see future delicate negotiations hindered by the ill-manners of one of his envoys.' Selkirk stopped speaking and Corbett saw de Craon flinch at what the Scotsman had said as he quickly assessed the alternatives open to him. 'Monsieur de Craon,' Corbett said tactfully. 'I assure you that I will not give any offence to the Lady Yolande. I beg you to allow me to speak to her for a few moments, and, if you would be so kind, also to yourself. In confidence,' he concluded. 'It will be in confidence, I assure you, and no affront will be given.' De Craon stared bleakly at the English clerk and shrugged to show his unease. 'Very well,' he muttered. 'You may see Lady Yolande, not,' he lifted a warning finger, 'not in her cabin! I suggest that a few moments here on deck will suffice.' Corbett agreed and de Craon disappeared for a while.

The clerk heard voices raised in French and knew that Lady Yolande was protesting loudly at having to meet him. Nevertheless, de Craon's diplomatic skills prevailed and the Lady Yolande, a beautiful figure swathed in costly furs, came on deck and haughtily beckoned Corbett to her side. Corbett smiled wanly at Selkirk, nodded his thanks and walked over to join her. The arrogant princess refused to talk in English and Corbett had to use all his skill in French to conduct a conversation whilst ensuring he did not give offence. 'My Lady,' he began. 'I have simply one question to ask of you and, before you answer, I must inform you that I know full well the delicate details of your personal relationship with the late King.' He watched the woman's eyes widen in surprise. 'I assure you,' Corbett added hastily, 'simply one question.' 'Continue!' she commented tersely. 'Ask me the question! Let us have the matter done with!' 'On the night the King died,' Corbett replied, 'a message came saying that the King, would arrive at Kinghorn. So you expected the King?' Yolande nodded, watching Corbett closely. 'Well,' Corbett continued, 'the King did not arrive but Patrick Seton, the body-squire did. Surely you were concerned that your husband did not follow him? You must have thought that there had been an accident? And, if so, why did you not send Seton back to search for his master or send members of your own household to look for him?' 'Quite simply,' the French princess answered, 'Seton arrived at Kinghorn. I never liked him and I knew he hated me. I dismissed him as quickly as I could and later found that he had gone to drink himself into a drunken stupor. As for the King,' she edged closer to Corbett so only he could hear, her sweet cloying perfume catching his nostrils, until he almost thought that she was going to kiss him. 'As for the King,' the Princess hissed. 'I detested him. I hated his drunken ways, his many mistresses, his hard, scarred body. I could not have cared if he had been lying out on those wild moors bleeding to death. Do you understand me, English Clerk? I could not care! I was not concerned! Now, go!' Corbett, surprised by the venom and malicious hatred in the woman's eyes, hurriedly stepped away and watched as Yolande swirled off to her cabin. Corbett looked back across the galley to where Selkirk and de Craon were standing near the far ship rail. 'You have finished, Master Corbett?' de Craon called out sweedy, as if he was almost sorry at the reception the English clerk had received. 'I have finished, but I do have questions for you, Monsieur de Graon.' 'Then ask your damned questions,' de Craon snarled. 'For God's sake, ask them and let us go!' Corbett walked across and was grateful when Selkirk diplomatically moved out of earshot. 'Your questions, Monsieur?' de Craon tartly observed. 'They are ready?' 'Yes,' Corbett blundy replied. 'Did the late King ever discuss his marriage with you?' 'What business is it of yours?' de Craon heatedly replied. 'The talks between a French envoy and a Scottish monarch are hardly a matter for an envoy of King Edward of England!' Corbett sensed he would make little progress if de Craon continued in this vein; he walked over to where a small, wooden crucifix was nailed to the mast and put his hand on it. 'I swear,' Corbett said emphatically, 'that my intention is not to spy for the English King. I swear this by the cross. I also swear that what I do is done with the full knowledge of Bishop Wishart!' Corbett crossed back to the envoy. 'Monsieur de Craon,' he urged. 'I speak the truth. I realise the Lady Yolande is a noblewoman and that you were instrumental in arranging her marriage to the late King. However, I also know that the marriage, because of the Lady Yolande, was never consummated.'

The French envoy started, ready to play the outraged courtier, but Corbett's steady gaze quietened him. He shuffled his feet and pursed his lips, trying to conceal his embarrassment and surprise at this dangerous, clever English clerk. De Craon shrugged and smiled, secredy wishing he had killed this man and vowing he would, the next time an opportunity presented itself. On his part, Corbett shrewdly watched the Frenchman and knew he was correct and so moved to close the trap.

'Did you discuss the Lady Yolande with King Alexander at the Council meeting the evening before he died?' 'Hardly, in the company of others!' 'Whom did the King talk to?' 'The Lord Bruce, Bishop Wishart, his esquires. Seton and Erceldoun, Benstede,' the last name was spat out. 'But you did spend the previous day with the King?' 'Yes,' answered de Craon surlily. Corbett now closed the trap, trying hard to control his excitement. 'Was it then you discussed a possible marriage with Lady Margaret, sister of Philip IV of France?' De Craon drew himself up. 'Sir!' he exclaimed. 'You go too far. It is none of your business! The Lady Margaret is a princess of the blood. You are not fit…' He broke off suddenly, stared at Corbett and smiled coldly. 'That was good, Monsieur,' he muttered. 'Very clever. You are a good clerk, Monsieur Corbett.' He walked away, across the deck. 'Too good for this world, Monsieur! Au revoir.' 'I am sure we will meet again,' murmured Corbett but the Frenchman was out of earshot, shouting at his retainers and crew to make ready.

Without further ado Corbett, Selkirk and their small party returned to their own vessel. The galley pulled away, its oars dipping as it made its way down, following the tide out into the open sea. Their return to Leith on the "Saint Andrew" was just as uncomfortable as the journey out and Corbett was only too pleased to feel the firm ground of the quayside beneath him. Selkirk, however, was impatient to return. They collected their horses from the stables and were soon pounding their way back up the cobbled streets of Edinburgh to the Abbey of Holy Rood. Selkirk promised to leave his customary token force and Corbett, grateful for Selkirk's intervention and assistance on the French galley, began to thank the rather taciturn Scottish knight. 'Don't thank me,' Sir James replied. 'The sooner this business is done, Master Clerk, the sooner you are gone and that will make me very happy!' Corbett could only nod and turned to lead his horse from the abbey gates, when Selkirk called out, 'Mind you, Corbett, for an English clerk, you have some good qualities, and that is praise indeed from a Scotsman!' Corbett grinned his acknowledgement and continued into the abbey, pleased that the journey was done and the information he had received sohelpful.

The Prior joined him in his small chamber, his sandalled feet beating like a tambour along the stone corridor, his grey gown billowing around him. 'Your sea journey was profitable?' the Prior observed. 'Did de Craon assist you?' Corbett smiled. 'De Craon's an excitable man,' he replied, 'and a bit of a fool. I tricked him, but I had to, I remember once seeing a mosaic, a Roman mosaic. Have you seen one?' The Prior shook his head. 'Well,' Corbett continued, 'it was beautiful. A woman's face, dark and mysterious with long, flowing black hair. The craftsman had created this vision with small, coloured stones, and some of them had come loose. I spent an entire day putting them back, watching that face, hundreds of years old, come to life.' He sighed. 'But painting and sculpture are not your interests. Surely, you are more concerned with herbs, drugs and poison?' He watched the Prior's sallow face flush. 'I am sorry, Father,' Corbett grinned. 'I wanted to shock you. I am like the painter of that mosaic, the small pieces are falling into place and I need your help. Tell me, is there any herb which will make you see images and, at the same time, sharpen your memory?' He then outlined to the Prior his experience in Ettrick Forest when he visited the Pictish village. The Prior, solemn-faced, heard him out. 'There are,' he replied, 'certain plants which cut, distilled and treated, can turn a man's mind and raise phantasms in his soul; the deadly nightshade, the purple foxglove, above all the flowers of Hecate, Queen of the Night, the black hellebore. Buttered almonds, or even the chewed leaves of the laurel. All of these can excite the mind, bring back lost memories.' He looked sharply at Corbett, his tired, clever eyes searching the English clerk's face. 'But you mentioned poisons, Hugh,' he added calmly, 'and all the plants I have mentioned could kill a man, choke out his life like a breeze snuffs out a candle.'

Corbett leaned forward and described what he had seen. The Prior questioned him closely and Corbett answered as accurately as he could. The Prior stopped speaking, thought and offered his conclusion. Corbett smiled slowly, the last stone was in place, the picture was complete and, in his mind's eye, he saw full and clear the face of the murderer of Erceldoun, Seton, the young man in his own retinue, the boatman and, above all, the regicide, the slayer of the Lord's anointed, King Alexander III of Scotland. Corbett asked the Prior one last favour, one more task, the monk agreed and slipped quietly out of the room.