Crown in Darkness

THREE

Outside the chamber, Corbett found the captain of the guard waiting for him, a little more relaxed now he realised that Corbett was acceptable to the Queen-Dowager. 'Are you intent on leaving this evening?' he asked, his English accent thick and guttural. 'Why?' Corbett smiled at him. 'Do I have a choice?' The soldier shrugged. 'You may stay and catch the ferry at first light when it crosses but that is your decision.' 'Then thank you,' Corbett courteously replied, 'I will stay. But tell me,' he added. 'Who is the red-headed lady-in-waiting to the Queen? She seemed a brazen hussy!' Now the soldier smiled, a yellow-toothed grin cracking the severity of his face. 'You mean Agnes Lennox?' he jibed. 'You're right. A brazen hussy indeed. There is no love lost between her and the Queen. Why?' 'Nothing,' Corbett muttered. 'But, look. Were you on duty the night the King died?' 'Of course. Though I never stirred from here. News of his death was brought by a messenger.' 'The same messenger,' Corbett interjected, 'who brought you news that the King intended to travel to Kinghorn?' 'Whish, no, man,' the soldier replied. 'That was simply a letter delivered at the gate just before dusk. God knows who brought it. You had best ask the purveyor that question.' Corbett felt his heart quicken. 'The same purveyor who greeted the King when he landed from the ferry?' 'Oh, aye,' the soldier replied. 'Alexander, he has the same name as the late king. Why do you ask?' he narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Corbett. 'You ask a lot of questions, Master Clerk, from England!' Corbett smiled. 'I am sorry,' he apologised. 'But the English court were so shocked by the death of your king they could scarcely believe it. My masters expect me to be hunting for news.' The soldier relaxed and tapped Corbett patronisingly on the shoulder. 'Yes, I know. We are all under orders. I can scarcely believe the King is dead and think it just a rumour. But, come, I will introduce you to Alexander, he's told his story many times. I vow he'd love to tell it again.'

Corbett followed the captain down the winding stone staircase and into the main hall. In happier, better times it may have looked princely, even regal, with the raised dais at the far end under a huge tapestry emblazoned with the royal insignia of Scotland. Now it was dingy. The rushes on the floor were none too clean: hungry wolf-hounds foraged amongst them for bits of food and Corbett heard the squeak and scamper of rats. The trestle tables down each side were stained with wine and strewn with the stale remains of various meals. On the walls, the cresset torches, untended, spluttered fiercely in their sconces and Corbett realised that the retainers were taking full advantage of a dead king and his lonely, isolated widow. At the end of one table sat a group of men surrounded by cups and flagons, rolling a set of dice amidst curses and shouts. The captain took Corbett by the sleeve, led him over to them and tapped one of the players on the shoulder. 'Alexander,' he taunted. 'Here's a man who would like to hear your story!' Alexander turned, a long, horsy face, bulbous blue eyes and wet slack mouth beneath a shock of black hair. 'I'm at dice!' he grumbled and glared angrily at Corbett. 'I know,' the English clerk sweetly replied, 'but,' and he jingled the coins in his purse. 'I can make up your undoubted losses!' Alexander was too far gone in his cups to detect the sarcasm but he looked at Corbett, licked his lips greedily and, snatching up a brimming cup, lurched to his feet and gestured Corbett to follow him to the far end of the room. The captain of the guard nodded at Corbett to follow and promptly occupied the gambler's vacant seat. 'Oh,' he shouted after Corbett. 'When he's finished his tale, just bed down here in the hall. I will bring you a cloak, it is not much, but warmer and more comfortable than a night on the cliff tops!' Corbett nodded, smiled his thanks and went over to where Alexander now slouched in a half-drunken stupor.

Corbett introduced himself, giving the same reason for his curiosity as he had earlier. Alexander was too drunk to care and Corbett had to listen carefully to understand the man's drunken, slurred speech. Like himself, Alexander was a clerk who served the King, even following him to England when the late Scottish King had gone south to attend the coronation of Edward I. Corbett let him ramble on while the gambling group broke up amidst loud shouts and farewells, and a harassed servant brought Corbett a cloak. Then the English clerk gently asked the befuddled Alexander his questions, though he learnt nothing new. On the day the King died, just before dusk, an unknown messenger had delivered a letter at the gate. This was taken direct to Queen Yolande who had summoned Alexander and told him to take the King's favourite horse, a white mare stabled at Kinghorn, down to the ferry. Alexander angrily complied, furious that the King could put him to so much trouble on a wild, bitterly cold night. 'I did what I was told to,' he grumbled. 'I waited there for hours until His Grace came. I remonstrated with him but he would not listen. He had to be with the Queen and so he rode off.' 'And what did you do?' Alexander belched and scratched his chin. 'I went to a tavern in Inverkeithing where I was joined by one of the King's squires.' 'You what?' Corbett asked. 'One of the King's companions?' 'The same,' Alexander replied, trying to focus on this curious English clerk. 'The poor bastard was thrown by his horse and had to walk back to the village. We both stayed there till late the following day.' He looked slyly at Corbett. 'You see, we were drinking. It was only when we left the tavern that we heard about the King.' Corbett nodded and pushed a few coins into the purveyor's slack hands. 'So, who found the King's body?' 'Oh, a party from the castle across the Forth, they gathered it up and it was taken back on a royal barge.' Corbett nodded understandingly while he concentrated on listing a sequence of events surrounding the Scottish King's death. There was something wrong, very wrong but he could not grasp it. 'Tell me,' he said slowly. 'One squire stayed with you? And he never reached the manor?' Alexander nodded. 'So what happened to the other one?' Corbett continued. 'If he reached the manor, why did he not come back to look for his master? In fact,' Corbett now tried to clear the doubts in his own mind, 'why didn't the Queen send out a search-party for her husband? After all, he was expected?' The purveyor stared hard at the table, as he tried to concentrate. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'The fellow who stayed with me went back and so did the other squire. He evidently rode ahead of the King and reached the manor. Why he or the Queen never thought of searching for the King is a mystery.' He stared drunkenly at Corbett. 'The whole thing's a mystery, Master Clerk, and perhaps you should answer questions. The King's desire to join the Queen is a mystery, for,' he added bitterly, 'he would have had little joy out of her.' 'What do you mean?' Corbett asked. 'Did Queen Yolande hate her husband?' Alexander only grimaced, farted, then fell head forward into a drunken sleep. Corbett cursed and rose to his feet. He took the dirty threadbare cloak and, finding the cleanest spot in the hall, lay down and fell asleep.

The next morning Corbett woke, feeling dirty and aching in every joint. He got up, went out into the courtyard to piss and onto the kitchen to beg for a cup of watered ale and a slice of greasy bacon to silence the hunger pangs of his stomach for he had not eaten since leaving Holy Rood Abbey the previous day. Corbett wanted to leave Kinghorn quickly before the captain or Alexander began to question him, so, once he had finished his meal, he went to the stable and, saddling the garron, led him out towards the main gate. Corbett was almost there when he heard a voice call out. He turned and saw the red-haired Lennox woman coming out of the door of the main building, an earthenware jar in her hand. Corbett quietly groaned and stopped as she approached. 'Are ye leaving so soon, Master English Clerk?' she asked suggestively, her eyes boldly studying Corbett from head to toe. 'Yes, I'm leaving,' the clerk replied. 'I have to. Perhaps next time?' 'Next time,' Agnes whispered huskily, 'we must talk, become better acquainted?' 'Yes,' Corbett replied, 'but not now! Goodbye!' 'Till then, Master Clerk,' came the brazen reply. 'Till the next time!' Corbett sighed, turned his horse and, after a short argument with a sleepy guard, left Kinghorn for the ferry.

He reached it without mishap but had to wait for a while, watching the day begin, until the ferrymaster arrived. He greeted Corbett warmly, ensured that the garron was safely returned to its stable in Inverkeithing and then rowed Corbett out across the Forth. This time, he asked the questions, curious about the Queen and the doings of the great ones of the land. Corbett, cold and hungry, muttered his replies and was more than pleased when they reached Queensferry. Corbett was just about to leave to collect his cob from the stables when he remembered something and hurried back to the ferrymaster. 'Tell me,' he urged, 'did you take anyone else across the Forth the day the King died?' The ferrymaster shook his head. 'Na, na,' he replied. 'The storm lasted all day. I only took the King!' 'But somebody must have?' Corbett asked testily. 'Aye. Maybe they did,' the ferrymaster replied. 'But it was not me!' 'Who then?' The ferrymaster grinned. 'Taggart. Perhaps. But he is dead. Isn't he?' Corbett turned angrily on his heel, collected the cob and wearily made his way back to the Abbey of Holy Rood.

Corbett did not go through Edinburgh but took the same route as he had earlier followed, skirting the city, plodding his way through marsh and bog till he reached the clean, white sanctity of the Abbey. The Prior welcomed him sardonically but Corbett could see the monks were genuinely pleased to see him back. For the first time for a long while, Corbett felt wanted and warmed to these simple yet sophisticated men so bound up in their own routine of prayer, work and study that they regarded any visitor as a visible sign of God's grace. They questioned him about his journey, about Kinghorn and Queen Yolande, until the Prior intervened, pointing out that their visitor needed to relax.

Corbett bathed in the guest-house's one and only tub before dressing and going down to the buttery for ale and a bowl of bread and fish boiled in milk. He then went to the library. It was now dusk but the old librarian had the sconce torches lit and gave Corbett what he had requested, a candle and a battered copy of the "Sic et Non', the brilliant satire on scholastic theology by the Parisian scholar, Abelard, who had lost his family as well as his testicles for ridiculing the theologians and then compounding his sin by falling in love with a woman. Corbett loved the brilliant logic delivered so tongue-in-cheek that only those who wished to take offence would be affronted. He read it carefully, the lucid language and poetry of argument clearing and settling his mind. Darkness fell. The librarian, fearful of fire, gently shooed Corbett out so the clerk went down to stroll in the monastery's small herb garden while he rigorously analysed all he had learnt in his journey to Kinghorn. Corbett walked and argued with himself until the bells tolling for Compline brought him into the Abbey church with its lofty roof, pointed arches and round drum-like columns. He went up the nave and into the square chancel where the monks were gathered, seated in benches on each side. The main cantor rose and began the prayer, warning the brothers that Satan roamed the world like a starving lion looking for victims he could devour. Corbett, gently dreaming at the end of a bench, could well believe it and wondered if this time Satan would search him out.