Crown in Darkness

men, lords and their retainers sat and gossiped about what would happen next. Alexander had left an heir, a weak baby princess, living in the Norwegian court. But was she fit to rule? And who else was there? The Comyns? The Balliols? And, of course, Edward of England. Bishop Wishart, Chancellor of Scodand, also considered these names. He sat at his desk, huddled in his great cloak, oblivious to the cold draughts which came under the door or through the cracks in the wooden shutters on the window. Candles in iron candelabra shed some light but Wishart preferred the darkness, even the cold, so he could think clearly, logically, plan and plot.
    Wishart had one great love, Scotland. He did not mind who ruled the kingdom as long as the prince was strong, courageous and ready to defend it against a ring of enemies. Wishart was an educated man. He had travelled over Europe and had witnessed what was happening. The great kings, Philip of France and Edward of England, were building up nation states. Roads were being levelled, armies raised, castles erected, laws passed, justice imposed, while Scodand was still a collection of races. Only an iron clasp, the steel hand of a ruthless king would keep them in check and create peace throughout the country.
    Wishart secretly mourned Alexander. He had not liked the man. The dead King had been a lecher who lusted after other men's wives, daughters, sisters, like a dog on heat. Nevertheless, Alexander had been strong. Now he was gone, suddenly and mysteriously. Wishart stirred restlessly. Should he examine that problem? God knows there were many who wanted Alexander dead. The Bruces, the Comyns. The men whose women had been his mistresses. They all had their motives. Wishart narrowed his eyes and looked into the candlelight. There had been rumours, warnings about Alexander's death long before it happened. In this castle, months before the tragedy, there had been a banquet. Alexander was there surrounded by his mistresses and friends, drinking and eating. Wishart had been away but he had heard the stories later, how Alexander had suddenly looked down the hall, dropping his cup and going pale with fright. "What is it my Lord?" courtiers had asked. Alexander shook his head, and, raising his hand, pointed down into the darkness. "I see a man," he replied softly. "A monk. A man in a shroud. Can't you see him?" "No, my Lord," came the reply. Alexander had continued to stare, completely sober now, at the apparition only he could see. "He is warning me about my death," Alexander announced quietly, "Violent and soon to happen!" The alleged vision had spoiled the banquet, depressed the King for weeks afterwards, before his natural good-humour and boisterous spirits dismissed it as a phantasm of too much drink.
    Wishart bit his lip. He did not trust in visions. He did not believe God had the time to interfere in the petty affairs of men. Was it some trick of the light? Or had someone planted the idea in Alexander's mind? There were other mysterious happenings. The prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer, or Thomas of Learmouth, the self-proclaimed seer, who claimed he had dreams of Alexander's death, constantly warning the King of this in four-line doggerel verse. Wishart grunted. One day his inquisitors would take Master Learmouth and put him to the question. Was he a prophet? Or a man who meddled in the black arts? Whatever, his prophecies about Alexander's death had been proven brutally correct.
    Wishart felt as if he was standing at a crossroads with two paths leading into the darkness. On the left, the problem of solving the King's death, of finding the murderer. On the right, the even more pressing problem of who was to succeed Alexander. The barons had sworn to uphold the cause of his granddaughter in Norway, but could a three-year-old girl rule Scotland? Or would it be someone else? Perhaps if he followed one path, he would find a place where they came together? Perhaps Alexander was not murdered, perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps the result of jealousy, some man sickened and tired of the king seducing or pursuing a woman. Yet, there could be other reasons. Did one of the claimants to the throne arrange the murder?
    Wishart had considered Edward of England but then dismissed him. Edward was in France. There was no sign of his meddling in Scottish affairs, apart from sending his envoy, Benstede, and that inquisitive clerk, Corbett, across the border. Benstede had been there before Alexander died