Crown in Darkness

and the decomposing bodies of four criminals twirled from the makeshift gibbet.
    They continued on, up the steep incline and into the castle. Inside, the scene was one of frenetic confusion, servants scurrying around, shouting and gesticulating, carts laden with provisions struggling to either get in or leave. Horses rearing and neighing, as ostlers and stable-boys tried to calm them down and lead them away. Men-at-arms, wearing the royal livery of Scotland, attempted to impose some form of order but the situation was not improved by a horde of courtiers standing around also issuing their instructions to a vast army of retainers all wearing different liveries. Corbett turned to his guide to ask what was happening but found the man had had enough sense and discretion to depart as quickly as possible. Corbett grabbed a groom who was trying to lead a horse to the stables at the far end of the bailey but the fool could not understand him and Corbett simply drew a blank look, followed by a shrug and muttered curses.
    The English clerk stood rooted to the ground, wondering whether to stay or leave, when a hand gently touched his shoulder and he turned to see John Benstede, his kind face wrinkled in an apologetic smile. 'Master Clerk,' he said quietly. 'It was good of you to arrive so promptly. Come, let us leave this chaos.' Corbett followed him across the yard as the English envoy made his way carefully through the throng and up a flight of steep stairs into the main keep of the castle. Up another row of stairs and Corbett followed Benstede into a small, grim chamber with a bed of straw in the corner, a trestle table, a badly-lit brazier and a few rough stools for comfort. Benstede sighed and gestured to Corbett to sit down while he slumped, head on hand, on a stool near the table. 'What is the matter?1 Corbett asked. 'Why the summons and why the confusion?' 'The Council of Guardians,' Benstede replied wearily, 'has called a meeting of the Great Council. We are not summoned to that but to the great banquet afterwards. The Chancellor, Bishop Wishart of Glasgow, has instructed all foreign envoys to attend this feast.' He poured a cup of watered wine for Corbett and then joined him, sipping carefully while studying the English clerk. 'You have been busy, Master Corbett?' he enquired. 'Yes,' Corbett replied tactfully. 'I have been trying to elicit what is happening in Scotland. Both our King and the Chancellor,' he lied, 'will be grateful for any information.' 'And have you discovered anything?' 'No,' Corbett lied again. 'Alexander III is dead, killed when his horse went over Kinghorn Ness. I have presented the Chancellor's condolences to his widow and now I must stay until I receive fresh instructions.' 'You are interested in Alexander Ill's death?' Benstede persisted. 'Do you think there was foul play?' 'I think,' Corbett replied carefully, 'that the King's death was mysterious and worthy of study.' Benstede pursed his lips and let out a long sigh. 'Be careful, Master Clerk,' he said. 'The Scots are in no mood to have foreigners, or Sassenachs as they call us, interfering in their affairs, but by all means keep yourself conversant with what is happening. Our Sovereign Lord King,' he commented sardonically, 'is always ready to listen to gossip from foreign courts.' Corbett decided to ignore the sarcastic tone and refused to be drawn. He stared at his companion's round cherubic face and twinkling blue eyes and knew that Benstede was only trying to draw him into conversation. 'What is the council meeting about?' he asked. Benstede got up and crossed to the bed in the far corner. He lifted the straw mattress and pulled out a small leather pouch which Corbett recognised as being in common use by clerks in the Chancery or envoys on their travels. Benstede inspected and then broke the seal and handed a small roll of vellum to Corbett. 'Read this,' he said. 'A draft copy of my report to the King. It describes the situation in Scotland as I see it and contains nothing confidential!' He grinned sideways at Corbett. 'At least, nothing yet! Go ahead! Read it!' Corbett unrolled the letter and ignored the usual introductory courtesies – "John Benstede to his Grace, etc. etc. The news from the Scottish court is this. His Grace, King Alexander III, was killed when he plunged from Kinghorn Ness on the night of the 18th March. It is commonly rumoured that the King was on his way to stay with his new wife, Queen Yolande, at a nearby manor.