Crown in Darkness

before reverting to stare fiercely down the hall.
    Benstede and Corbett then sat at the edge of a table directly beneath the great dais just as a chorus of trumpets brayed. Bishop Wishart mumbled grace and the feasting began. A group of musicians with flute, rebec and drum attempted to make music but they were easily drowned by the roar of conversation as the courses were served. Corbett had heard that the Scots were a crude race but their cooks could have held their own with the best in Europe. Each guest had a trencher or plate of hard stale bread which served as a dish for a series of rich foods served by harassed, sweating boys who had to feed countless mouths and, at the same time, avoid the secretly lecherous hands of certain of the guests. There was brawn, a meat boiled with sugar and cloves, thickened with cinnamon and ginger and garnished with boar ribs. Fresh pork embellished with egg-yolk, pine cones, raisins, saffron and pepper and baked in pastry; fish tarts; roasted lampreys; mutton, plover, curlew, snipe and pheasant. Wine was splashed from jug to cup and then often drained in one loud gulp. Corbett ate sparingly as he always did. The sight of one of the boys rubbing a festering ear, while carrying food, also diminished his appetite. He sipped gently at the wine, exchanging pleasantries with Benstede, who led the conversation into the intricacies of Scottish policies. 'Look around, Corbett; this hall is full of men who would love to cut each other's throats. Alexander held them fast in a strong mailed fist. God knows what will happen now! 'What do you think?' Corbett asked. 'It's what I dread,' Benstede replied. 'Under the wrong king this tide of violence might swirl and sweep south across the border.' Corbett quietly agreed, remembering the deserted countryside he had passed through on his way to Scotland. Wide expanses of undefended countryside vulnerable to sudden attack for pillage or even conquest. Benstede leaned across the table to talk further but, aware of the growing interest of neighbours, stared knowingly at Corbett and lapsed into silence. The conversation ebbed and swirled about them. Corbett could scarcely understand some of the accents and contented himself with gazing around. Another group of men across the aisle on the opposite table were equally detached, and one of them was staring at Benstede's back with such venom that Corbett became alarmed. He leaned over the table and grasped Benstede's arm. 'The group behind you!' he whispered. 'The group behind me,' Benstede dourly interrupted, 'are French envoys with their leader, Armand de Craon. A small, dark, intense man with a beard and drooping moustache, who is probably looking at me as if he would like to put daggers in my back?' Corbett nodded. 'Good!' Benstede smiled. 'I sat deliberately with my back to him. De Craon can never resist an insult.' 'Why is he here?' Corbett asked. 'The same as us,' Benstede retorted. 'To watch the situation and report back to that stone-faced hypocritical bastard, Philip IV of France. Of course, there are other reasons.' Benstede looked round and leaned conspiratorially across the table. 'De Craon must be wondering what we are discussing. His master, Philip IV of France, would dearly love two things now Scotland has lost a strong king. First, to seek an alliance with the Scots and so divert our Liege Lord's justifiable pursuit of his claims over English lands in France. Secondly,' Benstede ran his finger round the rim of his wine cup. 'Secondly,
    Philip hopes Edward will lay claim to Scotland and so become immersed in a tangled and lengthy war.' 'And will he?' Corbett asked innocently. Benstede grimaced. 'No!' he replied. 'Edward of England will only eat what he can digest!'
    Corbett nodded and was going to pursue the matter further when suddenly a commotion at the far end of the table drew all eyes and silenced the clamour in the hall. Two young men, their sallow faces flushed with wine, were standing, knives in hand, each waiting for the other to lunge or parry. Corbett thought it was mere drunken bravado when one of them lunged across the table and uproar ensued as food, cups and flagons of wine and ale were sent sprawling. Guests rose from their seats, men pushing and shoving each other. Knives were drawn and it looked as if many ancient, long-held grudges were to be settled. Corbett pushed through the crowd to get away and stood with his back to a pillar. He never really understood what happened