Crown in Darkness

search-party to look for him.
    Patrick Seton, the King's squire and body-servant. He loved Alexander the King as a man loves a woman. He was jealous of Yolande and was the only person with the King when he died. I do wonder if the King's mad gallop through a storm-blown night finally unhinged his mind and so he caused the King's death and later died of a broken heart? I cannot understand why, after arriving at Kinghorn, he refused to wait up for his royal master and did not go looking for the King. Did he know his master was already dead?
    The French, too, gained great advantage from the death of Alexander. Their new king, Philip IV, is devoting all his energies and resources to building up alliances in Europe. Alexander, God knows for what reason, always spurned them; now he is gone, Philip can weave fresh webs, gain an ally with a knife at England's back. Perhaps he also hoped, and still does, that our Liege Lord, King Edward, will be drawn into Scottish affairs and so divert resources England might have used in protecting her possessions in Gascony.
    There is our sly, secretive Father in Christ, Bishop Wishart. A close adviser of the dead King, he now wields power because of that King's death. Why was he (and it must have been him) so quick in sending off horsemen early on the morning of 19th March to check on the King's safety? Did he already know something was wrong? Unfortunately I cannot question him or, as yet, the men he sent who actually discovered the King's corpse.
    Of course, and I hesitate to broach the matter, the English may have arranged Alexander Ill's death but to what advantage? There are other and better suspects. Edward is involved in France and I can see no profit for him in the death of an ally.
    Other problems obscure the issue; whoever killed Alexander must surely have got to the ferry first, crossed the Firth of Forth, knew the route the King was to take, carried out their plan and got away, hoping the King's companions would not discover this. And done all this in the blackness of night? The Good God knows I would dismiss the matter as fanciful and accept that the Scottish King died of an accidental fall from his horse except for what I found, those little shreds clinging to a thorn bush on Kinghorn Ness crying out "Murder" to the world. Even if there is an answer for these, other questions still remain beating like blood about my head. They can only be resolved at great danger to myself and so I beg you, my Lord, to order my withdrawal from this country for Satan walks here. It is a bubbling pot and soon it will boil and spill over, scalding and burning all who are near it. My life and that of Benstede are under threat from God knows whom, for people believe we are here on a secret mission connected with the succession to the Scottish throne. I beg you to keep this in mind. God save you. Written on 18th June 1286 at the Abbey of Holy Rood.'
    Corbett sat and studied the letter he had written.
    Darkness fell and he put the report away while he lay on his bed and considered its contents. There must be, he thought, some key, some crack in this mystery he could use to achieve an answer. He remembered the old adage from his studies, "If a problem exists then a logical solution must also exist. It is only a matter of time before you find it". If you find it, Corbett added bitterly to himself. He felt he was involved in some royal masque, a diversion, a play where he was one of the mummers, blundering around in the dark to the silent laughter of an audience who always stayed in the shadows. Hasty rides at midnight along windswept cliffs, a King falling into darkness, prophecies of doom. Corbett reconsidered the prophecies. Surely, if he could find this source then he might find a lot more? If the prophecies were innocent, then who was responsible and, more importantly, who ensured other people knew about them? Corbett tried to think back, unravelling the skein of information he had gathered. Someone had named the Prophet? Someone called Thomas? Thomas the Rhymer – Thomas of Learmouth. Corbett swung his legs off the bed and, with a tinder, lit the room's three large candles, took out Burnell's letter and sealed it. He decided it would go as it was written while he proceeded with other matters.
    The abbey bells rang for vespers but Corbett waited till he heard the monks returning from the chapel, before going down to join Ranulf in the whitewashed refectory. A plain meal of bread, soup and