Crown in Darkness

huge hanging bowl was placed, made of beaten copper decorated around the rim with birds pecking at ornamental roundels, dogs' heads, and a variety of animals, all lifelike in careful, exquisite craftsmanship. The bowl was filled with water and the old man, chanting softly to himself, poured powder into it from small leather pouches. The leader rose and brought Corbett a cup and, making signs, urged Corbett to drink the creamy goats' milk laced with something acrid which burnt his mouth and the back of his throat.
    The old man continued to chant and Corbett suddenly felt more relaxed. The old man's wizened face lost its folds and wrinkles, the eyes firmed, clear blue in their trance-like stare. Corbett looked away and gazed around; the room had grown larger; he turned and saw Thomas smiling at him as if through a haze. 'Look into the bowl, Hugh, see what you like!' Corbett stared down into the water. A face rushed up to meet him, clear and lifelike; he stared into the sweet round face of his long-dead wife. He went to touch the water but someone grabbed his hand. Next his child appeared, then others long dead. Alice, black hair flowing around her beautiful face: other images arose clear and bright in all their colours. Corbett forgot about those around him so intent was he on watching the water. 'The King's Grace,' he muttered. 'Kinghorn!' The water cleared and another image appeared, a horse and rider, falling slowly from the edge of rocks. The horse was white, the rider cloaked, but his red hair streamed out against the darkness as he fell, open-mouthed, eyes staring into the black void.
    Corbett felt a bitter taste at the back of his mouth and struggled to reassert himself, impose order on the chaos surrounding him. He looked up; the old wizened face was gone, instead the man was young, sharp-eyed, with long black hair falling to his shoulders. Corbett peered. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'My name is Darkness,' the man replied, the voice low, pleasant and perfectly understandable. Corbett gazed into the eyes and sensed something evil; whatever Thomas said, there was a malevolence here. These small, dark people were not just primitive tribesmen but held something old, ancient and evil. Corbett tried to assert himself once more. Logic. Reason. These were needed here. His task, he thought impatiently; Burnell would be waiting. There were problems but no solutions. He thought of Cicero. 'Cui bono?' he asked. 'Who profits from the King's death?' 'Look into the bowl, Clerk,' the voice was deeper, almost snapping, as if the speaker sensed Corbett's inner conflict. Corbett looked again into the clear water. A creature appeared, a lion, red and huge, bounding up the narrow winding streets of Edinburgh, splashing through rivers of blood which poured from the castle. The lion turned, jaws slavering, eyes ablaze with fury and Corbett flinched as it came towards him, belly crouched, its tail twitching, its hind legs tense, then it sprang. Corbett looked up and tried to rise, the skulls in the cross-beam of the house opened their mouths and bellowed with laughter. He saw de Craon sitting in that dirty, miserable ale-house. Aaron, Benstede's man, glaring at him through the crowd at the banquet in the castle while Benstede looked reproachfully at him. Corbett knew he had to leave but the room was spinning around him and he fell gratefully into the gathering blackness.
    When he awoke, he was lying on grass in the open air. He blinked and stretched, feeling relaxed and contented after a good night's sleep, although there was a bitterness at the back of his throat. He remembered the hut, the bowl of water and the terrifying visions of the night. He sat up and looked around; he was in open grassland, the horses were hobbled. Thomas was sitting, looking thoughtfully at him, a blade of grass between his teeth. Corbett turned and saw the edge of the forest behind them. 'You feel well, Hugh?' Thomas asked. Corbett nodded. 'But where are we? The village! The forest! Where are we?' Corbett asked in puzzlement. 'We left them,' Thomas said. 'That was yesterday. You slept the whole night. This morning I put you on your horse and we left.' Corbett nodded, rose and moved away; he emptied his bladder and went to a nearby stream to bathe his hands and face in the cold clear water. They tended to their horses and ate the flat, tasteless biscuits Thomas had brought with him before beginning their ride back. Corbett, remembering all he had seen the