Crown in Darkness

previous night, was more wary of Thomas: the evil he had experienced in that hut was nothing to take lightly. What had he learnt, he asked himself? There was something, petty but significant. He knew the red lion represented the House of Bruce but the blood? Was Bruce a regicide? Had he killed Alexander to get to the throne? Corbett turned to the silent Thomas. 'You saw the lion?' he asked. The poet nodded. 'I did,' he replied; 'and the cascading blood.' He looked sharply at Corbett. 'That does not make Bruce an assassin.' Thomas continued, 'You saw matters as they will be, not as they are. I saw other things after you fainted.' 'What things?' The poet closed his eyes and recited.
    Of Bruce's side a son shall come,
    From Carrick's bower to Scotland's throne:
    The Red Lion beareth he.
    The foe shall wear the Lion down
    A score of years but three.
    Till red of England blood shall run
    Burn of Bannock to the sea.
    'What does that mean?' Corbett testily asked. Thomas smiled. 'I do not know, but the red lion is not the Lord Bruce nor indeed his son, the Earl of Carrick but actually refers to Carrick's son, Bruce's grandson, a boy of twelve,' Thomas sniffed as if to say, 'Make of it what you wish.'
    They continued their journey, their conversation desultory as if each was aware of the tension which now separated them. They stopped at Melrose and arrived in Earlston the following morning. Corbett was pleased to see Ranulf, now bored with the simple delights of the countryside and just as eager as his master to leave and have done with it. Corbett courteously thanked his hosts and, gently brushing aside their invitations, insisted on leaving at once. They departed the same day, Corbett eager and anxious to be back in Edinburgh. He had learnt something valuable, though he still could not isolate it in his mind. The problem of the prophecies was solved albeit in a way he had scarce expected. After three days hard riding, Corbett and his party reached Edinburgh in the middle of a sudden summer thunderstorm which drenched them to the skin. Ranulf was sullen and angry at the pace Corbett set, forgetting his pleasure at travelling again in constant moans about his aching back and saddle-sore thighs. The lay brother was quiet, contenting himself with the dry comment that he had done enough penance to wipe a thousand years of purgatory from the debt his soul owed God.
    They were all pleased to enter the great gates of Holy Rood Abbey though Corbett sensed there was something wrong. A groom came out to take their horses and, when he saw Corbett, immediately ran off leaving all three of them standing in the pouring rain. He returned with the Prior and a young, red-haired man dressed in half-armour. The Prior's long face was white with anxiety. He nodded at Ranulf and the lay brother then turned to Corbett. 'I'm sorry, Hugh,' he said almost in a half-whisper, 'your servant can stay with us but you must accompany this knight.' He turned and gestured to his companion. 'This is Sir James Selkirk. He has been with us since yesterday. He comes from Bishop Wishart with a warrant for your arrest.' 'On what charge?' Corbett snapped. The Prior looked fearful and swallowed nervously before speaking. 'On treason and murder! Oh, Hugh,' he said. 'I do not doubt your innocence but you must go and clear your name.' Corbett nodded, too confused and tired to ask for details. It must be a mistake, he thought, and then remembered he was a lowly English clerk in a foreign land. He remembered the Lawnmarket, the black, stark gibbets, the criminal being pulled there and tried hard to control his shivering. In good, fluent English tinged with a broad Scots accent, Selkirk told him to mount his horse. Once he did, the man bound Corbett's hands tightly to the saddlebow and, passing the rope under the horse's belly, also secured his ankles. More men, about six, appeared; their horses were led out and saddled. Corbett could only shout at Ranulf to stay and do nothing before Selkirk took him at a canter out of the abbey.

TWELVE
    The journey was quick and bruising; Selkirk led them through the town, up the craggy rock and across the wooden drawbridge into Edinburgh Castle. Corbett, aching, soaking wet and nauseous from his rough ride was pulled off his horse and bundled along the side of the donjon keep. He tried protesting to Selkirk, who simply struck him across the mouth and pushed him through the metal-studded door. Corbett slipped and tripped as he was