Crown in Darkness

James, a stool for our guest!' Corbett sat while the Bishop poured him a cup of mulled, spiced wine; Selkirk sat alongside him, lounging in a chair. The Bishop began to tidy up the parchment rolls in front of him so Corbett, tired of the farce, rose and refilled his goblet. 'Your Lordship,' he snapped. 'You arrested me, imprisoned me, all without charge. I am clerk to the King's Bench of the royal court of England. I am also an accredited envoy of the English Chancellor.' Wishart smiled. 'Master Corbett,' he replied. 'I do not care if you are the King of England's brother. By what right do you travel round this realm questioning Scotsmen about the death of their sovereign? Who gave you that authority?' Corbett had dreaded this question, always knowing it would be asked. He shrugged to conceal his alarm. 'I am an envoy,' he answered. 'It is my task to collect information. Your envoys do the same in England.' Wishart smirked and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. 'You think our late King was murdered?' he asked. 'Yes, I do,' Corbett replied quickly. 'Yes, I believe he was murdered. I could lie, I could bluff, but what I told you is the truth. I know he was murdered but by whom or how, I could not say.' Wishart nodded and Corbett instinctively felt the strain lessen. 'Master Corbett,' the Bishop began. 'I believe His Grace was murdered and I really don't care!' He waved an admonitory finger at Corbett. 'Don't misunderstand me. Alexander was not the best of men, certainly not the ideal Christian knight but, as a king, he ruled Scotland well. He kept her free of foreign alliances, foreign wars, foreign involvement.' Wishart's voice became impassioned. 'The only thing I care for, Englishman, more than my family and my church, is Scotland. Alexander served her well but failed her by not producing an heir when he married that French hussy.' 'Queen Yolande is pregnant,' Corbett interrupted, intrigued by the Bishop's attitude. 'Queen Yolande,' Wishart emphasised, 'is not pregnant. That has been established; she will return to France and so dash any hope of a permanent alliance." 'But the Queen was pregnant?' Wishart shook his head. 'No. It was what the doctors call a false pregnancy, probably brought on by her husband's sudden death, feelings of guilt. God knows what!' 'And this alliance?' Corbett queried. Wishart smiled. 'You did not know? Alexander was intrigued by the new French King Philip and his schemes for Europe. Yolande de Dreux was the first step in sealing a new alliance with France.' Wishart shrugged. 'It was a secret. One I did not like but Alexander was headstrong. He never forgave your King for insulting him.' 'When?' asked Corbett, genuinely bewildered. 'In 1278,' Wishart replied. 'At Westminster when your King was crowned. Edward I righdy asked Alexander to do fealty for lands he held in England and Alexander agreed but then the English asked Alexander to do homage for Scotland. Our King refused, justly claiming he held his throne direct of God. Alexander never forgave Edward the insult.' 'I did not know this,' murmured Corbett. 'But you said you, too, believed King Alexander III was murdered!' 'No,' Wishart replied carefully. 'I said he might have been. His violent death was only a matter of course given the way he lived. But, if he was murdered, the important thing is not who did it but why. If it was a personal vendetta.' The Bishop paused and shrugged. 'But if it was a political act then it affects Scotland and excites my interest.' 'Your Lordship does not seem to care,' Corbett interjected. 'His Lordship,' Wishart replied, 'cares very much. But what can I do? Ask for a full, public investigation? And what happens if it turned out to be the Lord Bruce – eh? What then, Master Clerk? Civil War? No, that is not the way.' 'So,' Corbett added. 'You are interested in what I find. So, why the prison and,' Corbett turned to Selkirk, 'the ministrations of this thing!'
    Selkirk stiffened with anger and made to rise but Wishart waved a hand at him. 'Yes, Corbett, I am very interested in what you find. Sir James and the prison cell were simply a warning not to go too far, not to presume too much on our present weakness.' 'And the charge of murder?' Corbett asked quiedy. 'Oh,' the Bishop smiled. 'Thomas Erceldoun, the squire you so closely questioned on the night of our banquet. He was found garrotted in the church of St. Giles some seven days ago.' The Bishop stifled a yawn. 'He was a strong young man and I