Crown in Darkness

doubt if you could have murdered him. Anyway, we do know that on the day he was murdered you were some distance away from Edinburgh, but it was a good pretext to arrest and detain you should you attempt to complain to your masters in London!' Corbett sat and thought. Erceldoun was dead, that was significant, but he was too engrossed in what Wishart was saying to study the matter now. He was exhausted and wished to sleep. 'So,' he said wearily. 'What do you want from me?' 'Nothing yet,' Wishart replied. 'Except that I will not detain you in prison or expel you from Scodand, on one condition. You will tell me if you find it was murder and give me the name of the murderer. In return,' the Bishop straightened in his chair. 'I will give you every assistance. Sir James Selkirk,' he bowed at the knight beside Corbett, 'will assist you whenever you ask. What do you say, English Clerk?' Corbett tried to gather his wits. If he did not agree it would mean the end of his mission. If he accepted, then all it would mean was sharing some of his conclusions with Wishart. Corbett nodded. 'I accept your Lordship's offer but you must answer some questions first.' Wishart looked surprised but agreed. 'Certainly what questions?' 'You were at the Council meeting the night the King died?' Wishart nodded. 'Did you notice anything untoward? I do know the King's mood changed abruptly from one of moroseness to one of joy. Do you know why?' Wishart shook his head. 'No, I too noted the King's change in mood but dismissed it for King Alexander was an excitable, changeable man. The Council meeting was called for petty reasons. I believe Seton was responsible but your own Benstede can answer for that, he and Seton seemed close friends. All I remember is that the King and de Craon were talking excitedly together and that de Craon seemed pleased. The rest you must know.'
    Corbett stared at Wishart. He wanted to get away to think clearly. He knew why Wishart had him imprisoned then brought him here cold and tired: he hoped to ensnare him. Corbett suddenly grasped that the Bishop, like others, really believed he was here for other reasons and hoped to trap him into an admission. If not, then keep him busy searching for the murderer of Alexander III. Well, Corbett shrugged, he would continue in his task and then return to England. The succession to the Scottish throne was not his concern. Yet, there were still questions. 'In the days before his death,' he asked, 'did the King do anything out of character?' Wishart thought for a while and shook his head. 'No,' he replied. 'He was morose, ill-tempered. He was preparing to send his confessor, a Franciscan, Father John, to Rome on a certain private, personal mission which he did not discuss with me or the Council.' Corbett detected the air of injured pride in this priest who liked to know everything. 'Was Father John sent?' 'No,' Wishart replied. 'In fact, just before the King left for Kinghorn, he instructed me to order Father John not to go but stay at the castle till he returned. That is all.' Corbett rubbed his eyes wearily, feigning to be more exhausted than he really was. 'My Lord,' he said weakly. 'I really must sleep.' 'You are welcome to stay here,' Wishart replied. 'No. No. I must return to the Abbey. I would appreciate the protection of Sir James. Unfortunate accidents can happen to the unwary traveller.' 'True! True!' the Bishop exclaimed. 'It is dangerous to be imprudent. Sir James, if you would?' Selkirk nodded his consent and Corbett hurriedly took his leave of the Bishop.
    The journey back was a silent if an uneventful one. After waking the guestmaster by tolling the abbey gate bell, Corbett was greeted by an anxious Prior and a solicitous Ranulf. He refused to answer their questions but calmed their anxieties, dismissing Sir James as if he was a page-boy with a gentle tap on his cheek. During the next two days Corbett stayed in his cell, recuperating from the journey and forced imprisonment. He did not discuss his ordeal with Ranulf or the Prior, although he told them time and again that all was well and let them order his life, content to drift, think and reflect. He spent his time putting down on odd scraps of vellum his different thoughts on what he had learnt over the past few weeks. A pattern was emerging though it was vague and very ill-defined.
    On the third evening after his return from the castle, he suddenly announced that he was going back to Kinghorn. Ranulf groaned in protest