Crown in Darkness

to the point!' Corbett sensed the Bishop was tense, anxious, even frightened. 'My Lord,' he said. 'Did the late King ever discuss his marriage with you?' 'No,' the Bishop was emphatic. 'His Highness was, er, loath to discuss such matters with me.' 'With anyone then?' 'Not to my knowledge. The King kept personal matters to himself.' 'Were the French envoys an exception, particularly in the days preceding his death?' Corbett persisted with his questioning. 'Yes,' the Bishop replied slowly, trying to create time to think. 'But this is not an English trial, Master Corbett. So, why the pert questions? Am I before a court?' 'My Lord,' Corbett genuinely apologised. 'I did not intend to give offence but I can see an end to this matter. I will inform you of it but I am impatient.' Corbett paused before continuing. 'Well, were the French envoys privy to the King's secrets?' The Bishop picked up a long thin parchment-knife and balanced it in a vein-streaked, brown-spotted hand. 'Alexander was a good king,' he replied cautiously. 'He kept Scotland peaceful, but, as a man, he was ruled by his codpiece. When his children died, he dallied, did not enter into a marriage contract but then agreed to marry the Princess Yolande. At first, matters went well. The kingdom hoped for an heir but the King became surly, angry and withdrawn; he shunned the French envoys but, yes, in the days preceding, even the day before his death, he was closeted with them.'
    Wishart squirmed in his seat, angry and impatient at the impertinent questions of this English clerk. He would have liked to order him from the kingdom, send him trussed across the border with a curt note to his arrogant king. The Bishop looked at the white, lean-faced clerk. There were many things he would have liked to have done but he needed this man, who, with a combination of chance and logic, could reach the truths which might affect the realm.
    Wishart leaned forward and fished amongst the pieces of parchment on his table, took up a thin scroll and tossed it to Corbett. 'You asked for this,' he commented, 'or rather the man you sent demanding an audience asked for it.' Corbett nodded muttering his thanks and carefully unrolled it. The parchment was merely a list drawn up in a clerkly hand describing the effects and property of one "Patrick Seton Esquire". Corbett studied the list intently, grunted with pleasure, handed it back to Wishart and rose. 'My Lord,' he said, 'thank you for your time and assistance. I would like to ask one more question of Sir James Selkirk?' Wishart shrugged. 'Ask it!' he replied. 'I believe,' began Corbett, turning to Selkirk, 'that you were sent by Bishop Wishart early on the morning of 19th March to ensure that all was well with the King. You took the ferry at Dalmeny and then used the horses from the royal stables at Aberdour to journey to Kinghorn, and it was then you found the King's body lying on the beach?' The knight grunted. 'Yes,' he replied. 'That is what happened. There is nothing extraordinary in that, is there?' 'Oh, but there is,' Corbett said smoothly. 'Was it common practice for you to journey after the King to ensure all was well. And, if you were riding along the cliffs at Kinghorn, how on earth did you see the King's corpse lying on the rocks below?' Selkirk grasped Corbett hard by the wrist. 'I do not like you, English Clerk,' he muttered menacingly. 'I do not like your arrogance and your questions, and if I had my way I would arrange an accident or have you thrown into some deep dungeon until everyone had forgotten about you!' 'Selkirk,' Wishart snapped. 'You forget yourself! You know there is an answer to the clerk's questions, so why not give it!' Selkirk released his grip on Corbett and fell back in his chair. 'It was common practice,' he commented, 'for Alexander III to ride like a demon around his kingdom. This was not the first time and, if he had survived, certainly would not have been the last. The King was constantly on the move. It was almost as if there was a devil inside him. He could not rest. His Grace the Bishop,' he nodded towards his patron, 'often sent me after the King to ensure that all was well. On a number of occasions I found members of the royal household resting. Their horses blown and they themselves suffering some injury. I expected no different when his Lordship sent me out on the morning of the 19th. Accompanied by two men-at-arms, I crossed the Forth at Dalmeny and took horses from the royal stable at