Crown in Darkness

showed them a rough map drawn crudely on tough, brown vellum and with a stubby finger and guttural comments pointed out the coastline of Fife, the manor of Kinghorn and the possible place where the French could dock to pick up a party from the beach. 'What is he saying?' Corbett asked. Selkirk shrugged. 'There is no port at Kinghorn but there are a number of fishing villages and coves along the coast where Queen Yolande would go to wait for the ship. It is a question of simply following the coast down until we actually catch sight of the ship itself.' Selkirk looked up at the darkening sky. 'It will soon be night,' he commented, 'and we won't be able to see anything. The captain has promised to reach the coastline by early dawn and follow it down to the sea. It is our only hope.' Selkirk talked to the captain for a while in a language which he later explained was Erse, the tongue of the Isles, before taking Corbett back to the cabin.
    Corbett then spent what must have been one of the most miserable nights he had ever experienced. The captain gave him a bowl of cold stew which he could only swallow by gulping it down with wine. Selkirk threw him a cloak, telling the clerk to make himself as comfortable as possible and Corbett slept fitfully, waking once or twice to go up on deck to vomit his dinner into the sea amidst the jeering catcalls of the night watch. Eventually Corbett decided to stay there, leaning against the rail, watching the day break above him. The captain was true to his word. The ship reached the coastline just after sunrise and began to follow it in a south-easterly direction down to the sea. Their task was not as difficult as Corbett had thought. The crew hailed a fishing-skiff who gave them information that a French ship had been seen making its way up the Firth the previous day. After that, it was simply a matter of having a strong wind, the sailors climbing up and down the rigging, adjusting the sail to catch every breeze and puff of air while look-outs were posted high above the mast.
    The ship settled down to a monotonous routine until the cries of the look-outs brought Selkirk and the captain back onto the deck. The "Saint Andrew" nosed by a headland and into a small cove where a large two-masted galley was preparing to make sail. 'What shall we do now?' Corbett asked. 'Stop it!' Selkirk replied tersely. He ordered the captain to display the royal standard on the stern, just in case the French believed they were pirates, as the "Saint Andrew" began to run down alongside the galley. Selkirk, stationing himself on the fo'castle, hailed the ship in Scottish and French. At first he was greeted by shouts and catcalls and Corbett wondered if the galley would refuse to heave-to and continue in its dash for the open sea. He joined Selkirk on the poop and watched the figures on the French ship scurrying backwards and forwards on deck. 'De Craon is there,' Selkirk rasped and pointed to a figure at the centre of the galley just between the two masts. The two craft were now alongside, only yards apart on the bobbing water; the Scottish ship had loosened its sail while the oars of the galley were now clear of the sea. Selkirk hailed the French envoy by name, a more civilised conversation ensued, and the "Saint Andrew" was allowed to come alongside. Corbett and Selkirk, accompanied by four men-at-arms, clambered rather ungracefully down a rope-ladder and were bundled aboard with whispered curses by the French oarsmen. De Craon, accompanied by a number of soldiers dressed in half-armour, came up to greet them. 'Sir James Selkirk,' he said. 'Why such concern? What is the problem? Our master, King Philip IV, will not be pleased with the news that his ships cannot enter and leave the ports of Scotland without hindrance!' There is no hindrance!' Selkirk retorted. 'We simply wish to have a conversation with you and you have agreed. You know Master Corbett, the English envoy?' De Craon gave the sketchiest of bows. 'I think everyone knows Master Corbett!' he replied, 'with his eternal questions and his ability to stick his nose into matters which do not concern him. What is it this time, English Clerk?' 'His Grace, the Bishop of Glasgow,' Corbett replied, 'has asked me to request an audience with the Lady Yolande in order to clarify certain matters regarding the death of her late husband, King Alexander III of Scotland.' 'Certain matters!' de Craon snapped. 'I know your meddling, clerk! You came to Kinghorn and the