Crown in Darkness

Surely, you are more concerned with herbs, drugs and poison?' He watched the Prior's sallow face flush. 'I am sorry, Father,' Corbett grinned. 'I wanted to shock you. I am like the painter of that mosaic, the small pieces are falling into place and I need your help. Tell me, is there any herb which will make you see images and, at the same time, sharpen your memory?' He then outlined to the Prior his experience in Ettrick Forest when he visited the Pictish village. The Prior, solemn-faced, heard him out. 'There are,' he replied, 'certain plants which cut, distilled and treated, can turn a man's mind and raise phantasms in his soul; the deadly nightshade, the purple foxglove, above all the flowers of Hecate, Queen of the Night, the black hellebore. Buttered almonds, or even the chewed leaves of the laurel. All of these can excite the mind, bring back lost memories.' He looked sharply at Corbett, his tired, clever eyes searching the English clerk's face. 'But you mentioned poisons, Hugh,' he added calmly, 'and all the plants I have mentioned could kill a man, choke out his life like a breeze snuffs out a candle.'
    Corbett leaned forward and described what he had seen. The Prior questioned him closely and Corbett answered as accurately as he could. The Prior stopped speaking, thought and offered his conclusion. Corbett smiled slowly, the last stone was in place, the picture was complete and, in his mind's eye, he saw full and clear the face of the murderer of Erceldoun, Seton, the young man in his own retinue, the boatman and, above all, the regicide, the slayer of the Lord's anointed, King Alexander III of Scotland. Corbett asked the Prior one last favour, one more task, the monk agreed and slipped quietly out of the room.

SEVENTEEN
    Corbett was at the dawn Mass the next day. He knelt and watched the priest offer the white body of Christ, the host and chalice lifted high, asking the Lamb of God to take away the sins of the world. Corbett took the sacrament, wishing to draw on its strength to combat the evil he would encounter that day. After Mass, he sent a last envoy south with a verbal message to be delivered to no one except the Chancellor of England, Robert Burnell, Bishop of Bath and Wells. The Chancellor, Corbett insisted, would be at Tynemouth Priory. If he was not, then the messenger was to wait until he arrived. Corbett then gave certain instructions to the Prior and Selkirk's armed escort, still on guard outside the abbey gates, and went back to his small cell.
    Just before noon he heard voices in the passageway outside, leather boots rapping on the paved stones. There was a knock and Benstede walked in, smiling affably as he patted Corbett on the shoulder and stared around the bleak cell. 'Well,' Benstede said as soon as he had settled himself comfortably. 'You asked to see me?' Corbett nodded. 'I have found out who murdered King Alexander III, and how, but not the reason why.' For the first time since he had met him, Corbett saw genuine fear and shock in Benstede's face. The colour drained from his cheeks, the eyes lost their quizzical humorous look, his mouth sagged open. 'Who is it?' he whispered hoarsely. 'Why, Master Benstede,' Corbett replied. 'You know who it is. You are the murderer of Alexander III!' For a long while Benstede just sat and stared at Corbett. 'You cannot possibly…' he began and then gulped. 'You have no proof. You are simply putting the blame on me, when it should be laid at the door of de Craon and his group of assassins.' Corbett watched Benstede's hand edge closer to the knife he kept in his belt. 'Master Benstede!' he snapped. 'I suggest that you keep your hand well away from your dagger and attempt no violence, cry out or try to summon assistance from that evil shadow who goes everywhere with you. He is probably as guilty as you are of at least four murders in Scotland. Yes,' Corbett continued. 'You are correct on a number of matters. The proof I have is tenuous and even if I caught you red-handed, I doubt if any Scottish court would dare try you. I am simply telling you because I believe I should, justice demands it. It is also in your interest to sit and listen quietly to what I am going to say.' Corbett rose and walked about the cell as he talked. 'In 1278,' he began, 'Alexander III attended the coronation of our Sovereign Lord, King Edward of England. He was asked to pay homage for his lands in England, to which he quickly agreed but stoutly refused to perform fealty for