Crown in Darkness

landed you at a secret place where you had horses already tethered and you rode through the night to the top of Kinghorn Ness. There, just where the plateau dips towards the beach, you fastened a rope and took your place across the path in some bushes. It must have been a long, cold and wet wait but eventually the King appeared.' 'This is nonsense!' interrupted Benstede. 'How was I to know that the King would come without an escort? How was I to see him in the dark? How could I distinguish him from any of his retinue?' 'Oh, that was quite simple,' replied Corbett. 'It would be dark on any March night on the top of Kinghorn Ness, that a violent storm was raging was an added advantage. As for the King's escort? You knew only too well Alexander's habits and ways. At the very utmost he would take two or even three men with him. One squire did actually pass the place, Patrick Seton, but his horse did not stumble across your trap because the rope lay slack upon the ground. When the King appeared, riding at breakneck speed, you or your servant, Aaron, jerked the rope up. The horse, galloping so quickly, simply stumbled and fell over the edge of the precipice taking the King with him.' Corbett took a deep breath and peered out of the cell's one and only narrow slit window. 'Of course,' Corbett continued, 'it would be easy for you to see the King. He was riding through the black night but his horse was white. You made sure that the horse the purveyor brought to the port of Inverkeithing was light-coloured.' 'And how did I manage that?' Benstede mocked. 'I have no authority to issue orders to members of King Alexander's household.' 'Oh, you are right,' Corbett retorted. 'But you used the other ferryman, Taggart, to take you across the Forth. He thought you were a Frenchman and you used this disguise to make preparations on the other side of the Firth. On the morning of the 18th March I know that Taggart took you, still posing as a Frenchman, across to Kinghorn, but no Frenchman arrived at the manor. Instead an anonymous courier delivered a message saying the King was preparing to come there and the purveyor was instructed to bring down the King's favourite white mare, Tamesin, to Inverkeithing.' 'But the letter!' Benstede interrupted. 'I could not forge that.' His voice trailed off as he realised his mistake. 'I never said anything about a letter,' Corbett quickly replied, 'but, yes, a letter was sent, a forgery, no real feat for a trained clerk. I suspect you or Aaron delivered it at the royal manor gate. Anyway,' Corbett continued, 'you ensured the white mare, Tamesin, was brought down. On such a mount the King would be an easy target against the dark sky. Once the King had fallen, you' unfastened the rope and slipped back to where your ferry was waiting for you. Taggart then rowed you back and, once his task was finished, you murdered him, the two of you together holding his head beneath the water until he drowned. After which, you beached and tied up his craft to look as if he had never left in the first place, and returned to Edinburgh. In the consequent confusion which broke out the following morning no one would notice your comings and goings.' Corbett noticed that Benstede was nervously biting his lower lip. 'There was no reason,' Corbett continued, 'for anyone to suspect you. You were probably elated at the news that Erceldoun had got lost in the storm but became alarmed when Seton began to mumble about shadows on Kinghorn Ness. Perhaps the young man had seen something? Perhaps he might recover and start asking questions or making statements? So you murdered him!' 'How,' Benstede almost shouted. 'How could I murder him? He never left his room! There was no mark of violence found upon his corpse!' 'You sent him presents,' replied Corbett, 'apples and a pair of gloves.' 'You are not saying that the food was poisoned, are you?' Benstede jibed. 'I know,' Corbett replied, 'the fruit was wholesome. Erceldoun probably ate more of the apples than Seton ever did. It was the gloves which were poisoned. You sent them as a gift but you are a doctor, Master Benstede. You told me so yourself. You know about herbs, poisons and their antidotes from your studies at Salerno in Italy. You simply had the gloves coated with a deadly poison, and waited for Seton to wear them.' 'A sick man!' screeched Benstede. 'Wearing gloves!' 'A bored, ill man,' replied Corbett. 'He would at least try them on. Handle them. You or your servant, Aaron,