Crown in Darkness

walls, soft herb-strewn rushes on the floor with small, scented braziers placed around the walls. In the centre of the room was a woman sitting regally in a beautiful carved wooden chair, studying a piece of parchment in her lap. A group of ladies sat a fair distance away beneath the room's one and only window, ostensibly embroidering a piece of tapestry stretched across a stand.
    The captain went down on one knee and muttered an introduction in atrocious French. The woman in the chair looked up, stared at him and then Corbett. Queen Yolande was beautiful with a small oval face, her skin was a tawny gold, her nose small, the eyes large and darkened. Only her mouth, pert and rather pouting, marred the effect for she looked arrogant and rather spoilt. Her dress was black silk though Corbett noticed that it emphasised rather than hid her plump breasts and narrow waist, and the white fox-fur on the cuffs of her gown drew attention to her fine wrists and long, white, bejewelled fingers. She chattered to the captain in French, dismissed him and beckoned Corbett to a small stool in front of her. Corbett felt slightly ridiculous and heard subdued laughter from one of her ladies, a rather overblown red-head, likewise in black, who was in the centre of the group involved with the tapestry.
    The laughter was silenced by an imperious glance from Queen Yolande before she turned to question Corbett in French. He courteously replied, tactfully lying about his arrival in Scotland and explaining that he came with the personal condolences of the Lord Chancellor of England. Queen Yolande heard him out though she appeared to be only half listening. Gently, Corbett turned the conversation to the death of her husband. 'It is a pity, my Lady,' Corbett commented politely, 'that His Grace should have attempted that journey on such a wild night!' He bowed graciously towards her. 'I realise you are still in mourning and the subject is most painful to you, but the thought did occur to me as I made the same journey today.' The royal widow simply shrugged her elegant shoulders. 'His Grace was always impetuous!' she almost snapped. 'He should not have travelled in such rough weather. I could scarcely believe the message he sent earlier that day saying he would come!' 'His Grace told you that he was coming that night?' Corbett tentatively asked. 'When did he send such a message?' 'What business is it of yours?' Yolande snapped back, staring hard at Corbett. 'A messenger delivered a letter later that day. I don't know who brought it! I only remember because I immediately burnt it in exasperation!' Corbett smiled understandingly and gently diverted the conversation to other matters. He had asked enough questions and was sufficiently startled by Yolande to conceal his feelings behind the mask of diplomacy. He felt uneasy. Yolande was a royal widow; in a sense, her husband's passion for her had caused his death; yet Yolande seemed to resent, even hate her dead husband. Was this the woman, Corbett wondered, who had drawn King Alexander III of Scotland to gamble his life for her? Corbett could not pinpoint or express his reasons for the conclusions he drew but he felt the unease, something insubstantial, like a perfume emanating from this spoilt beautiful woman.
    Corbett allowed the now desultory conversation to continue before discreedy interrupting. 'Madam, my master and His Grace, King Edward, will be delighted with the news that you are "enceinte". A small consolation at this time of great sorrow…' Yolande almost smirked as she gently patted her stomach. 'I do not care for your King, Master Corbett, but, yes, I do care for a possible future King of Scotland!' Corbett heard a snort of laughter from the red-headed lady-in-waiting, but ignored it. Queen Yolande did not. She spun round, glared at the woman and turned back to extend her hand to Corbett as a sign that the audience was over. Corbett bent, kissed the Queen's cool white hand and withdrew, ignoring the brazen look of the lady-in-waiting who had brought his interview to such a sudden end.

THREE
    Outside the chamber, Corbett found the captain of the guard waiting for him, a little more relaxed now he realised that Corbett was acceptable to the Queen-Dowager. 'Are you intent on leaving this evening?' he asked, his English accent thick and guttural. 'Why?' Corbett smiled at him. 'Do I have a choice?' The soldier shrugged. 'You may stay and catch the ferry at first light when it crosses but that