Crown in Darkness

is your decision.' 'Then thank you,' Corbett courteously replied, 'I will stay. But tell me,' he added. 'Who is the red-headed lady-in-waiting to the Queen? She seemed a brazen hussy!' Now the soldier smiled, a yellow-toothed grin cracking the severity of his face. 'You mean Agnes Lennox?' he jibed. 'You're right. A brazen hussy indeed. There is no love lost between her and the Queen. Why?' 'Nothing,' Corbett muttered. 'But, look. Were you on duty the night the King died?' 'Of course. Though I never stirred from here. News of his death was brought by a messenger.' 'The same messenger,' Corbett interjected, 'who brought you news that the King intended to travel to Kinghorn?' 'Whish, no, man,' the soldier replied. 'That was simply a letter delivered at the gate just before dusk. God knows who brought it. You had best ask the purveyor that question.' Corbett felt his heart quicken. 'The same purveyor who greeted the King when he landed from the ferry?' 'Oh, aye,' the soldier replied. 'Alexander, he has the same name as the late king. Why do you ask?' he narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Corbett. 'You ask a lot of questions, Master Clerk, from England!' Corbett smiled. 'I am sorry,' he apologised. 'But the English court were so shocked by the death of your king they could scarcely believe it. My masters expect me to be hunting for news.' The soldier relaxed and tapped Corbett patronisingly on the shoulder. 'Yes, I know. We are all under orders. I can scarcely believe the King is dead and think it just a rumour. But, come, I will introduce you to Alexander, he's told his story many times. I vow he'd love to tell it again.'
    Corbett followed the captain down the winding stone staircase and into the main hall. In happier, better times it may have looked princely, even regal, with the raised dais at the far end under a huge tapestry emblazoned with the royal insignia of Scotland. Now it was dingy. The rushes on the floor were none too clean: hungry wolf-hounds foraged amongst them for bits of food and Corbett heard the squeak and scamper of rats. The trestle tables down each side were stained with wine and strewn with the stale remains of various meals. On the walls, the cresset torches, untended, spluttered fiercely in their sconces and Corbett realised that the retainers were taking full advantage of a dead king and his lonely, isolated widow. At the end of one table sat a group of men surrounded by cups and flagons, rolling a set of dice amidst curses and shouts. The captain took Corbett by the sleeve, led him over to them and tapped one of the players on the shoulder. 'Alexander,' he taunted. 'Here's a man who would like to hear your story!' Alexander turned, a long, horsy face, bulbous blue eyes and wet slack mouth beneath a shock of black hair. 'I'm at dice!' he grumbled and glared angrily at Corbett. 'I know,' the English clerk sweetly replied, 'but,' and he jingled the coins in his purse. 'I can make up your undoubted losses!' Alexander was too far gone in his cups to detect the sarcasm but he looked at Corbett, licked his lips greedily and, snatching up a brimming cup, lurched to his feet and gestured Corbett to follow him to the far end of the room. The captain of the guard nodded at Corbett to follow and promptly occupied the gambler's vacant seat. 'Oh,' he shouted after Corbett. 'When he's finished his tale, just bed down here in the hall. I will bring you a cloak, it is not much, but warmer and more comfortable than a night on the cliff tops!' Corbett nodded, smiled his thanks and went over to where Alexander now slouched in a half-drunken stupor.
    Corbett introduced himself, giving the same reason for his curiosity as he had earlier. Alexander was too drunk to care and Corbett had to listen carefully to understand the man's drunken, slurred speech. Like himself, Alexander was a clerk who served the King, even following him to England when the late Scottish King had gone south to attend the coronation of Edward I. Corbett let him ramble on while the gambling group broke up amidst loud shouts and farewells, and a harassed servant brought Corbett a cloak. Then the English clerk gently asked the befuddled Alexander his questions, though he learnt nothing new. On the day the King died, just before dusk, an unknown messenger had delivered a letter at the gate. This was taken direct to Queen Yolande who had summoned Alexander and told him to take the King's favourite horse, a white mare stabled at Kinghorn, down to