busy in Edinburgh asking many questions, poking your nose into matters that do not concern you. Here,' he pushed a cup of ale towards Corbett. 'Come. Drink this. Tell us about the real reason you are here.' 'Why don't you ask Benstede?' Corbett retorted. 'You have no right to detain me here. Neither the English nor the Scottish courts will be happy to hear that French envoys are detaining people at their whim!' De Craon shrugged, his hands extended in an expansive gesture. 'But, Monsieur Corbett, we are not detaining you. We have asked you here and you have accepted our invitation. You are free to come and go as you wish. But,' he continued smoothly, 'now that you are here, I know you are too curious to let the matter drop.' He sat back on his stool, his brown, beringed hands gently folded in his lap, staring at Corbett like some understanding elder brother or patronising uncle. Corbett moved the cup of ale back across the table. 'No, you tell me, Monsier de Craon, why you are here and why you wish to speak to me?' 'We are here,' de Craon began smoothly, 'to represent our master's interests and to establish a better relationship between King Philip IV and the Scottish throne. We were achieving considerable successes right up to the moment of the late King's sudden and unfortunate death in which you show a great deal of interest.' 'Yes, it does interest me,' Corbett replied tersely. 'I am a good clerk. I am here at the request of the English court and they, like Philip IV, are interested in any information we can send.' De Craon shook his head slowly in disbelief. 'All of that,' he replied, 'could be done by Benstede, so why are you here?' He wagged an admonitory finger to fend off any protest from Corbett. 'I believe that you are not really interested in Alexander Ill's fall from a cliff. There are other secret reasons. Perhaps an alliance with the Bruces or the Comyns? Perhaps you even bear a secret claim by King Edward himself to be ruler of Scotland!'
Corbett stared at de Craon in amazement. He suddenly realised that the French really did believe that he was here on a secret and delicate diplomatic mission on Edward I's behalf, that his interest in Alexander Ill's death was mere drapery, a trick to conceal his true task. The ridiculousness of the situation made him smile and, throwing his head back, he burst into peals of laughter. De Craon started forward, his face flushed with anger, and Corbett drew back, believing that de Craon was on the point of striking him. 'I didn't know you found us so amusing!' Corbett composed himself. 'I don't,' he replied sternly, 'and I did not find the incident last night entertaining or acceptable!' The Frenchman simply shrugged and glanced away. 'Moreover,' Corbett added, 'you seem to have answered your own questions. Are you, Monsieur de Craon, here too to make a secret alliance to take advantage of a kingdom without a king?' 'What do you mean?' de Craon snapped back. 'I mean,' Corbett said forcefully, 'that for two decades Alexander III ruled this country with little or no assistance from the French. Now he is dead with no strong heir. Is it not possible that French influence can be made to be felt once more? 'And what about your master?' de Craon almost shouted. 'You know that Bruce is a friend of his! 'What do you mean?' Corbett innocently enquired. 'I mean that Bruce, like Edward, went on crusade and that Bruce gave Edward every assistance in his civil war against the now dead Simon de Montfort. He fought at Lewes on Edward's behalf and at other battles. Bruce has a claim to the Scottish throne. Why should Edward now object to his old friend and comrade-in-arms seizing the Scottish crown?' Corbett rose from his stool and sent it flying back with a crash. He sensed de Craon's comrades behind him, tense, expectant, ready to act. 'Why not?' he asked sardonically. 'Why don't you ask Benstede these questions? I am sure he will give you satisfactory answers.' Corbett then turned on his heel and strode out of the room and made his way back up the alley. He tensed himself, ears straining, wondering if the French would pursue him and, when he safely reached the top of the alleyway, breathed a sigh of relief and continued on his way back to the Abbey of Holy Rood.
Eventually Corbett was free of the town and into the stretch of countryside which surrounded the abbey. The rain was falling more heavily. He pulled his cloak more firmly round his body and threaded his way through the trees. He was still on his guard, fearful of any pursuit by de Craon or his men. The trees on either side were dark and quiet, the only sound being the rustling of branches and the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the leaves. Then he heard a noise. He thought it was a twig breaking but then something jolted his memory. Corbett had heard such a sound many times during his war in Wales and, without thinking, threw himself on his face. He heard the sound again, followed by the whistle and thud of a crossbow bolt whirring overhead to slam into the nearest tree. Corbett waited no longer. He knew that the archer would have to load and winch his bow, so he rose and ran with all his force, clearing the trees, almost breathless as he stumbled up the muddy causeway leading to the main abbey gate. He made the mistake of turning round, stumbled and fell on one knee and then rose, sobbing in terror as he clawed his way to the main gate, hammering on it with all his might. The door opened and he staggered, almost fell, into the arms of the astonished lay brother. Corbett quickly regained his composure, gave the monk a hasty lie, and hurriedly made his way to the Prior's quarters. The chamber was empty so Corbett went straight to his room, threw himself down upon his cot and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
EIGHT
For the second time that day, Gorbett was shaken awake, an insistent voice calling his name. He opened his eyes and started as he recognised the white anxious face, staring green eyes and tousled hair of his servant, Ranulf, whom he had last seen in the infirmary of Tynemouth Priory. Gorbett shook himself awake. 'Ranulf! When did you arrive?' 'About an hour ago,' Ranulf replied, 'with my horse and a pack mule. I remembered your instruction to join you at the Abbey of Holy Rood. I have spent most of the day just finding my way here from the castle.' He looked Corbett up and down. 'Where have you been? You're covered in mud!' 'A long story,' Corbett testily replied. 'I will tell you later. For the time being, find the Prior and tell him that I am back and arrange for some hot water to be brought here.' Ranulf swiftly departed. His master, he thought, was as strange as ever, close, careful, even secretive and still intent on cleanliness. He wondered what had brought Corbett north; he had tried to find out all the way to Tynemouth but Corbett remained taciturn, so Ranulf became sullen. He owed his life to Corbett who had saved him from a choking death at Tyburn, yet Corbett was still mysterious; working constantly, his only pleasure being the flute, some manuscript or sitting quietly over a cup of wine brooding about life. Ranulf had cursed his departure from London away from the young wife of a London mercer. He felt a tightness in his groin and muttered foul oaths: she was a fine lady with her laces and bows and arrogant looks but, between the sheets, a different matter, soft and pleading, turning and twisting beneath him. Ranulf sighed heavily, a long way from this dour monastery and his secretive master.
Corbett was, in fact, very pleased to see Ranulf again. He would not admit it but he felt secure with Ranulf who would guard his back. Corbett was completely mystified by his servant's energy and zest for life and passionate attachment to any woman who arched an eyebrow at him. But Ranulf was here and while Corbett bathed and changed his clothing, he wondered how Ranulf could protect him from the secret assassins now stalking him. The attack in the forest was attempted murder and he now drew the same conclusion about the dagger thrown at him the previous day.
Corbett spent the rest of the evening analysing what he knew and had learnt but soon realised that he had been drawn into a maze of marshy morass and the more he probed, the more puzzled he became. He did not talk to Ranulf about the problem but listened with half an ear to the young man's description of his stay at Tynemouth as he wondered what to do next. Corbett felt inclined to draw up a report for Burnell. This would at least enumerate the problems he now faced, and acquaint the Chancellor about his complete lack of progress. He finally decided against this. So far he had only spoken to minor figures of the tragedy which befell Alexander III at Kinghorn. Benstede and de Craon could give little information. Perhaps the great ones of the land knew something different and should be approached. Moreover, Corbett realised that if de Craon knew he was asking questions it was only a matter of time before the Council of Guardians intervened and either put a stop to his activities or expelled him from the country. He therefore had to work quickly and collect some information to take back to Burnell in London.
After Compline, the last service of the day, Corbett approached the Prior and asked him where he could meet Robert Bruce. The Prior, no man's fool, stared hard at Corbett and shook his head in warning. 'Be very careful, Master Clerk. I suspect what you are involved in. I have heard vague rumours, comments, court gossip. These are troubled times and you have decided to fish in very dangerous and deep waters.' Corbett shrugged. 'I have no choice,' he replied. 'Each of us has his tasks, I have mine. I do not know what you have heard and I will not ask. I do no man any harm and perhaps may achieve a great good. That is why I wish to see the Lord Bruce.' The Prior sighed. 'Normally the Bruces are in their mountain castle across the country on the River Clyde but, because of the late King's death, Bruce stays near Edinburgh. After all,' the Prior continued sardonically, 'he has no desire to see the cake taken while his back is turned. Rumour has it that he has taken up residence in the port of Leith, near
