enough to Edinburgh but, should matters go wrong, the best place for his departure by land or sea. Nevertheless, I will check to see if this is correct and inform you tomorrow.'
The next morning when the bells of the abbey tolled for Prime, the first prayer of the monastic day, Corbett was up, dressed and gently kicked a sleepy, grunting Ranulf awake. They joined the long silent line of monks filing into the church. Corbett sang the psalms with them, feeling a great deal of the tension within him dissipate with the monotonous, harmonious chant. Ranulf sat slumped in the bench beside him, groaning and muttering at his master. after the service was over, they broke their fast in the small whitewashed refectory before approaching the Prior who confirmed his speculation of the previous evening that the Lord Bruce and his entourage had taken up residence in the port of Leith. Corbett and Ranulf immediately took their leave and were through the abbey gates travelling north to Leith just as the sun rose. They made fair progress. Corbett felt refreshed though still wary, pleased that the previous day's rainclouds had now disappeared and hoping that the Lord Bruce was still in Leith and would grant him an audience. They skirted the city, threading their way through the still-silent streets and, following the Prior's careful directions, soon found themselves on the broad beaten approach to the port of Leith. This was busy with carts and pack-horses making their way into Edinburgh, bringing in the products from both port and countryside to be sold at the markets. Wagon-loads of fish, fruit, salted meat, English wool and Flemish velvets, each wagon jostling for a place on the rutted track. The drivers, flushed and cursing, each trying to be the first into the city and to have their wares ready for sale before the city came to life.
Corbett rode quietly between them, keeping a wary eye on Ranulf who, after staring round-eyed at everything, began to mimic the strange accents, and drew dark looks from a number of passers-by. Corbett urged him to keep quiet and was more than relieved when they entered the narrow, winding, rutted streets of Leith and made their way to the small market square. Here Corbett began to question any respectable citizen on the whereabouts of the Lord Bruce's household and described to Ranulf the insignia of Bruce's retinue in the hope that his sharp-eyed servant might discover.someone wearing this livery. Neither seemed able to elicit any information. Many of the townsfolk could not understand them and Ranulf, particularly, found it difficult to cope with the broad flow of Scottish his questions provoked. They drew a small crowd of bystanders who, finding they were English, began to mutter and curse. Corbett realised that this was Leith, a Scottish port, whose ships were often in conflict with English vessels. He had forgotten this unofficial war and damned his own foolhardiness at not taking the matter into account.
At last they decided to withdraw from the square and were on the point of departure when they were suddenly surrounded by a group of tough-looking soldiers, helmeted and armed. Their leader grabbed the bridle of Corbett's horse and asked him a question he could not understand. The man repeated it, this time in atrocious French. Corbett nodded. Yes, he announced, he was an English clerk. He bore greetings from the Chancellor of England to the Lord Bruce and sought an audience with him. The man's wolfish face broke into a grin, displaying a set of decay-blackened teeth. 'Oh well,' he replied in French. 'If an English clerk wants to see the Lord Bruce, then that can be arranged.' He slipped a hand beneath Corbett's cloak and deftly drew out the clerk's knife which he stuck into his own sturdy leather-studded belt, and almost dragged the horse across the market-place. The rest of his party brought up the rear, baiting and goading Ranulf, who gave as good as he got with a stream of obscene English oaths. They left the marketplace for a maze of streets and eventually came to a large stone two-storeyed house with a timbered roof, its exquisite carved eaves jutting out over a small courtyard beneath. Both Corbett and Ranulf were dragged unceremoniously off their horses and pushed through the main door of the house and down a passageway which led into the main room or hall.
Corbett realised it must be some wealthy merchant's dwelling which Bruce had either commandeered or rented. It was clean, there were carpets on the floor, a tapestry on the far end wall with spring green boughs around the room to give a pleasant odour. There was even a fireplace set in the wall and, seated at the head of a long polished table, was the Lord Bruce. He was eating a mess of pottage and taking deep gulps of wine from a large ornamental cup.
He did not bother to look up when Corbett and Ranulf were ushered in but made a gesture for them to sit on the bench alongside the table while he continued noisily with his meal. At last he finished, gave a loud belch and wiped his greasy fingers and mouth on the hem of his ermine-lined cloak. The guard who had brought them went up beside the chair, knelt and spoke quietly to Bruce in a language Corbett could not understand and guessed that it was probably Gaelic, a language totally alien to him. He felt afraid, for Bruce, despite having passed the biblical age of three score years and ten, had a reputation as a ferocious warrior. A man of vaulting ambitions with the talents to match, passionately devoted to his house and ambitious for his favourite grandson, the twelve-year-old Robert, making no secret now that Alexander III was dead that the House of Bruce had the best claim to the Scottish throne. His appearance only enhanced his reputation, a leonine head, steel-grey hair, sharp, shrewd eyes. A cruel predatory face. No fool. A man who did not care about the consequences of his actions.
The soldier eventually stopped talking. Bruce nodded and gestured at him to withdraw and turned to Corbett. 'So, Master English Clerk,' he spoke slowly. 'You wish to see me? Why?' Bruce peered closer. 'I saw you the other evening,' he said. 'At the banquet in the castle. You were with that cold-eyed English envoy, Benstede, were you not?' Corbett nodded and opened his mouth to speak but Bruce brushed him aside with a peremptory wave of his hand. 'I do not like people coming to see me unannounced,' he explained. 'I am not some petty chieftain with time on his hands to exchange chatter and gossip. Moreover, I don't trust English clerks who go around asking questions as if Scotland was another English shire. So I will ask you once again, Master Clerk, what are you doing here?' 'My Lord,' Corbett began nervously, 'may I present the compliments and affectionate greetings of my master, Robert Burnell, Chancellor of England and Bishop of Bath and Wells.' 'Nonsense,' Bruce barked in reply. 'I knew Burnell when I was in England. I did not like him then and he did not like me. The passing of the years has done little to improve the situation. So, Master Clerk, what now?'
Corbett smiled. 'I see I cannot bluff you, my Lord. The truth is that I was sent to Scotland to find out what happened, is happening and might happen.' He looked hard at Bruce, summoning up enough false honesty to cover his lies. 'You must realise that, my Lord. You have served with King Edward, you know his mind.' 'Yes,' Bruce replied. 'I know his crafty mind. He is a lion in war but a panther in fickleness and inconstancy, changing his word and promise, cloaking himself in pleasant speech. When cornered he promises whatever you wish but, as soon as he escapes, he forgets his promise. The treachery and falsehood he uses to advance his cause he calls prudence, and the path by which he attains his ends, however crooked, he calls straight, whatever he says is lawful.' Bruce stopped, his chest heaving angrily, to wipe the spittle from his mouth. Corbett just sat quiet. Bruce glared at him. 'Have you ever heard this, Master Clerk?' and he immediately launched into poetry, quoting an old Scottish prophecy about England:
Edward of England has leopards three Let Scots keep all in sight, While two in front, their smile you see, The one to the rear can fight.
Corbett smiled wanly. Bruce was now in a foul temper and very dangerous. 'I am sure the verse has some truth in it, my Lord,' he replied. 'But what can I say? Alexander III of Scotland has left us as an heir a three-year-old Norwegian princess. In England,' Corbett hurried on, 'we are still confused about the late King's death.' 'Nonsense,' Bruce replied. 'The late King was notorious for his mad rides at dusk to tumble any girl above the age of twelve.' 'In England, sir,' Corbett replied tartly, 'they say he was drunk, but you were at the Council that evening. As you are the leading peer of the realm, surely you know the truth!' 'Aye, I was there!' Bruce answered. 'The King was not drunk.' 'Perhaps the King was upset by the business of the Council?' Corbett persisted with his questioning. 'Nothing!' Bruce barked. 'Nothing of import. I wondered why it was called, just to discuss some Galloway baron imprisoned in England. There were petitions drafted for his release. Only the Good Christ knows why we met for that. The King arrived sullen but then something happened. I don't know what but suddenly he was like a child with a new toy. He was merry, drank deeply and said he was off to Kinghorn. And so he went. Why do you ask that? Benstede was there. He must have told you.' Bruce stopped and pursed his lips. 'Mind you, Benstede left much earlier. So perhaps he was not aware of the King's departure.' 'Were the French envoys there, my Lord?'
'Yes, de Craon, fawning and pleasant, urging the King to go to Kinghorn 'pour l'amour'. The stupid bastard! Of course, he denied it all later. So, Master Clerk, our King is dead and whom will your King support?' 'His Grace, King Edward,' Corbett replied slowly, 'will respect the wishes of the community of Scotland.' 'A pity,' Bruce murmured so quietly that Corbett could hardly hear him. 'I always thought that if Alexander died without an heir, Edward would support the house of Bruce!' He stopped speaking and gazed hard at Corbett and then continued quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. 'I fought in the Holy Land for the Cross, and in England for Edward against the rebels; I have founded monasteries, supported Holy Mother Church so God would exalt my family. I watched Alexander
