refilled his goblet. 'Your Lordship,' he snapped. 'You arrested me, imprisoned me, all without charge. I am clerk to the King's Bench of the royal court of England. I am also an accredited envoy of the English Chancellor.' Wishart smiled. 'Master Corbett,' he replied. 'I do not care if you are the King of England's brother. By what right do you travel round this realm questioning Scotsmen about the death of their sovereign? Who gave you that authority?' Corbett had dreaded this question, always knowing it would be asked. He shrugged to conceal his alarm. 'I am an envoy,' he answered. 'It is my task to collect information. Your envoys do the same in England.' Wishart smirked and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. 'You think our late King was murdered?' he asked. 'Yes, I do,' Corbett replied quickly. 'Yes, I believe he was murdered. I could lie, I could bluff, but what I told you is the truth. I know he was murdered but by whom or how, I could not say.' Wishart nodded and Corbett instinctively felt the strain lessen. 'Master Corbett,' the Bishop began. 'I believe His Grace was murdered and I really don't care!' He waved an admonitory finger at Corbett. 'Don't misunderstand me. Alexander was not the best of men, certainly not the ideal Christian knight but, as a king, he ruled Scotland well. He kept her free of foreign alliances, foreign wars, foreign involvement.' Wishart's voice became impassioned. 'The only thing I care for, Englishman, more than my family and my church, is Scotland. Alexander served her well but failed her by not producing an heir when he married that French hussy.' 'Queen Yolande is pregnant,' Corbett interrupted, intrigued by the Bishop's attitude. 'Queen Yolande,' Wishart emphasised, 'is not pregnant. That has been established; she will return to France and so dash any hope of a permanent alliance.' 'But the Queen was pregnant?' Wishart shook his head. 'No. It was what the doctors call a false pregnancy, probably brought on by her husband's sudden death, feelings of guilt. God knows what!' 'And this alliance?' Corbett queried. Wishart smiled. 'You did not know? Alexander was intrigued by the new French King Philip and his schemes for Europe. Yolande de Dreux was the first step in sealing a new alliance with France.' Wishart shrugged. 'It was a secret. One I did not like but Alexander was headstrong. He never forgave your King for insulting him.' 'When?' asked Corbett, genuinely bewildered. 'In 1278,' Wishart replied. 'At Westminster when your King was crowned. Edward I righdy asked Alexander to do fealty for lands he held in England and Alexander agreed but then the English asked Alexander to do homage for Scotland. Our King refused, justly claiming he held his throne direct of God. Alexander never forgave Edward the insult.' 'I did not know this,' murmured Corbett. 'But you said you, too, believed King Alexander III was murdered!' 'No,' Wishart replied carefully. 'I said he might have been. His violent death was only a matter of course given the way he lived. But, if he was murdered, the important thing is not who did it but why. If it was a personal vendetta.' The Bishop paused and shrugged. 'But if it was a political act then it affects Scotland and excites my interest.' 'Your Lordship does not seem to care,' Corbett interjected. 'His Lordship,' Wishart replied, 'cares very much. But what can I do? Ask for a full, public investigation? And what happens if it turned out to be the Lord Bruce – eh? What then, Master Clerk? Civil War? No, that is not the way.' 'So,' Corbett added. 'You are interested in what I find. So, why the prison and,' Corbett turned to Selkirk, 'the ministrations of this thing!'
Selkirk stiffened with anger and made to rise but Wishart waved a hand at him. 'Yes, Corbett, I am very interested in what you find. Sir James and the prison cell were simply a warning not to go too far, not to presume too much on our present weakness.' 'And the charge of murder?' Corbett asked quiedy. 'Oh,' the Bishop smiled. 'Thomas Erceldoun, the squire you so closely questioned on the night of our banquet. He was found garrotted in the church of St. Giles some seven days ago.' The Bishop stifled a yawn. 'He was a strong young man and I doubt if you could have murdered him. Anyway, we do know that on the day he was murdered you were some distance away from Edinburgh, but it was a good pretext to arrest and detain you should you attempt to complain to your masters in London!' Corbett sat and thought. Erceldoun was dead, that was significant, but he was too engrossed in what Wishart was saying to study the matter now. He was exhausted and wished to sleep. 'So,' he said wearily. 'What do you want from me?' 'Nothing yet,' Wishart replied. 'Except that I will not detain you in prison or expel you from Scodand, on one condition. You will tell me if you find it was murder and give me the name of the murderer. In return,' the Bishop straightened in his chair. 'I will give you every assistance. Sir James Selkirk,' he bowed at the knight beside Corbett, 'will assist you whenever you ask. What do you say, English Clerk?' Corbett tried to gather his wits. If he did not agree it would mean the end of his mission. If he accepted, then all it would mean was sharing some of his conclusions with Wishart. Corbett nodded. 'I accept your Lordship's offer but you must answer some questions first.' Wishart looked surprised but agreed. 'Certainly what questions?' 'You were at the Council meeting the night the King died?' Wishart nodded. 'Did you notice anything untoward? I do know the King's mood changed abruptly from one of moroseness to one of joy. Do you know why?' Wishart shook his head. 'No, I too noted the King's change in mood but dismissed it for King Alexander was an excitable, changeable man. The Council meeting was called for petty reasons. I believe Seton was responsible but your own Benstede can answer for that, he and Seton seemed close friends. All I remember is that the King and de Craon were talking excitedly together and that de Craon seemed pleased. The rest you must know.'
Corbett stared at Wishart. He wanted to get away to think clearly. He knew why Wishart had him imprisoned then brought him here cold and tired: he hoped to ensnare him. Corbett suddenly grasped that the Bishop, like others, really believed he was here for other reasons and hoped to trap him into an admission. If not, then keep him busy searching for the murderer of Alexander III. Well, Corbett shrugged, he would continue in his task and then return to England. The succession to the Scottish throne was not his concern. Yet, there were still questions. 'In the days before his death,' he asked, 'did the King do anything out of character?' Wishart thought for a while and shook his head. 'No,' he replied. 'He was morose, ill-tempered. He was preparing to send his confessor, a Franciscan, Father John, to Rome on a certain private, personal mission which he did not discuss with me or the Council.' Corbett detected the air of injured pride in this priest who liked to know everything. 'Was Father John sent?' 'No,' Wishart replied. 'In fact, just before the King left for Kinghorn, he instructed me to order Father John not to go but stay at the castle till he returned. That is all.' Corbett rubbed his eyes wearily, feigning to be more exhausted than he really was. 'My Lord,' he said weakly. 'I really must sleep.' 'You are welcome to stay here,' Wishart replied. 'No. No. I must return to the Abbey. I would appreciate the protection of Sir James. Unfortunate accidents can happen to the unwary traveller.' 'True! True!' the Bishop exclaimed. 'It is dangerous to be imprudent. Sir James, if you would?' Selkirk nodded his consent and Corbett hurriedly took his leave of the Bishop.
The journey back was a silent if an uneventful one. After waking the guestmaster by tolling the abbey gate bell, Corbett was greeted by an anxious Prior and a solicitous Ranulf. He refused to answer their questions but calmed their anxieties, dismissing Sir James as if he was a page-boy with a gentle tap on his cheek. During the next two days Corbett stayed in his cell, recuperating from the journey and forced imprisonment. He did not discuss his ordeal with Ranulf or the Prior, although he told them time and again that all was well and let them order his life, content to drift, think and reflect. He spent his time putting down on odd scraps of vellum his different thoughts on what he had learnt over the past few weeks. A pattern was emerging though it was vague and very ill-defined.
On the third evening after his return from the castle, he suddenly announced that he was going back to Kinghorn. Ranulf groaned in protest but Corbett, fully recovered, insisted that his servant pack and make the necessary preparations. He also instructed the two remaining messengers whom Burnell had sent with them, to accompany him fully-armed. He bought provisions from the abbey kitchen and informed the Prior that they would be away for at least two days. The Prior asked the reason for his journey. 'Confidentially,' said Corbett, 'I must see the Queen before she returns to France.' 'But she is enceinte!' the monk exclaimed. 'She cannot return!' 'If she was pregnant,' Corbett cryptically replied, 'she would not be allowed to leave.' The Prior simply shook his head in puzzlement and walked away.
THIRTEEN
Early the next morning, Corbett and his party left for Queensferry, fully armed. They encountered no opposition though Ranulf maintained that he had seen a rider watching them as they crossed the bridge at Dalmeny. Corbett heeded the warning, telling his companions to be most vigilant until they were across the Forth. They stabled their horses at the ferrymaster's house, paying for their fodder and keep until they returned. The ferrymaster was absent across the Forth so Corbett told his escort to rest; they opened their provisions, ate and drank and then lay on the sand-strewn grass, enjoying the warm noon sun and listening to the birds overhead and the constant chatter of the bees and crickets. Corbett fell into a light sleep and was awakened by Ranulf with the news that the ferrymaster had returned. Corbett went to meet him; at first the fellow refused to go, saying he was tired and wanted to rest. Corbett offered to double the usual fee and they were soon climbing into the skiff and making their way out across
