hated the spoilt bitch. King Alexander ordered me into her retinue; I got bored and used to listen to her conversations with the one French lady-in-waiting she brought with her, a girl called Marie. They thought I could not understand French; I can, my mother was French. That is why I was put in her household. I am fluent in the tongue. I fully understood what she was saying to you the day you visited Kinghorn, which is why I almost burst out laughing.' 'For what reason?' enquired Corbett. 'Do you think Yolande refused to consummate the marriage?' Agnes shrugged. 'I have heard of similar cases. Young girls frightened of the pain the act causes. Nunneries are full of them.' She laughed at her own joke. 'Yolande could well have been terrified of Alexander, or,' she added, 'Yolande may have been a lover of other women. When I watched her and the girl Marie I sometimes wondered. The King,' she added thoughtfully, almost to herself, 'could have forced her but that was not Alexander's way. He never forced a woman in his life. I also believe he genuinely loved her.' 'That is all you can tell me?' Corbett asked. 'That,' said Lady Agnes, rising to her feet, 'is all I can tell you because that is all I know. I would be grateful if you would let Ranulf escort me back to Kinghorn.' Corbett nodded and Lady Agnes swept out of the room.
The clerk waited till Ranulf returned and, when he did, they all made their way down to the ferry and across the Forth. The ferrymaster regaled them with spicy stories about the comings and goings of King Alexander. Ranulf laughed and baited him, Corbett heard him out until they had reached the jetty at Dalmeny. 'Tell me,' he said, 'the other ferryman, you said he had a widow. Where does she live?' The ferryman pointed to a thatched, low-roofed timbered hut further along the shoreline. 'You'll find her there, poor woman. Joan Taggart. Her husband only received the letters patent from the King to act as ferryman just before his death.' Corbett nodded; he told Ranulf to collect and saddle their horses while he walked down to Joan Taggart's house. A small, brown-haired woman met him at the door, surrounded by a group of noisy, dirty children who eyed Corbett boldly, then ran to hide and giggle behind their mother's skirts. Corbett bowed. 'Joan Taggart?' he said. 'Aye.' 'I am Hugh Corbett, clerk. I wish to talk to you about your husband's death. I do not wish to upset you.' The woman just stared at him. 'Do you speak English?' 'I am English,' the woman replied abrupdy. 'I come from the border lands. What do you want with my husband's death?' 'He died the same night as the King?' Corbett asked. 'He didn't die,' replied Joan, 'he was murdered, but no one believes me.' She turned and shooed the flock of children away. 'Nobody believes me,' she continued, 'but my husband was a sailor, he knew the water.' She squinted up at the sun. 'A Frenchman, I don't know who, was using him. The same day the King died, late in the morning, this mysterious Frenchman hired my husband's boat and services to take him across to Inverkeithing. My husband came back excited and said he would be going out again late in the evening. The storm came up and burst on the Forth. I begged my husband to stay but he was excited. He said the Frenchman would pay generously.' 'And then what?' Corbett asked. 'He left.' The woman stopped speaking, blinked back the tears from her eyes and swallowed before continuing. 'The next morning, he was found, head down, bobbing like some stupid cork in the shallow water.' 'And his boat?' Corbett queried. 'Still tied up,' the woman replied. 'The coroner came and said my husband must have been drunk, fell and drowned. After all, there was no mark on the body.' 'So, what makes you think it was murder?' Corbett persisted with his questioning. Joan pushed the greying hair from her brow. 'At first,' she replied slowly, 'I accepted it was an accident but then later, when it was too late to do anything about it, I remembered the way the boat had been tied up.' She looked directly at Corbett. 'Every sailor has his own way of tying a knot. My husband's boat was beached and tied but he never fastened that knot. I believe he went out that night with the Frenchman, whoever he is, and crossed the Forth. When he returned, he was murdered. His boat beached and tied up by other hands, probably the same ones which murdered him.' Corbett stared past her at the timbered house. 'You are sure,' he questioned, 'that it was a Frenchman?' 'Yes, my husband called him that. Why, do you know him?' Corbett thought of de Craon's evil smirk and then Bruce with his cruel mouth and perfect knowledge of French. 'No, Madam,' he lied. 'I know no one of that nationality. But why do you not tell the authorities, petition the Council?' Joan shrugged. 'And who would believe me?' 'True, Madam! True!' Corbett muttered, bowed and was about to turn away when the woman caught his arm. 'Sir!' she exclaimed. 'My children and I now starve!' Corbett looked into her harassed face and fearful eyes and, digging into his purse, drew out some coins and handed them to her. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Perhaps I can do more! I will see what I can do.'
Corbett strode back to where Ranulf and his companions sat with the horses. 'Make yourselves comfortable here,' he snapped. 'I intend to return across the Forth. 'Tis a minor matter,' he continued, ignoring Ranulf s groan, 'but there is something I must find.' He then went down the slope to where the ferrymaster was preparing to beach his craft. 'I wish to return,' Corbett said. The man shrugged. 'It will cost you.' 'Yes, I know,' answered Corbett testily. 'But this time I want to land, not at Inverkeithing but,' he stared across the water, 'at some secret place far from public view where I could stable a horse without arousing suspicion or interest.' The ferryman nodded. 'Yes, I know of such a place, but it is going to cost you even more. You had best get in.' They both clambered aboard and the man pulled the boat out into the main current. As he rowed, the man explained. 'There are,' he said, 'caves up from the beach, just across the Forth to the west of Inverkeithing. I will take you there.'
The man was true to his word. They landed on a sandy, gravel beach; above them rose cliffs which ran along the entire coast. The ferryman indicated with a wave of his hand. 'If you go up there,' he said, 'you will see them. They are like small chambers; they were once used by pirates, only His Grace, the late King, cleared them out with fire, sword, and gallows. Do you wish me to stay?' 'Yes,' Corbett said. 'If I am not successful in finding what I am looking for I shall return and tell you.'
Corbett slipped another coin into the man's hand and, while the ferryman made himself comfortable in the shadow of his boat, Corbett began the long arduous climb up the hill. Soon he reached the top where the hills levelled out and stretched to the hard rock face of the towering cliffs. He immediately saw what the ferrymaster had been talking about. At the base of these cliffs, almost as if they had been hewn in the rock by men, were three, four or five cave-mouths, chamber-like, as if they were a row of monastic cells in some monastery. Corbett made his way through the thick clogged sand and entered the first one. There were signs of human habitation, scraps of litter, faint smells, broken pottery, strange markings on the walls of the caves which seemed to stretch for ever down into the blackness beneath the cliffs. Corbett's heart sank when he noticed this. If all the chambers were as long as this, or if they were only used by people who had gone down deep into them, then his search would take months. He decided to go on to the second and third caves, determined to find what he was looking for. In the fourth cavern he did. Just within the entrance there were mounds of horse dung. He picked some up in his hand and crumbled it. Corbett reckoned horses had been stabled there within the last two or three months. There were other signs, a ragged, empty bag bearing traces of oats and a clump of dark wet material which, Corbett realised, was once hay. Satisfied, he knelt and cleansed his hands in a pool of salt water and walked back down to where the ferryman was patiently waiting for him.
FOURTEEN
After recrossing the Forth, Corbett joined his party. Their journey back began uneventfully. They crossed Dalmeny bridge and were in open countryside when the attackers struck. Five or six men, horsed, masked and well-armed, burst from a clump of trees and bore down on them. Corbett grabbed the crossbow, already loaded, which swung from his saddlebow and brought it up, aimed and sent the quarrel deep into the chest of the leading rider. Then the rest were amongst them, slashing with short-sword, mace and club. Ranulf and his companions drew their swords and cut, thrust and screamed at their assailants. Corbett whirled his big Welsh dagger, dug his spurs in and, shouting at the rest to follow him, broke through and galloped from the trees where the ambush had taken place. It was a tactic Corbett had seen used in Wales, cavalry never stopping to confront an enemy but breaking away, eluding the trap. Corbett saw two of the assailants go down screaming, clutching red spouting wounds and hoped the rest would be too chastened to follow, surprised by the fierce resistance they had encountered.
After a while, Corbett called a halt; his horse was half-blown and he realised there was no sign of any pursuit. He was unscathed but almost sick with fear.
Ranulf had bruises and cuts on his hands, arms and legs but one of the others, a young man, had received a terrible slash across his stomach and Corbett knew the fellow would be dead very soon. The blood poured out from the gash while he groaned and begged for water. Corbett gave it to him, knowing it might hasten his end. They took him from his horse, and laid him tenderly on the ground; Ranulf stood watch while they waited quietly for the man to die. He did, on a frothy gurgle of blood. Corbett said the 'Miserere' and 'Requiem' realising he did not even know
