the man's name. Someone's brother, baby son, or lover he thought and now he was gone: Corbett looked down at the corpse and felt the futility of the death. He ordered a cloak to be draped and tied round the body which was then slung over a horse and they continued on their way to the Abbey of Holy Rood. They reached it late at night, Corbett fearful of every shadow and ill to the point of nausea with exhaustion and tension. He brushed the sleepy Prior's enquiries aside, asked him to take care of the body, promising he would meet any expense. Then he and Ranulf trudged wearily off to bed.
Next morning they attended the Requiem Mass for their dead colleague who had been dressed by the monks for burial and now lay in a new pine coffin in front of the sanctuary steps of the abbey church. The Prior, resplendent in black and gold vestments, stood arms outstretched, and intoned the Introit: 'Requiem aeternam. Dona ei Domine. Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.' Corbett rubbed his eyes wearily and wondered when he would rest from this interminable business, who the attackers of yesterday were and, more importantly, who had paid them? The choir intoned the sequence, the beautiful poem of Thomas di Celano, 'Dies Irae, Dies Illa':
O, day of wrath, O day of mourning
See fulfilled the Prophet's warning,
Heaven and Earth in ashes burning.
Corbett caught phrases, 'See from Heaven the Judge descendeth' and, turning to look at the coffin, vowed that the young man awaiting burial would not have to wait until Judgement Day for justice.
After the burial, Corbett sent the equally frightened Ranulf off to the castle, reassuring him that all would be well and authorising him to seek an audience with Bishop Wishart. He was to ask the good bishop to grant Corbett an interview and to have the late King's confessor present as well. Corbett added that he would appreciate an armed escort to the castle and so required the company of Sir James Selkirk and others of his ilk. Late in the afternoon, Ranulf returned with Sir James and a small convoy of cavalry and, without further ado, Corbett saddled a horse and rode back with them to the castle. Sir James attempted to exchange light bantering talk, asking Corbett if he wanted to experience his hospitality once again. When Corbett replied that Sir James's hospitality was equal to his manners, the knight lapsed into a sullen silence.
At the castle, Corbett was immediately taken to the Bishop's chamber. Wishart was waiting for him, sitting behind his long, polished table almost as if he had not moved since Corbett saw him last. Beside the Bishop was a tall, thin, ascetic man, wearing the black and brown garb of a Franciscan monk who Corbett immediately assumed was Father John.
'Come in, English Clerk,' the Bishop beckoned Corbett and Ranulf to the bench before his table. 'Tell us why the impetuous command? What is the urgency?' 'My Lord,' Corbett replied, not bothering to sit down, 'I would like to ask Father John, and I presume this is he, why His Grace, the late King, was sending him to Rome?' The monk licked his lips and looked sideways at the Bishop. 'My Lord,' he muttered. 'I cannot, I was told 'sub sigillo', under the seal of confession. I cannot tell anyone. Not even the Holy Father can command me to do that!'
The Bishop pursed his lips, nodded and looked expectantly at Corbett. 'Father,' Corbett replied. 'I know canon law and I also know that it rests on the justice of God. I do not wish you to violate your oath of secrecy or your conscience but,' and he turned to look eagerly at the Bishop, 'with His Lordship's permission, I would like to take you aside and quietly ask you one question? If I am wrong, you may say nothing, and I vow I will not ask you again.' The Bishop turned to the Franciscan who swallowed nervously and nodded his assent. The Bishop looked at Corbett with raised eyebrows and gestured to him to proceed. Ranulf watched his master and the friar go over to the far side of the room. Corbett whispered a few words and the friar looked up sharply and nodded. 'Sic habes,' he said, quoting the Latin tag. 'You have it!' Corbett smiled and walked back to sit down on the stool while Father John bowed to Wishart and silently left the room.
The Bishop stared quizzically at Corbett. 'What was it he said to you?' he asked. 'For the time being, my Lord, I prefer to stay silent on the matter. But tell me, my Lord, the circumstances of Erceldoun's death?' The Bishop fumbled amongst the pieces of parchment which littered his table and, leaning over the table, threw one scroll into Corbett's lap. 'The Coroner's report. You may read it.' Corbett studied the scrawled report of Matthew Relston, Coroner, 'taken in June 1286 on the body of Thomas Erceldoun found in the chancel of St. Giles Church on the evening of 26th June by parishioners of the said church. His body bore no sign of violence except for a weal around his neck. An investigation into the events leading up to his death revealed that Erceldoun had told people he was going down to St. Giles Church to meet a priest. Who the latter was is difficult to establish. The verdict is that Erceldoun was murdered by person or persons unknown'.
Corbett handed the scroll back to the Bishop. 'That is all?' he asked. 'Yes,' replied Wishart. 'I doubt if he intended to meet a priest or that Erceldoun was murdered by one; he was a powerfully-built young soldier, I doubt very much if any priest, or even more than one, could get the advantage of such a man.' 'I would like to examine his corpse,' Corbett said. 'Impossible!' Wishart snapped. 'I must!' Corbett replied firmly. 'And not only his, but Seton's as well!' He heard Ranulf groan beside him. 'You, my Lord Bishop, can give permission. It could be done late at night with no dishonour for the men's relations or lack of respect.' 'It is essential, you say?' 'It is, my Lord. I also need the protection of Sir James Selkirk.' 'Against whom?' the Bishop barked. 'I don't know, my Lord, but the waters I am wading through are deep, murky and treacherous.' He looked straight into Wishart's hooded eyes. 'For all I know, it could be you that I must be wary of!' Wishart stared at Corbett and laughed as if Corbett had told some pleasantry. He then wrote, his quill pen scratching a piece of vellum. He finished, sanded what he had written, waxed and sealed it, then gave it to Corbett. 'Your warrant, English Clerk. Do what you have to do and do it quickly!' He looked at Selkirk. 'Tonight, you must carry out the business.' He nodded at Corbett. 'For the moment, farewell, but remember I will ask you to give an account of your stewardship here.'
Corbett stayed in the castle the rest of the day, wandering about, looking for any place he could sit and quietly meditate on all he knew. The picture forming in his mind was clearer, more distinct, though he could scarce believe it. Wandering aimlessly down one of the grim, draughty passageways of the castle, with Ranulf trailing behind him like some morose dog, Corbett almost bumped into Benstede and his strange body-servant, Aaron. 'Master Corbett!' Benstede exclaimed, his round, plump face wreathed in smiles. 'At last! I heard of your problems with Selkirk. Of course, I immediately protested to the Council. You have also been attacked, I hear?' Corbett nodded. 'At least twice, the last time on our way into Edinburgh. A member of Bishop Burnell's household was killed!' Benstede looked grimly around. 'The same is true of me. Two or three weeks ago, a crossbow quarrel narrowly missed my face as we crossed the Lawnmarket. I suspected de Craon. He has been plotting since his arrival in Scotland. He was constantly closeted with the late King. Even the day before the King died! I understood from the expression on his face when the meeting was over, that the encounter with the King was not a pleasant one.' Corbett shrugged. 'Then we must all be on our guard!' he commented. 'Is there news from England?' Benstede sighed. 'None. Burnell and his entourage are coming north. King Edward is still in France.' He squeezed Corbett's arm, 'Take care, Master Clerk,' and continued on his way, his servant padding behind him like some silent dark shadow.
Corbett watched them go and smiled to himself at what he had learnt. So, Burnell was coming north. Good! There was every chance that he and Ranulf would be ordered to leave Scotland to join him.
Late that evening, Corbett was found by a servant sent by Selkirk, who announced in broad Scots that the knight would be grateful if Corbett joined him in the outer bailey near the main gate. Corbett and Ranulf finished off the meagre scraps of food they had begged from the kitchen and hurried down. Selkirk and four soldiers, well- armed, carrying picks and shovels, were waiting rather selfconsciously near the main gate.
Corbett smiled. 'If you are ready, Sir James? The bodies are buried where?' 'The graveyard of St. Giles,' Sir James testily remarked, looking up into the night sky. 'There is a full moon, so we will not need torches. I have already discovered where the graves lie. So, come, let's be done with it!' They walked down into the town, now concealed by darkness, despite regulations that lantern horns were to be displayed outside each house. A curfew had been imposed, explained Selkirk, because of the situation following the King's death. Most law-abiding citizens obeyed it but not so the denizens of the slums, stinking alleys and runnels of Edinburgh. Time and again Corbett saw shadows flit across their path, heard movement in the darkness which fell quiet as they approached. In the main, they were alone, their boots ringing hollow on the hard enclosed tracks except for the scavenging cat and threatening rustle of rats gnawing in the heaps of refuse which littered every street. They entered the Lawnmarket and Corbett shivered when he saw the gibbet and its rotten, swaying human fruit, black figures against the moonlit, summer night sky. The huge mass of St. Giles rose above them. They entered the enclosure and walked down the side of the church into the dark, tree-filled cemetery beyond. Here, they stopped, the soldiers trying to hide their fear and Corbett sensed that even Sir James Selkirk was frightened to be there. The dead, Corbett thought, do not
