and later near Dalmeny Ford might also have been the work of outlaws, the French or the Bruce faction. But the same could not be said about the crossbow bolt which nearly shattered my head as I returned to the abbey the day after the banquet at the castle. It was too well-planned to be an outlaw attack. I had as yet not met the Lord Bruce, so the logical conclusion was that it was the French.' Corbett smiled at Benstede. 'Or rather that is what you hoped I would think after the attack failed. When I left the castle you had me followed and subsequently I was detained by de Craon. Of course, the meeting was not amicable and the French might have pursued me. They did not. I went back to that dingy tavern and questioned the owner. I was fortunate for he informed me that de Craon and his companions never left that tavern until hours later. By which time, the attack was over and I was in the abbey. Oh, you were very clever, Master Benstede. You pointed me, as if I were some stupid dog, in a variety of directions – de Craon, Bruce, anyone who came to mind. You carried out those assassination attempts on me, protecting yourself by saying that you too were the object of assault. I am telling the truth, am I not?' Benstede rose, white-faced with fury. 'You don't understand,' he said. 'What I did, I did for the community of the realm of England. This country needs order, it needs laws, it is a threat to the security and well-being of our Sovereign Lord. Can you imagine a French princess upon the Scottish throne? Edward constantly turning and twirling to see from what direction the attack would come. You have heard of the new French king ordering marriage alliances for his children all over Europe. He intends to create an empire which would dwarf that of Charlemagne. What room would that leave for Edward? You have been through this country. You have seen the violence and how exposed our northern counties would be to such violence. It would be ten, twenty, thirty times worse if there was an alliance between the hostile French and the hostile Scots. If our King was in the south, the attack would be in the north and when he marched north the French would attack the channel coast. I did what I had to for the highest possible motives. If individuals die to save the lives of thousands, where is the wrong?' Corbett shook his head. 'Like me, Master Benstede, you have studied philosophy; evil means do not achieve a good end. Yes, I have seen this land. I agree that a hostile Scottish king would pose a serious threat to England's security but I have also seen the wild expanse of the country; the bogs, marshes, mountains and glens which would swallow England's armies and destroy them. But even if you are correct, Benstede, does this justify your actions? You murdered a good king, the Lord's anointed. You then murdered two young squires and are directly responsible for the violent death of an innocent young man in my retinue. While, in killing Taggart the ferryman, you destroyed a family. You are a murderer, Master Benstede, an assassin, and if there is a God in heaven you should answer for your crimes by the due process of law!' Benstede gathered his cloak about him and rose. 'I will answer to the King, the King of England, who is the fount of all law!' Benstede vehemently answered. 'The King will decide what is good and what is acceptable and then, Master Corbett, you narrow-minded, jumped-up clerk, we shall find out what the due process of law decides,' and, glaring at Corbett, Benstede opened the door and swept out. Corbett let him go, hearing his footsteps echo down the passageway before slumping, head in hands, on to his bed.
EIGHTEEN
Corbett felt drained, exhausted, but there was more to do. He took his cloak and walked slowly down the cloisters. 'Hugh?' a soft voice called. Corbett turned. The Prior anxiously searched the English clerk's white, drawn face. 'You have finished your task?' Corbett nodded. 'Is there anything I can do?' the monk asked. 'No, just tell Ranulf to join me in the stable courtyard.'
The ride to the castle was slow, Corbett made sure Selkirk's men fanned out around them. Here, in the city of Edinburgh, Corbett mused, he had to use the same tactics his commander had when advancing up a hostile valley in South Wales. He did not think Benstede would launch any attack but he felt it would be foolish not to take precautions. They clattered across the drawbridge into the castle. A servant fetched Selkirk, who crossly announced that the Bishop was reading his Office in the castle chapel. 'You will have to wait, Master Clerk!' he jibed. 'I think not!' Corbett replied and brushed him aside. The chapel lay at the back of the castle on the very summit of the great rock escarpment of Edinburgh. Corbett, followed by a panting, quietly cursing Ranulf, strode through the narrow, stone-vaulted castle corridors and up flights of stairs to the chapel. It was an ancient place, built by the saintly Queen Margaret, wife to Malcolm Conmore, the slayer of the tyrant Macbeth. It was also one of the smallest royal chapels Corbett had seen. Built of dark-grey stone, it must have only measured six yards long and four yards wide and consisted of a timber-roofed nave and a simply carved stone-vaulted apse, the two being separated by an archway. Under this knelt Bishop Wishart, praying before the bare wooden altar. He rose and turned as Corbett walked up the nave. 'Master Corbett, you could not wait?' he said softly. 'No, my Lord, I have waited long enough. The matter is finished.' Corbett turned as Ranulf, followed by Selkirk, entered the chapel. 'I would like to talk to you alone, my Lord.' The Bishop nodded at Sir James, who glared at Corbett but left, followed by a bemused Ranulf.
Wishart gestured to a bench alongside the far wall of the nave and they sat there, while Corbett summarised his conversation with Benstede, omitting any details he thought appropriate. The Bishop heard him out, concealing his surprise at this English clerk's stamina and logical brilliance. Corbett finished and Wishart rubbed his stubbled chin carefully, thinking out the consequences of what the clerk had told him. He pursed his lips and sighed. 'Benstede,' he admitted, 'did kill the late King but all the evidence you have mentioned could not be produced in court. It is a mixture of coincidence and careful calculation. Even if it was,' Wishart continued, 'it would cause uproar, threaten an already delicately-held peace.' He paused and stared fixedly at Corbett. 'Of course, I have not mentioned the reaction of your own master, King Edward of England. I accept that Benstede may have acted on his own initiative but I have my suspicions. If this matter were brought into the public eye, you would scarce receive the thanks of a grateful monarch. You could not return to England and you would not be welcome to stay here!' 'And Benstede?' Corbett interrupted bitterly. 'The regicide, the slayer of the Lord's anointed, not to mention the murderer of four men whose blood cries out for justice and vengeance.' 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I shall repay,' the Bishop replied soothingly, pleased to put the clerk down. 'Well, payment is long overdue!' Corbett tartly replied. The Bishop shifted uneasily on the hard wooden bench. 'It's not Benstede,' he snapped, 'who is dangerous. It's you, Master Corbett, with your search for the facts, your ability to ferret out the truth. The truth often hurts. It does no good, this turning over of stones. And why?' Wishart asked. 'What business is it of yours?' 'I do not know,' Corbett replied. 'I was given orders and I carried them out. Perhaps one day I will know the reason why!' 'But not here!' replied Wishart firmly. 'You will be gone, within forty-eight hours, you and all your retinue must be out of Edinburgh and journeying south to the border. If you are not, you will be arrested for treason!'
Corbett stood, his face now flushed with anger. 'You, especially, my Lord, want me gone. You know that I know the truth!' He almost jabbed a finger in the Bishop's face. 'You knew that the King was murdered. How? Why? And by whom? Perhaps not, but you still did nothing. Every time you looked at me you remembered your own guilt!' Wishart stood up and walked to the steps of the chancel, trying to control his temper. 'Yes,' he replied angrily. 'I knew but I had no proof, no evidence; even now I can do nothing! Nothing at all! Go now, Master Clerk!'
Corbett bowed and muttered something. 'What was that, Clerk?' Wishart snapped. 'A quotation from the Psalms, my Lord, 'Put not your trust in Princes'.' The Bishop sighed. 'Come back, Master Clerk! Come back! Look!' the Bishop edged closer to Corbett. 'I can do nothing. I hold Scotland from the brink of civil war. The King is dead, murdered, but he is dead. Yet,' he added bitterly, 'if a king of Scotland can suffer an accident then so can an English envoy. Rest assured, Benstede and his servant will never leave Scotland alive!' Wishart extended his hands as if in a blessing. 'What more can I do?' he said softly. 'Except give you an escort out of Scotland. 'Yes, there is something!' Corbett suddenly remembered the widow, Joan Taggart, surrounded by her hungry, frightened children. 'There is a woman, the widow of the boatman whom Benstede killed, she lives near Queensferry. Now she and her children starve.' 'You have my word,' the Bishop replied. 'They will be well looked after. Now!' he added briskly, 'you must be gone, Clerk, in forty-eight hours.' Corbett sketched a bow and left the old Bishop, the echoes of his steps ringing round the small, empty church.
The Prior and his monks were disconsolate at Corbett's abrupt departure. They had grown accustomed to his eccentric, secretive ways, his sudden and mysterious comings and goings, his help in the library and scriptorium. 'We shall miss you, Hugh,' the Prior said. 'We wish you a safe journey. I am sending two of my lay brothers with you, they will carry letters of safe conduct. No enemy, English or Scots, would dare attack a man under the protection of the Abbey of Holy Rood!' Corbett smiled and embraced the Prior, feeling his fragile, bony shoulders beneath the grey, fustian robe. 'What with your letters and Sir James's men, who undoubtedly await me beyond the
