graciously towards her. 'I realise you are still in mourning and the subject is most painful to you, but the thought did occur to me as I made the same journey today.' The royal widow simply shrugged her elegant shoulders. 'His Grace was always impetuous!' she almost snapped. 'He should not have travelled in such rough weather. I could scarcely believe the message he sent earlier that day saying he would come!' 'His Grace told you that he was coming that night?' Corbett tentatively asked. 'When did he send such a message?' 'What business is it of yours?' Yolande snapped back, staring hard at Corbett. 'A messenger delivered a letter later that day. I don't know who brought it! I only remember because I immediately burnt it in exasperation!' Corbett smiled understandingly and gently diverted the conversation to other matters. He had asked enough questions and was sufficiently startled by Yolande to conceal his feelings behind the mask of diplomacy. He felt uneasy. Yolande was a royal widow; in a sense, her husband's passion for her had caused his death; yet Yolande seemed to resent, even hate her dead husband. Was this the woman, Corbett wondered, who had drawn King Alexander III of Scotland to gamble his life for her? Corbett could not pinpoint or express his reasons for the conclusions he drew but he felt the unease, something insubstantial, like a perfume emanating from this spoilt beautiful woman.
Corbett allowed the now desultory conversation to continue before discreedy interrupting. 'Madam, my master and His Grace, King Edward, will be delighted with the news that you are 'enceinte'. A small consolation at this time of great sorrow…' Yolande almost smirked as she gently patted her stomach. 'I do not care for your King, Master Corbett, but, yes, I do care for a possible future King of Scotland!' Corbett heard a snort of laughter from the red- headed lady-in-waiting, but ignored it. Queen Yolande did not. She spun round, glared at the woman and turned back to extend her hand to Corbett as a sign that the audience was over. Corbett bent, kissed the Queen's cool white hand and withdrew, ignoring the brazen look of the lady-in-waiting who had brought his interview to such a sudden end.
THREE
Outside the chamber, Corbett found the captain of the guard waiting for him, a little more relaxed now he realised that Corbett was acceptable to the Queen-Dowager. 'Are you intent on leaving this evening?' he asked, his English accent thick and guttural. 'Why?' Corbett smiled at him. 'Do I have a choice?' The soldier shrugged. 'You may stay and catch the ferry at first light when it crosses but that is your decision.' 'Then thank you,' Corbett courteously replied, 'I will stay. But tell me,' he added. 'Who is the red-headed lady-in-waiting to the Queen? She seemed a brazen hussy!' Now the soldier smiled, a yellow-toothed grin cracking the severity of his face. 'You mean Agnes Lennox?' he jibed. 'You're right. A brazen hussy indeed. There is no love lost between her and the Queen. Why?' 'Nothing,' Corbett muttered. 'But, look. Were you on duty the night the King died?' 'Of course. Though I never stirred from here. News of his death was brought by a messenger.' 'The same messenger,' Corbett interjected, 'who brought you news that the King intended to travel to Kinghorn?' 'Whish, no, man,' the soldier replied. 'That was simply a letter delivered at the gate just before dusk. God knows who brought it. You had best ask the purveyor that question.' Corbett felt his heart quicken. 'The same purveyor who greeted the King when he landed from the ferry?' 'Oh, aye,' the soldier replied. 'Alexander, he has the same name as the late king. Why do you ask?' he narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Corbett. 'You ask a lot of questions, Master Clerk, from England!' Corbett smiled. 'I am sorry,' he apologised. 'But the English court were so shocked by the death of your king they could scarcely believe it. My masters expect me to be hunting for news.' The soldier relaxed and tapped Corbett patronisingly on the shoulder. 'Yes, I know. We are all under orders. I can scarcely believe the King is dead and think it just a rumour. But, come, I will introduce you to Alexander, he's told his story many times. I vow he'd love to tell it again.'
Corbett followed the captain down the winding stone staircase and into the main hall. In happier, better times it may have looked princely, even regal, with the raised dais at the far end under a huge tapestry emblazoned with the royal insignia of Scotland. Now it was dingy. The rushes on the floor were none too clean: hungry wolf-hounds foraged amongst them for bits of food and Corbett heard the squeak and scamper of rats. The trestle tables down each side were stained with wine and strewn with the stale remains of various meals. On the walls, the cresset torches, untended, spluttered fiercely in their sconces and Corbett realised that the retainers were taking full advantage of a dead king and his lonely, isolated widow. At the end of one table sat a group of men surrounded by cups and flagons, rolling a set of dice amidst curses and shouts. The captain took Corbett by the sleeve, led him over to them and tapped one of the players on the shoulder. 'Alexander,' he taunted. 'Here's a man who would like to hear your story!' Alexander turned, a long, horsy face, bulbous blue eyes and wet slack mouth beneath a shock of black hair. 'I'm at dice!' he grumbled and glared angrily at Corbett. 'I know,' the English clerk sweetly replied, 'but,' and he jingled the coins in his purse. 'I can make up your undoubted losses!' Alexander was too far gone in his cups to detect the sarcasm but he looked at Corbett, licked his lips greedily and, snatching up a brimming cup, lurched to his feet and gestured Corbett to follow him to the far end of the room. The captain of the guard nodded at Corbett to follow and promptly occupied the gambler's vacant seat. 'Oh,' he shouted after Corbett. 'When he's finished his tale, just bed down here in the hall. I will bring you a cloak, it is not much, but warmer and more comfortable than a night on the cliff tops!' Corbett nodded, smiled his thanks and went over to where Alexander now slouched in a half-drunken stupor.
Corbett introduced himself, giving the same reason for his curiosity as he had earlier. Alexander was too drunk to care and Corbett had to listen carefully to understand the man's drunken, slurred speech. Like himself, Alexander was a clerk who served the King, even following him to England when the late Scottish King had gone south to attend the coronation of Edward I. Corbett let him ramble on while the gambling group broke up amidst loud shouts and farewells, and a harassed servant brought Corbett a cloak. Then the English clerk gently asked the befuddled Alexander his questions, though he learnt nothing new. On the day the King died, just before dusk, an unknown messenger had delivered a letter at the gate. This was taken direct to Queen Yolande who had summoned Alexander and told him to take the King's favourite horse, a white mare stabled at Kinghorn, down to the ferry. Alexander angrily complied, furious that the King could put him to so much trouble on a wild, bitterly cold night. 'I did what I was told to,' he grumbled. 'I waited there for hours until His Grace came. I remonstrated with him but he would not listen. He had to be with the Queen and so he rode off.' 'And what did you do?' Alexander belched and scratched his chin. 'I went to a tavern in Inverkeithing where I was joined by one of the King's squires.' 'You what?' Corbett asked. 'One of the King's companions?' 'The same,' Alexander replied, trying to focus on this curious English clerk. 'The poor bastard was thrown by his horse and had to walk back to the village. We both stayed there till late the following day.' He looked slyly at Corbett. 'You see, we were drinking. It was only when we left the tavern that we heard about the King.' Corbett nodded and pushed a few coins into the purveyor's slack hands. 'So, who found the King's body?' 'Oh, a party from the castle across the Forth, they gathered it up and it was taken back on a royal barge.' Corbett nodded understandingly while he concentrated on listing a sequence of events surrounding the Scottish King's death. There was something wrong, very wrong but he could not grasp it. 'Tell me,' he said slowly. 'One squire stayed with you? And he never reached the manor?' Alexander nodded. 'So what happened to the other one?' Corbett continued. 'If he reached the manor, why did he not come back to look for his master? In fact,' Corbett now tried to clear the doubts in his own mind, 'why didn't the Queen send out a search-party for her husband? After all, he was expected?' The purveyor stared hard at the table, as he tried to concentrate. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'The fellow who stayed with me went back and so did the other squire. He evidently rode ahead of the King and reached the manor. Why he or the Queen never thought of searching for the King is a mystery.' He stared drunkenly at Corbett. 'The whole thing's a mystery, Master Clerk, and perhaps you should answer questions. The King's desire to join the Queen is a mystery, for,' he added bitterly, 'he would have had little joy out of her.' 'What do you mean?' Corbett asked. 'Did Queen Yolande hate her husband?' Alexander only grimaced, farted, then fell head forward into a drunken sleep. Corbett cursed and rose to his feet. He took the dirty threadbare cloak and, finding the cleanest spot in the hall, lay down and fell asleep.
The next morning Corbett woke, feeling dirty and aching in every joint. He got up, went out into the courtyard to piss and onto the kitchen to beg for a cup of watered ale and a slice of greasy bacon to silence the hunger pangs of his stomach for he had not eaten since leaving Holy Rood Abbey the previous day. Corbett wanted to leave Kinghorn quickly before the captain or Alexander began to question him, so, once he had finished his meal, he went to the stable and, saddling the garron, led him out towards the main gate. Corbett was almost there when he heard a voice call out. He turned and saw the red-haired Lennox woman coming out of the door of the main building, an
