Paul Doherty: Crown in Darkness

Burnell, plump and wheezing, his soft, flabby hands constantly mopping his completely bald head, met him at the door of the castle's solar and, thanking the Constable, personally escorted Corbett into the gaunt, deserted room. It was a bleak granite, timber-roofed chamber dominated by a stone-built fireplace and long, oval-shaped windows. The furniture was scanty; a long oak table, heavy chairs like church benches and great iron-bound chests. There was a tray with a jug of wine and simple pewter cups on the table. Burnell filled two of them and beckoned to Corbett. 'Come, Hugh, it is good to see you. We will sit in the window-seat and catch the breezes. An ideal place from which you can watch both England and Scotland. You received my letters? I received yours,' he added, not waiting for a reply. Corbett sat and, at the Chancellor's invitation, told his master everything. He did not omit any details, he was not fooled by the fat, flabby bishop who sat alongside him, his razor-sharp mind would not miss anything. The Bishop, slurping his wine, let the clerk speak, interrupting now and again with the occasional terse question or comment. Outside, a linnet sang while it wheeled in its own splendour against the gold, sun-filled sky. Corbett stopped talking, watched it for a while and then quietly concluded. 'There is no more. So now, why was I sent there?' Burnell cleared his throat. 'First,' he replied, 'have no worries about Benstede. I know Bishop Wishart and I believe Benstede will never be allowed to leave Scotland alive. As for the Scots, I doubt very much whether you will ever set foot in their country again, while I will conceal your activities from His Grace. After all,' and Burnell smiled sourly, 'I have as much to lose as you, that is why I took such care to intercept any letters Benstede sent south for the King.'

Burnell stood up to ease the cramp from his body and walked slowly to and fro while Corbett sat and watched him. 'I sent you to Scotland,' Burnell began, 'without the King's authority and under my own commission because I do not want a war between England and Scotland. Both countries are at peace, both enjoy and profit from the calm. Edward our King has always thought different. He is a conqueror, Corbett; he has smashed the Welsh, killed their chieftains and turned their kingdoms into English shires dominated by his grey, heavy castles. He has always wanted to do the same with Scotland. First, he married his sister, Margaret, to Alexander III with the prospect that one of his nephews would sit on the Scottish throne,' Burnell paused before going on. 'Then, Margaret and the two boys died. Our King accepted that, though he tried unsuccessfully to wrest homage for Scotland from Alexander III. He wished to establish the principle of English supremacy over Scotland for that would come in useful if a nephew succeeded to the Scottish throne or if there was an uncertain succession. Anyway,' the Bishop continued wearily, 'Alexander, heirless, becomes the amorous bachelor. Our sovereign lord is quite content with that but then matters change. A new French King, Philip IV, ascends the throne with dreams grander than Edward's. Have you ever heard any of his lawyers speak or read their memoranda?' Corbett shook his head. 'They make fascinating reading,' the Bishop said meditatively and rejoined Corbett in the window-seat before continuing. 'They see Philip as a new Charlemagne and this alarms Edward. More so when Philip opens secret negotiations with Alexander and produces the beautiful Yolande for a wife. Now, it could be Philip's kinsman on the Scottish throne, so Edward sends the humble Benstede as his envoy to Scotland, not with precise orders, may I hasten to add, to kill Alexander. Oh no! Just verbal instructions "to do all within his power to block and impede the French alliance".' 'And Alexander is killed?' 'Yes,' Burnell replied. 'Then I became suspicious. If Alexander's death was an accident or a murder by someone else then so it is, but,' Burnell's voice rose, 'if it could be laid at Benstede's door then I know, whatever he may say, Edward's real long-term plans for Scotland!' 'But King Edward,' interrupted Corbett, 'has been most quiet in this matter!' 'Publicly,' Burnell replied, 'yes. Privately, no. I do think Edward's detachment from what is happening in Scotland is a mask. He did not murder Alexander but must be pleased that the Scottish King lies dead for it fulfils his own secret plans to annex the kingdom.

Burnell paused and looked hard at Corbett. 'I now know, because of your visit to Scotland, that Edward sent Benstede there as part of his grand design to annex that kingdom by peaceful means if necessary, but, if that fails, then by war.' 'But Edward has been in France?' queried Corbett, 'deeply involved in Gascony affairs.' 'He is,' Burnell smiled, 'but I do know from my spies in the Exchequer that the royal treasury clerks have despatched an interest-free loan of two hundred pounds sterling to Eric, King of Norway.' 'You mean?' Corbett exclaimed. 'Oh! There is more,' continued Burnell. 'Edward has also sent secret envoys to Rome asking for a papal dispensation for his two-year-old son to marry within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity. The bride has already been chosen for there are English envoys now in Norway attempting to secure the hand of the Princess Margaret in marriage for Edward's own son. So, you see, Master Corbett, the King has been most active in this Scottish matter. By fair means or foul, he intends to get his son on the Scottish throne!' 'Yet,' Corbett replied, 'if the Prince Edward does marry Margaret, it would mean a peaceful conclusion to the affair.' Burnell almost snorted in derision. 'For the love of the Sweet God and all his sons!' the Chancellor exclaimed. 'You have been in Scotland, Hugh. You have seen Wishart, the Bruce, the Scottish lords. Do you really think they will allow an English prince to wear the Scottish crown? Do you think Bruce will give it up like some nun who enters the convent and renounces all wealth? There is more. The Princess Margaret is only two, the same age as Edward's son. The Scottish court know it will be years before either succeeds to the throne and who would be their guardian?' Burnell smiled. 'No less a person than our sovereign dread lord, Edward of England, and he would not allow the grass to grow under his feet. English castles built. Scottish strongholds garrisoned with English troops. English barons, churchmen and clerks in positions of responsibility. No,' Burnell concluded. 'I have thought the matter out. The murder of Alexander III will only lead to the death of the Princess Margaret and the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, of English and Scots and in the end we will lose.' Corbett sat and thought about the visions he had seen in the Pictish village and the prophetic words of Thomas of Learmouth. 'Well,' Burnell said, rising to his feet. 'You did well, Hugh, the matter is now in my hands. You are to return immediately to London and resume your duties. I shall see you before you leave.'

The old Bishop, muttering to himself, shuffled out of the door. Corbett remained, looking out of the window. The sun had gone, a strong wind had arisen. He looked across the Tweed and saw the dark stormclouds gathering above Scotland. Images passed through his mind. Alexander III, King of Scotland, black against the night sky as he fell to his lonely death. Wishart, foxy eyes, the power and the fury of the Lord Bruce. Then, once again, the lines of Thomas of Learmouth passed through his mind and he knew the prophecy was right. The green hills below him would run with blood before the murder of Alexander III, the death of the Lord's anointed, was expunged from the face of the earth. His death would need atonement before his crown moved out of the gathering darkness.

In Edinburgh Castle John Benstede, clerk and special emissary from Edward of England, was also drawing his affairs to a close. His baggage and trunks with their secret compartments for letters, memoranda, bills and items of business had been taken downstairs by Aaron and strapped on sumpter ponies waiting in the courtyard. Benstede looked round the cold stone-wall chamber. He had left nothing and was secretly pleased to be going. He had already visited Bishop Wishart to thank him for his hospitality and had been slightly surprised by the Bishop's effusive warmth. He was too friendly, thought Benstede, and wondered if the Bishop knew anything about Corbett's revelations.