Crown in Darkness by Paul C. Doherty Read Free Book Online

'No,' he replied. 'Alexander died from a broken neck due to a fall from his horse. Never mind the stupid prophecies and their curses! Alexander's first wife died, his two sons died; the way he drank to forget it all and his mad rides at night to satisfy any lust, it was only a matter of time before such an accident occurred.' 'So, Alexander's death came as no surprise to his subjects?' 'What do you mean?' Benstede replied sharply. 'I mean,' Corbett began slowly, 'the House of Comyn and that of Bruce must, er -,' the English clerk paused, searching for the right words, 'must not be displeased,' he continued, 'to be provided with an occasion to advance their respective claims to the Scottish throne.' 'Be careful what you say, Corbett!' Benstede replied. 'The Comyns hardly came to court and though Bruce was close to Alexander, the late King never bothered to consider their claims to his throne. Yet,' he concluded slowly, 'there are those who now watch Bruce carefully. He wants the crown, Master Corbett, as any other man wants eternal life. But, be careful in what you say or do. The Bruces are violent and would not take kindly to what you are hinting!' Corbett was nodding in agreement when a knock at the door interrupted them and a short, dumpy figure entered. Corbett was immediately repelled. The man had a bland, vacuous face, protruding green eyes and lank, brown, greasy hair. He made signs with his hands and fingers and Corbett watched fascinated as Benstede replied using identical gestures. The man looked at Corbett and Benstede turned. 'My apologies, Master Clerk. May I introduce Aaron, a convert from another faith, a deaf mute, who can only communicate in sign language. He is my body-servant, since my student days in Italy. He has come to tell us that the feast is about to begin and we must go down immediately.' Corbett nodded and followed both the envoy and his strange companion out of the room and down to the main hall of the castle.

SIX
    The banquet was really a frantic blur to Corbett. The long hall was caparisoned with cloths of Paris, cosdy arras, and ablaze with torches burning fiercely in their countless sconces along the walls. At the far end, on a dais, was a long table crowded with fierce-looking men dressed in costly ermine and sable-edged cloaks, though, from where he stood, Corbett could see the glint of armour many of them wore beneath their robes. Even so, the Council of Guardians were intent on keeping the peace; weapons were forbidden and royal serjeants-at-arms were placed in groups in the shadowy recesses of the hall. Beneath the great silver-encrusted salt bowl were long rows of tables crowded with the retainers, clerks and officials of the great lords. The noise was intense, constant chatter, voices raised in argument, an air of expectancy, even tension, as everyone pretended to be involved in what was happening around them but secretly watched the great ones at the high table.
    Benstede swept through the hall and tactfully presented himself before this array of the most powerful magnates in Scotland. He also introduced Corbett who felt many of the lords were too busy to acknowledge him though he noticed Bishop Wishart of Glasgow, a wizened little man with a face as brown and as wrinkled as a shrivelled walnut, studying him intently beneath heavy-lidded eyes. There was another, a giant with steel-grey hair, piercing blue eyes and a cruel mouth. Benstede later named him as Lord Robert, the leader of the Bruce faction. He too studied Corbett intently before reverting to stare fiercely down the hall.
    Benstede and Corbett then sat at the edge of a table directly beneath the great dais just as a chorus of trumpets brayed. Bishop Wishart mumbled grace and the feasting began. A group of musicians with flute, rebec and drum attempted to make music but they were easily drowned by the roar of conversation as the courses were served. Corbett had heard that the Scots were a crude race but their cooks could have