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 worry me, it is the living who plot and kill.
'You can take us to the graves, Sir James?' Selkirk nodded. 'It is strange,' continued Corbett, 'that Erceldoun is buried in the very church in which he was murdered!' Sir James disagreed. 'Both Erceldoun and Seton died in early summer,' he pointed out. 'Both men came from humble backgrounds, their kin could not afford to transport the bodies home, so they were brought here. Which grave do you wish to see first?' 'Erceldoun's,' snapped Corbett. Sir James led his group through a small wicket-gate and across the long, soft grass. The silence was oppressive as they made their way past mounds of earth, some with battered wooden crosses, others just forlorn heaps of clay. The rich could afford stone memorials, exquisitely carved, but the graves of the poor were not even properly dug, shallow holes which scarcely concealed their dead, left open to scavenging dogs and other creatures. Time and again, they came upon heaps of white shard-like bones or tripped cursing over a trailing white, skeletal arm or leg protruding from its thin veil of soil.
An owl-hoot startled them all and a soldier cursed as the bird sailed low over their heads, plunging in the grass to seize some little creature which squirmed in its death agonies. 'Come!' said Selkirk impatiently. They walked a little further. Selkirk looked round and pointed to fresh-cut grass which surrounded a mound of newly-dug soil. 'Erceldoun's grave,' he remarked and after lighting a cresset-torch with a tinder flint ordered the soldiers to start digging. It was an easy task, the grave was shallow and soon they had scraped the dirt off the still-white coffin lid. 'Open it!' ordered Corbett but the soldier simply shook his head, threw his spade down and walked away. Corbett dug out his long Welsh dagger, knelt down beside the grave and prised open the lid. It scraped and creaked but eventually broke free. Corbett gagged at the bitter-sweet smell of corruption and covered his mouth and nose with his cloak to prevent himself choking. In the light of Selkirk's flickering torch the corpse lay face up, the head slightly askew, the eyes half-open. Putrefaction had set in around the nose and mouth, the skin felt cold and soggy as Corbett gently turned the head to look at the fatal weal round the neck, a broad, purple black gash with little round indentations which made it look like some ghostly parody of a necklace.
Corbett looked down at the fearful remains of a young man who, the last time they had met, had been a vigorous young soldier interested in clearing his own name. Now he was dead, brutally murdered, and Corbett knew his only crime was that someone had watched them talk. He wiped his hands on the wet grass beside the grave and ordered the reluctant soldier back to secure the lid of the coffin and cover it with soil. Corbett noticed that the escort was no longer round him. Ranulf was sitting yards away and the soldiers were crowded together muttering and cursing to each other whilst Selkirk had already moved across the cemetery to a nearby grave. 'If you have finished there,' Sir James called out softly. 'This is Seton's grave.' Again the soldiers scraped away the dirt and Corbett prised open the wooden lid. He rolled back the leather covering and heard Selkirk's gasp of surprise. The young man lying there was short of stature, blond, and though he had been in the ground much longer than Erceldoun the body, though swollen and green-tinged, had hardly begun to decompose. 'By the Hand of God!' Selkirk muttered. 'How has a body which has been in the ground remained so fresh?' 'I do not know,' answered Corbett. 'But I have my suspicions. I am not surprised. I almost expected to find it so.' Seton's body was quickly reinterred and, despite Sir James' protests, Corbett insisted that his escort accompany him back to the Abbey of Holy Rood. They returned without incident. Corbett curtly thanked Sir James, wished him goodnight and, followed by a relieved Ranulf, gratefully entered the cool darkness of the abbey buildings.