'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.