It is important when investigating any murder to uncover the motive, which can often be found by following the pounds or perhaps the passions. A witness or two also helps. Oh, and in the case of murder, a body can be useful.

To our chronicle;

It was a dull, gale torn early morning in the hill country of the Scottish Borders. Driving rain and wind creating a cacophony of sound, like an orchestra possessed and as the ancient partnership careered through the leaves and trees of the forest, curtains of grey mist hastened across the scene like wraiths on manoeuvre. A fitting start to what would later unfold.

A pair of native forest dwellers, well accustomed to this March weather, and not at all phased by it, busied themselves by sorting out their daily chores, oblivious of the events that would transform them from industrious woodland residents to gawping witnesses. As the morning waned, the wind eased, the rain ceased and the spooky wraiths headed off to other parts. Our unsuspecting witnesses, totally unmoved by the tantrums of the weather continued to go through their normal routine, a spot of lunch on their minds.

It was then a white horse, ridden by a young lady bedecked in white billowing silk, clip clopped into view along the ancient military road that cut through the forest at this point. Henry Ford was still a couple of centuries from arriving on the planet, so the odd horse was no big deal.

author’s collection of white horse images

Who’s that, the watchers chimed? The question was rhetorical.

The flowing locked rider pulled into a clearing and dismounted, loosely tethering her steed to a convenient rowan tree, before settling down to sit in the shelter of an auld dyke.

from author’s collection of auld dyke images

Our local residents ceased their labours, contemplating the visitor from a hidden spot. After a while, they began to lose interest and were on the verge of vacating their vantage point to seek out some lunch when they heard the unmistakeable hoofbeats of a second horse approach from the other direction. A busy day they thought, a second visitant to our unfrequented space. This is getting interesting?

The new arrival, a handsome male with all the bearing of a Knight, astride a much heavier steed than the previous interloper, hove into view. It was a striking beast, shimmering between dark grey and brown, a strange beast.

from the author’s collection of shimmering horses

On entering the clearing, its rider nimbly dismounted and tethered it beside the white horse, before hurrying across and sitting beside the young woman. They immediately embraced. The casual contemplators were now transformed to dedicated snoopers, eyes like saucers, lunch forgotten. Who are these interlopers to our remote spot? What business do they bring here?

The young couple sat close for a while seemingly engaged in a deep conversation. Then, as if by a secret signal, the mood changed and, according to the two witnesses, if anyone was ever to ask them, a tension filled the space between the handsome Knight and the young lady.

Without warning she sprung to her feet and spun to face the handsome young Knight, who quickly stood up before shuffling back a pace, a confused look on his face. Before he could move again, the lady, her disheveled russet locks flying, threw open her flowing silk cloak, revealing a dagger in her right hand, and as quick as a striking Cobra, she lunged forward and plunged it into his chest, and again and again and again.

He threw his arm up, in a futile gesture of defence, but it was too late. Clutching his chest he pitched forward, his handsome face burying in the heather where he now lay, unmoving. The young lady stood over him for a few minutes, then, when satisfied that he was lifeless, dragged his body behind the auld dyke, covering it with bracken and turfs.

After calmly regaining the saddle of her horse, the young woman, after looking all around, took hold of the leather rein of the Knight’s shimmering steed, eased out of the clearing and galloped away from the scene. Her flowing white robes, streaming russet red hair and duo of fine steeds had no sooner disappeared from view over a rise in the ground when the ghostly wraiths reappeared, ushering in the fierce wind and rain, as though creating a scene from a dark piece of Shakespearian theatre.

Our twain of forest dwellers continued to observe for some time and when satisfied all was quiet, they as though conjoined, took to the air and circled above the slain Knight. Their quest for food had been answered, well, for a week or two anyway.

author’s collection of flesh eating corbies.

Henry Fielding and his Bow Street Runners were not born yet, neither was Robert Peel or any of his Peelers, or even Rebus. So the missing person and subsequent murder investigation would have to be placed in the hands of local clans and families.

Another option available in these bygone days involved persuading a ‘powerful and influential’ person to take up the case, and on behalf of the bereaved, petition the Privy Council in Edinburgh to be allowed to pursue, capture and by 'Fire and Sword' (teine no claidheamh), bring the killer or killers to justice.

There is no record of the young lady with the dagger concealed in her silk flowing cloak being subject to the ‘Fire and Sword’ option, or of ever having being brought to justice. In any case it is likely that before any meaningful enquiry could have been carried out, the witnesses would have dined on the victim and consumed the evidence.

In these circumstances, it would be highly unlikely they would be in a position to attest.

Mind you, it is not all gloom in a world where there is a lid for every pot.

While the criminal justice system might not have been able to claim a detection, two carrion crows got a plentiful supply of food and, to add icing to that cake, an anonymous poet was able to turn the whole saga into a ballad.

All’s well that ends well I suppose.

The Twa Corbies (by that very same anonymous poet)

As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t’other say,

‘Where sall we gang and dine the day?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there,

But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

‘His hound is to the hunting gane,

His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

His lady’s ta’en another mate,

So we may mak our dinner sweet.

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,

And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een.

Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair,

We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

‘Mony a ane for him maks mane,

But nane sall ken whare he is gane:

O’er his white banes, when they are bare,

The wind sall blaw for evermair.’

Brief glossary

Twa Corbies – two carrion crows

auld fail dyke – old turf wall

hause-bane – breast-bone

theek – feather

murder most ‘fowl’

An Amateur on MONT BLANC