by Adrien Leduc
girl held up her hands.
“I’m not doing anything with those,” said Alison with a laugh, taking a step backwards as her daughter advanced towards her.
The girl gave a small whimper and glanced at her hands.
“Let them as they are until we’ve finished. It will keep the dough from sticking to your hands.”
“But...why does it do that...why does it stick to my hands?”
Alison smiled. “It’s chemistry, my child. Now let’s roll out this dough, shall we?”
Meanwhile in the stables out back...
Abraham paused long enough to lean against the fence and catch his breath.
“Father?” William, a concerned expression on his face, set down the shovel he’d been using to clean the horses’ stalls. “Are you alright?”
Abraham smiled as he watched the boy make his way to his side. Sighing, he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Age, lad, age.” He smiled again. “It gets the best of us.”
William looked as though he didn’t understand.
“You’ll know what I mean when you’re my age,” said Abraham with a chuckle. He tousled the boy’s hair and then, with a mighty heave, pushed himself off the fence so that he stood upright once more. “Come, let’s get our chores done so we can go inside and warm our hands by the fire.”
SCENE 8 – SUPPER IN THE GREAT HALL
Later that evening. Kirkwall Castle. The Great Hall. Earl Patrick Stewart sits at the head of the table. Along the sides of the table sit his wife Margaret, brother John Stewart, chamberlain Henry Colville, and several other anonymous courtiers. Also seated at the table is a visiting priest from the Shetland Islands. On the table lie the half-eaten remnants of black bread, roast pheasant, blood sausage, roast vegetables, and other items. Glasses of wine and mugs of ale complement the food on the table.
“Do you mean to tell me the crofters there have no means of producing flour?”
The priest shook his head. “They do me Lord, we have a mill, but it is just one and she’s not in good shape.”
“Such a place doesn’t need a mill,” said Henry dourly, draining his mug of ale so that dribbles ran down his chin. “Shetland men are fishers and foremost.”
“With all due respect,” said the priest, his manner becoming defensive, “we have many crofters on Shetland. Some men do both – fishing and farming.”
With an air of boredom, Patrick swirled the remaining wine in his glass before taking a sip. “So long as they continue to pay their taxes, I have little mind as to how the men of Shetland earn a living.”
The table grew silent for a moment, the only sounds being the scraping of utensils and Henry Colville’s grotesque gnawing and gnashing and slurping sounds as he ate. Patrick snapped his fingers at a servant, breaking the silence.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“More wine, Adam. And see that Susan opens a new bottle. Until our guilty party has been found, I shall drink from a new bottle only.”
“Yes, of course, my Lord,” was the servant’s reply before he rushed away to do the earl’s bidding.
“Forgive my curiosity, Earl Stewart,” the priest began, “but what guilty party do you speak of? What injustice has been committed?”
“Dearest Oswald, where do I begin. I live amongst a nest of vipers, a horde of Mongols. There is always one or two within the castle walls vying for this (he tapped the crown on his head).”
The priest appeared somewhat bewildered by the earl’s frank speech, but nonetheless maintained a stoic and empathetic expression. “I dare not utter the words, Earl Stewart, and forgive me for pursuing my curiosity...but has someone tried to do you harm?”
Patrick smiled as he looked at the faces around the table. “Yes Oswald, someone tried to harm me in the most despicable and cowardly way...someone (he continued to scan the faces, the eyes of each lowering to avoid his gaze as his eyes settled on theirs) tried to poison me.”
“Poison?”
Patrick sighed and nodded theatrically as Adam returned with his glass of wine. “I was sat in this very spot the night before last. We were eating supper as we are now, with the same individuals you see here before you.”
“But...” the priest’s face had drained of colour, “...how...and how did you escape such a plot?”
“Well, let me tell you Oswald that adder’s venom, no matter what may be used to mask the taste, is a foul and entirely noxious substance. I don’t imagine the culprit sampled the poison beforehand so he or she (he glanced at his wife), would surely not have known how ludicrously disgusting it tastes. I sipped my wine (he took his glass from Adam) just like this and I spat it out before swallowing a drop, the taste was off putting.”
“God is with you, Earl Stewart,” said the priest quietly.
Patrick nodded and waved Adam away as he closed his eyes, bowing his head with an air of ceremony. “This I know, dear Oswald. This I know. God supports me and has put me in this position for a reason,” he continued, his eyes opening slowly. “Who else is fit and worthy enough to govern these islands? Orkney and Shetland had hard lands with few resources. The Earl of Caithness wishes me dead. Is it he who has acted through someone in this castle? I am like Christ among the Romans, an eternal martyr and it is only by the grace of God that I sit here to speak these words now.”
“My Lord,” Henry had had enough. After all, he was the earl’s chamberlain and if a crime had been committed, it was his duty to find the culprit. To ignore this duty, to fail at this duty, would be a curse greater than the curse God sent upon Lot. “If I may, as chancellor, I swear I will leave no stone unturned in my search for the man or woman responsible.”
Patrick nodded as would a parent listening to a child.
“And I swear the same, dear brother,” said John. “Was it not I who brought you information this very morning about Thomas Paplay?”
Two things happened in this moment. First, Patrick scoffed at his brother’s remark (as he had earlier that morning). Second, Henry, as alert an owl on the hunt narrowed his eyes and demanded of John to explain.
“I have heard rumours that the servant, Thomas Paplay - my servant I am sorry to say – was involved in the plot to murder my dear brother.”
“Where did you obtain this information?”
“Ah, Henry, as much as I would like to divulge who my whisperers are in this castle, I’m afraid I cannot. Suffice it to say that my information sources are as sound as the walls of this castle.”
While Patrick rolled his eyes and made some disparaging remark, Henry seemed intent on following up the lead.
“My Lord, I think it wise to consider all options in our search. Do you trust me to conduct a proper and thorough investigation to find the culprit?”
It was a gamble and everyone at the table, most of all Henry, knew it. For if Patrick were to answer “no”, then Henry would be publicly humiliated and effectively denounced, confidence in his office and title utterly abandoned.
But Patrick, sensing the gravity of the situation, and with all eyes on him, allowed himself to nod. “Yes, Henry. As my chancellor, I trust you with conducting a complete and thorough investigation. Now,” he removed the napkin from his lap and dropped in unceremoniously on his plate, “I have rather had a long day and I shall retire now to my chambers. See that Oswald is treated with utmost care and respect while he is our guest (he gave a nod to the priest) and I shall see you all at breakfast.”
While the evening may have been over for Patrick, it was only getting started for Henry and poor Thomas Paplay.
SCENE 9 – THOMAS PAPLAY IS APPREHENDED
The following morning, Sunday, December 4, 1594. It is a day of rest for most of the castle servants and courtiers. We find ourselves in the Paplay family’s chambers. Through the window, one can see it is cold and gray outside. Baby Isabelle sleeps in her crib by the fire. The fire crackles gently in the background. June Paplay lies on a chaise (also by the fire), reading a book. Thomas, fresh from hemming his pants, has just risen from h
is chair at the table.
“Thomas?”
“Yes, dear wife.”
The man smiled as he crouched down beside the woman.
“My shoulders are sore...give me a massage?”
She smiled at him. He knew this smile. He knew where a massage might lead. He cleared his throat. “Of course, my queen. Let me go and wash up.”
“Don’t be long,” she cooed.
Thomas grinned as he crossed the room to where the wash basin stood. On his way he passed their sleeping baby, Isabelle. His eyes fell tenderly upon her gentle, sleeping form.
Such perfection...such innocence, he thought. What a beautiful child we’ve created...
A forceful banging at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes? Who is it?” he called, turning towards the door. He glanced at his wife who had by now sat up and was adjusting her blouse so it would not reveal so much of her ample bosom.
“It is Henry, the earl’s chamberlain.”
Thomas’s face grew concerned. Was he here to question him about John? Surely John must have sensed something earlier that day – which had of course given him cause to come and see him and command him to remain watchful of rumours...was it too late though? Had rumour progressed to suspicion and was his master now chained up in the dungeons somewhere being interrogated? The animosity between the two brothers, Patrick and John, was well known and perhaps Patrick now had the upper hand.
These were the thoughts swirling through the servant’s head as he made his way to the door,