Nicholas said nothing.
‘I see you do not answer. Would you have me pardon you?’ the boy asked earnestly.
‘And it please you, your Grace.’
‘And it please me? Does it please you? Will you not reply?’
Nicholas inclined his head.
His majesty sighed. ‘Will you not talk to me, Nicholas Colp?’
‘And it please you, sire. What would you have me say?’
‘I saw a play this afternoon. It showed a tutor and a boy. Are you that tutor?’
‘I believe I was.’
‘Then talk with me a little, I would know your secrets. I see how you are broken, and your linen black with blood. I see you catch your breath. You cannot stand. This harm you have done to yourself. I do not think the rack could hurt you more. You need not be afraid of me.’
‘I am not afraid.’
The boy was walking once again. It seemed that he could not be still. For Nicholas, it cost him all his strength to lift his head and whisper it.
The king contended still, ‘You are regent in the college of St Leonard?’
‘Once, I was.’
‘Tutor to a murdered boy?’
‘Aye, once.’
‘Tell me about this boy. What was he like?’
‘He was a lad about your age, and almost like yourself.’
‘Ah,’ the king corrected gently. ‘We think not.’
‘What would you hear?’ His eyes had closed. ‘That he was fair, and younger than his years, with milk-white skin and auburn hair, and slender as a girl. That he was like a child, and wept at trials that were too cruel for him, for he was green and artless like a child, and should have been at play.’
‘Then not like us at all,’ observed the king.
‘No, sire, as you say.’
‘He formed a passion for you, I believe.’
‘For I was kind to him.’
‘And you did have more inward thoughts? You loved him?’ James moved closer to the bed.
‘Aye, perhaps.’
‘You admit as much to me?’
‘I kissed his head. With that kiss, I sent him home to die.’
‘I saw the kiss;’ the boy said softly, ‘your friend showed it in his play. It was a gentle kiss.’
‘I do not ask your pardon, sire.’
‘I see that you do not. I pray you find your peace, I cannot help you more. But I counsel you, ask yourself this, were it better he had died without the kiss?’
Nicholas opened his eyes. ‘I do not know,’ he whispered.
‘Ask it,’ urged the king. ‘For I myself, I do confess, am thankful for the kiss. He did not die unloved.’
‘He is recalcitrant, and not at all subjective. He is a hard man to absolve.’
Hew and Giles exchanged a glance. ‘Your Grace, he is not well. His wits . . .’
The king ignored them. ‘He does not want my pardon. Nonetheless, I am resolved to pardon him, not for himself, who is beyond redemption, but to thank you for your play, which has amused us well. He will not be brought to trial. I believe he has been misused by his college. St Leonard’s shall provide a pension that may make him comfortable while he remains alive. You will arrange it, Doctor Locke? St Leonard’s lacks a principal. My lords have found discrepancies in Gilchrist’s accounts and have removed him from his post. You may know, Master Cullan, that my counsellors last year denounced the regent system here as open to corruption. Still it is in place. This must be changed.’
Giles and Hew sat on the harbour wall, sharing mutton pastries in a cloth. Giles licked the crumbs from his fingertips, shooing off the gulls. ‘When we find a house, we must have an oven.’
‘Aye, then, you must.’ Hew answered earnestly, ‘Did Meg bake these?’
‘Aye, can’t you tell? The cookshop never baked a crust so light. And spices, Hew!’
‘There’s other things you like her for, I hope.’
‘I love her. In truth, I am amazed she does consent to be my wife.’
‘Truly, though?’ her brother teased.
‘Truly. Why not?’
‘You do not doubt? Equivocate? You do not wonder, Giles?’
‘It is not controversial, Hew.’ His friend looked hurt. ‘I wonder you can’t grasp it. It’s the oldest theme.’
‘Peace, I’m teasing you. I’m glad you are to be my brother.’
‘Brother? Now I reconsider, for I had not thought of that.’
Playfully, Hew jolted him, and the last piece of pie-crust fell to the gulls.
‘Confound it!’ Giles cursed. Mournfully, he shook the crumbs from the cloth. ‘It can’t be helped. Now, I must return to college. I am late for class.’
‘Then you have not resigned the post,’ Hew observed as they approached the castle.
Giles shook his head. ‘I am persuaded to remain there, for another year at least. There will be changes made. I mean to build a practice, all the same, with Meg. We’ll share the work. And yet . . . you never know,’ he gave a wink, ‘perhaps I’ll be an actor, after all.’
‘Aye,’ Hew grinned. ‘Perhaps you should. It still amazes me that you could play the part. You have the poet’s knack to rhyme extempore.’
‘I knew the thread,’ Giles answered modestly. ‘And speak Latin well enough. And for the rest, it was but strength, to dip the dyer in. I do confess I quite enjoyed it.’
‘I never did say thank you,’ Hew said seriously.
‘You never needed to.’ Giles cleared his throat. ‘And what of you? You do not mean to play the regent all your life?’
Hew was silent a moment. He watched a group of students jostle up the hill and turn into the college gates. It was the first fair day of June, and most had spent the dinner hour delinquent on the sands. Presently, he spoke. ‘I fear I lack the patience. I am not like Nicholas. I intend to depart at the end of the year. In truth, I’m undecided, though I may return to France.’
‘Your father hoped you might continue in the law,’ Giles ventured cautiously.
Hew laughed. ‘I see you have already won his confidence. I detest the law. The law is capricious, contrary and cruel.’
‘And yet you did resolve the case,’ persisted Giles.
‘And could not prove it by the law. If we must resort to kings, it is a tyrant justice after all.’
‘Perhaps,’ his friend said shrewdly, ‘the more you know the law, the better it will serve you. For you have the wit to turn it to your ends.’
‘That is what my father says.’ Hew sighed. ‘I do not know. But for the moment, I must see my students to their declamations. There is no hope, I suppose, that Nicholas may still return?’
The physician paused to consider it. At length he said. ‘He will not work again. Yet I observe a change in him. He is more quiet in his mind. I wonder what effected it? Your father has offered him a home at Kenly Green. These strange events have exercised his spirits, and he finds that he is younger than he thought he was. He is resolved, he says, to live a little longer yet.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Hew retorted dryly. ‘How did Nicholas receive the offer?’
‘Gladly, and with grace. Almost, I might say, with hope.’
‘Then he has changed,’ his friend observed. ‘Perhaps it was the fear of death that was tormenting him.’
Giles shook his head. ‘He’s not afraid to die. And yet, I’ll vouch, it could not be the king. You heard him, Hew. We were only puppets, dancing in his play. He was disposed to toy with us. It pleased him; he grew bored with it. He did not see the tragedy.’
‘Perhaps he did, though,’ Hew conjectured, ‘and we may not know it. After all, he is the king.’
‘Well, it all is settled now. Meg will be sad to see you go. She feels she has not come to know you yet.’
‘She should be glad to see the back of me,’ Hew answered lightly, ‘after what I put her through.’
‘Aye, that’s the strange thing,’ observed Giles. ‘She has only seen the back of you. You are a
mystery, Hew. You have drawn us all into chaos and disorder, in and out of danger, into peril of our lives, and yet we hardly know you, and you leave a stranger. Stay awhile and show yourself. Else I must think you like the king who sweeps us up and sets us down like pieces on a board but does not really care how he disposes us.’
Hew laughed. ‘That’s surely harsh. Though I allow I have not made myself well known to Meg, you must allow I have been somewhat busy for more social intercourse. But you, Giles, can hardly have felt me a stranger. We have known each other far too well for that, and for far too long.’
‘Aye, I concede, I do know a great deal about you,’ Giles agreed. ‘I know your taste in women and your fondness for French soap, your thoughts on Aristotle and your weakness for your horse. But these things, I protest, though I know well, they are not you, for that has been well hidden. Your real self is concealed from us, kept busy by its own distractions. When will we know you, Hew Cullan? When will your story be heard?’
‘What nonsense!’ Hew retorted. But already he had turned his back, and was staring out to sea. At length he added quietly. ‘Perhaps it is not finished. Rest assured, it will be told.’
One quiet afternoon before the final disputations, while his students played upon the links, Hew took his walk along the Kinness Burn. And presently beyond the trees he came upon the little house with its single wisp of blue smoke and found the dyer’s son at work among the pots. Will raised his cap.
‘Good day to you, Master Cullan. We have not seen you here awhile.’
‘I heard your mother died. I’m sorry for it.’
‘Aye. We buried her beside her bairn. She did not want to share my father’s grave. The minister was vexed, but at the last accepted it. It was what she wished.’
‘Did she tell you what it was your father did?’
Will shook his head. ‘He broke her heart, that’s all. What does it matter now? They both are dead. Your sister came to see her at the end. She brought your physician friend Doctor Locke, the grand mediciner, huffing through his handkerchief. He couldna help her, though. They made her comfortable, for which I’m glad.’
‘I did not know,’ Hew answered awkwardly. ‘You’re lonely here?’ ‘We’re quiet, aye. My brother took the bairns to town. He’s to be married, have you heard, to Tibbie Strachan. Her ma and da gone, the farm and the wool shop are come down to her. Tis good enough for him, he says. They both are orphans now. He wasna one for dyeing.’
‘Good, that’s good, I’m glad of it. What happened to Tom Begbie?’
‘Strachan’s death released him from his bonds, and he went off in search of his lass. To the ends of the earth, if he has to.’
‘He will not find her,’ Hew said sadly.
‘No? I feared not.’ Will turned his back to him, stirring the pots.
‘And your sister Jennie? Have you heard from her?’
‘I hear the rumours, sir. I do not heed them. Jennie is a good girl in her heart. Last week the bairns were sent a present of a crate of sugarplums. And for myself, a box of colours, all the way from France. Now, sir,’ he cleared his throat. ‘I’ve a dye here quite unlike the rest. I’m sure you’d like a look before you go.’
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