by Pat McIntosh
‘Admirably,’ said Gil, and grinned. The pup licked his hand with a long wet tongue. ‘Do you suppose Alys would give me some bread and milk for him, Pierre?’
‘And this,’ announced Maister Kennedy, practically gnashing his teeth, ‘is the library’s second copy, bound up with Laurence of Lindores’ commentary on the Book of Suppositions. I have been hunting for this for over a year!’
‘It was not the only treasure in his chamber,’ said Gil, setting several bundles on Maister Doby’s reading-desk.
‘So I perceive,’ said the Principal, eyeing them askance. ‘What are all these?’
‘Four books belonging to the library’ Gil indicated the little volumes. ‘Who is librarian just now, maister? Perhaps some change to the rules?’
‘I will recommend it. And these?’
‘Two more books, apparently William’s own. One belonging to the senior bachelor, Michael Douglas, which I will return to him. A green silk purse with a surprising amount of money, and some jewels.’ Gil unrolled the red cloth jerkin, to reveal the three elaborate brooches which he had pinned to the cloth.
‘He should certainly not have kept these in his chamber,’ said the Principal after a moment, ‘setting temptation in the way of his fellow students.’
‘Quite so. There are also two rings, which I stowed in the purse with the money, and these.’ He unrolled the jerkin further. ‘We can ask at the armourer where he got a pair of daggers like that, but I suspect it wasn’t in Glasgow.’
There was a high wailing sound from the antechamber.
‘What is that noise?’ asked the Principal, distracted.
Gil, aware he was going red, said, ‘It’s William’s dog. It’s taken a liking to me. Maister Mason was going to take it to his house to wait, but it’s reluctant to go with him.’
‘A dog? How could the laddie keep a dog in secret?’ asked Maister Doby, perplexed.
‘It may not have lived in his chamber,’ Gil speculated. ‘Maister, may I ask some questions?’ The older man inclined his head. ‘Can you suggest who might have been William’s enemy?’
‘Oh, no. Not to such an extent. Although he was clever he was not admired,’ admitted Maister Doby, ‘and he was not as popular as one might expect, but surely he had no enemies?’
‘Clearly he had one at least, as Maister Crawford said,’ said Gil. ‘Can you offer me any interpretation of his question at the Faculty meeting? That might lead us to his enemy.’
‘But it might also lead us to suspect unjustly someone who was in fact innocent.’
‘Maister,’ said Gil patiently, ‘the boy deserves justice. Moreover, the person who killed him needs the succour of Holy Kirk, to bring him to repentance and confession of his sin.’
‘That is true,’ agreed the Principal. He thought deeply for a short while, then sighed and said heavily, ‘I can shed no light on the suggestion of heresy, and I suspect you will not find anyone who will.’
‘Probably not,’ agreed Gil.
‘But I wondered if the charge of peculation might be a garbled recollection of something that happened when John Goldsmith was Principal.’ Maister Doby paused, and counted carefully, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk. ‘Aye, in ’85. The college had borrowed money from old John Smyth, you remember him?’
‘My uncle has mentioned him. He was senior song-man at the cathedral, was he no?’
‘Quite so.’ The Principal glanced at his door. ‘That dog sounds to be in pain.’
‘It’ll stop greeting when it sees me,’ said Gil, embarrassed.
‘Then in God’s name have it in and silence it.’
Gil fetched the pup from the anteroom, where the mason gave it up with some relief, and returned to his seat with the creature, trying to repress its ecstatic embraces.
‘That’s a dog of breeding,’ Maister Doby remarked acutely, watching as it sat down at Gil’s feet and laid its head on his knee. ‘Someone will ken where he got it from. Where was I? Oh, aye, old John Smyth. Well, he wanted his money back, and Maister Goldsmith couldn’t just put his hand on it, and David Gray was Bursar at the time and catched in the midst of the ding-dong. I mind he was ill with the worry of it at the time. You follow me?’
‘I think so,’ said Gil with caution. ‘You are saying that there was a little trouble about money, and Maister David Gray was caught up in it.’
‘But without fault,’ said the Principal firmly. ‘I mind the whole thing. John Smyth got his money in the end, we had to borrow from the archdeacon to pay him, and one or two said David had mismanaged it, but they didny see the books, and I did, for I was Wardroper that year. In any case, Gilbert, David was at the high table with the Dean and me, he canny have throttled the boy.’
‘He was, wasn’t he,’ agreed Gil, recalling the way Maister Gray had sat staring into the flan-dish before him. ‘What were you eating up there, maister? Was it any better than what we got?’
‘I think Dean Elphinstone commended the spiced pork,’ said Maister Doby, ‘but to tell truth, Gilbert, I have no sense of taste these days. One stew is much like another. There was raisins in it, I can tell you that.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will lock these things away. Have you the inventory? Good. And signed by Nicholas and Patrick. Excellent. You were aye one to think of everything, Gilbert.’ He bent and held out a hand to the pup, which inspected it solemnly and administered a minuscule lick. ‘But we willny lock you away, treasure or no, eh? Take care of the brute, Gilbert. They eat like a student, at this age.’
The Principal turned to the door, as there came a tapping on the planks from the other side. He opened it, and a fond smile crossed his face.
‘Well, Billy? This is William Ross, Gilbert. He and his brother lodge at my house. What is it, Billy?’
‘If you please, maister,’ said William Ross, stepping confidently into the room and bobbing his head in a schoolboy’s bow, ‘Jaikie at the yett sent me to say there’s a bonnie young lady asking for Maister Cunningham.’
Chapter Five
Jaikie the porter was blocking the vaulted tunnel to the yett, hands on hips, glaring red-faced and indignant at Gil and the mason as they approached. The wolfhound at Gil’s knee began to growl quietly, and he hushed it as the porter launched into aggressive speech.
‘Now, you ken the rules as well as me, Maister Cunningham! Even William Irvine never had a leman calling at the yett for him –’
Gil glanced over the man’s shoulder. At the far end of the tunnel Alys stood patiently in the street, her plaid drawn over her head against yet another pattering shower.
‘The lady,’ he said coldly, ‘is Maister Mason’s daughter, and it would have been common courtesy to ask her in out of the rain.’
The porter snorted in disbelief, but Maistre Pierre said, ‘It is indeed my daughter, and I am here to protect her from your lecherous students.’
Jaikie opened his mouth to comment, assessed the mason’s size and breadth of shoulder, and closed it again. As Maistre Pierre stepped past him into the tunnel he recovered somewhat and expostulated, with a puff of spirituous breath, ‘Ye canny bring a lassie in here just the same! It’s as much as my job’s worth if the heid yins catches ye here with her. And another thing – is that no William Irvine’s dog?’
Gil suppressed anger.
‘Let the lady past, if you please,’ he said, emphasizing the word. ‘She is here about the business I am conducting for the Principal and Dean Elphinstone.’ Whether it’s true or no, that ought to silence him, he thought.
Jaikie glowered at him, and finally stepped aside as Alys emerged from the tunnel on her father’s arm, bringing with her the feeling that the sun had come out again. Catching Gil’s eye she curtsied and said formally, ‘May I speak to you, Maister Cunningham? I have information which may be of value.’
Her father’s eyebrows went up and Jaikie gaped at her, but Gil, forewarned by her expression, replied in the same language, ‘Indeed yes, for I am sure your news will be worth hearing.’
‘Same way a student kens it,’ said Gil crisply. ‘Now stand aside, man.’
Biting his thumb and glowering, the porter stood aside and watched them. His mutter followed them across the courtyard.
‘I don’t know. Even William never had a leman at the yett, and he’d the half of Glasgow leaving messages for him.’ As they reached the door of the Bachelors’ Schule the mutter rose to a shout. ‘And is that dog to go back to Billy Dog now or no? He’s been asking for it.’
‘Gil, you must come to our house,’ said Alys, her hand on his arm. ‘Mistress Irvine is in great distress.’
‘Irvine,’ Gil said. He disengaged his arm and put it round her shoulders. The pup lay down firmly on his feet. ‘I should have thought. How can I answer you, mother, When my schoolmates have me slain? I take it she gave him her own name?’
‘Or her husband’s,’ said the mason, sitting down opposite them on another of the long hard benches. ‘That must be why the boy named her when he wrote his will.’
‘It has been more than a little trying,’ said Alys. ‘When Mistress Irvine found it was her foster-son who was dead –’
‘Did the McIans tell her?’ her father interrupted.
‘No, they had left by then. Kittock mentioned it, and then she ran out in the street –’
‘Tell us from the beginning,’ Gil said. He tightened his clasp on her shoulders, and she leaned a little against him.
‘The McIans came by the house,’ she said patiently. ‘The harper was a little upset, and wanted to ask after the baby. Mistress McIan told me about what happened – about the dead student, and how her brother knew where he was –’
‘Not exactly,’ Gil said. ‘He knew he was behind a locked door.’
‘Oh. They spoke to Mistress Irvine, too, to thank her for trying to get the bairn to eat, and then they left. It was only a little while ago that Kittock said something about the dead man in Mistress Irvine’s hearing, and repeated enough to make her sure it was her boy. She became very distressed.’
‘Poor woman,’ said her father sympathetically.
Alys threw him a glance, and nodded. ‘She ran out in the street, and found some people coming from the feast, still in their gowns and hoods, and asked them who was dead, and what happened. They told her his name, and that he had been throttled – is that right?’ Gil nodded. ‘It took several of us to get her back into the house. I sent to Greyfriars, and Father Francis is with her now. But the thing is, Gil, that I think she may have information for you. She has mentioned knowing the young man’s mother, and that money comes from the Montgomery estates for his keep.’
‘This could be valuable,’ Gil agreed, ‘but there are matters I must see to here before I can leave. Alys, what you could do for me if you will –’ She looked up hopefully. ‘– is take this animal home and feed him for me.’
‘If he will go with you,’ said the mason. ‘And I have a task for you also.’
‘Can’t I do anything else?’
‘Not yet.’ Gil smiled at her. ‘And the dog must be fed.’
‘Very well.’ She bent to offer the pup her hand to sniff. ‘He is a handsome dog – not like Didine at all, is he, father?’ As the mason grunted in agreement, she explained to Gil: ‘Catherine had a little dog when we came to Glasgow, a pop-eyed yappy creature. She died last year. This fellow is much more to my taste. What is his name?’
‘I have no idea. Probably Bran or Gelert or some such thing,’ said Gil disparagingly. ‘Everyone and his granny calls his wolfhound Bran. His head needs looked at, too.’
‘I see that.’ She stroked the rough flank, and the hairy tail beat twice on the floor. ‘Poor beast. And your task, father?’
The mason felt in his sleeve, and drew out the much-folded papers they had found in William’s purse.
‘See what you can make of that,’ he said, handing them to her. ‘The square one is in code.’
‘In code?’ She unfolded it carefully, and tilted it to the light. ‘Simple substitution,’ she said after a moment. ‘Look, here is the same group of letters, and here, and again here. I can decipher that,’ she finished confidently. ‘What about the other?’
‘Notes of some sort, transcribing the tablets.’ Gil held the little set out on his palm, and she glanced at it, and looked closer.
‘I saw those in Maister Webster’s shop,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am certain it’s the same set. I thought them too dear for something so small.’
‘William obviously thought otherwise.’ Gil slipped the leather cover off to look at the carved outer faces again. ‘This is fiddly work. It would have taken time.’
‘As for these notes.’ Alys looked down at the second sheet of paper. ‘M will be in G. I suppose G might be for Glasgow?’
‘Then M might mean Montgomery,’ said her father. ‘Who else!’
‘It’s possible,’ agreed Gil. ‘Very possible.’
Alys refolded the papers and tucked them behind her busk. ‘If I have time, I will work on that this evening.’
‘Is nane so witty and so wyce. I think you can do everything,’ said Gil in admiration.
She threw him a glinting look, and got to her feet. ‘I must go and see to the kitchen. Will you be in to supper?’
‘Who knows?’ said her father. ‘There is an entire college to question, I think. You see her out, Gilbert. I go to find John Shaw.’
Gil roused the pup and they walked down the shadowy tunnel to the yett, Alys’s pattens clopping on the paving-stones. There was movement in the porter’s small chamber, but the man did not appear. At the yett Gil paused, and pushed the animal towards her.
‘I have not forgotten my promise,’ he assured her. ‘If you wish to take part in the hunt, you shall do so, outside the college. I wish you could help inside as well.’
She put up her face for his kiss.
‘Some day there will be a college for women in Glasgow,’ she said composedly, and bending to take the dog’s collar led it out into the street. The effect of her parting speech was completely spoiled by the wolfhound, which, realizing it was being separated from its new hero, dug its paws into the mud, squirmed from her grasp and flung itself yammering back at Gil, with Alys in pursuit. Gil, laughing in exasperation, bent to gather the animal into his arms.
‘Leave the beast with me,’ he said, avoiding its passionate and muddy demonstrations of relief.
‘I think I must,’ she agreed, laughing with him. Her laughter faded as a mounted party went up the High Street, spurs jingling, and Gil paused in the gateway to watch them go, looking past her in dismay at the pack-mules laden with mud-splattered bales and boxes. ‘What is it? What have you seen? Is it the Montgomerys?’
‘No, not the Montgomerys,’ he said, in slightly hollow tones. ‘We have less time than I thought to get this sorted out. I know those riders, and I’d know the bay with the two socks if I met him in Jerusalem. Those are my mother’s outriders. She’ll be in Glasgow by tomorrow night.’
The college kitchen, having long since served up dinner in the Laigh Hall for the remaining scholars and regents, was resting from its labours. The charcoal fires out of the long brick cooking-range had been tipped into the hearth and lay in smouldering heaps, the blue smoke curling up past the long iron spits. Two sturdy lasses and a pair of grooms were scouring crocks in a corner, and another groom and a boy in a student’s belted gown were carrying them away. Some older women were seated round the table and Mistress Dickson, in a great chair in the corner, her feet in their large cracked shoes propped on a stool, was just sending another groom for some of the college’s wine.
‘Well, Maister Cunningham!’ she greeted him. ‘Sit you down and tell me about your marriage, then. What like’s your bride? Can she bake and brew?’
‘With the best,’ Gil assured her. He drew up the stool she indicated and the pup settled beside him on the flagged floor. ‘Agnes, is there any c
hance of some scraps for this beast? He must be yawpin with hunger, poor creature, for he can’t have been fed since before Terce.’
‘There’s some of the rabbit pottage left that it could have,’ said one of the women at the table, ‘and a wee take of the spiced pork. The plain roastit meat’s all ate up.’
‘There were just the two made dishes, is that right?’
‘Aye, and that was enough,’ said Mistress Dickson briskly. ‘For the money they allowed me, I did them proud, anyone’ll tell you that. Two made dishes, one of them kept for the high table, three sorts of plain roastit meat, an onion tart with flampoints to each table, all the breid they could eat.’ She checked the items off on long bony fingers. ‘And for the second course, a pike, kale pottage with roots in, a big dish of fruminty to each table. Raisin-cakes and cheese to clear it with.’
‘And the pheasant,’ said someone.
‘Aye, I forgot the pheasant. Sic a trouble it was to get it back in its skin.’
Gil, uncertain of how such a young animal’s belly would react to spiced pork, negotiated tactfully for a portion of the Almayne pottage, and began to remove the meat from the splintery bones with his knife. The dog accepted each morsel delicately, making no attempt to snatch or snap at his fingers, its hunger apparent only in the speed with which it swallowed. Mistress Dickson watched approvingly, over a cup of wine.
‘So that William turned up,’ she said at length.
‘He did,’ agreed Gil, picking another fragment of bone out of the bowl. ‘In the coalhouse.’
‘Tam, there, was in the coalhouse not an hour before he was found,’ said Mistress Dickson. Gil looked round, and found one of the grooms grinning importantly. ‘Weren’t you no, Tam?’
‘I was, and all,’ agreed Tam. ‘He wisny there, but,’ he added in tones of disappointment.
‘Saints preserve us, what a thocht!’ said one of the sturdy girls in the corner. The other one giggled.
‘Well, he wouldny be,’ said the student helping Tam. ‘Seeing it was the limehouse he was in anyway.’
‘What time was that?’ Gil asked. ‘Was it raining?’