Richard called out, ‘Since we have no boy to mark us, we must note the chases where they fall, and trust ourselves, as gentlemen, to keep each other’s score.’
They watched each other warily, like strangers. The timber walls distorted sound, holding in the dull thud of the balls, and their voices echoed oddly, forced and strained. At the same time, the panelling muffled and confused the noises from the street, enhancing the impression of enclosure. For a while, they played in silence, focused on the game, until Richard laid a chase and called out, ‘Worse than four, I think.’
Hew picked up the ball, but did not return it. He turned it over in his hand. ‘How did you mean to do it?’ he asked softly.
‘Do you wish to rest? I should say pause. It always makes me smile that we describe as rests the moments when the ball’s in play,’ Richard observed. ‘Will you rest awhile, or play the rest?’
Hew shook his head, fingering the ball. ‘Did you mean to cut their throats? To kill Christian first, and then the child?’
Richard winced a little. ‘I suppose you will not believe me when I say I did not want to kill the child,’ he protested mildly.
‘I do not believe it.’ Hew stepped back to take his serve. It clipped the penthouse roof above the door and spun down to bounce a second time, halfway between the net and the back wall. Hew grimaced. ‘Hazard half a yard?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Richard nodded. ‘That’s the second chase.’ He took a ball out of his pocket, preparing to change ends.
‘What I told you was the truth,’ he went on, as Hew assumed the hazard end. The service took Hew by surprise.
‘Ah, pardon, for you were not ready,’ Richard offered generously. ‘I will play the shot again. I did not seek them out, intent on killing. The apples were a gift, a present for the child. But the intention was to let him see my face, to see if he remembered it. If the child had screamed – and only if he screamed – then I meant to kill them both. If not, you will allow, I did not mean to hurt them. The apples must be proof of that.’
Chilled by Richard’s calmness, Hew mirrored the cool frankness of his tone. ‘You will allow, though, surely, that it would not have been enough that William did not scream. He knew you as the printer Davie. You could not have risked him calling you that name,’ he pointed out.
‘Ah, that is true. Still, I must protest, I did not want to hurt the child. I prayed to God I need not do it. Still, I hope,’ Richard whispered, almost to himself, ‘I may not need to do it.’ Suddenly, he took his serve, and lunged too late for Hew’s return.
Hew cried, ‘Won it!’ He had bettered Richard’s chase.
Richard pulled a face. ‘Forty:thirty, then, to you. You must allow though,’ he reflected, delaying the service once more, ‘that I did not kill the child upon the moor. That signifies for something, surely?’ He let the ball spin, and embarked on a rest that went on for several minutes, until Hew lured him to the net and won the second chase.
‘It signifies for nothing,’ Hew replied, as Richard caught his breath. ‘You left him there to die.’
Richard said indifferently, ‘Perhaps.’ He served into the grille and called out, ‘Fifteen:love.’
Hew wiped his face with his sleeve. His shirt was streaked with sweat, yet he felt cold. The light in the court was beginning to fade.
‘Are you ready to play on?’ Richard called abruptly. ‘It’s growing dark.’
Hew had lost his concentration, and they played several games before another chase was laid. At last, when they changed ends, they did not speak. Then Richard said again, ‘The apples were intended as a gift. I did not wish to harm the child.’
Hew shook his head. ‘You left the child exposed, assuming he would die. Do not dress as pity, what was simple cowardice.’
‘Aye, you are right,’ Richard conceded. ‘I could not bring myself to kill him. Yet I’m glad I do not have his death upon my conscience now.’
‘You speak of conscience, like a proper man, with human thoughts and feelings,’ Hew said bitterly.
‘You know me, Hew. We have been good friends, and I have made you welcome in my house. How can you doubt my proper thoughts and feeling?’ Richard sighed.
‘You forget I found the body of that girl, that you left torn and ravaged on the moor. It looked as though the wild dogs had dismembered her, and made their savage banquet in her heart. What sort of man is capable of that?’
Richard let the ball drop. ‘Dead,’ he answered quietly.
‘What did you say?’
‘It is a dead ball, no longer in play. You cannot understand,’ his tone was more defensive now, ‘how difficult it was, to make her die.’ He stood for a moment, reflecting, and then observed, ‘I find I cannot talk and play.’
‘Which would you prefer to do?’
‘Talk, I think. Then play.’
Richard lay against the wall and closed his eyes. For a while, he seemed to be asleep, and then he murmured dreamily, ‘When I brought you to my house, I had no idea you were the devil’s instrument. I loved you like a brother, almost as a son.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hew asked uneasily.
Richard smiled. ‘I see that the familiar terms disturb you. Do not be alarmed, for we are not related. I had no notion then that you were the corbie messenger.’
‘How was I the messenger? You sent the bird,’ objected Hew.
‘That was a little crude,’ his friend allowed. ‘But I could not resist it. Roger killed the corbie with his bow; a single arrow through the eye. He is the most ingenious boy. He wanted to dissect it, and was vexed to find it gone. Aye, you were the messenger, late by twenty years.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘You are precipitate. Listen, and I shall explain. Show a little grace, and do not interrupt, until the tale is done. You have played a part in this, and you must share the blame. At your father’s funeral, I mentioned my first case. Perhaps you will remember it? It concerned a writer in our close. His name was David Corbie, and he died a traitor’s death – I notice you remark the name, though you did not ask it then. He was hanged for the making of false letters, in the forging of a pardon for a prisoner at Blackness. A crime, I can assure you, he did not commit.’
‘How can you be certain?’ murmured Hew.
Richard smiled. ‘Poor fool! Don’t you see it yet? I stole the writer’s seal, and made the forgery myself. Ah, do not judge me, till you know the whole. I was very young. The prisoner was a kinsman of my father, like to name my father as accomplice to his crime. Not without cause, I may say. If he had spoken out, my family would be ruined; my mother would be destitute, my father would have hanged. Everything I did, I did for them.
‘I did not think, you understand, that Corbie would be blamed. I did not think. For I am not the monster you suppose. And when he was, I tried to save him, on my life. Well, not quite my life,’ he conceded wryly, ‘that I could not spare. But all else I possessed, I placed at his disposal. Your father found me out. He knew the truth.’
‘I do not believe you!’ Hew objected hotly, ‘for my father would never have colluded in your crime.’
‘He came to it too late for David Corbie,’ Richard sighed. ‘Matthew was distracted by your mother’s death, for which he blamed himself. He found the way to show me he suspected, when he made me witness Corbie’s execution. I think I did not mention, how unkindly Corbie died. They struck off his right hand, and nailed it to the cross, where he could look on it before he hanged. And since he was a traitor, they did violence to his corpse, and tore it into four. The body on the muir disgusted you, yet Alison was ravaged in the savage heat of passion; David’s flesh was wrenched by the iron cold grip of law. You may wonder which was worse.’
‘You can excuse neither one by the other,’ argued Hew.
‘Aye, perhaps not. Yet hear me out. After Corbie died, my training was complete,’ Richard went on, with a touch of irony, ‘and Matthew’s own career fell in decline. Six years later, he retired, to your ho
use in Kenly Green, and our paths no longer crossed. Yet all the while, I sensed he knew my secret. When I saw him last, before he died, I came ready to confess. If he had given any hint, in gesture, word, or look, then I should have wept, and knelt before him, pouring out my conscience, making clean my sin. And yet he gave no sign; he received me civilly, and kindly, and with hopes that I might act as tutor to his son.’
‘Then you can be sure, he did not know. It was the fevered product of your guilt, that made you think it,’ Hew assured him.
‘So I believed,’ said Richard sadly. ‘Something lifted from my heart. When your father died, I felt a peace I had not known for twenty years. I asked you to my house, in open friendship, with a glad full heart, out of love for Matthew. I might as well have asked the devil in to sup with me, for I did not foresee that Matthew had designed in you my end.’
‘This is madness,’ Hew protested.
‘Do you not see, that from the start, he meant you for his instrument? He sent you with a book of his old cases. And I made you welcome in my house, not knowing you brought hell and fury in your wake. For where did he send his book? To David Corbie’s child.’
‘Dear God! I thought—’
‘Of course you did,’ Richard nodded sympathetically. ‘For that was what I wanted you to think. Christian Hall is not your sister. What Matthew did for her, he did from pity, and perhaps, in part, from guilt. He took my dereliction on himself, and sought to make amends for it. I did not know, at first, who Christian was. I was as much perplexed as you, until you told me her device, and that Matthew had selected it. And then I knew the book must prove my guilt.’
Hew shook his head. ‘You are mistaken. Alison has died for nought, for there was nothing there.’
‘You underestimate your father’s subtlety. Matthew planned this from the start. I had to have that manuscript. I began to watch the shop, from Robert Fletcher’s tavern. I saw the nursemaid in the street, playing with the child. Later, I saw Catherine come and go. I knew Catherine well. She gave Grace a poppet once, that strumpet called Celeste. But I digress,’ Richard smiled. ‘I meant to speak of Alison. I followed her upon the muir, and became her friend. Such simple souls are cheap to buy. I knew that she would help me. She knew me as the printer, Davie. We were sweethearts, she supposed. I met her in the afternoons when you were in the printing house. I changed at the tennis court, into workman’s clothes. A strange thing, is it not, how men judge us by our dress? You will remark this most of all, for when you came in boatman’s rags they cast you in the prison house. Likewise, in the law courts, none may speak, without the proper clothes. My fear was that this would not work so well upon the child, that he would know me by my face, because he does not understand the ordering of rank. To Alison, I was her Davie, and a printer. I persuaded her to bring me printed papers from the shop, by way of an exemplar, that I promised to return. I wanted, in particular a textbook on the law. The silly girl had no notion what I wanted, for she could not read. She brought me Catherine’s poems. And though they were not quite what I was looking for, I realised I could make good use of them. I passed them on to Balcanquall, in the hope of closing Christian’s press. I hold no grudge against Catherine,’ he paused to reflect. ‘Her husband was one of my clients, whose heart stopped in the throes of passion with a whore. Robert gave Catherine the grandgore. I expect she has passed it to you.’
‘I did not lie with her,’ Hew answered shortly.
Richard looked amused. ‘Then you showed more restraint than I supposed.
‘What I did not anticipate, foolishly, was that the burgh council would impound your father’s book. No one was more relieved than I to see it safely back in Christian’s hands. And yet I was no further forward, for I did not have the manuscript. And I could not have it, for the book was charmed.’
‘This is madness, Richard, nursery tales! The burden of your guilt has turned your wits!’
‘Is it, though? It came through flood, and God knows what; when all else was destroyed, it remained unharmed. What else could it mean, but that Matthew had bewitched it? Then I became obsessed with Christian Hall. I would her destroy her absolutely, wipe her out, as I had done her father, and remove all trace of proof. I would make a forgery that she could not deny. It took some time to persuade Alison to steal the block and type. She had disobeyed her mistress and she feared the bairn would tell; I bribed the bairn with fruit. I had not brought back the papers I had promised; I persuaded her that they were waste, the block and letter too, would not be missed. She was afraid that she would lose her place; I promised her a better one. And, you will allow, I sent her to a better one,’ he pleaded, chillingly. ‘I knew I had to kill her, even then. For even little Alison, foolish as she was, would not have held her tongue when Christian came to trial. So I arranged to meet her for the last time on the moor. I brought a banquet in a napkin, sweetmeats for the child. And, while William played, I offered to make love to her.’
‘Then it was not a rape,’ muttered Hew.
‘It was not a rape,’ Richard agreed. ‘Later, it made sense to let you think it was, to tie the crime to Marten Voet, and the murder in St Andrews. Though you cannot think,’ he gave a shudder of disgust, ‘I wanted her. Whatever you will think of me, I pray, do not think that.’
Hew fell silent, sickened. Then he said at last, ‘Did you have your horse with you?’
‘Aye, as it happens. He was tethered to a tree stump on the moor.’
‘Then William’s fear is not of horses,’ Hew concluded thoughtfully. ‘He was afraid, but of a particular horse.’
‘Is that so?’ Richard laughed. ‘I once saw a horse hanged, for murder of its master when it trampled him to death. But I do not think my poor red roan will stand up in the witness box. No matter. You must know what happened next. I teased and chased her through the wood; we fetched up by the gibbet, where I led her back into the trees. It is a lonely spot, where no one likes to linger long. And it began to rain. Alison was laughing, wild and soaked, upon our bed of leaves. I tried to cut her throat, but my hands were shaking, and I could not cut deep enough. I tried to smother her; my hands were thick with blood,’ he shuddered in distaste, ‘and still she would not die; she struggled, even screamed – how could she go on screaming, when her throat was cut? Then you must see, how difficult it was. And though I cut and cut at her I could not stop her crying, close her eyes and silence her. And when at last she stilled, I could not stop, until I fell exhausted in her arms and both of us were spent, soaked in rain and blood. And then … when I came to again, I saw the little child. I had quite forgotten him. And he was peeping from the trees, where he had run to shelter from the rain, quite still and blank with horror. I reached out towards him – I swear it was to comfort him – but he fled back through the wood. And though it was the simplest thing to follow him, a weariness took over me. I let him go. I trusted that the storm would seal his fate. I had clean clothes in my bags, for I had thought of that. Beneath my coat and bonnet, I had worn your boatman’s rags. I buried them in mud and rode back through the rain. The block was in my pocket, and I felt a curious calm.’
Richard stood up and stretched. ‘It is a relief to confess,’ he admitted, ‘like one of Giles Locke’s laxatives. I feel lightened and refreshed. Shall we play again?’
‘And if we do, what happens next?’ asked Hew.
‘Allow me one last game,’ Richard answered quietly, ‘after which, I shall concede that I have lost.’
Richard played erratically and closely to the net. To Hew’s astonishment, he left the court behind him undefended, losing three points in succession to Hew’s serve. The fourth serve he returned and embarked upon a rest, returning to the net where best he could. Hew did not understand this strategy. Richard seemed resolved to throw away the game. And though he saw him coming to the rope, he was ill-prepared for Richard’s final stroke. Richard caught his volley at the net and played the shot backhand. Masking the direction, he took up the ball in flight and rammed it
home. Instead of glancing off the side wall, as Hew had expected, it struck him full force in the face. As the court turned to blackness he felt himself crumple, parting his lips to mouth his surprise, and heard the clatter of his racket on the ground.
‘I thought you were dead,’ Richard observed; almost, Hew thought, with a hint of reproach. The walls of the court seemed to spin and close in, and Hew was hit with motion sickness in a sudden wave.
‘Pray, do not try to move. Let’s see what we can do to help you.’
Richard knelt by his side. He had taken off his coat, and rolled it into a pillow, slipping it under Hew’s head.
‘Lie still for a moment,’ he urged.
Dizziness spilled over to confusion. Hew could no longer see. A red haze had covered his eyes. He lifted his hand to the side of his head and heard himself murmur, ‘A surgeon.’
‘Aye, in a while,’ agreed Richard. ‘Dead ball. The score is now forty:fifteen. Though I’m afraid, the game is done.’
Hew fought for consciousness. He struggled to regain his sight, and failed, the red haze returning to black as he felt his eyes close. But he could hear, still, Richard’s quiet voice, and another noise outside. He forced his mouth open, framing a cry, but the sound did not come.
‘Do you hear that? There are people outside in the street,’ Richard noticed. ‘Shall we call to them, and tell them of your accident? The pity is, you did not die. Well then, let us both be quiet; they will soon be gone.’
He began to move, softly, back to the net.
‘You know,’ he said a moment later, ‘this was not what I had planned. And it will be harder to account for. But nonetheless … Have you noticed that the slabs that pave the caichpule have a pinkish tinge? The floor is washed with oxblood. Perhaps you wonder why? It gives colour, so the greyness of the balls shows up, and provides a hardness that improves the drop. And for this purpose, bulls are sometimes brought alive and slaughtered in the tennis court, on their way to the fleshmarkets. Nothing so strange, then, to mark it with blood, for this place where we play has been a slaughterhouse. I think you did not know that – not so many people do – but you may think it fitting after all, to lend a little colour to the chase.’ And reflecting in this way, he drew his knife and drove it deep and deftly into Hew, pulling back to watch his lifeblood spilling to the floor.
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