‘Good master, may I speak with you?’ the miller asked.
‘Of course you may,’ said Hew. The miller, as it happened, had been closely on his mind, in the context of the gift he was about to make to young Matthew, and he was pleased enough to take the chance to talk to him.
‘It is a privy matter,’ Sandy said reluctantly. ‘I would not care to have it overheard.’
‘Then shall we walk a little?’ Hew suggested. ‘Since the streets are quiet at this time.’ The sermons at St Leonard’s were measured, grave and short, and for want of blaze and brimstone soon brought to a close, an hour before the snuffing of the flames at Holy Trinity. And in that quiet hour, the busy streets were stilled, and even God, it seemed, was occupied elsewhere.
They walked towards the castle, and the lonely cliffs, looking out to sea, till presently, the miller said, ‘I wonder if you read that notice, sir, that Robert Wood put up in the kirk.’
Hew acknowledged that he had.
‘He’s speiring for a man, a man to work his mill.’
‘So did I see,’ said Hew.
Sandy blurted out, ‘I wish to be that man.’
‘Oh,’ Hew answered foolishly, more than a little vexed. He had not known what it was he expected, but he had not expected this. ‘You want to work for Robert Wood?’ He felt a childish surge of disappointment: you wish to work for Robert Wood, rather than to work for me? the voice spoke in his head. And yet he was aware he should not stand in Sandy’s way. Besides which, he had meant to give the mill to Matthew, and had not yet had the courtesy to pass this message on.
‘I want to work the windmill, sir,’ the miller answered simply.
‘So that is it,’ Hew sighed. ‘There is no guarantee, as you must be aware, that Robert Wood will have the windmill on his land.’
‘No, sir. But Robert is the brother of Sir Andrew Wood, the coroner, who has it in his power to influence the admiral. And so it is supposed, among the millers in the town, that the windmill will be his.’
‘I have met Sir Andrew Wood,’ contended Hew, ‘and he has shown no sign that he prefers his brother in this matter.’
‘Nor is that much expected, sir, that he would speak it openly. Yet awbody here kens, that that must be the case. A brither is a brither, sir. Ye cannot blame a man, for that.’
‘I daresay you are right,’ Hew sighed. ‘Then you are come to tell me I must seek a miller for the mill at Kenly Green?’
The miller hesitated. ‘I came to ask you, sir, for letters testimonial, to take to Robert Wood. For since he has laid claim upon the windmill, there likely will be more contenders for the tenancy. My virtues are not known here in the town, as well as those of men like Henry Cairns.’
‘Your virtues,’ Hew repeated with a smile. ‘Remind me, if you will then, what they are.’ He knew the miller for a true and decent man, yet he felt inclined to cause some small discomfort to him, sorry as he was to let his tenant go.
‘I hope, sir, you have found me honest. I have always paid the rent,’ protested Sandy Kintor. Hew allowed begrudgingly that this, at least, was true.
‘Yet other men might say the same. I hoped, sir, you might write that I had known a windmill, and knew how to work her. That, and that it came from a man of your high standing, is likely to sit well with Robert Wood.’
‘Now that,’ Hew warned, ‘I doubt I cannot write, for I do not know it for a fact.’
‘But it is true, sir. You have my word on it,’ answered Sandy Kintor, in a tone of such simplicity that Hew felt loath to have to let him down. ‘But you must see, Sandy, that I cannot take your word for it,’ he told the miller gently. ‘I cannot put my name to it, unless I see the proof.’
‘I have served you well as tenant to the mill, and served your father too,’ the miller answered stubbornly.
‘And that much will I put into the letter,’ Hew agreed, ‘that I write to Robert Wood. I cannot promise more.’
‘Yet I can read the wind,’ the miller said. ‘There is an art to it, that many men may lack. I learned it from my uncle, that is miller at Dundee.’
‘Then so much you must say to Robert Wood,’ Hew suggested.
‘But it will please him better, if it comes from you.’
‘I am a lawman, Sandy, and I cannot put my name to what I do not know. There is no malice in it, as I find none in you, and yet I cannot grant you what you ask,’ determined Hew. And he was sorry, nonetheless, and in spite of his dislike for Robert Wood, for Sandy Kintor seemed an honest man, and he had little cause to doubt his word.
‘But I could show you, sir,’ Sandy offered suddenly. ‘We could go together now, and see her on the shore. And I could show to you the workings of the mill.’
Hew paused to consider this. Though he had passed the windmill several times, he had never seen inside. It struck him now that he should see the place where Jacob had sought refuge in his final, desperate hours, when he had sheltered from the storm. To look at her through expert eyes, and see inside the mind that made her, might throw another light upon the holy fire. He nodded. ‘Aye, why not? The haven will be quiet at this time.’
The harbour inn was closed, for no one broke the Sabbath there except the cat, Gib Hunter, who went about his business sniffing out the gulls, with a hearty disregard for the threat against his soul. Maude obeyed the sanction of the kirk, and did not open up until the prayers were done. The windmill was unmanned.
‘She is a beauty, sir,’ the miller said admiringly.
‘I understand,’ reflected Hew, ‘that she was built aboard the ship. But what I cannot understand is how they took her off the ship.’
Sandy Kintor smiled. ‘It is a feat of ingenuity. Yet with enough horse power, and oxen, and men, there is no limit to the weight that man can lift. What a thing it is, to be in charge of men, and have that power. Did you never look at the cathedral, and wonder how those men could build it, lifting up those towers and arches carved in stone, so high and vast and awful, stretching to the sky?’ For so it was he saw the world, through the careful bird’s eye of the engineer.
‘I have wondered, rather,’ Hew said with a smile, ‘how came it we dismantled her, in such a few short years, that she falls now in ruins, her glory and her grandeur bared and desolate. What men took several lifetimes to construct, the quiver of a heartbeat did destroy.’
‘They had built her on a falsehood, and to a false religion,’ affirmed the miller starkly.
‘True enough,’ said Hew. ‘Yet it was their faith in it that gave to them the power.’
‘So too with the windmill,’ Sandy Kintor said. ‘So men may move the earth, if they have the will. They wanted her; that was enough.’
‘The whole town came together then, and lifted her as one,’ reflected Hew. ‘They brought her to the haven, by force of common bond, and now are in dispute, as to who has claim on her. I doubt there is a moral to be read in that, for no man on his own may shift her from this spot, and bear her heavy burden higher up the hill.’
‘He cannot, as she stands. But she will be dismantled, and lifted bit and bit. And even as she stands, this mill is not complete. She wants her centre post, that is a great trunk taken from a living tree, set into the ground, on which she can be turned into the wind. Dare we go inside?’ the miller ventured shyly, suddenly in awe of her.
‘There is none here to gainsay it. And I do not see why not.’
The door was tied with rope, to form a weak deterrent, which Hew dispensed with swiftly, with one flick of his knife. He led the way inside. His voice came oddly echoed through the hollow wood. ‘How long might a windmill like this take to build?’
‘It need not take long, sir, for she could be up in a day,’ the miller’s voice returned. ‘It is not time but skill, that makes her as she is. Look at the work in those joists!’ And even Hew could see the beauty of her craft. A small framed timber house, she was built of ship-lap board, in horizontal stripes, painted white and blue. She had windows on all sides, letting in the ligh
t, and at her crown a little door and deck, that allowed the miller to adjust the sails. Her roof was pitched, and lined with board, to keep her dry and light. She was meant, the miller said, to balance and to turn upon a single pillar post, spun upon her axle to make best use of the breeze. She was built so that whichever way she turned she would not veer and topple in the wind. She bore the faint, sweet scent of freshly seasoned wood, of oil and tar and paint.
‘Once she is on her post, and off the ground,’ the miller said, ‘then she will want a ladder, for ascending her. Then picture her as raised upon a stilt, with all her wings in flight, and all her bright machinery, turning through the sky upon a summer’s day. And then, you see, here, which now is a shell, is where she will have set her stones.’
The windmill had a purity and symmetry that pleased, sailing like a ship against the pale blue sky. And like a ship, the miller went on to explain to Hew, she was at the mercy of the wind, now its master, now its slave, and she required a careful hand, to steer her through the storm. ‘But when she starts to turn, she shivers into life, and there is nothing like her, sir, the air is warm and ripe with the scent of roasted corn, her floors turn white with dust, her great wings rise and fall; the miller has the wind in his command.’
Hew warmed to his enthusiasm. ‘Though I confess, I do not see it quite, I think you prove your worth in taking on the mill. For that you show your love for her, I can have no doubt, and so much will I write to Robert Wood. And yet I am right vexed, for I shall want a miller for the mill at Kenly Green.’
‘I pray that you may not, sir,’ Sandy put in cautiously.
‘Tis evident, I will. I have a duty to my tenants, to provide them with a place where they may grind their corn. You will allow, it is a little far for them to come to town,’ Hew said with a smile.
‘I hoped, sir,’ said the miller, encouraged into confidence, ‘that you might pass the tenancy to Alasdair, my son. For he is come of age, and is well placed to follow me.’
‘That is fair enough,’ considered Hew. ‘Then am I persuaded, and answer with good grace. And I shall write a letter testimonial, and have it sent tonight, to Robert Wood. And as I think, the time is ready for the tenancy to change, for I have thought to pass the mill on to my sister’s son, to be held in perpetuity – you need not fear for Alasdair,’ he assured the miller quickly, ‘for I have no doubt, the terms will stay the same. What I propose is this; that when your business is concluded here with Robert Wood, come to me in College, and bring your eldest son. We shall go together then to see my man of law, and draw up such a deed, as gives tenancy to Alasdair, and control to Matthew Locke.’
‘I know not how to thank you, sir,’ the miller answered gratefully.
‘In truth, I am right glad the matter is resolved. I bid you, come on Thursday afternoon, which gives Robert Wood fair time to decide upon the matter.’
‘I thank you. I will go precipitate, to see him at the mill.’
‘Tomorrow, as I think,’ Hew corrected gently. ‘Though Robert is a man of business, tis likely even he may be inclined to keep the Sabbath.’
‘Oh! I had forgotten!’
Hew was touched and amused at the man’s eagerness. ‘Go home,’ he advised him, ‘and share your fortune with your wife and bairns.’
‘I will sir, for, in truth, I left them waiting at the kirk, and they will be wondering what can have become of me. Ellen sends her prayers for your sister and her bairn. I hope that they do well,’ Sandy Kintor finished with a blush.
‘I thank you, aye, they do.’
‘We kent her when she was a little lass. Tis likely she does not remember. Ah, your pardon, sir! It is a poor man’s foolishness. I take up your time.’
They had stepped outside the mill, and found themselves disturbed by the coming of a crowd, that had drifted straight from service to batten at the inn, thirsty from the day’s recriminations in the kirk. Among them were the baxters, and the bailie Patrick Honeyman, come to spend his dinner hour in routing out sly drinkers who had not turned up in church.
‘And what is this?’ he thundered, scandalised and fierce enough to rival Reverend Trail. ‘Wha dares to broach the windmill?’
‘I do,’ answered Hew, with a wink at Sandy Kintor.
‘And on whose authority?’ the bailie roared.
‘On that of Andrew Wood; de facto, of the Crown.’
Hew sent letters testimonial to Robert Wood, and thought no more of the matter until Thursday afternoon, when he was sitting in the turret tower with Giles. They were both embarked upon their own researches, though Hew’s were of a vague and desultory kind. ‘What are you reading?’ Giles asked with a sigh, conscious that his friend had not settled with his text.
‘Perkins’ Profitable Book,’ Hew answered with a grimace, ‘though I have not found it very profitable.’
‘Aye? And what is that?’ posed Giles, with half an eye still on the seed pod he had split upon the board. He sifted absentmindedly through a heap of grain.
‘A profitable book of Mr John Perkins . . . treating of the Laws of England, and translated out of French. I have read it in the English, and I’ve read it in the French, and little profit both,’ admitted Hew.
‘Why would you read of English laws?’ objected Giles.
‘Because,’ Hew answered crossly, ‘I have nothing else to do.’
‘Your trouble is, you never should have given up the law. At heart, you an advocate,’ advocated Giles.
‘At heart, I am a wanderer,’ said Hew. He tossed aside his Perkins, and wandered round the tower. ‘What is it you are doing?’
‘Looking for the source of holy fire.’
‘In a pile of seeds?’ Hew demanded sceptically.
‘Just so. The world may well be pictured, in a speck of grain.’ Giles took up the seed, and held it to an optic glass. ‘What means the word zapfen, in Dutch?’
‘I have not the slightest idea.’
‘Then make yourself useful, and flush out that grammar book. There is a wordbook written at the back.’
Hew retrieved the grammar from its station in the cabinet, setting loose the rattle in the catch.
‘Zapfen is a pin, or else a core,’ he read.
‘Now is it? Very good,’ Giles answered with a nod. He was working on the transcripts he had made of Jacob’s letters, examining the words as closely as he had the blackened finger stub, stripped back to the bone. Propped open by its side was the German Kreuterbuch, with other works of physic, pharmacy and botany. From time to time he made a note, in careful Latin script. Hew envied him his art, and left him undisturbed, until they both were startled by a rapping at the door, and the unseemly entrance of Sandy Kintor’s son. ‘Have you seen my father, sirs?’ he ventured breathlessly.
Hew replied, astonished, ‘Not since Sunday last. Why, then, have you lost him?’
‘He has not been seen, since Tuesday afternoon.’ The miller’s son burst into tears.
‘Dear, dear,’ tutted Giles. He set aside the Kreuterbuch to focus on his patient, abandoning the quest to find the holy fire. ‘Come, sir, and sit down. If you look there in the cupboard,’ he instructed Hew, ‘you will find a flask of brandy wine. Not that – that is embalming fluid. Who is he?’ he hissed after, in a loud stage whisper.
‘Alasdair, the son of Sandy Kintor, the tenant of the mill at Kenly Green.’
‘Another miller? Ah,’ Giles answered with a frown. ‘Where was he seen last?’
Alasdair gulped down the brandy, struggling to compose himself. ‘My name is Sandy, sir, for no one but my mither ever calls me Alasdair. Your pardon, but I knew not where to come. I knew he was expected here, and hoped . . .’
‘Start at the beginning,’ Hew advised. He felt a deep sense of foreboding, and sought for reassurances.
‘Aye, sir, as you will,’ Sandy answered miserably. ‘What happened, sirs, was this. My faither went on Monday past, to speak with Robert Wood. And there was it appointed, that he should have the mill; for he had had
your letters, sir,’ he paused to glance at Hew, ‘and he was right impressed, with the testimonial.’ Giles looked askance at Hew, which Hew chose to ignore.
‘My faither was right glad, sir, to have it there and then. That I had cause to wonder, if it went not to his head, though he is not, in truth, a vain or boastful man.’
‘For certain, he is not,’ Hew conceded quietly. He found he could not calm the heavy surge of dread.
‘And he was set to drinking, in the haven inn, just to drink a toast, to you and Robert Wood. For Robert Wood said, with a man of such skill, he was sure of having the windmill. And whether it were Robert Wood, or else it were my faither, sir, the word at once got out, for nothing is kept secret round a mill. And it was spread abroad, that Robert Wood preferred a country miller, to a miller from the town. And the tenants of that mill were pleased and glad, that they should have their miller and a good and honest man, and they would drink his health, which for the sake of courtesy my dad could not refuse. So he came home that night a little worse for wear; in truth, he staggered home to Kenly Green. And on his way back home, he saw a boy, who brought to him a message from the miller Henry Cairns, congratulating him upon his deal with Robert Wood, and asking him to meet. My father was well pleased, for Cairns is his first rival for the mill, and he intimated that their interests might be joined.’
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