by Pat McIntosh
Gil clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Try what you can call to mind,’ he said. ‘Anything at all. You never ken what could lead us to the right answer. Has Ballantyne maybe said aught at a Council meeting lately? Has either of your wife’s uncles mentioned any plans?’
‘I never speak wi them if I can avoid it,’ Vary said, staring at his clenched fists. ‘They’re – they were aye full o daft notions, horse breeding, growing timber, importing espinyards from Spain – it’s a kinna portable cannon, something like a harquebus,’ he added, glancing at Gil. ‘Ye ken there’s talk o seeking a Spanish bride for James Stewart? Lindsay of Pettinain’s youngest, James, was wi the party that travelled there in the spring to spy out the situation, afore the first embassage sails, and he brought one o the things back wi him, and a couple men to work it and all. Rab Somerville got to see it and ran off wi the idea to import and sell the things to the Crown. I don’t see that can be it,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘No unless he wished to build a gunpowder store in the burgh, or the like, which I’d never permit.’
Could that be what interested the Irishman, Gil wondered. But surely the Irish could import such things direct from Spain if they could afford to.
‘Maister? Are ye there, maister?’ called Jessie, out in the garden.
‘We’re here in the alley,’ Gil called back. In a moment she appeared at the end of the green tunnel, bearing a tray, with Alys behind her.
‘Would ye maybe tak a wee drop broth —’ she began, and checked in amazement at the sight of her master sitting making lucid conversation. She glanced quickly at Gil, smiled, and then continued without giving any other sign, ‘Mistress Mason made the wee sippets o toast for it wi her own hands, and spread them wi the new butter. See, I’ll put it here on the bench at your side.’
Vary looked down at the tray as she set it beside him, and then up at her face.
‘Jess,’ he said, and put a hand on her arm. ‘Jessie, I think you and the rest o the household’s been,’ he swallowed, ‘unco guid to me these last days, unco patient. I thank you.’
Even in the shade of the alley, Gil could see the woman redden.
‘Och, maister!’ she said, and patted the hand. ‘Och, maister!’ she said again. Her mouth quivered, and she turned and hurried away, pulling her apron up to cover her face. Vary watched her go, and turned to Gil.
‘I never meant,’ he said, vexed. ‘Och, Mistress Mason, I never saw you there. I hope you’re well, mistress? Will you have a seat, please, it’s no—’
‘Sup your broth, maister, before it cools,’ said Alys, sitting down beside him. He took a spoonful obediently, and then one of the sippets of toast. Then, clearly, he realised how hungry he was, and started spooning the broth, a richly scented brew of chopped roots and dried pulses with pieces of ham quite visible. Alys looked on approvingly, and slid a glance sideways at Gil under the narrow brim of her hat. He watched, slightly apprehensive. What was she about to say?
‘Maister Vary,’ she said, ‘tell me about your brothers.’
‘My brothers?’ he repeated, startled. ‘We don’t— I keep away from them. When I can.’ His gaze sharpened. ‘What, you think it’s one o them’s stolen my lassie?’
‘No, no, I don’t think that. One of them’s a priest, am I right?’
‘Aye.’ His face tightened. ‘Jerome. Round here day by day, offering to pray for us, aye preaching at me about how it’s a judgement on me, how I should ha kept her closer, lessoned her in obedience. Hah!’
‘Has he interests outside the burgh?’
‘Jerome? He’s a benefice, somewhere in the Lothians I believe. I’m no that interested.’ He thought briefly. ‘And he’s property in the burgh. I’d to stop him putting a potter in there, wi the kiln and all, like to burn down that end o the town.’
‘And your other brother, Gregor is it? Where does he dwell?’
‘Gregory,’ Vary corrected, as if the word smelled bad. ‘He has the family lands by Carnwath, seeing as he’s the older. By the half o an hour, as he’s never ceased to remind me, all our lives.’
‘I’ve never met him, I think,’ said Gil.
‘He went to St Andrews. Being the older foundation, you ken,’ said Vary, much as Lockhart had done.
‘And he has a family? An heir?’ asked Alys innocently.
‘No him. He’s had no better fortune that way than I have,’ Vary told her. ‘Though I hope mine—’ He bit off the words, clearly reluctant to tempt fate. ‘He’s no wife the now.’
‘He must deal wi the Court,’ said Alys, still in that innocent tone, ‘as handy as he is for Edinburgh or Stirling. I suppose he’s in touch wi all that goes on.’
‘Aye, now-and-now,’ agreed Vary. ‘Why?’
‘No reason.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’d like to live in Edinburgh, and see the King come and go.’
‘The King’s here often enough,’ Vary observed. ‘He rests at Lanark on the road to Whithorn now and then. He was here only last quarter indeed, and half the Court wi him.’ He grunted. ‘Sic a to-do there was about Dod Ballantyne’s house, where he lodges ordinar. The chimney was blocked in the great chamber, smoking like to kipper the whole Court. We’d to hunt all round Lanark for braziers and footwarmers and the like. Seems daft to think on it in this weather.’ He turned his head to look at Gil. ‘What must we do to seek Mistress Madur? I’ve no notion where to begin. We should ride to Lockharthill, I’d reckon, speak to the Depute.’
‘That would be a good start,’ said Gil cautiously.
‘I’ll away in and get my boots on,’ said Vary with decision. ‘Your servant, Mistress Mason.’
He strode off out of the alley and towards the house, leaving Gil and Alys staring after him.
‘What roused him?’ Alys asked after a moment.
‘Learning who stole Mistress Madur away,’ said Gil. ‘I suppose knowing who he should hunt down makes all the difference.’
‘I have been speaking to the household,’ she said quietly. ‘When their maister rides out of Lanark, the man Archie rides with him, to help with the instruments and hold the end of the chain for measuring. Vary’s been nowhere near any of his wife’s uncles these past two months, and nor has he ridden out without an attendant, nor been away from home alone long enough to get to The Cleuch and back. Whoever the laddie saw at The Cleuch, it was not this man.’
‘Good work,’ said Gil, turning this over in his mind. ‘The older brother?’
‘So I thought,’ she agreed. ‘Should we tell Madame Olympe?’
‘We ought to,’ he said reluctantly, beginning to move towards the house. ‘It may have some bearing on the search for the Irishman.’
‘How far away is Carnwath?’ she asked. ‘What is his house called? Do you know where it lies?’
‘Kersewell. I’d need to enquire,’ he said. ‘Lockhart would tell me, I’ve no doubt. Carnwath itself is seven mile or so from Lanark, but it’s a broad parish – the biggest in Lanarkshire I believe – so we’d need the directions afore we set out.’
The kitchen door opened as they approached it, and Jessie stepped out, holding something which she eyed warily.
‘Maister?’ she said, and looked about the garden. ‘Where is he?’
‘He went to put his boots on,’ Alys said. ‘What have you there?’
‘I’ve just the now found this at the door,’ she said. ‘I thought someone tirled at the pin, so I went, but there was naeb’dy there, only this lying on the step.’ She held out a set of cheap tablets. ‘Is it – is it maybe another message? Should I gie it to him, or would you take it, maister?’
Gil looked at the object in some dismay.
‘On the doorstep?’ he repeated. ‘And no sign of whoever left it there?’
‘No sign.’ She shook her head. ‘Two-three laddies passing, but they’d not seen anyb’dy at the door, I asked them.’
‘Maybe we should,’ said Alys. ‘Should look at it.’
‘Look at what?’ said Vary, emerging from the
door behind his servant. ‘Gil, will we— what have you there, Jessie?’
Wordlessly she held the tablets out to him. He stared at them, as if at an adder, and slowly put out his hand and took them. He turned them over once or twice, then visibly braced himself, unwound the string and opened the leaves. The colour left his face.
‘Gil,’ he said. ‘Gil. It’s a, it’s a, it’s ransom. They want a ransom.’
‘Ransom?’ echoed Alys. ‘But how? How do you pay ransom to the dead?’
‘Oh, maister!’ wailed Jessie. ‘Just when we thocht—’
Gil extracted the tablets from Vary’s unresisting grasp, and turned them to read the message scrawled on the wax.
V HUNERT MERK, it read, TO HENFFORTH LIE ATT MUNES RISE.
‘Five hundred marks!’ he said. ‘Ambitious. To Hyndford Lea at moonrise.’
‘How?’ said Vary. ‘I thought you said they were deid, Gil. How are they sending like this if they’re deid?’
Chapter Ten
Gil turned the set of tablets over, studying it.
‘This is not the same as the other two messages you’ve had,’ he said. ‘It’s by a different maker, I’d say, and the woodcut is from a different set, not a saint’s image at any rate.’
‘Aesop,’ said Alys, looking over his arm. ‘I think it’s the fox and the crow.’
‘And the writing is different. There’s no attempt to make it look unpractised.’
‘What’s that mean, maister?’ asked Jessie, staring at the tablets. Socrates paced up the garden and raised his head to sniff at the tablets’ wooden backing.
‘Gil, what do we do now?’ said Vary. He was shivering, despite the heat of the day. ‘How can— what— how do we tell where to seek her? Who sent this? Who’s holding her now? What can we do?’
‘What are the choices?’ Alys asked.
‘We could ask Lockhart for help,’ Gil said. ‘Though I don’t know how many men he has to command. It might end wi half the Burgh Council a-horseback, the Host of Lanark so to speak. We could send to the Depute, or better still ride there as we planned to just the now, and see if he can help.’
‘Aye, but what’s all these men to do?’ asked Jessie. ‘Ride hither and yon about the county seeking the mistress, and the man that sent this message?’
‘That’s the question.’
‘If Mistress Madur is really at Tarbrax,’ Alys began.
‘Tarbrax?’ said Vary sharply. ‘How— is that where—how d’ye ken?’
‘We think she was moved there just afore the fire at
The Cleuch,’ Alys explained.
Gil stepped away from the little group, the better to pace while he thought.
‘If she’s at Tarbrax,’ he said after a moment, ‘this,’ he waved the tablets, ‘may ha come from the men who hold her there, the men Somerville sent there wi her.’
‘Aye, who else?’ said Jessie.
‘Hyndford Lea is the other side of Lanark from Tarbrax, though I suppose it’s straight down the Ayr road from where they are. She could still be up at Tarbrax. They’ll no be planning to bring her to the ford, too easy for us to snatch her back and then they’ve lost all.’
‘And easy for them to snatch the money,’ observed Alys, ‘and then we’ve lost all.’
‘We need to start wi Tarbrax,’ said Gil. ‘The question is, whether to speak to the Depute and get men and a warrant, go in force to demand her, or to go in quiet, just a few of us.’ He glanced at the sky, still a brilliant blue. ‘It’s no more than five of the clock, there’s plenty daylight left. It’s only a couple of hours’ ride from here.’
‘Could go by Lockharthill on the way to Tarbrax,’ said Vary. ‘Come ben the house, Gil. We need to, to sit down, plan this properly.’
‘Do you know the house at Tarbrax, maister?’ Alys asked.
‘I was, I was, I was there once,’ said Vary with an effort. He turned and led the way through the kitchen, where the other servants stood hastily as they passed. ‘Must be ten year since. I canny mind aught about it.’
‘What like is the place?’ Gil asked, following him into his closet. He seated Alys, and took the stool Vary waved him to. ‘Is it stone, or timber? Is it defended?’
‘It’s old.’ Vary thought deeply. ‘Timber over stone, three storeys, outhouses. Drystone barmekin, no very sound. No what you’d call secure, far’s I can mind, for all it’s so isolate.’
‘We have four men wi us,’ said Alys. ‘Your Archie would ride out, and Nicol as well I think.’ He nodded. ‘That makes nine of us and the dog, even without asking help from the Provost or the Depute. Gil,’ she gave him a significant look, ‘do you think your cousin Sandy would come too?’
‘Worth a try,’ he said, considering it.
‘Sandy? What Sandy?’
‘Sandy Boyd,’ said Gil. ‘He’s, er, in the area.’
There was a rattling outside as someone tirled at the pin. They heard one of the servants go through the hall to answer the door; indistinct voices exchanged a few words. Gil got to his feet, recognising the deep tones.
‘Forgive me, Brosie,’ he said briefly, and went out into the hall. The younger manservant, Nicol, was arguing a point with the visitor; Gil, approaching, saw that it was indeed William Doig on the doorstep.
‘You’ll no get in!’ said Nicol. ‘There’s enough ill luck in the house a’ready, we’re no needing the likes o you adding to’t!’
‘You gomeril, I’m trying to turn that! Maister Cunningham!’ said Doig, spying Gil under Nicol’s arm where he held the door against him. ‘I’ve a word for ye!’
‘And what would that be?’ Gil asked. ‘Aye, let him in, man, he’s known to me. What is it, Maister Doig?’
‘You’d a wee message at this door, a half hour or so since,’ stated Doig, making his way into the house with his rolling gait.
‘Aye?’
‘I seen the laddie that left it.’ Doig followed Gil into the closet, nodded to Alys, ducked his head in a sort of bow to Vary and drew off his blue bonnet. ‘I kent him, see, one o that clan o tinkers I spoke o afore this.’
‘The ones that were on the Burgh Muir?’ Gil said.
‘Aye, them. Laddie about twelve year old, dropped the thing on the step, tirled at the pin, and made off up the town.’
‘Up the town?’ said Alys, while Vary stared open-mouthed at this exchange. ‘So he was making for,’ she closed her eyes, moving one finger in different directions, ‘making away from Carluke.’
‘Towards Hyndford Lea,’ said Gil. ‘Though that might mean nothing.’
Doig nodded approvingly at this.
‘Ransom demand, was it?’ he speculated.
‘It was.’
‘Aye. Someone’s chancing it.’
‘So I thought,’ said Alys. He gave her an even more approving look. ‘Do you ken where he is, maister?’
‘No me,’ he said with regret. ‘If I did, I ken who’d be after him like a shot. No, I think he’s hid wi the tinkers, wherever they’ve got to. That horse o his would disappear among theirn.’
‘Of course!’ said Gil, catching up with the conversation. Vary was still gaping. ‘He’s asking five hundred marks, to be at Hyndford Lea at moonrise.’
‘Well, wherever your wife is, maister,’ said Doig to Vary with rough sympathy, ‘she’ll no be there.’
Vary closed his mouth, swallowed, and said, ‘Who – who are you? What are you—?’
‘A friend, maister,’ said Alys soothingly. For the moment, thought Gil, but said nothing.
‘Right,’ said Vary, with sudden decision. ‘I want — I’ll ride to Tarbrax. If there’s a chance she’s there— Are you wi me, Gil? And you, mistress, what will you do while we’re— should we maybe see you back to Carluke first?’
‘I’ll ride wi you,’ said Alys. ‘Though we must hire fresh horses, Gil. The Belstane beasts will be tired.’
‘Oh, mistress, I hardly think,’ began Vary, but Gil said, ‘So’s you keep back if there’s trouble, giv
en that we’ve no armour for you.’
She glanced at him, but made no answer.
Doig resumed his blue bonnet, tugging it to its usual jaunty angle, and said, ‘I’ll away then, maisters, and I wish you good fortune.’
Gil, accompanying him to the door, said quietly, ‘Can you let Sandy hear this? If he can find the tinkers—’
‘Aye,’ said Doig, stepping down into the street. ‘I might do that.’
Gil felt he would have been happier with the cavalcade that left Lanark if it had been better armed. Vary and his men were suitably apparelled, and had lent Henry a jack belonging to the dead groom Adam, but none of the other Belstane riders had any armour, though all except Alys wore swords. They clopped and clattered out of the burgh by the Edinburgh road, and made good speed eastward, moving briskly on the dry, dusty roads. Vary rode in the lead, tense and white-faced, his mount tossing its head and mouthing at the bit as it recognised his unease. Gil rode just behind him, thinking about what lay ahead, trying out various strategies, Socrates sprawled across his knees with his head up drinking in the scents in the wind of their going. At his side Alys was also silent, until she spoke suddenly.
‘The Irishman might be there.’
‘But you think not,’ he said, interpreting her tone. ‘Nor do I. I’d wager Doig’s right, he’s joined that tribe of tinkers along with his horse.’
‘Perhaps your cousin will find him at the bridge.’ She bit her lip, as the party slowed to pass a pair of lumbering tilt-carts which occupied most of the width of the road. ‘I wish we could do that too, but there’s no way to be in both places.’
The road lifted up out of the wide, flat lands by the Clyde, through Carnwath with its handsome church, and swung northward to climb up the western flank of the Pentlands. They crossed another river by a ford, ‘The Medwin,’ said Vary briefly, and worked their way up its valley, still climbing. When they stopped to breathe the horses, Socrates leapt down to check the path. Gil turned and looked back through the cloud of dust they had raised, and found the whole of the upper Clyde valley laid out in the sunshine, the river coiling and glinting among the fields, the purple mass of Tinto Hill in the midst of the scene, and beyond it a vista of more round-headed hills, blue into the distance, like the landscapes in Alys’s prayer book.