The King's Corrodian

Chapter Twelve

‘Well, maister, you were right,’ said Brother Dickon. ‘Aye, you’re a fine dog,’ he added, clapping Socrates firmly on the shoulders.

Gil, who had deduced this from his triumphant expression as soon as the lay brother slipped in at the guest-hall door, made an encouraging noise.

‘Brother Augustine’s missing knife, just where you said it would be,’ the other said, ‘and I’d Jamesie wi me as witness. A right cunning place, a pouch o cloth nailed onto the bottom o the planks in his bed, you could hide all sorts in there. We’d to get down on our knees to see it — well, Jamesie did — and then you’d to reach halfway under the bed to get to it.’

‘The boning knife?’ Gil questioned. ‘Where is it now?’

‘Aye, the boning knife. Blade this wide.’ Brother Dickon held out a knobbly-knuckled hand, the little finger extended. ‘Well sharpened and a point like a needle. I had Jamesie put it back where we found it, but we can easy get it if you’re wanting it.’

‘A good thought. And where is that?’

‘Whose bed was it under, d’you mean? That’s just it, maister. It was under young Andrew’s. His bed’s bare now, but I mind perfectly well which was his.’

‘Makes sense, I suppose,’ said Gil. ‘Once his friends kent it was there, one o them was bound to make use o the hiding place. But it gets us little forward.’

‘Well, it’s one o the novices,’ said Dickon. ‘Or John Blythe, I suppose,’ he added fairly, ‘though I canny see him knifing his friend Henry White.’

‘Men do strange things,’ said Gil, ‘but I’m agreed. What puzzles me is why, short o simply running mad, one o the novices should kill Andrew Rattray and Thomas Wilson both.’

‘I can think o one reason,’ said Dickon after a moment, ‘though I canny say I’d heard it o either man.’

‘You’d know more about that than I would,’ said Gil, ‘given that I think your men pick up all that’s going on.’

‘I keep warning them o gossip,’ said Dickon. ‘They might no pick that up, it would be kept close secret after all, but I’ve no seen aught that would suggest it mysel either. And then why would he go on and knife Faither Henry?’

‘No, that’s easy enough. I’d guess Faither Henry suspected what was afoot, and went out to find and challenge the man responsible, maybe to persuade him to confess.’

‘Aye, that would fit,’ said Dickon. ‘And he was at the same the other night and all, when two men each thought he was whispering in corners wi the other. They must ha seen him wi the — the man responsible. And that’s a joke,’ he said without humour. ‘Responsible! No very responsible, to go about killing your brothers.’

Gil, who had not suspected Brother Dickon of a sententious streak, preserved silence, and after a little the lay brother went on, ‘Could it be some reason from afore they all were tonsured? Some common secret out in the world?’

‘I wondered about that,’ Gil said. ‘We’d have to dig into their pasts, Wilson and White and all the novices, which is none so easy without Faither Prior’s assistance.’

‘Aye,’ said Brother Dickon thoughtfully. ‘I’d tell you what I ken, gladly, but there’s maybe other matters, things only kent by those that accepted them for clothing.’

‘We could make a start,’ said Gil. ‘Have you time the now?’

The other man glanced at the window, judging the light.

‘An hour or so,’ he said.

‘Right,’ said Gil. ‘Fetch us a jug o ale from the kit chens, and let me hear it all.’

By the time Dickon returned, Gil had listed the three victims in his tablets, and noted what he already knew of them.

‘Aye, that’s right,’ said Dickon, drawing a stool up to the table opposite him. ‘Thomas Wilson’s a local man. Was, I should say. His faither’s living yet, he’s in the almshouse down by the haven, what’s it cried? St Barbara’s, that’s it. There’s a couple o brothers and some other kin in the burgh — you’d find them if you asked about. Likely Faither Prior’s let them hear o his decease so they might be in the place the day. What was his faither’s trade? Now you’re asking. I’d need to get Jamesie onto that, he’s a Perth man and all.’

‘And he never travelled? Wilson, I mean.’

‘Might ha been as far’s St Andrews or Edinburgh. Never overseas, I’d swear to that.’

Gil made a note, and went on, ‘And speaking ill o the dead it may be, but I hear he was cheating on the rents in the town.’

‘Lord love you, son, that’s no new,’ said Brother Dickon. ‘The most o us kens that, or suspects it, though it’s not got to Faither Prior yet.’

Gil absorbed this comment, made another note, and Brother Dickon said, ‘And while I mind, I’ve learned the prisoner stayed in the kirk the whole time till Matins. One o the lads that was praying had, er, meditated for a bit wi his een shut, but the other would swear to Brother Sandy being there on his knees afore Our Lady all the while.’

‘I never thought he had killed Wilson,’ said Gil, ‘but that makes it even less likely. Did you ask him about the knife?’

‘I did, but he never made much sense. Mumbled something about a library being no place for sharp steel, a course he was relieved that we never found a knife there.’

‘Well, it was worth asking. Thanks, man.’ Gil looked down at his tablets again. ‘Henry White’s a Lanarkshire man, so I’m told, though it’s no a name I can place.’

‘It’s his mother’s name,’ said Dickon significantly. ‘I’m told his faither was a lord, recognised young Henry, paid for his schooling.’

‘Ah. D’you ken where?’

‘Lanark itsel, I think. Then I suppose he’d join the Glasgow house, and I ken he’s studied overseas, Cologne and like that.’

‘How long has he been here?’

‘Longer than me. Me and the lads took the habit in the autumn o ’88,’ he added helpfully, ‘after Sauchieburn. I think he’s been here eight or ten year.’

Gil noted that, and stared at the gouges he had made in the wax, willing them to make some kind of pattern. He could see no connection. Not that it was essential to connect Father Henry to the others, he recalled.

‘Andrew,’ he said. ‘I think he was o good family, by what Faither Henry said. From somewhere north o here, out towards Montrose, aye?’

‘Aye. They held land near Brechin, I think it was. He’d been at the college at St Andrews, I ken that, for he once said, At St Andrews they teach Bible studies, no Theology. No that I’d ken the difference, and the most o them’s been at St Andrews, seeing we’re the nearest house to there.’

‘Any kin living?’

‘Parents deid, I believe. There might ha been a sister, but she’d likely be wed by the time he joined us. I’ve a notion he’d a, er, friend in the town here,’ Dickon continued, ‘for that he was out at night a time or two that I kent.’

Gil did not comment on this. Turning to the opposite leaf of his tablets he said, ‘And the other novices? How many are there, for a start?’

‘Four the same year as Andrew, four second-year men.’ Dickon leaned back, took a pull at the ale jug, and wiped his mouth and beard. ‘Where from? Now that’s another matter.’ He held up one broad, callused hand, marked off a finger with the other forefinger. ‘George Spens. Fife, I think, him and David Brown, aye, they’re both from Dunfermline. Robert Aikman from Aberdeen, Andrew Jackson from Arbroath. That’s no so far from Brechin,’ he commented. Having counted off four fingers he started counting on the other hand. ‘Mureson. Munt. Simpson. Calder. Calder’s from somewhere in Angus, Montrose or the like, cam wi a good settlement in coin to the house, no to the Order, I’m no just certain why the distinction. Mureson’s daddy’s a baron, I think, somewhere down the Spey. Munt and Simpson are both merchants’ sons, one in Dunfermline, one in,’ he paused for thought, ‘Dundee.’

‘But which o them,’ said Gil, looking at this list, ‘has any connection wi any o the men who were attacked, let alone all three?’

‘Aye, that’s the question,’ Brother Dickon was saying, when Socrates sprang to his feet growling, and there was an eruption of noise in the yard.

Hooves clattered, harness jingled, Brother Archie’s voice rose protesting uselessly, and over all a familiar, unpleasant voice declaimed, ‘I’ll see him as soon as he likes, and no argument!’

‘Our Lady save us!’ said Brother Dickon. ‘She’s back! What’s she after this time?’

‘I thought she’d got what she wanted last night,’ said Gil, stowing his tablets in their brocade pouch. ‘Best go and see, I suppose.’

Mistress Trabboch was no more prepossessing a sight by daylight than by candlelight. Her wide-skirted gown was dark red, the furred short gown she wore over it was a staring tawny the colour of rust, the boots which she was just freeing from the stirrups as Gil emerged from the guesthouse were of green leather, but none of the bright colours did more than emphasise the heavy jaw, the dark brows, the hot angry glare like a mewed hawk’s. She scowled at Gil as he approached to hold her stirrup.

‘You again!’ she said, spurning his offered hand, to slide down from the saddle herself. ‘You taken up residence here, or what? Where’s that Boyd? I want another word wi him, and he’ll no refuse me or I’ll fetch him out o there mysel, and tell his kinsman Boyd o Naristoun o his disobligement and all.’

‘Aye, Brother Archie,’ said Brother Dickon behind Gil. ‘Maybe you’d let Faither Prior hear the lady would wish another word wi him.’

‘Me?’ said Brother Archie in alarm. ‘Why me, Serj — brother?’

‘Can I ask your business wi my kinsman?’ Gil enquired.

‘You can,’ she said, smirking triumphantly at him, ‘but I’ll no answer, for it’s none o yours. Fetch Boyd, will you, man?’

Gil bowed, caught Archie’s eye, and made for the slype. The lay brother scurried after him, saying with open gratitude, ‘He’s more like to hear it fro you than me, maister.’

Prior Boyd was discovered in the library, in the throes of a discussion with John Blythe on the interesting topic of the precise meaning of quotidianus in the Pater noster, with reference to the vocabulary of the Greek original. It seemed the injunction to silence did not cover such learned discourse. Gil waited politely while Father John, a rotund, bald fellow with bone-rimmed spectacles and a red nose, soliloquised, with perfectly audible marginal notes, on the two possible meanings he could discern, but when the paragraph reached its conclusion, he broke in before the Prior could launch an equally scholarly response.

‘Forgive me, fathers,’ he said in Latin. ‘There is a guest at the door asking for Father Prior. It is the lady who visited last night,’ he added, and Boyd flinched. ‘She seems determined that she must speak to you, but will not reveal her business.’

‘Ah,’ said Father John, and stepped backwards, saying in Scots, ‘I’ll leave you defend us, Davie. This is where I’m right glad it’s no my turn at being Prior.’

Boyd, tucking his hands resignedly into his sleeves, nodded to the two friars nearest him, and they obediently left their books and followed. Brother Archie would have slipped away to safety, but was called back by a quiet word, so that the Prior was attended by a decent retinue on this occasion.

Mistress Trabboch was seated in the guest hall, tapping one booted foot impatiently. When Prior Boyd swept in and bowed to her she looked him up and down, ignoring his courteous greeting, and said sourly, ‘Took you a while. I want a look at all your monks.’

‘A look?’ he repeated in amazement. ‘Why? And we are not monks,’ he added. ‘We’re friars.’

‘Nae difference. A look at all your monks, a look at their faces, now in daylight. It came to me last night, there’s no certainty he was tonsured under his right name. He could ha called himsel anything he pleased, I suppose. I don’t imagine you ask for certificates o baptism when a man rattles a purse o money at you.’

‘No,’ said Boyd rather faintly. ‘It — I suppose it’s a reasonable request. It could take a wee while to sort,’ he warned. ‘At this hour, folk are all at their studies, save for those in the infirmary or the kirk.’

‘I’ll wait,’ she said, and reached for the jug of ale which Gil and Brother Dickon had been sharing. ‘Maybe you’d get that list out that you had last night, so we can be sure I’ve seen them all. I’d no wish for any to get owerlooked, by accident.’ Her emphasis was not pleasant.

Gil, wishing desperately that Alys was here to share in this scene, said, ‘Will I ask for a bit more refreshment, mistress?’

‘You might as well,’ she said ungraciously. ‘I’ve a thirst on me like a carter’s, for I’d sic an argument wi the Franciscans, and all for nothing. He’s no there. So we’ll have another look for him here.’

As Boyd had said, it took a little time to organise a procession of all the able-bodied men in the place. Once again, Gil sat by with the book, this time marking off each man as he entered the guest hall, faced Mistress Trabboch, and was dismissed with varying degrees of disgust or disparagement.

‘It’s a right collection o shilpit studiers and lectours,’ she commented as the novices were led out in a group by John Blythe. ‘Is that the lot?’

‘There’s the fellows in the infirmary,’ Gil said, ‘who canny be moved. One’s on his deathbed, one’s injured. There are two corps in the chapel, if you want to be thorough, and a man locked away for slaying one or both o them.’

She stared at him for a moment, as if suspecting him of joking, then said, ‘It’s a right peaceable community, this, I can tell. I’d best see them and all. Where’s your infirmary?’

‘No, we canny have that,’ said the Prior. ‘Faither James is slipping away, he’ll no need to be disturbed, and Faither Henry needs to sleep the now.’

‘I ken what to do at a sickbed,’ she retorted, and rose. ‘Where’s your infirmary, then? I’m determined I’ll see every man that dwells within these walls.’

Rather to Gil’s surprise, she did indeed know how to behave at a sickbed. Led into the infirmary by Prior Boyd she inspected Brother Euan with that direct, disparaging stare, dismissed him as of no account, and swept past him into the inner chamber of the little house. There she glared at the gallowglass who was sitting by the fire again, inspected the two sick men and then dropped to her knees by Father James and recited two Aves and a prayer for the dying in a soft murmur quite at odds with her usual manner. Rising, she crossed herself, peered suspiciously at Father Henry as if he might have changed identity while she was occupied, and strode out again. The Prior and his entourage hurried to keep up with her; Gil brought up the rear, enthralled.

‘Neither o them,’ she said, pausing in the courtyard. ‘Where’s these two corps?’

‘One o them’s no very-’ began the Prior.

‘You’ll no conceal any o your monks fro me,’ she said. ‘Deid or alive, I’ll be certain you’re no hiding my man here.’

‘Have you ever seen a corp brought out o a burned house?’ Gil asked. She threw him a black look.

‘No. I’ll get by.’

‘We must enter by the west door,’ said Prior Boyd, giving up the unequal struggle.

The church was dim, and the chill struck to the bones. Led in by Prior Boyd, Mistress Trabboch strode up the nave, looking about her, and remarked, ‘I canny be doing wi the way the Blackfriars runs a kirk. No pictures, no carving, no colours. Dreich, to my way o’t, so it is. Where’s these corps?’

‘In St Dominic’s Chapel,’ said Boyd, turning that way.

‘One thing, you’ll no need to worry about them going off, in this cold. Preserve a corp for a lifetime, it would.’ She paused to curtsy in the direction of the tabernacle in the chancel with its ever-burning light, and followed him into the chapel, her skirts swirling about her.

The two friars praying over the biers looked up in alarm, and Boyd said soothingly, ‘Mistress Trabboch wishes to pay her respects to the dead. She’ll no interrupt you.’

Wilson, stretched on a board under a linen sheet, was beginning to settle into his death, the face relaxing and turning waxy. Gil wondered briefly why he was not yet shrouded, then realised that most of the body would still be stiff, and also that the Provost’s men might wish to see the injuries. Brother Archie held the sheet back, crossing himself with his free hand, and Mistress Trabboch approached, looked closely, turned away.

‘No,’ she said briefly. ‘Where’s this other?’

‘He’s already coffined,’ Gil said, ‘and no a bonnie sight. He’s the one that burned.’

‘You’re no hiding any o them from me,’ she reiterated. ‘We’ll have the cover off him.’

The coffin lid was not yet nailed down, and Gil and Brother Archie lifted it off between them, releasing a waft of the spices which had been tucked in beside the remains of Andrew Rattray, to sweeten the bedesmen’s task a little. Mistress Trabboch took a step closer, got a sight of the blackened, contorted corpse, and rocked back on her heels.

‘Body o Christ!’ she said. ‘You wereny joking, were you?’

‘Hardly, on sic a subject,’ said Gil politely. ‘The laddie had red hair, you can see some of it there.’ He touched the singed curls delicately, and she stepped backwards with obvious relief.

‘No. Stair has brown hair, I tellt you that yestreen. Dark brown.’

So have half the men in Scotland, Gil thought. Prior Boyd was saying, in equal relief, ‘Now are you convinced, madam, that we areny concealing your man here?’

‘No,’ she said baldly. ‘You said you’d one locked away for killing another one. I want a look at him.’

‘Aye, madam. It could mean you entering the convent, the retired part o the priory. It’s no proper.’

‘I’ve no wish to linger, believe me,’ she said. ‘The sooner you cease to gainsay me, the sooner my task’s done, but I’ll no leave without I see every man o your monks.’

‘Friars,’ said Prior Boyd wearily, and turned to Brother Archie. ‘Where is Brother Sandy held?’

‘Next the infirmary, Faither,’ said Archie, head bent in ostentatious meekness. ‘He’s shut in the inner chamber, and two men to watch in the outer one. He’s in the guest-hall yard, Faither, no need for the lady to-’

‘Is he a danger?’ demanded Mistress Trabboch. ‘What’s he done, any road?’

‘There are two men dead and a third stabbed,’ Gil reminded her.

‘One slain in the very library itsel,’ said Boyd.

‘Hah!’ She was making for the west door now. ‘Canny be my man then. For one, he’s feart for sharp things, couldny abide even my broidery snips, faizart poltroon that he is. For another, he’d never slay a man in the presence o his books. Thought more o them than he did o me, I can tell you. Let me get a look at him, just the same, and then we’re done.’

In the outer chamber of the house between Pollock’s and the infirmary, two lay brothers were working on more harness. To judge by the size of the yokes, the plough-oxen must be massive beasts, Gil was thinking, as the two rose and bowed to Prior Boyd.

‘Brother Eck, Brother Tammas,’ acknowledged Boyd. ‘Is Brother Sandy quiet? How has he taken his imprisonment?’

‘Quiet,’ agreed Brother Tammas. ‘Very quiet, he’s been. Just sitting there. Whiles he’s been at his prayers, he recited the Office when the rest o you were in the kirk. He’s been little trouble. Did you want a word, Faither?’

‘Mistress Trabboch wants a sight o him,’ said the Prior. Then, apparently realising how that sounded, ‘The same as she’s had o the rest o us.’

‘If we open the door,’ said Brother Eck, ‘maybe the lady can look in. Or should we bring him out?’

‘That might be best,’ said the Prior, ‘in case he decides to fight, or run away, or the like. If the two o you bring him out, one on either side, we can get a good view o his face. Will that suit, madam?’

‘Aye,’ she said shortly.

Gil drifted casually round the small room, moving behind the three Dominicans attending Boyd, until he was well placed to see both the inner door and Mistress Trabboch’s face. Tammas opened the door from one side, Eck looked through it from the other, nodded and stepped in, his brother in arms at his back. Brother Dickon’s company must have been well disciplined, Gil reflected.

‘Right, my laddie,’ said Tammas briskly, ‘on your feet. You’ve a visitor. There’s a lady out here to see you.’

‘A lady?’ Raitts sounded alarmed. ‘That’s no right, there should be no women in this place! It’s no right!’ he exclaimed, in increasing anxiety. ‘I canny — I canny be — I’ll stay here. I need to stay here!’

‘You’ll come out,’ contradicted Tammas. ‘Faither Prior’s instructions. On your feet.’

‘No, I-’

‘Right, Eck?’

‘Right, Tammas.’

Feet shuffled, and the lay brothers reappeared, moving sideways through the doorway, Eck first, Tammas last, with a protesting Raitts between them grasped by the elbows, his feet barely touching the ground. They achieved the outer chamber and set their burden down, though they maintained a grip on the librarian’s elbows.

‘The prisoner, sir. Faither,’ said Tammas crisply.

Raitts’s despairing gaze had found Mistress Trabboch. What little colour the man possessed washed away, his mouth opened helplessly, and he stared at her in horror like a man awaiting his death blow. Gil looked at the woman, and found her staring back at Raitts, equally fixed but quite expressionless.

There was what seemed like a very long silence. Then Raitts closed his mouth and whimpered slightly, a small defenceless sound. As if it was a signal, Mistress Trabboch took a step backwards.

‘I never saw him in my life afore,’ she said levelly, turned on her heel and swept out into the courtyard.

Gil, staying behind as Boyd and his retinue hurried after her, saw Raitts close his eyes and relax, so much in fact that he feared the man was about to swoon. He stepped forward, but the two lay brothers had a firm grasp.

‘Bear up, man!’ said Tammas. ‘We’ll ha none o that now! You can go back in your cell and sit quiet, you’re no wanted longer.’

‘Is she gone?’ Raitts demanded, his voice shaking. ‘Is she really gone?’

‘No, hold up a moment,’ said Gil. ‘Wait.’

Out in the yard, the harsh voice was drowning anything the Prior might have attempted to say.

‘Well, if he’s no to be found, he’s no to be found. I’ll need to get back to Ayrshire and see to my daughter’s wedding, get it ower afore Lent.’

Raitts was staring at the door. Boyd said something which might have been conventional good wishes for the marriage.

‘Aye, well, she’s done better than she deserves. Stair would teach her to read, but Mungo Schaw o Coilsfield doesny object to that. Says it keeps a woman out o trouble.’ Boyd made another indistinct comment. ‘Aye, well, I’ll away then.’

The voices receded. Gil relaxed slightly, and looked at Raitts, who was still staring at the door.

‘She’s gone now,’ he said. ‘Did she sell all your books?’

‘H-half,’ said Raitts distractedly. ‘Nearly the half. Mungo Schaw, did she say?’ There were tears glittering in his eyes, but he allowed his guards to ease him back into the inner chamber without resistance.

‘I think she’ll not be back,’ Gil said.

‘As God wills it,’ said Prior Boyd, crossing himself. ‘But I hope you may be right.’ He caught Gil’s eye and nodded slightly. ‘I am aware of what she said.’

‘Two-edged,’ Gil said elliptically.

‘Aye. Though the character reference might not have been a defence in any case,’ said Boyd, retreating into Latin. ‘You wished to see me, Gilbert?’

‘I did, sir.’ Gil lifted the scrip at his feet and drew out the folded shirt. ‘We discovered this, among the linen waiting for the wash.’

Boyd watched as he opened the garment out, his face crumpling in distress as he recognised the bloodstains.

‘What are you showing me, Gilbert?’

‘The shirt someone wore when he cut Andrew Rattray’s throat, I believe,’ said Gil. ‘Unless there’s been an animal slaughtered lately.’

‘The slaughtering was before Yule,’ said Boyd, ‘and it is to be hoped that it would have been done more neatly.’ He touched the stains delicately, and crossed himself again. ‘So you think this is the boy’s blood? Andrew’s?’

‘I do, sir.’

The Prior closed his eyes to murmur a prayer, then said, ‘Tell me the rest.’

Choosing his words with care, Gil laid out the discovery of the shirt and the knife. His kinsman listened in mounting distress, and when he had done rose abruptly and went to look out of his window at the darkening infirmary garden with its ruins.

‘We have the wrong man,’ he said.

‘It seems likely, sir.’

‘I was certain I understood where your discourse led us.’ He leaned on the low sill. ‘Lessons in humility are rarely welcome. What should we do, Gilbert? How do we discover which of my flock is a killer, without reason, even attacking his confessor who should stand as a father to him? It will be a man I ken well, a man I have taken for my brother. How do we find who he is?’

‘What I should like to do,’ Gil said, thinking of his vision of Andrew Rattray, ‘is set a trap for him, tonight.’

‘A trap?’ Boyd turned to look at him. ‘What kind of trap?’

‘A baited trap,’ said Gil, ‘but first I may need to talk Brother Euan round. Have we time afore supper, do you think?’

‘I don’t like it, Maister Gil,’ said Tam. ‘It’s a daft plan, and dangerous. What if we’re no quick enough? What if he gets by us?’

‘You have a better one?’ Gil asked, settling himself in his corner.

‘As for letting the mistress in on it, that beats all, so it does.’

‘Tam. Be quiet, man.’

‘Aye, I ken. Wait who kens how long, for who kens what, armed wi a knife and like to slay someone this night.’

‘Tam, if you canny be silent, you can go to your bed.’

The man subsided, with a few more grumbles, but Gil had retired into himself, into the quiet watchful state of mind he had been taught as a boy by his father’s huntsman, waiting in such a way that the quarry would not be alarmed, and found it easy enough to ignore him.

Brother Euan, tackled in the infirmary, had been readily persuaded to take part, once he had accepted that he was not required to move his patient.

‘Indeed, it’s better he stays where he is,’ Gil emphasised. ‘We want to convince the-’ he paused, selecting a word.

‘Killer,’ said Brother Euan, with a most un-Ersche directness.

‘Aye. We want him to believe that Faither Henry will wake the morn and be able to talk, and that he’s sleeping in the guest hall the night, untended, save that you will be going in and out, because Faither James is so near his end it’s better he has absolute quiet.’

‘Och, no, that is a nonsense,’ said Brother Euan, ‘though I think they hear more than we can tell, and feel touch too, the dying.’

‘I ken it’s nonsense,’ Gil persisted. ‘Just so the killer believes it.’

‘I canny be telling folk that,’ Brother Euan said. ‘They would never be believing me.’

‘No need, Euan.’ Prior Boyd took a hand in the discussion. ‘I’ll announce it at supper, that all are to stay away from the guest hall and to be quiet passing it, and Brother Dickon can spread the word that Henry is there. All you’ll ha to do is cross the courtyard once or twice in the night, go into the guest hall, wait there long enough to be convincing and then come back here.’

‘Oh, I see!’ said Brother Euan, suddenly understanding. ‘You wish to — och, yes, that is easy done. I will help all I can.’

‘Thank you, brother,’ said the Prior. ‘How is Faither James? How long has he-?’

Brother Euan shrugged. ‘A few hours? A day or two? No longer, I should say.’

Shifting his feet in the dark to ease stiffening muscles, careful to make no noise, Gil hoped now that Father James would hang onto life until this matter was dealt with. The passing-bell and the resulting commotion would not be helpful additions to his plan.

It had been more trouble to persuade his own men the scheme would work, that they would not have a wakeful night to no purpose, and Alys’s reaction had been disapproving too, though he suspected that was because there was no place for her in it.

Why had she come back to the Blackfriars so late? She was in a strange mood, a mixture of triumph, almost elation, and the tearstained resolute behaviour he associated now with her hearing that another neighbour was pregnant, though he thought she knew nobody in Perth likely to have such news. They had been unable to discuss her day, though she had had time to tell him that she had found what might have happened to Leonard Pollock, and to show him the contents of the cloth-wrapped basin she had borne back as if it was an origin al copy of Aristotle, and also to warn him that Sir Silvester Rattray would call tomorrow.

Not too early, I hope, he thought, and eased his pos ition again. And what was that in the basin? It did appear uncommonly like what they had swept up in Pollock’s inner chamber, but after letting him look briefly she had wrapped the fragments up again, stowed the bundle in a travelling kist out of the dog’s reach, and retired to their bedchamber with Jennet, leaving him to set the watch.

‘What time is it, maister, d’you think?’ Tam breathed, his voice carefully pitched now to carry no further than Gil’s ears.

‘Near midnight?’ he guessed.

They were not in complete darkness. The door to one of the lesser chambers, the easiest to reach when one stepped into the hall, stood ajar, and a light burned within as if the sick man slept there. Gil and Tam lurked in the shadows of the hall, within sight of both doors; Dandy and, at his own insistence, Nory, were in the lit chamber. Euan had been set to guard Brother Euan and the infirmary, just in case their trap was ignored. Gil was torn between the hope that this would be unnecessary and the fear that one man was not enough protection. No doubt Brother Euan can fight, he thought. Two determined Erschemen ought to withstand an army.

Brother Euan had made one trip across the courtyard already. He had done it very well, pacing across the wide space with his small lantern, quite as if he was on the errand he pretended, staying in the lit chamber for five minutes or so and emerging with a blessing which sounded genuine and heartfelt.

The gate from the slype creaked, and Tam drew a sudden sharp breath.

‘Aye,’ Gil answered, on the edge of sound.

Quiet, cautious footsteps approached across the courtyard. Gil straightened up, flexed his legs, settled the leather doublet in place, made certain he could reach his dagger. A hand brushed the outside of the great door, the latch clinked. The door creaked open slowly, and against the slightly lighter sky beyond it a head moved, a shadowy figure slipped into the hall and made for the lit doorway. A second figure followed it, turned to close the door quietly-

Two of them?

As both figures were outlined against the candlelight, Gil shouted, ‘Get them! Tam, you get the left one!’ he added, springing forward. There was a squawk of alarm, both intruders whirled, one putting his fists up in a very businesslike way, the other lifting a dark bundle which was certainly not a knife. Cloak, Gil thought, dodging sideways to come in behind the elbow, grab the arm and carry the movement on upwards. The swathe of fabric unrolled and entangled his opponent. There was a scuffle of feet as the two men in hiding emerged to join in, making for Tam. Gil let go the arm he held, shifted his grip to put a forearm across the man’s throat, and dug his thumbnail into the folds of wool where he judged the small of the back might be.

‘Quiet now,’ he said. ‘Quietly.’

The other man was putting up more of a fight. Someone had already fallen back, blowing and gasping from a kick in the belly, and a handy blow produced a curse from Tam. At his words, Gil’s captive stood very still.

‘Maister Cunningham?’ he said, in muffled tones, under the blanket. ‘Is that you, maister?’

‘It is,’ Gil agreed, close to his ear.

‘Let me go, sir. It’s Sandy Munt. Me and Patey came to guard Faither Henry. Patey!’ he said, more loudly. ‘Patey, it’s Maister Cunningham’s men. It’s all right!’

‘All right, is it!’ Patey Simpson leaned sideways from a swinging fist and backed against the wall, hands up, the sleeves of his habit pale in the dimness. ‘All right, all right, pax, I’ve stopped. We’ve no weapons, maisters. You can search us, we’ve no knife on us, neither o us.’

‘You came to guard Faither Henry?’ Gil repeated, letting go of Munt. ‘Who else kens? Who did you tell?’

‘Nobody,’ said Munt, struggling out of the folds of cloth. ‘We reckoned two was enough.’ Nory emerged from the small chamber again, bearing the candle in its candlestick, and in the increased light both young men looked embarrassed. ‘Some guards we’d ha been, if you could surprise us like that, but I never thought o you being involved.’

‘Nor me neither,’ agreed Simpson, sucking his knuckles, allowing Tam to check his person for concealed weapons. ‘How is he — Faither Henry?’

‘Well, so far as I ken. Asleep. Brother Euan’s happy enough wi him for now, though it’s to be seen how he is when he wakes.’

‘Can we see him?’ Munt asked. Then, after a moment’s thought, ‘He’s no here, is he? Is it a trap, and we’ve sprung it?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Gil gestured at the doorway beside them. ‘Come in here. Let’s get that light away from the windows. Aye, it’s a trap, and though you’ve sprung it, we could say it’s worked well. Dandy, are you hurt, man?’ He perched on the end of the empty bed, peering at the groom in the light.

‘I’ll live,’ said Dandy, dabbing at his nose with a sleeve. ‘You’ve a wechty nieve, man, for a religious.’

‘I’ve brothers,’ said Simpson briefly. ‘What can we best do, maister? We’d planned,’ he looked at Munt, ‘we’d planned to go into Matins, rather than be sought the way we all sought for, well, for Brother Thomas and for Faither Henry.’

‘We thought, if we waited by the slype, we could slip in at the back o the procession,’ supplied Munt. ‘They’d likely just think we’d been longer getting our boots on.’

Gil, with longer experience of the omniscience of those who dealt with the young, doubted this, but did not comment, saying only, ‘If you stay, you’ll need to keep quiet.’

In fact, he was not convinced the trap would catch anyone else this night. The killer need not have seen these two stealing about the cloister to be wary; anything or anyone out of place could cause him to think twice, to abandon his intentions.

‘What did Faither Prior give out at supper?’ he asked quietly, over the assurances of silence and stillness. The two looked at each other again.

‘About Faither Henry?’ said Munt. ‘That he’s improving, that Brother Euan thinks he may be able to speak the morn, that he’s to lie here the night. Was any o that true, maister? He’s — he’s — he’s been out o’t a long time, is he ever to waken?’

‘Certainly that he’s improving,’ Gil said. ‘The long sleep’s deliberate treatment for the head wound. I’ve met it afore, and my wife’s read o such things.’

‘Ah,’ said Munt, relief colouring his tone.

‘I’m sorry, maister, if we’ve owerset your plans,’ said Simpson, accepting the folded blanket from Nory. ‘It seemed like a good idea, that we cam down to keep watch by our teacher, but I see now it’s no so clever at all. Thanks, man,’ he added to Nory, who nodded and slipped out into the dark hall again.

‘If we hadny been here,’ said Gil, ‘it would ha been a right good idea, and you’d no way to know my plans.’ He got to his feet. ‘You two bide here wi Dandy, Nory can come out in the hall-’

‘Maister!’ It was Tam, in a hissing whisper. ‘Maister, can you come out here? Something’s afoot,’ he added as Gil hastened to join him. ‘Listen?’

There were raised voices, somewhere outside, a confused shouting. Gil made out panicky cries of ‘Murder! Who’s dead?’

‘Tam, wi me!’ he said sharply, stepping to the door. ‘Dandy, bring a light and follow us. Nory, you stay here wi the lads. The women are still in their chamber.’

Out in the courtyard it was much easier to find the direction of the shouting, which was definitely coming from somewhere in the cloister. Gil made his way cautiously through the slype, dagger in hand, Tam at his back, and peered out into the open space beyond. The raised voices were over to his right, towards the day stair, where a group of cloaked Dominicans were arguing fiercely, lantern-light catching white sleeves. It was not clear what was happening. Gil, relaxing a little, moved round the walkway towards them, Tam still behind him, and Dandy caught them up with a handful of lanterns just as they reached the group.

‘Nobody passed me!’ Brother Martin was saying. ‘He never went that way, any road!’

‘Nor into the kirk,’ said someone else. ‘I’d swear to it, that door makes sic a noise.’

‘What’s amiss?’ Gil asked. ‘We heard you in the guest hall. Is someone hurt?’

‘Maister Cunningham!’ It was one of the novices. Taking a lantern from Dandy, Gil held it up, and recognised Mureson. ‘Oh, maister, we’ve seen the murderer! Adam and me, we saw him just the now!’