The Nicholas Feast

Chapter Six

‘Let me see, what do we know?’ said Gil.

They were seated in the mason’s panelled closet, with a jug of ale circulating. The household had long since eaten its supper, but Alys had greeted them with pleasure and produced a substantial meal for all three of them. The wolfhound was still licking hopefully at its empty plate, holding it down with a large hairy paw.

‘We have been told, and we may believe, I think,’ said the mason, picking crumbs off a platter which had earlier held half a raised pie, ‘that the young man was knocked unconscious and put in the limehouse as a joke of sorts.’ He pulled a disapproving face. ‘Prentice stuff. One expects better of scholars, surely.’

‘No,’ said Gil, recalling his own student days.

‘No, father,’ said Alys.

Maistre Pierre grunted. ‘And we have deduced that quite shortly after he was put there he was throttled, still in the limehouse, and transferred to the coalhouse after he was dead.’

‘How can you know that?’ asked Alys, her brown eyes intent on his face.

‘No sign of a struggle, in either place,’ Gil said. ‘He was killed before he recovered his senses, and it seems he was already beginning to stir when he was shut in the limehouse.’

She nodded. ‘Are you looking for one person, or two?’

‘One person at the moment,’ said Gil. ‘It is simpler. But I agree, it could almost be two, or even three. However I am reasonably confident,’ he added, ‘that we have not yet spoken to the person who searched William’s chamber and struck this fellow over the head.’

‘I must see to that.’ Alys drew the animal to her by its collar, and studied the injury. ‘It’s a clean cut — if we wash off the blood, it should heal well enough.’ She patted the pup, which was wagging its stringy tail at her, and lifted the tray of empty dishes. ‘It all hinges on the order in which things happened after the play,’ she continued thoughtfully, her gaze on Gil again.

‘You see that too?’

‘I do not,’ said the mason. ‘Surely it is enough to find out who searched the chamber?’

‘If the regent’s key opened both the coalhouse and the boy’s chamber, other keys may do likewise,’ Alys pointed out. ‘How many such keys are there? Who has them?’

‘We need to ask,’ said her father.

Alys put the tray down again, and looked from one to the other. ‘Could the Dean be right? Could it be a passing malefactor, or a discontented servant?’

‘Easily,’ said Gil, a little grimly. ‘And two of the servants at least had a reason to dislike the boy.’

‘No, but wait. If I understand you, this limehouse is in a closed pend by itself, or at least with the coalhouse, so only people with business there would pass the door. If William was not killed by the boys who put him in the limehouse — ’

‘I’m reasonably sure of that,’ Gil said. ‘They were shocked and frightened by news of his death, and greatly relieved when I told them how he had died. Having seen their acting,’ he added, ‘I am certain they were sincere in this.’

‘Then how did the person who killed him know he was there?’

‘A good question,’ said Gil.

Her elusive smile flickered. ‘That always means there is either a very good answer, or no immediate one.’ She collected more scraps off the dishes on the tray and put them absently into the wolfhound’s plate, where they were immediately swept up by its long pink tongue. ‘Which is it?’ Gil shook his head in reply. ‘Who had the chance? When was he killed?’

‘Just after the play ended,’ said Gil, ‘there was a great clap of thunder and the rain began.’

‘I heard it,’ she said, nodding.

‘All of the cast and many of the other students scattered to shut windows or put books out of danger. Ninian Boyd found William poking round their chamber, and knocked him down. By the time they had tied him up and carried him downstairs most of the others had gone back to the hall where the feast was, to get at the sweetmeats, so they thought they were unseen, but one of the scholars helping at the feast overheard them and told the kitchen hands. I think this all happened before the Dean rose to retire from the place where we saw the play, so none of the masters knew at this point.’

‘What of the other students?’ asked Maistre Pierre. ‘Theology, the Laws?’

‘We must ask, or get someone to do it for us.’

‘But suppose someone found out where William was,’ Alys persisted, ‘never mind how for the moment, would it have been possible for him to get to the limehouse, do away with the boy, and move him, unperceived by anyone else? In broad day? Who had the chance to do that?’

‘Conspiracy,’ said her father.

‘You must question all of the kitchen people,’ Alys said. She rose and lifted the tray. ‘Someone may know something, or have told someone else, or been overheard. Nobody pays attention to servants.’

She backed out of the door with her tray, and they heard her feet on the stairs.

‘There is still no reason to throttle the boy,’ said Maistre Pierre, sitting back in his great chair. ‘Or none better than another.’

‘And there is this question of the smell of cumin on the belt he was throttled with.’ Gil poured more ale for them both. ‘None of the people who ate the spiced pork had the opportunity, and none of the others ate the spiced pork. I think,’ he added. ‘Perhaps I should also ask the kitchen if any of them tasted it.’

‘Very likely they did.’ The mason sighed. ‘I had misgivings when I saw the messenger from the college, and I was right. At least there are no Campbells this time, but only that supremely unpleasant Lord Montgomery.’

‘Who is son-in-law to the Great Campbell himself,’ said Gil. Maistre Pierre looked enquiringly. ‘His wife is a daughter of Chancellor Argyll,’ Gil confirmed. ‘He is uncle-by-marriage to John Sempill’s late mistress.’

‘I should have guessed,’ said the mason in disgust.

‘What is more, he seems determined to cleanse Ayrshire of Cunninghams.’

‘I know he has killed more than one — ’

‘With his own blade he has killed my kinsman Alexander Lord Kilmaurs, the head of the house, on Sauchie Muir in ’88,’ said Gil with restraint, ‘and Alexander’s son Robert in ’89, in an armed encounter outside the court at Irvine. He has burned and harried and confiscated Cunningham property the length and breadth of north Ayrshire, the district called Cunningham, and in Lanarkshire as well.’ The baby wailed, elsewhere in the house. ‘And it is this man’s kinsman for whom we are charged to win justice. I would feel better about that if I knew what degree of kinship there was.’

‘A very unpleasant man.’ The baby wailed again, closer, and Maistre Pierre sat up. ‘That infant has still not eaten, I would judge. Why is Alys bringing him upstairs?’

‘Because Nancy wishes to hear Vespers at Grey-friars.’ Alys, returning with the tray, was followed into the little room by the silent girl who was the baby’s nurse. ‘There, Nancy, give him to me now and go with the others.’

‘Poor little one,’ said the mason as the swaddled bundle changed hands. ‘He is still hungry?’

‘Mistress Irvine’s remedy, that we tried this morning, came straight back up.’ Alys bounced the baby hopefully. ‘The cattie rade to Paisley, to Paisley, to Paisley. No, the milk with honey and a little usquebae is still the best, and he won’t grow big and strong like his daddy on that, will he? The cattie rade to Paisley, upon a harrow tine.’

The baby grizzled at her.

‘Which daddy?’ said Gil.

‘Well, the harper calls daily,’ Maistre Pierre pointed out, ‘whereas Maister Sempill has not been here once since we fostered the bairn. Let me hold him, Alys, and you may see to the dog.’

‘The difference lies between knowing it is your bairn, as McIan does,’ suggested Gil, ‘and simply needing it as a legal heir, like Sempill. No,’ he said firmly to the pup, which was goggling at the baby.

‘Let John see the dog,’ said Alys, sitting down. She lifted the rag and the bowl from the tray, and captured the pup between her ankles. ‘See, baby. What’s this?’

Child and dog stared at one another, and the baby stopped wailing. Alys, taking advantage of the pup’s distraction, washed the dried blood out of the rough hair and inspected the injury. Gil watched the deft movements of her slender hands, and suddenly found himself imagining her tending to him like that. Would she wear the same look of intent concern? he wondered, and then thought, This is foolish. But the image lingered.

By the time Alys was finished the baby was reaching out towards the dog.

‘As I thought,’ she said, smearing the wound with something green from a small pot. ‘A clean cut. It should heal well. There, little one,’ she said to the pup, releasing it. ‘Is that a doggie, John?’

John made a remark, waving his arms. The doggie moved closer. The mason took a firmer grasp of the baby, ready to move quickly if necessary, but Gil shook his head.

‘He is not hunting,’ he said, ‘he’s curious. Look — his hackles are still down.’

The wolfhound reared up with one paw on Maistre Pierre’s knee, bringing its muzzle within reach of the baby, who reached out with both arms. One small hand grasped a soft grey ear, the other reached for the shiny black nose. The pup’s tail swung, and there was an unfamiliar sound.

John McIan or Sempill was laughing.

‘Well!’ said Alys.

‘Well!’ said the mason, and freed one hand to wipe his eyes. All three adults exchanged idiotic smiles, while the pup scrambled awkwardly on to the mason’s knee beside the baby.

‘The question is,’ said Gil, watching critically as it tried to hitch up a dangling back leg, ‘whether the dog will stay with John or follow me when I leave the room.’

‘Where are you going?’ said Alys, looking up quickly.

‘To speak to Mistress Irvine. What can you tell me about her?’

‘That she is a Paisley body, married to one of Montgomery’s tenants, not lacking for money in any way,’ said Alys, on an apologetic note, ‘and that she has gone to hear Vespers with the rest of the household. They will be back in good time. What else do you need to see to this evening?’

‘The boy’s clothes,’ said the mason. ‘Where did you leave them, Gil?’

The pup looked anxious, but did not attempt to follow Gil, and wagged its tail in relief when he returned with the unsavoury bundle.

‘Of all vanegloir the lamp and the mirour. William certainly had his vanities. His hair was newly barbered, and these are excellent boots,’ he said, unrolling them from the folds of worn blue-grey stuff. ‘They do not match with the gown at all.’

‘Nor with the remainder of the garments,’ agreed Alys, prodding fastidiously at the hose. ‘These are past washing, they must be burnt. Have they nobody to mend their heels and toes? I will put the linen to soak and it can be washed tomorrow.’

‘Are there not statutes concerning dress?’ asked the mason.

‘There are,’ said Gil. He set down the boots and lifted the gown. ‘Most folk ignore them if they can afford better. This was not new when William got it, I would say. It has seen much use.’ He turned the garment, looking at the frayed lining. ‘No — I hoped there might be somewhere to conceal secrets, but it appears not.’

‘Perhaps the doublet?’ suggested the mason, easing the sleeping baby into a more convenient position. ‘What sort of secrets do we search for?’

‘Just secrets.’ Gil put the gown aside, and Alys picked it up and began to fold it neatly. ‘William was a magpie for stray facts, as far as I can make out, and there is this red book the boy Gibson mentioned, which was certainly not concealed in his room.’

‘Or if it was,’ observed Maistre Pierre, ‘the searcher found it before us, with the other papers. There were no papers in the chamber at all.’

Gil looked up from William’s doublet. ‘Yes, I suppose so. He — the searcher — would be at pains to destroy any evidence against himself.’

‘Surely,’ said Alys, lifting the other side of the doublet where it trailed on the floor, ‘the best evidence is what you deduce from sign, like a huntsman? The book can only suggest names to us.’

‘I think I will teach you philosophy,’ said Gil. ‘You think more logically than most men I know already.’

She coloured, and looked down at the doublet. Gil put out a hand to caress the side of her face, and found his fingers caught in her hair as she bent her head, suddenly intent.

‘What’s this? There’s something in the lining. It feels too big to be a coin.’

‘A medallion?’ suggested the mason. Alys turned the inside of the garment to the light.

‘He has slit the lining and made a pocket for this,’ she reported, easing at the cloth. ‘I think he did it himself, because it’s a very tight fit. Ah, here it comes!’

Something with the dull gleam of bronze slid on to her lap.

‘Mon Dieu! Look at that!’ she said. She lifted the object, and handed it to Gil. Their fingers caught and clung for a moment as he took it.

‘Whatever is it?’ he wondered, and turned the object over. It was a disc about as large as the palm of his hand, with a flat outer ring which could turn about the inner portion. The centre was engraved with the portrait of a saint whose attributes Gil could not make out, and around the saint and on the outer ring were two sequences of letters in order. ‘Some kind of bronze hornbook?’

‘Have you never seen one of these?’ Alys took it back, and turned the outer ring carefully. ‘It’s a cipher disc. See — if I set the A on the outer ring against the D on the inner one, then all the other letters are set against the letter four along, and all I have to do to cipher a message is to read off the letters I want to make the word, instead of having to count on my fingers. This will be very useful. Which reminds me, father,’ she added, ‘I deciphered the letter from John of Castile. He writes that the mad Italian has got money for his voyage. He may have sailed by now, who knows?’

‘What, that man who wants to find the western passage to the Indies?’ Gil asked.

‘Sooner him than me,’ said the mason. ‘Can you imagine? How long will it take him, do you suppose? And shut up on a boat with a crew of madmen, for he will certainly not find sane men to sail with him.’

‘The inner ring is rearranged,’ said Alys, still studying the cipher disc. ‘It doesn’t generate a simple substitution. It must be one of a pair, then. I wonder who has the other disc? It means, you realize,’ she went on, looking up at Gil, ‘that I can decipher that paper from the boy’s purse as soon as I get the time.’

‘Ah, yes, the paper,’ said the mason. ‘What of the other, the one which is not in code?’

‘This one?’ Alys turned and reached on to her father’s tall writing-desk. From under a green-glazed pottery frog she drew a sheet of paper. ‘Yes, this is the one. It refers to many people, but only by an initial.’

Gil took the paper, tilting it as the mason craned to see without disturbing his sleeping burden of child and dog.

‘M will be in G,’ he read again. ‘H passed through for Irvine. I wonder-’

‘Montgomery is in Glasgow,’ Alys said. ‘I think that must be right. And Catherine tells me Lord Hepburn went to Irvine last week to take ship for France.’

‘Oh, yes, about the King’s French marriage.’ Gil looked down at the paper again. ‘It’s a list of small facts like that.’

‘Did he collect them for his own interest, do you suppose,’ speculated Maistre Pierre, ‘or for someone else’s?’

‘He bought these boots recently,’ said Alys. She turned one up and showed them the sole, still flat and even.

‘Yes,’ said Gil thoughtfully. ‘And he had that device for writing in cipher in his possession.’ His eye ran down the creased paper, and he grinned. ‘Alys, we are observed. See this line? C marriage to dau of burgess. And yet I had to tell him my name. He’s had this by hearsay.’

‘He has collected all the gossip of Glasgow,’ said Alys. ‘I wonder who he was selling it to?’

‘Espionage, in effect,’ said the mason.

‘Yes,’ said Gil. ‘And the question, as Alys says, is who he was spying for.’

‘But I know where he was getting the gossip,’ said Alys. Gil looked up and met her eye.

‘The barber’s,’ they said together.

When the household returned from Vespers Gil and Alys were in the courtyard, seated on the stone bench at the foot of the stairs while the wolfhound ranged about inspecting the flower-pots.

‘When will your mother reach Glasgow?’ she asked, drawing away from his arm as the voices echoed in the pend.

‘God knows.’ Gil rose reluctantly to his feet, checking the pup, which was growling at the approaching group. ‘If she lies tonight at Bothwell with my sister Margaret she’ll be here before Nones, but if she makes the entire journey in one day tomorrow, it might be this hour. The men may have brought my uncle word of her plans. No doubt I’ll find out when I go up the hill.’ He took her hand, to draw her into the house. ‘I must speak to Mistress Irvine. Will you find out if she is able to talk to me now? And that reminds me, Alys. I have a task for you.’

She looked up at him, brown eyes smiling, her mouth most deliciously curved with kissing. He dropped a final kiss on her forehead and went on, ‘The two lassies in the kitchen at the college know something, I’m certain of it. Could you get a word with them, maybe, or get one of this household to speak to them?’

‘The college kitchen,’ she repeated thoughtfully. ‘One of our girls will know who they are. It may take a little time.’

‘Time we do not have,’ said Gil. ‘Hugh Montgomery is waiting for us to fail.’

Mistress Irvine, although supported across the courtyard by two of the maidservants and still very puffy in the face, professed herself willing to speak to Gil.

‘Vespers was bonny,’ she said, ‘the singin an that. And Faither Francis is that kind, he was a great comfort to me the day. I must send an offering. And for prayers for William. Oh, my poor laddie!’ she exclaimed, turning her face away.

‘Come and sit down and tell me about him,’ suggested Gil. ‘How old was he?’

‘Just sixteen. He was born on May Day. Oh, he was the bonniest bairn,’ she exclaimed, following him into the hall. ‘Never sick, never greetin, and he walked and spoke sooner than any I’ve nursed. Exceptin his sainted mother, maybe.’

‘You knew his mother?’ Gil asked.

‘I nursed her and all. So who should she turn to but me to foster her bairn? Though she never tellt me whose it was,’ she added, in some dissatisfaction.

‘Who was she?’ Gil asked innocently.

‘Oh, maister, I canny tell ye that. Lord Montgomery would ha my hide for it.’

‘But if she’s deid,’ Gil suggested, ‘no harm in it, surely?’

‘No, maister. Dinna ask it, for I canny tell ye.’

‘Tell me about William, then.’

She sat down on the stool he indicated, and launched into an extensive eulogy which bore little resemblance to the portrait of William painted by his friends at the college. Gil let her talk, picking the occasional nugget out of the torrent. William was cleverer than any, his manners were more polished than all the Montgomerys, his voice was sweeter than the lady Isobel’s had been. When he was eight he had defeated a juvenile Douglas in scholarly dispute. Hugh Montgomery had intended to make a churchman of him, and legitimation proceedings had begun.

‘Did the lady Isobel marry someone else?’ Gil asked casually.

‘She did indeed, before her bairn was a twelvemonth old, Lord Montgomery found her a husband and he was good to her. Poor soul, she fell sick afore Pace, there, and was shriven and in her shroud afore May Day. Five bairns she’s left greetin for their mammy, and the oldest but thirteen year old. Nae doubt their daddy’ll take another afore the year’s end.’

‘Did William know her?’

‘He kent her name, but he never met her, no since he was, oh, the age of the bairn here. She’d send him gifts now and then, but she was far too far to visit, even if Gowdie’d kent about him. Poor soul,’ sighed Mistress Irvine. ‘She was a bonnie bairn and all. So when the letter cam, with the paper for William in it, I brocht it to Glasgow, seeing I was coming to see how our Davie did.’

‘A letter? You can read, Mistress Irvine?’

‘Oh, aye,’ she agreed. ‘Well, my name, and a wee bit more. I can write my name and all. I learned when the holy faither learned her, when she was a wee thing. She would have him teach me at her side. That was like her,’ she confided, her face softening. ‘Bonnie and loving and generous, she was, but she was obstinate as they come. Once she decided I’d to learn my letters and all, there was no shifting her. That’s how I kenned Lord Montgomery would never learn whose bairn it was, no matter the beatings he threatened her. Not that he’d have done any of those things. So,’ she continued, unexpectedly recovering the thread of her answer, ‘she’d put my name, and she’d writ clear so I could read it that the other bit paper was for William. The messenger said it was in her jewel-box when she dee’d.’

‘Was that the letter I delivered for you? Do you know what it was?’

‘I don’t,’ she said regretfully. ‘It never said in her letter, and it was sealed that close — well, you saw it yourself. Did he get it, maister? I wouldny like to think he went to his death without a word from his minnie.’

‘I gave it into his hands. But we never found it in his room,’ said Gil thoughtfully. ‘Was he expecting it?’

‘He was expecting it today, since I tellt him yesterday I had it, but I know he’d no more idea what it was than I did, for I asked him. I journeyed here yesterday with Sandy Wag the carrier who was fetching sacks of meal up for Lord Montgomery,’ she elucidated, ‘and I went to ask for him as soon as I’d heard Vespers, but I never had the paper wi me then, for I didny recall how close the college lies to the Greyfriars kirk. And the man was that disobliging about sending for him. Oh, and if I’d kenned that was my last speech with him — ’

‘Lord Montgomery took an interest in William,’ Gil prompted.

‘Aye, that he did. Paid me well to foster him. I think he’d a fondness for her — for the laddie’s mother,’ she confided, ‘they all did, come to that, but it would never ha done. Too close, they were. Holy Kirk would never consentit.’ She turned her head as Alys approached from the other end of the hall. ‘I understand there’s to be a wedding in this house,’ she said, with tear-stained archness. ‘I wish ye very happy, maister, and you, my lassie. I was never in such a well-run house. Such kindness as I’ve been shown under this roof, maister.’

‘Thank you for your good wishes,’ said Alys, taking Mistress Irvine’s large red hand in hers. ‘You are most generous. Gil, have you any more questions? Kittock has brewed a posset to help her friend to sleep.’

‘Then she must drink it while it’s hot. Thank you for talking to me, mistress.’ Gil helped the woman to her feet, and watched as she was led off to the kitchen.

The mason found him deep in thought, staring out at the garden which sloped in the evening sunlight down towards the mills on the Molendinar. The pup was seated on his feet.

‘By what Alys tells me, that was not hunting,’ he said. ‘That was poaching.’

‘Like tickling trout,’ Gil agreed. ‘Poor woman, her grief at least is genuine. She wept the starns doun frae the lift, she wept the fish out o the sea. My uncle might know who this Isobel was. He might know about the legitimation procedure as well, since it would have to go through the Archdiocese. I must go home, Pierre.’

‘Alys is seeing to the bairn. She will be down in a little. Shall we keep that dog tonight? The baby has taken a liking for him.’

‘Aye, and Maggie will have enough to do seeing to my mother’s men, without finding scraps for a growing dog. I’d be grateful. That is, if he’ll stay.’

‘If we put food in front of him, he will stay. What must we do tomorrow?’

‘I need to speak to Nick Kennedy. I could do that on my way home. Tomorrow I must see the young man Nicholas Gray, and I think the chaplain, and we must talk to the dog man, and to William’s barber. There is the list Nick made for us, of who was present at the feast.’

‘Alys must decipher those papers for us. Is that all?’

‘We need to look for William’s notebook.’

‘Indeed. None of this seems likely to lead us to the killer,’ complained the mason.

‘It could have been nearly anybody,’ Gil agreed, ‘or almost nobody.’

‘If you sleep on it,’ said Alys, emerging from the stair that led to the upper floors, ‘it may become clearer. I am taking this bairn to Nancy. Gil, I set milk to warm for the dog. If you bring him down to the kitchen we can feed him.’

In the kitchen, the household was beginning to settle itself for the night. Two of the maidservants were clearing crocks, cooking pots which had been scoured earlier and set to dry by the fire were waiting to be carried out to the scullery, straw mattresses spilled out of an opened press. Kittock and her guest had their heads together in a corner, drinking something pun-gently herbal out of wooden beakers. A pottery jar with a face on it, of the sort that contained usquebae, stood on the floor at their feet.

Alys led the way to the fire, handed the infant John to Nancy and drew the little crock of milk from the ashes.

‘Bread and milk,’ she said, pouring the warm milk over the crumbs in another bowl. ‘That will fill his belly. Ah, I have heated too much milk.’

She prodded the soaking crumbs with a carved spoon, while the pup’s nose twitched.

‘I think he is used to bread and milk,’ said Gil. He set the animal down, and John immediately exclaimed something and waved his hands. Alys put the dish of bread and milk on the floor, and the pup plunged into it, tail swinging.

‘Oh, mem!’ said Nancy. ‘Oh, mem, look!’

She held the baby up. He was gazing intently at the pup, and smacking his lips.

‘He’s hungry!’ said Nancy.

Leaving Alys spooning bread and milk into the willing baby while the wolfhound watched with interest, and her father exclaimed his intention of walking up to Greyfriars later to hear Compline, Gil went out into the High Street and strolled the short distance to the college gate. It was shut, and he had to bang on it with the hilt of his dagger before Jaikie came to open the postern.

‘Oh, it’s you, Maister Cunningham,’ he said, standing aside grudgingly as Gil stepped over the wooden sill. ‘What are you after at this hour? I’d a thocht you’d be in a warm bed by this,’ he added, descending into an unpleasant camaraderie. ‘And better than a hot stone to warm it, eh?’

He nudged Gil, and grinned at him, releasing fumes of usquebae and spiced pork.

‘My day’s darg isny done,’ said Gil with intense politeness, ‘unlike yours. We haven’t found who killed William yet.’

‘Oh, him. Small loss, he is. I dinna ken why you bother.’

‘What did you know of the boy, Jaikie? What like was he?’

Jaikie looked cautiously up the tunnel towards the courtyard, and beckoned Gil into his little room, where a rushlight competed with the small illumination from the narrow window. Closing the door behind them both he leaned close to Gil and hissed, ‘He was a nasty, boldin wee bystart.’

‘He’d a good opinion of himself, had he?’

‘Oh aye. He had that. Well, you seen him yourself, Maister Cunningham, out in the street to greet the company as if he’d been the Dean his self. And he wouldny be tellt. None o’ the rules was to touch him, but he’d run about looking to see who broke the bylaws and report them to Maister Doby Even those that did him favours,’ he added bitterly.

‘I’m sure he found nothing to report about you,’ lied Gil.

‘Oh, no,’ agreed Jaikie. He turned to poke at the brazier, and belched, adding his own contribution to the smells which already choked the room. ‘Though I did him favours enough,’ he added, leering sideways above the reluctant flame, ‘and small return for them.’

‘What kind of favours?’

‘Oh, just things.’

‘He collected information,’ said Gil thoughtfully. ‘Someone like you, here at the yett where everyone comes and goes, must have plenty information.’

‘Oh, you’d be dumfounert, maister. They come through here, down the pend, past my door, aye talking, and no always in the Latin tongue. I hear a thing or two, I can tell you.’

‘And William paid you for it?’

‘Paid! That lang-nebbit rimpin pay for a thing? No, it was Jaikie, I seen such-and-such of your doing that the Dean would like to ken. Tell me what you’ve got, or I’ll pass him the word. And then he’d leave papers for me to give to this or that man chapping at the yett, and aye sealed.’

‘Small gain if they hadn’t been sealed,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘for they were in code. We’ve found a page all in code, that was in his purse.’

‘His purse? I thought that was stolen.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Oh, one of them.’ Jaikie jerked his head towards the courtyard. He left the brazier finally alone and flung himself down in his great chair, reaching for the stone bottle beside it. ‘Usquebae, maister? No? Ye’ll no mind if I take a wee drop. Ye’d be surprised at the secrets I get out of a jar of usquebae.’ Removing the rag which did duty as a stopper, he tipped the bottle, swallowed and wiped his mouth. ‘Aye, well, code, was it? Doesny surprise me.’

‘Who collected these papers?’ Gil asked.

‘Just folks. They’d ask for them. No anybody I’d seen before.’

‘You were just telling me how much you learn, here by the street door,’ Gil observed. ‘Is there anybody in Glasgow you don’t know by sight?’

‘Oh, aye,’ said Jaikie sourly. ‘The reason being, I’m tied here by this door, so if they don’t come up the High Street, I canny see them. Anyway, it wasny Glasgow folk. You could tell by the way they spoke. Ayrshire, maybe, or over that way somewhere. I got a sight of a badge one time, same as on that house along the way. Montgomery’s place.’

‘What, the men had Montgomery’s badge?’ said Gil, startled. ‘You mean he was simply writing letters to his kinsman?’

‘Aye, maybe,’ said Jaikie after a moment. He took another pull at the usquebae, and grunted irritably. ‘That’s another one finished. Well, it can join the others.’ He rose, to add the bottle to a row standing under the shut-bed which occupied one end of the room, and took another from the press under the narrow window. ‘Will ye have some of this one, maister?’

Gil shook his head, and the man sat down again and took out his eating-knife to break the seal on the new bottle. ‘Aye, maybe he was just writing home. But he made a rare parade of it. And near every week. None of them writes letters every week, even the ones that misses their mammies.’

‘And the dog?’ Gil asked, recalling something. ‘Was that another of the favours he asked you?’

‘Oh, aye. He’d leave it here for Billy Dog to fetch away, or Billy ’ud bring it to wait here for him. He was training it, it seems. So he said. Billy’s been here looking for it three times the day, starting when they were all at that feast.’

‘You mean it wasn’t William’s dog?’

‘Ask at Billy Dog. I wouldny ken. It answered to him well enough.’

‘Thank you, I will.’ Gil turned to open the door, and turned back. ‘These letters. Was it only Montgomery’s men that collected them? Were there any for anybody else?’

Jaikie, taking another draw at the usquebae, lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth before shaking his head.

‘They wereny all from Ayrshire, if that’s what ye mean, maister, but as to where they were from — I could make a guess, maybe. If it was worth my while.’

‘You saw no other badges?’

‘No on the messengers.’ Jaikie eyed the stone bottle broodingly ‘No on the messengers. But I’ll tell you one I did see,’ he added.

‘What one was that? Where was it?’

‘Aye, ye’d like to know, wouldn’t ye no? I’ll tell ye what it was, though.’ Jaikie took another mouthful of spirits, and belched resoundingly. ‘The fish-tailed cross, it was.’

‘What, the cross of St John?’ said Gil, startled. ‘Who was carrying that?’

‘Secrets, secrets,’ said Jaikie, leering at him. ‘No Christian soul, I’ll tell ye.’

Feet sounded in the tunnel, and someone knocked on the twisted planks of the door. Gil drew it open and Jaikie said aggressively, ‘And what are you after, Robert Montgomery?’

‘Maister Kennedy wants his friend sent for,’ said Robert, looking down his nose in a manner very like his dead kinsman’s.

‘What friend? Is it this one here?’

Robert transferred his gaze to Gil, now looking at him round the door, bent the knee briefly and said with more civility, ‘Maister Cunningham, aye, it is. Maister Kennedy wants you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Gil. ‘Is he in his own chamber?’

‘Aye,’ said Robert, ‘and he’s got his troubles the now.’

The truth of this became evident as they stepped into the courtyard. A number of students loitered about the door of Maister Kennedy’s stair, sniggering from time to time, and the well-loved teacher’s voice floated out, raised in what Gil at first took to be fervent prayer and then recognized for equally fervent cursing.

‘What in the world — ?’ he said.

‘Ye should go on up, maybe,’ said Robert. ‘Maister Kennedy’s a wee thing overset.’

‘I can hear that.’ Gil picked his way through the group and into the stair tower. The words became clearer as he ascended, a startling mixture of several languages, presumably gleaned from colleagues who had studied abroad. He reached the chamber door as its occupant paused for breath.

‘What ails you, Nick?’ he began, and stopped, open-mouthed on the threshold as the question answered itself.

The room was wrecked. Like most scholars, Maister Kennedy had few enough possessions, other than his books, but what he possessed was strewn across the floor and trampled. A shoe with the sole ripped off lay on an ink-dabbled shirt, more ink daubed the fur of a shoulder-cape on the bench, paper in single sheets was everywhere, and the straw mattress had been slashed open and emptied. The bookshelf gaped unoccupied.

‘Christ and his saints preserve us,’ said Gil. Maister Kennedy turned to look at him.

‘Come in, Gil,’ he said savagely. ‘Come and see the reward for three years’ work. I think they got everything.’

‘When did this happen?’ Gil asked.

‘While we were at Vespers. The Dean did William proud — Christ aid, you’d think he’d been the next Pope but two, the way he went on — must have been near an hour for that alone, let alone the singing. I got back here not long since and found this.’

‘Has anyone else been searched?’ Gil began lifting handfuls of straw and stuffing them back into the mattress.

‘How would I know? I’ve been here.’

‘Have you told the Principal? The Steward?’

‘I tell you I’ve been here. The students ken — maybe they’ve tellt someone.’ Maister Kennedy picked his way to the bench and sat down. ‘I canny think. Maybe I should tell the Principal.’

‘I’ll send someone.’ Gil left the mattress and went down to the courtyard. The group of students was beginning to disperse now that Maister Kennedy was no longer performing, but a few remained.

‘You two,’ he said to the nearest, ‘will you carry a word to Maister Doby for me?’ They nodded, looking apprehensive. ‘Say to him with my compliments that I’d be grateful to see him in Maister Kennedy’s chamber as soon as convenient. Can you mind that?’

One of them repeated the message accurately enough, and they hurried off. Gil looked at the remaining boys.

‘And you can find out for me, if you will, whether anyone else found anything wrong when they came back from Vespers, and if so, send them to me here.’

‘Aye, maister,’ said one of them. ‘How bad is it, maister? It looked a fair old fankle.’

‘Well, I hope nobody intended a joke,’ said Gil, ‘for it’s far beyond that.’

He went back up to the fair old fankle. His friend was now lifting odd sheets of paper and throwing them down again, staring round helplessly.

‘I canny see what’s missing,’ he confessed. ‘St Nicholas’ balls, Gil, they’ve wrecked my only shoes, I’ll ha to wear these boots till I get them seen to.’

‘Who was it?’ Gil wondered. ‘And what were they after?’

‘None of the college. We were all at Vespers.’

‘All?’

‘I think so. We can find out. Besides, who in the college — ?’ Nick looked round. ‘Maybe someone hates me.’

Slow footsteps on the stair proclaimed the arrival of Maister Doby He halted in the doorway as Gil had done, staring, until Patrick Coventry appeared at his back and eased him into the room.

‘My faith,’ said the Principal at length. ‘Who has done this?’ He groped his way to the other end of the bench and sat down. ‘What a day! What a day, with two such evil-doers in our midst. All your papers, Nicholas, and your ink-horns. And your books!’ he exclaimed in horror as Maister Coventry lifted an abused volume from under the bed-frame.

‘Principal, if I might make a suggestion,’ said Maister Coventry in the brisk tones of one actually giving an order, ‘I think our brother Nicholas would be better out of this. Might you take him back to your lodging the now? Then Maister Cunningham and I can sort matters here, till the Steward can spare a couple of servitors to redd up.’

Gil, admiring the way the Second Regent did not say that the servitors could not be trusted to deal with the books and papers, added, ‘Perhaps you would have a drop of aqua-vita or usquebae for him, maister? I think he could do with a restorative.’

‘Aqua-vita,’ said the Principal, brightening. ‘A good thought, Gilbert. Come, Nicholas. Come to my lodging and we will think about where you are to lie tonight. Certainly you canny sleep here.’

Nick, with the prospect of strong drink, was persuaded to accompany the Principal. As Maister Doby’s shocked exclamations dwindled down the stairs Maister Coventry said, ‘Is the Principal right? The same as searched William’s room, or not?’

‘What do you think?’ countered Gil, lifting the neighbour of the savaged shoe.

‘William’s property was not damaged. This is vicious.’

‘Or unlearned. An unlettered man or men, unused to handling an ink-horn, searching for something particular.’ Gil extracted a book from the fireplace and smoothed the pages. ‘Something small, flat, easily hidden. A bundle of paper, perhaps, of a different size or quality from this stuff Nick uses.’

‘William’s writing was very distinctive,’ observed Maister Coventry. ‘I have seen it often when he took notes. He wrote very small, with the hooks and tails cut off short. Nick’s writing is not the same at all. Even an unlettered man could tell the difference.’

‘True,’ agreed Gil, recalling the tiny script he had been studying earlier. ‘So, an unlearned man or men searching for paper with William’s writing on.’

‘Or a book?’ Maister Coventry lifted another ill-treated volume and shook straw from the leather binding. ‘Or both?’

They had lifted and stacked the pages of Maister Kennedy’s vigorous, looping fist which were flung around the room, and were restoring his six books to their place on the bookshelf when Maister Shaw appeared with two of the college servants, exclaiming in shock and annoyance at such a thing happening in the college.

‘And during the Office, too! What a day, what a day! Tammas, you lift that straw. Andro, see to the clothes. That sark’ll take a year’s bleaching.’

‘Was everyone at Vespers?’ Gil asked, standing aside to let the men start work.

‘Nearly everyone,’ admitted the Steward. ‘The kitchen would be busy. With Vespers being early, the scholars’ supper was put back to after it. But they’d all be under Agnes Dickson’s eye.’

‘This cape’s all ower ink,’ said Andro, lifting it cautiously. ‘And the hood an all.’

‘Maister Kennedy will be vexed,’ said the Steward.

‘It isn’t Maister Kennedy’s,’ said Gil in dismay. ‘It’s mine. So’s the gown.’

‘So was the gown,’ corrected Maister Coventry, holding it up. The heavy woollen stuff was slashed and ripped, the lining hanging out here and there. ‘I think this is past repair.’

Nick, when he learned of the damage, was more than vexed.

‘I wouldny have had that happen for all sorts, Gil,’ he exclaimed on a blast of the college aqua-vita. ‘Oh, will you look at the cape!’ He produced a slightly tipsy chuckle. ‘If it was only splashed here and there you could have said it was ermine, but that’s past praying for.’

‘I’ll say one of the skins is in mourning,’ said Gil. ‘John Shaw has all in hand, says your chamber will be habitable by the morn, and I must be away up the town. What happened to that list you and Maister Coventry made for me?’

‘Patey’s got it.’ Nick looked into his glass, but it remained empty. ‘We made the fair copy up in his chamber in the Arthurlie close. I think I left my cope there and all. Fortunately. Likely it’d be covered in ink like your fur if it’d been over this side. God, I loathe Peter of Spain. Three years’ work, and all to do again.’

‘I think when you have put the pages in order you will find there is less damage than appeared at first,’ said Maister Coventry in his graceful Latin. He drew a bundle of papers from the breast of his gown. Something stirred in Gil’s memory, but the Second Regent went on, ‘Here’s your list, Maister Cunningham. I hope you may be able to read it. We wrote down who was present, where they were after the play, and who was with them. Nobody seems to have been alone, so it may not be of much assistance.’

‘If I can eliminate names from the hunt,’ Gil said, ‘it will be of great assistance. And I have another task for you, Maister Coventry, if you are willing.’

The Second Regent’s eyebrows went up.

‘It seems Nick Gray heard the three senior bachelors talking, after they had put William into the limehouse. He told the kitchen, but I’d like to know who else knew of it.’

Patrick Coventry opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, and gazed thoughtfully at Gil with his good eye.

‘Not easy,’ he said at length.

‘No,’ agreed Gil, ‘but better done by an insider.’ He held up the sheaf of papers. ‘I thank you both for this piece of work. And now I must be off. If any of the students comes complaining of another chamber being searched, keep him for me till the morning.’

‘Patey can see to that too,’ said Nick. ‘I’m for my bed. Maister Doby’s put me in a corner here, for which I’ll say a Mass in his name the morn, I swear it. Come and find me in the morning, Gil. If I haveny dee’d of an apoplexy from all the excitement,’ he added sourly. ‘Tell your minnie I was asking for her.’

Gil bade goodnight to Maister Doby, who had taken refuge in a soothing volume of St Jerome, bundled his damaged finery over his arm, and made his way out of the Principal’s lodging. In the evening light a few students were still standing about in the courtyard, but although some nodded or said good evening none accosted him. At the yett he stopped and glanced into Jaikie’s fetid den. The man was sprawled in his chair, with the bottle of usquebae in his grasp. He looked up, but did not speak.

‘Who was past the yett while they were all at Vespers?’ Gil asked.

‘I never saw a thing,’ pronounced Jaikie with slow emphasis. ‘No a feckin thing.’

‘If you think of any more badges,’ Gil said, ‘send and let me know.’

Jaikie leered at him.

‘Maybe I will,’ he agreed indistinctly, ‘and maybe I’ll no. Secrets, secrets,’ he said again, and held up the bottle. ‘The secrets I’ve learned from you, my wee friend.’ He waved the bottle at Gil. ‘Pull the yett ahint ye, maister. I’ll bar it later.’

There seemed to be no point in continuing the conversation. Gil unbarred the yett and stepped out into the quiet street, realizing as he did so that he was still holding the folded list of names in his free hand. He tucked it into his doublet and strode on up the High Street.

It all happened with great suddenness. It was the rush of feet behind him which alerted him. He sprang sideways and whirled, weight on one foot, and as the three men reached him placed a kick with the other where it would do most damage. Its recipient went down in the muddy street, crowing and retching. Gil leapt backwards, groping for his whinger, and realized belatedly that he was not wearing it. His remaining attackers, circling warily now they had lost the advantage of surprise, recognized this in the same moment and moved in. One had a short sword, the other a cudgel. Gil drew his dagger right-handed and raised the other arm, embroiled in heavy folds of fabric, in time to balk the sword.

His opponents were hooded and cloaked in black, the free weapon arms black-garbed. He could see no faces, but a glitter of eyes betrayed another sudden movement, and he was barely in time to duck the cudgel. He whirled, lunging with the dagger, but the man twisted like a salmon and the weapon slashed harmlessly through cloth. The sword whirred, and he jerked his left arm up to parry again, meeting the hilt of the weapon with the bundle of heavy cloth. His other hand came round with the dagger, and he felt the blade connect and heard the grunt of pain.

As he tugged the knife free, the cudgel made vicious contact with his forearm, and the dagger dropped from suddenly useless fingers. He danced sideways to deliver another kick, bringing his protected left arm round as a shield, and his boot made contact with the swordsman’s arm. The sword fell to join his dagger, but as he stepped back there was a stunning blow to his head. The gasping fight, the peaceful street, spun away from him.

Just before they vanished he thought he heard shouting. It sounded like the mason. It can’t be, he thought. He’s at Compline. Then darkness took him.