A Game of Sorrows

Epilogue

Aberdeen, late November 1628

The guards at the quayside were hesitant about letting me pass into the town, and I could scarcely blame them: the man who had disembarked from the Nathaniel and called himself Alexander Seaton bore little resemblance to the teacher of philosophy last seen in the burgh over two months ago. Sean’s beaten hide travelling jacket and trousers, the heavy new mantle trimmed with beaver, gifted me by my grandmother, and the fine leather boots, did not speak of a man from this town. My cropped hair and my beard aged a face and features hardened by their fresh scars.

‘I tell you again, I am who I claim to be,’ I said. ‘I have a testimonial, here, in my pocket, from the constable of Carrickfergus Castle, in Ireland, for the eyes of Principal Dun; it will confirm my identity and explain my absence.’ I held it out to them and they looked a moment at the seal and then again at me.

A merchant taking delivery of his goods called over, ‘That is Mr Seaton, you dolts. Can a man not grow a beard?’

The guards grumbled that it was difficult to see in the darkness, and they had to do their duty. I waved my thanks at the merchant.

‘Do you go to the college, Mr Seaton? I am headed that way – you might ride up with me that far in the cart once these goods are loaded. You look wearied from your travels.’

I thanked him, but declined his offer. ‘No, there is somewhere else I must go first. A thing that will not keep till the morning.’

He smiled, and turned back to the loading of his sacks, and I went on my way. The town was like a spectre, a cathedral of the dead, rising out of a hard frost that looked not to have lifted for days. Nothing moved, no cats, dogs, scarce any humans, on streets and paths silent with tiny crystals of ice sparkling into the night. I could see my breath in front of me as I walked.

All was quiet at William’s house, everything shut up and in darkness, the last smoke having curled its way from the chimney hours since. I went up the pend at the side to the backland. Nothing stirred. I thought to wash my hands and face at the well, but the water in it was frozen hard. They would have to see me as I was.

I lifted my hand and knocked, lightly at first, on the door. Bracken began to bark inside. I heard no other movement and knocked louder. This time there were sounds on the stairs, and from beyond the kitchen. Soon I was banging hard on the door.

‘Who is it?’ came Davy’s voice, a little tremulousness in the old man’s tone.

Then there was William. ‘Get back, Davy, I’ll see to this.’

‘But Mr Cargill …’

‘You go and see to your mistress … Elizabeth! For the love of God, woman, will you get back up those stairs.’

I started to shout. ‘William. Will you let me in? William! You must let me in.’

A moment later the bolt was drawn back and my friend stood before me in his nightclothes, his sword in his hand, and the whole household behind him. The dog rushed past him and was over me with joy in a moment.

‘Alexander.’ William’s face was ashen. ‘We had thought you dead.’

I could say nothing. The dog calmed itself eventually and William’s sword hung loose in his hand. I went past him, and past Davy, who had the two children gripped firmly under his hands, past Elizabeth, to where Sarah stood, motionless, at the foot of the stairs. She was staring at me as at a risen ghost, and began slowly to shake her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No.’

‘Sarah,’ I said, putting a hand out to her.

She stepped back. ‘No. It is not you. It is not you.’

‘Sarah.’ I put my hands on her shoulders. She struggled to get free and said once more, ‘No!’ And then her fists were raining blows down on my chest as her voice rose. ‘No, No.’ She was crying, bringing her fists down in turn with each repeated word. I let it go on until the strength started to go out of her, and then I pulled her in close to me and held her until the sobs died down. I closed my eyes and murmured into her hair that I would never leave her again.