The Counterfeit Madam

Chapter Ten

‘So give me the tale again,’ said Otterburn. ‘Were you alone? I find that hard to believe.’

‘I’ve no doubt of that,’ said Gil politely. The clerk Walter glanced up briefly, and down again at his work. Gil thought the man was smiling. Himself, he had little to smile at. It was nearing Sext, and the day was going much too fast.

On last leaving the Castle, not really that long since, he had found Luke sound asleep beside Cato in the kitchen behind the House of the Mermaiden, the pair of them curled up on a straw mat like a pair of puppies. Helped by a disapproving dog he had roused the boy, steered him homeward, and eventually fallen into his own bed. By the time he woke, the sun was pouring in at the windows, Alys’s side of the mattress was cold, and no one in the household appeared to know where she was. Ealasaidh McIan seemed to want to talk to him, but he had excused himself to his duties.

‘You and — one other? decided in the midnight that you’d find Dod Muir in his own kist,’ said Otterburn. ‘Then you set up a shouting match wi the rest o the folk on Clerk’s Land, and bade the Watch rouse me. Have I that right?’

Gil bit back the first reply that rose to his lips, and after a moment said, with formality,

‘As I told you last night, Provost, I searched Dod Muir’s premises in pursuit of information concerning the person who killed Dame Isabella. I found Muir himself while I was doing that, and dropped the lid o the kist from surprise. That was what roused the neighbours.’

Otterburn glared at him, but rose, lifting his tablets from the table before him.

‘Come and we’ll look at Muir,’ he said. ‘Assuming it wasny you put him in there, you need to see what we found when we got him out his kist.’

‘I’m grateful,’ said Gil, following the man down the fore-stair from his lodging. ‘Provost,’ he added quietly, as they reached the centre of the courtyard, far enough from the various passing servants to go unheard. Otterburn swung round to stare at him. ‘How well are you acquaint wi Madam Xanthe?’

The narrow gaze sharpened. Then the other man nodded briefly and moved on, but when he next spoke his manner was less curt.

‘It’s as well I seen the man last night,’ he said. ‘It’s clear enough he’d had time to set and soften again, he’d been dead since some time on,’ he counted, ‘this is Saturday, must ha been Thursday. We took him out as soon as it was light, for I want to get on and get the quest on him dealt wi as soon as we’ve sorted the old dame this morning, and here he is.’ He stepped into the shelter where both corpses were laid out, nodding to the man on guard, and pulled one of the linen cloths back from the form it shrouded.

Muir was a small man, dark-haired and spare of build. He had been stripped and washed, and the greenish tinge of decomposition could clearly be seen spreading across his hairy belly. There was no mark on his chest or abdomen; Gil bent and peered the length of the body, holding his breath, but could recognize nothing like a death-wound. Conscious of Otterburn’s gaze, he walked round the bier, lifted the scarred and calloused hands to study them, turned the head to search for a wound.

‘Ah,’ he said, as the bones of the skull shifted like gravel under his fingers. ‘That’s it. Was there any mark on his hands? Had he fought? Was there aught under his nails?’

‘Nothing,’ said Otterburn. ‘I looked.’

No huntsman, Gil thought, liked to take another’s word for the sign he found, but in this case he had no choice.

‘He’s been struck down,’ he said slowly, ‘likely from behind, by a man he knew.’ He felt again at the crushed bones of the head, and ruffled through the short locks to expose the scalp. ‘The weapon must ha been a heavy thing, but maybe padded, for the skin’s not broken.’ He grimaced. ‘The man’s workshop has any number o mells. Indeed, there was one laid on the bench, a monstrous great thing.’ He demonstrated the size of the mell head as he recalled it, and Otterburn nodded.

‘I sent a couple o the lads round to take a look,’ he said, ‘and they cam back wi one like that. They’d a look round, found the other fellow’s scrip that was lying in the loft, nothing else untoward. You’re welcome to take one o them and get a look yoursel,’ he added, ‘but I wanted the place checked afore the neighbours stripped it.’

‘I’d sooner question the neighbours themselves,’ Gil admitted. ‘What about this fellow’s clothes? Was there aught useful on him?’

‘You could say so.’ Otterburn looked modestly triumphant. ‘Nothing to speak of in his purse, but in the bottom o the kist — well, come and see.’

Back in his lodging, he made for the great kist by the wall. Walter looked up again as he unlocked it, but did not speak.

‘We need a stronger place to keep the likes o this,’ Otter-burn pronounced, delving under the lid. Gil repressed a shudder, thinking of the way he had put his hand on Dod Muir’s cold face doing the same thing. ‘Aye, here it is. Now what d’ye make o that, maister?’

It was a small column of brass, as long as Gil’s thumb, surprisingly heavy. One end was splayed like the top of a fence-post, as if from repeated blows of a hammer; the other -

‘Ah!’ he said, as James Third leapt briefly in the light. ‘This is what we were — this is one of the dies they’ve been using.’ He tilted it against the light, so that the image came and went. ‘Is it the first one, the worn one? The king has no ringlets that I can see.’

‘So I thought,’ agreed the Provost. ‘And it was in the bottom o the kist, like I said.’

‘What, just lying there? Had it fallen out of his clothing or his purse, maybe?’

‘I wouldny ha said so,’ Otterburn considered. ‘Maybe as if he’d been holding it, or the like, when he was struck down.’

‘He’d ha dropped it, surely.’ Gil looked at the object. ‘I’d think it’s been hidden on purpose along wi the corp, or — no, for it would be found when the corp was found, and that wouldny ha been much longer.’

‘He’s a bit ripe already,’ Otterburn agreed. ‘So’s the old dame.’

‘So why was it in there? I wonder what the man kept in that kist for usual? Was there anything under him?’

‘A blanket wi the moth. And no, nothing under the blanket, we looked.’ He glanced at the window. ‘Here, I’ve the quest on the two o them called as soon as dinner’s done wi. If you’re wanting to question any of the neighbours afore that you’d best get about it. They’re down in the cells, you’d best speak to Andro about it.’

Gil nodded, hefting the brass die in his hand. ‘I’ll take this with me, if I may. I’ll not lose it.’

Locating the captain of the guard, who was wrestling in his chamber with accounts overdue for the last quarter-day and very glad to be interrupted, Gil requested time with the prisoners, separately.

‘What, one at a time?’ Andro said, frowning. ‘Aye, well, I suppose it can be done. You can get them up here, if you want, it’s secure enough.’ He glanced out into the guardroom, where several men were sitting about playing dice or arguing about football. ‘Who d’ye want first? Jack! Jimmy! Away down and fetch that Neil Campbell up here to Maister Cunningham.’

‘Are they held separately?’ Gil asked. ‘They’ve had no time to agree their tale, have they?’

‘No on my watch,’ said Andro, pushing his papers unceremoniously aside. He tramped out into the guardroom, returning with a jug of ale and two beakers. ‘Hae a seat, maister. Jack, you gomeril, I tellt ye Neil Campbell, no Noll Campbell.’

‘I tellt ye,’ said one of the men escorting the whitesmith.

‘Well, it sounds the same,’ argued the other, propelling the prisoner into the chamber. ‘Right, you, stand there and behave.’

‘I’ll take this one for now,’ said Gil, rearranging his thoughts. ‘I’ll see Neil Campbell next.’ He looked up at the surly face of Noll Campbell, and held up the brass die. ‘Where’s the other one, Campbell?’

The man’s gaze went to the bright thing, and he frowned briefly, and then said,

‘What other? What is it?’

‘Oh, I think you know well enough,’ said Gil. He turned the die over, making it appear and disappear between his fingers as if it was a coin. ‘There should be two. In fact I think there are four, because the first pair wore out. When did you cast this one? Does Maister Hamilton and the rest of the guild ken you’re working in brass as well as white metals? I’m sure they’ll be interested, since it means you’re at default in the guild fees.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the prisoner, scowling, trying to pretend he was not watching the brass pillar slithering through Gil’s fingers. ‘Nor I don’t know why I was flung in the jail last night, it was never me found Dod Muir dead in his own kist. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘So you say,’ said Gil agreeably, and set the die on the table. ‘No, I’d sooner hear why you put your cousin Neil to sleep in Dod Muir’s loft. Why should he not sleep in your house?’

The whitesmith shrugged.

‘He never has. He has aye slept at Dod Muir’s, him or Euan, when they are in Glasgow.’

‘Why?’ Gil asked, curious.

‘We have but the one bed, it’s ower narrow, and,’ with a flash of wry humour, ‘he would not be fitting in the cradle.’

‘Where does your prentice sleep?’

‘Prentice? I’ve no prentice. I can barely support mysel, I’ve no work to spare for a daft laddie.’

‘And your sister has no room either?’ Gil suggested.

‘What has our kin’s arrangements to do wi you?’

‘You speak civil to Maister Cunningham,’ said Andro, pouring ale for himself and Gil. ‘Or we’ll learn you some manners.’

‘What brings Neil to Glasgow, anyway?’ Gil continued, ignoring this as much as the prisoner did. ‘Who is he working for?’

‘How would I be knowing that? He runs errands for one or another, so far as I can tell, there is no pride in him. You can ask at him for yoursel.’

‘Oh, I will, be sure of it. So if you’ve no prentice,’ Gil said, twirling the little column of brass round a forefinger, ‘who was it was taken up for theft the evening the Provost’s men searched the toft?’

‘No idea,’ said Campbell firmly. ‘It was just someone was passing, it was them decided he was my prentice, I never said a-’

‘Oh, you did so, you sliddery leear!’ exclaimed the man on his right. ‘For I was there, it was me took up the fellow when he would ha run off, and I heard all you said!’

‘Did you now?’ said Gil with interest. ‘Tell me more, man.’ And why did the tale not reach me before this, he wondered. I suppose because none of us asked.

‘Aye, speak up, Jack,’ said Andro, sitting forward. ‘Taken up for theft, wasn’t he? What like was the fellow, and what had he thieved?’

‘Aye but he hadny,’ objected the other man. ‘Thieved anything, I mean. Sir.’

‘You be quiet, Jimmy,’ ordered Andro. ‘Jack, let’s ha the tale from you. Start at the beginning. Where was this thief?’

‘Wasny a thief,’ muttered Jimmy. Jack kicked him on the ankle behind the prisoner’s back, and said diffidently,

‘He was in this fellow’s forge.’ Gil nodded encouragement. ‘See, this fellow and his wife was at their meat, and we’d about got to their door when we spied a man in the shadows in the forge. Right by the house, sir,’ he elucidated in Andro’s direction. His officer nodded. ‘So I shouted, and he started to run off, and we laid a hold o him, and he had a bundle on him he wasny keen we should see, and when we shook it out, well-’ He paused for effect.

‘Well?’ said Andro irritably. ‘Get on wi’t, man!’

‘Naught but a heap o scrap metal,’ said Jack. The prisoner scowled at him. Gil lifted the brass die from the table.

‘Metal like this?’ he asked. ‘Was it brass, or pewter, or what?’

‘Well, it was all kind o yellow-like,’ said Jack doubtfully. ‘But maybe no so yellow as that. But,’ he went on, regaining his narrative, ‘I ken even wee bits o metal is valuable, for they can melt it down and cast it all again like new, so we tellt him he was charged wi theft, at which he said, No he never, his maister gave him it. And when we asked who was his maister, he said this man here that was eating his supper in his own house. Save that he wasny by then,’ he admitted, ‘for he was out at his door wanting to ken what was afoot, were you no, you?’ He kicked the prisoner, who mumbled some sort of agreement to this statement.

‘So it was the other fellow said he was the prentice,’ said Gil thoughtfully. ‘Who is he, then, Noll Campbell? You don’t earn enough to keep a prentice, but you let this man claim that’s what he was, and agreed you’d given him the scrap brass. Who is he? If you’re dealing honestly, man, you’ve nothing to hide.’

‘He’s no dealing honestly,’ said Jimmy derisively. ‘He wouldny ken honest dealing if it kicked him in the cods.’

‘What’s the fellow’s name?’ Gil repeated, watching Campbell’s face.

‘I’ve never a notion,’ the prisoner said. ‘It’s just some chiel I was selling the scrap metal to. My wee furnace will not be hot enough to melt brass, see, it needs a bigger fire than I can raise.’

‘What did he gie you for it?’ Gil asked, as something wriggled at the back of his mind. What had been said just now? The man before him hesitated. ‘A leather sack o false coin, maybe?’

‘Nothing o the sort!’

‘So you just let him away. And you never got his name,’ said Andro rather grimly to his minions. They looked sideways at one another, and shook their heads. ‘Aye, well, the garderobe’s needing cleared again. Did ye at the least get a description?’

A little argument, and some harsh words from Andro, produced an account of a man of more than average height, between twenty and twenty-five, wearing a blue bonnet and a jerkin of green, brown or possibly dark red, boots or shoes, and no plaid. Oddly, they were agreed on that point. Gil frowned at them, still trying to get hold of the elusive idea at the back of his mind. Something else he needed to ask about, something reported along with the apprentice who was no apprentice.

‘The fire,’ he said, as it suddenly emerged. ‘There was a fire in the yard, I think.’

‘Aye, that’s right,’ agreed Jack. ‘Away too close to the thatch.’

‘Which I never set,’ said Campbell resentfully. ‘None of my doing it was.’

‘What was in the fire?’ Gil asked. Jack shrugged.

‘Kale stalks, making a rare stink, a few scraps o wood and shavings. Some rags. Someone burning a bit rubbish, but away too close to the thatch, so we fined the lot of them.’

‘Aye, you did,’ said the prisoner sourly.

‘What kind of rags?’ Gil asked.

‘Bits o blue velvet?’ The two men looked at one another again, and Jimmy nodded. ‘Looked like someone’s old livery, by what you could still see,’ Jack went on. ‘There’d been a fair bit o stuff, there was quite a heap of ashes. I’m surprised this lot hadny taken it down the rag market, the way they complained about a wee bit fine that deserved them well.’

‘So where did Alan and Nicol go?’ Gil said to Campbell. The man’s eyes widened in shock, but he made no reply. ‘Are they staying wi the man Miller?’

‘Are they, then?’ demanded Jack, and shook Campbell’s arm so that his chains clanked. ‘Come on, speak up, answer when ye’re asked!’

‘No! No, I-’ Campbell began. ‘I don’t know — I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he finished as the shaking stopped. ‘I never — I’ve no notion who you’re on about.’

‘The men who wore the blue velvet livery,’ said Gil. ‘Whose kin are they? The Provost is right, I think, half Scotland is kin to someone on Clerk’s Land. There were three of them when they left Dame Isabella’s household. Where are they now, Campbell? Why did they come to your toft for help?’

‘I don’t know who you’re on about,’ repeated Campbell. Gil eyed him, and changed the subject.

‘What happened when you had words wi Dame Isabella at her window on Thursday morning?’

‘Eh?’ The prisoner stepped back, crossing himself, his manacles clanking, and was hauled forward by his guards. ‘What are you — I never — it wasny me!’ he stammered.

‘It wasny you what?’ Gil studied him. ‘Wasny you spoke wi her? Wasny you slew her? Wasny you at her window? You were seen,’ he said, stretching the point a little. ‘What happened to the velvet purse of money? The leather one you hid in Forveleth’s plaid, but there’s a velvet purse wi gold braid missing, and it was last heard of just before you reached that window, Campbell.’

‘I never laid a finger on any sic thing!’ protested the prisoner. ‘I never saw any purse o blue velvet!’

‘So how d’ye ken it was blue?’ demanded Andro.

‘Who was the other man?’ Gil asked. ‘Was it you stepped into the old woman’s chamber and slew her, or was it you kept her talking while he took a mell to her?’

The manacles clanked again as Campbell first crossed himself and then made the horns against the evil eye, staring wildly at Gil.

‘I never,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It wasny me, I never!’

They got no further answers from the man, only continued denials, and after a few more attempts Gil ordered him back down to the cells. He thought a look of surprised relief crossed the prisoner’s face as he turned away with his escort, as if he had expected other questions which had not been put, but it was too fleeting to be certain.

‘And bring up the right Campbell this time,’ recommended Andro.

Neil Campbell was a great deal more civil and more forthcoming, but provided little useful information at first.

‘Any time I am in Glasgow,’ he said earnestly. ‘There is room for two in that loft, and little enough in my cousin’s house.’

‘And when are you in Glasgow?’ Gil asked. ‘I’ve not seen you that often.’

The gallowglass shrugged. He had not been manacled, perhaps having been a more biddable prisoner, and stood easily now between the two men of his escort, lanky and dark-haired, innocence shining on his high cheekbones.

‘Now and then, just,’ he said.

‘On what errands?’

‘Any I can find. It is my calling, Maister Gil, you ken that, my sword is at anyone’s service that will pay me for it.’

‘So what errand are you about now?’ Gil asked. Neil looked wary.

‘I am thinking maybe it is not-’ he began. ‘Maybe I will not be completing it.’

‘Why?’ Gil asked bluntly.

‘Och, it is not possible.’

‘Because? What’s changed, Neil?’

‘Because of all that is happening.’

‘Dame Isabella’s death, you mean?’

The gallowglass considered this question.

‘No,’ he said at length. ‘I would not say so.’

‘Were you working for her? Or was your brother?’ Gil added quickly, recalling previous attempts to interrogate these two. ‘Philip Sempill thinks you were.’

‘Strange, it is, the way these ideas gets about.’

‘So what was this errand that you might not complete?’

Neil appeared to make a decision.

‘It was for McIan,’ he explained. ‘McIan of Ardnamurchan, that is, that dwells in Mingary Castle and is lord over all the West.’ This was not wholly accurate, Gil knew, but he let it pass. ‘I was to take a leather sack of money to him, but it is not in the hands of those that-’

‘The leather sack of coin that the Provost holds?’ Gil interrupted. ‘That was taken from one of Dame Isabella’s servants the other night?’

‘I would not be knowing of that,’ said Neil. ‘But it is certain it is no longer with those that were to give it to me.’

‘And those were?’

‘My cousin,’ admitted the gallowglass. ‘Or maybe my other cousin, that is Barabal, the wife of the man Saunders.’

‘Likely they had it in the house, one or other,’ said Andro, ‘and planked it in the woman’s bundle when they saw our lot coming.’

Gil, who had long since concluded the same thing, merely nodded.

‘Have you done this before, you or your brother?’ he asked. ‘Taken money from here to Mingary, I mean.’

‘Maybe,’ said Neil cautiously.

‘How many times? Last month? The month before?’

‘I was carrying a good sum last month,’ admitted the gallowglass. ‘And before that at the New Year, which was a great trouble, as you might know, what with the weather we were having at that time.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Gil. ‘So who ordered you to fetch this coin to McIan? Was it the man himself, or another?’

‘Och, no, it was my kinsman who called me in,’ said Neil easily, ‘saying he was to send it to Mingary and I would be well paid for the journey. And I was well paid indeed,’ he added. ‘Sword, helm and hauberk I’ve had from McIan’s own hands, one time or another.’

Gil rubbed at his eyes, considering what he had learned.

‘Do you know aught about Dame Isabella’s death?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘This old dame that’s slain on the Drygate,’ said Andro. ‘You must ha heard o’t, the whole of Glasgow’s buzzing wi the tale.’

‘Has your cousin mentioned it?’ Gil asked. Neil shook his head.

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘They would never mention the like in front of me.’

‘Why not?’ Gil asked casually. The gallowglass opened his mouth to answer, and closed it again, visibly thinking better of his reply. ‘So they are involved? Did your kinsman slay her, or was it another man?’

‘I would have no knowledge of that,’ said the prisoner flatly. ‘Why would my kinsman slay her, that was-’ he stopped again.

‘That was what?’

‘That was a stranger to him, so far as I ken,’ said the prisoner. Gil did not think this was what he had started to say. He studied the lean dark face before him, wondering how to get past the man’s practised evasion.

‘Did they say aught about Dod Muir?’ he asked.

‘No, I — only that they had not seen him yesterday or the day before since.’

‘Were you no blate about lying in the man’s house, if he was away?’ demanded Andro.

‘I had lain there afore. My kinsman said he had spoken to Dod.’

‘Had he, now?’ said Gil. ‘When was that?’

Neil shrugged.

‘He was not saying. I wondered, mind you,’ he admitted, ‘when I saw that all his gear was lying out, and he had never washed his porridge-pot.’

‘Ah, was it you cleaned the crocks?’ Gil asked.

Neil nodded. ‘Though I would not be touching another man’s working graith,’ he said earnestly, ‘so I never moved any of his knives and that.’

‘How tall was Dod Muir, would you say?’

‘How tall?’ The gallowglass looked startled. ‘A wee sprout of a fellow. Well shorter than me.’ He looked at his two guards, who were showing signs of boredom. ‘No taller than your man here, maybe even a handsbreadth less.’

‘As short as that?’ Gil considered Jimmy, fully half a head shorter than the gallowglass. ‘An easy enough target then, for a bigger man.’

‘It was him that was in the kist right enough?’ asked Neil. Gil nodded, and the man crossed himself and bent his head briefly, muttering something in Ersche. ‘He was quick tempered, so my kinsman said, but he was aye friendly enough to me, and hospitable,’ he said after a moment.

As epitaphs go, thought Gil, you could do worse. ‘What does your kinsman say about the man Miller?’ he asked. ‘Does he call him Dusty to his face?’

‘To his face? No him!’ said the gallowglass, and stopped, mouth open, looking dismayed. There was a short pause, into which Andro said,

‘What Miller is that? You’re no talking o Maister Millar at St Serf’s, are you?’

‘No,’ said Gil, without taking his eyes off Neil Campbell. ‘It’s another man entirely, isn’t it, Neil? Have you met him?’

‘Never,’ said Neil firmly.

‘Don’t you want to? How is he involved in all this?’

‘How would I be knowing that?’

‘Does he strike the coin? Is that where it all comes from?’

‘I have no knowledge of that,’ said the gallowglass. ‘All I did was carry the coin, Maister Gil. There is no knowledge at me of where it came from nor how my kinsman is in the matter.’

‘Is that right?’ said Gil sceptically. ‘He never speaks of it in front of you, he and his wife never discuss it in your hearing?’ He considered the man’s blank expression. ‘Neil, you ken the penalty for making counterfeit coin. It’s treason, because it’s falsifying the King’s image. False coiners are condemned to be hanged, drawn and quartered, and by the time that happens they’re like to be glad of it. Better to tell me what you ken, so I can speak for you.’

The narrow face was intent, as some inward battle was fought. Finally the blue glance slid sideways to meet Gil’s gaze and the gallowglass said,

‘There is little enough that I know.’

‘Ah!’ said Andro. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’

‘Tell me it,’ Gil encouraged, ignoring him.

It was little enough, indeed. Neither Neil nor his brother had set eyes on the elusive Miller, though both had heard him named about the toft.

‘Feart for him, they are,’ said Neil. ‘The least wee word fro him, they act on it immediate.’

‘Why?’ Gil asked. ‘What hold does he have over them?’

‘I would not be knowing that. But my cousin and his woman were arguing when I came to the house yesterday,’ expanded Neil, unstoppable now he had decided to talk, ‘and Bethag was saying the same, asking at Noll why was he bound to the man, and Noll bade her close her mouth, she knew nothing of it. He is dwelling down the Gallowgate, I am thinking, maybe outside the port, and they were saying he had been in Clerk’s Land on,’ he paused to count on his fingers, ‘Thursday, would it be? and he was enraged for something, carrying on like Herod so Bethag was saying, and frighted the Saunders’ bairns, and wanting Dod Muir to see to something for him, that Dod wouldny, so he … killed … him,’ he said, grinding to a halt as he realized what he had given away. Gil eyed him steadily, and he swallowed in some alarm. ‘There was only what the woman was saying,’ he protested, ‘I never saw it, nor spoke of it with my kinsman! And she never said no more than that, for they saw me at the door and left off their arguing.’

‘So you kent he was dead,’ said Gil.

‘I see why they might be feart for this Miller,’ said Andro drily. ‘We never lifted the two women, maister, seeing there was all those weans. Will I send out and fetch them in?’

‘I’ll go out there, I think,’ said Gil. ‘Likely they’ll talk better in their own place. And Neil may come with me to translate if it’s needed,’ he added kindly. Neil threw him a hunted look.

‘Maybe I should staying here,’ he said, without much hope. ‘No doubt that the captain here would be wishing me still under his eye.’

‘Will you no wait for the quest on the old dame?’ Andro asked, ignoring this. ‘The women will have been cited for the second quest, they might come out to see the whole show, bring the weans and all. We’ll ha folk selling hot pies and gingerbread in the court here afore we know where we are.’

‘Send one of your men round the crowd wi a hat,’ recommended Gil. ‘That ought to keep the numbers down. I’ll go now, then I might be back in time for the quest.’

Clerk’s Land was oddly silent. Even the screaming children were absent, the lorimer’s workshop was shuttered, there was no smoke rising through the thatch of Saunders’ house. Two passing apprentices stopped when they saw Gil at the top of the muddy track.

‘They’re all away,’ said one, a spotty youth with a scar on his brow. ‘Up at the Castle.’

‘Getting put to the question, maybe,’ said the other gleefully, ‘getting all their fingernails pullt out and their teeth broke. There’s nob’dy there.’

Gil thanked them and looked about him, waiting until they had gone reluctantly on downhill.

‘Maybe they’ve all went elsewhere,’ said Neil hopefully.

‘Maybe,’ agreed Gil. He moved forward, alert for anything stirring. Beyond the lorimer’s shack where the path opened out the place was still quiet. Dod Muir’s house was understandably deserted, and rats scurried away from his woodstore as they approached.

‘They’re all away, maybe,’ said Neil. ‘Will we just be going back to the Castle now?’

‘Quiet,’ said Gil. He stood still, listening, and after a moment heard it again, the low murmur of women’s voices. It came from the whitesmith’s house.

It took some persuasion before the gallowglass would step up to the door. Gil watched from a little way behind the man, as he rattled at the tirling-pin on the doorpost and then stood looking uncomfortable while the voices inside turned to hissing whispers.

‘They’re maybe not-’ he began, half turning from the door, just as it opened. The woman on the threshold gave him one quick glance, and Gil another, and said in Scots,

‘It’s yourself is it then, Neil Campbell? And what are you doing here? How is it you that’s lowsed, and no my man or my brother? And you,’ she said, with another hard look at Gil, ‘prowling about here again. What are you after?’

‘A word wi yourself, mistress,’ said Gil politely, raising his hat to her. ‘And wi Mistress Bethag and all.’

‘Well, we are wanting no words with you,’ she retorted, ‘so you may take yourself away, whether to your wife or the hoors next door I carena!’

‘It’s talk wi me now, or talk wi the Provost’s men at the Castle,’ Gil suggested, ‘and I think you’ll find I’m more civil than they are.’

The younger woman appeared at the door behind her sister-in-law’s muscular shoulder, her baby clasped tightly to her.

‘An caisteal?’ she repeated in alarm. ‘Let them in, sister, we not — we never-’

The other children were not visible. Barabal, when asked, said sulkily that they were with her man’s sister.

‘And where does she dwell?’ Gil enquired, seating himself in the whitesmith’s chair.

‘Yonder.’ She jerked her head vaguely northwards.

‘Is that where Alan and Nicol are lodged and all?’

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. The younger woman, laying the sleeping baby in its cradle, began to move about the hearth, finding oatcakes and cheese and a bottle of something, clearly taking comfort from obedience to the laws of hospitality. Gil, hoping it would not be usquebae, said,

‘I’ve heard a bit about Thursday morning.’ Barabal scowled at him. ‘How come Miller was here? He dwells down the Gallowgate, does he no?’

‘He was discussing matters,’ said Barabal, while the other woman crossed herself at the sound of the name.

‘What was he so angry about? Frightened your weans, I think, mistress?’

‘There is no knowledge at me of that,’ she said. ‘The man was in a great rage, but it was not my business what angered him.’

‘I hope the weans never saw him killing Muir.’

‘No, they were down the back, thanks be to Our Lady,’ she said, ‘I was keeping them there out his way, and I waited till he had hid the-’

‘You kent he was in there?’ demanded Neil Campbell. ‘You kent he was in the kist, and you never said?’

‘You would never jaloused it,’ she retorted, ‘if this lang drink o watter was not powterin where it was none o his business!’

‘Where did Miller go after he hid the body?’ Gil asked. She shook her head, the ends of her linen veil swinging against her massive bosom.

‘Off down the burn, likely, to his own place. He is not one that welcomes being spied on, you will understand.’

‘And after that the three men came looking for help. They’re kin of yours, are they?’

‘On her mother’s side,’ said Neil hastily. She threw him a very ugly look.

‘That Billy is no kin of mine,’ she objected, ‘you will never say so.’

‘He must be kin to somebody,’ Gil said. ‘So far as I can make out everyone in this is related. How is the man Miller your kin?’

She checked, staring, then shook her head again, looking alarmed.

‘No kin to any of us, that one!’ she said. ‘They are all in the guild thegither, just.’

Her sister-in-law came forward with a beaker in one hand and a platter in the other, and offered them to Gil with the graceful curtsy he had seen other Ersche women make. He accepted, concealing reluctance, and sipped at the beaker. It was usquebae, and new stuff at that, the raw, fiery spirit biting at his throat. Neil said something in Ersche, and the young woman tightened her lips and set about preparing food for him too.

‘Then later,’ said Gil, ‘the woman Forveleth was here. I think she’s your cousin, Mistress Bethag?’ She looked round, and nodded shyly. ‘So it was hardly friendly of your man when he exchanged the bag of coin for the package of apothecary goods in her bundle, and gave it to Mistress Barabal.’

Barabal made the sign against the evil eye.

‘You are knowing too much a’thegither!’ she said, glowering. He smiled, and raised the horrible usquebae in a toast to her.

‘And where is the purse of blue velvet?’

She shook her head. ‘I have seen no purse of blue velvet, and so I was telling the soldiers when they were here.’

Neil translated the question at Gil’s nod, but the other woman made the same answer. No purse of blue velvet had been on the toft since the day they moved in, no matter how hard the Provost’s men had searched.

Gil paused to eat one of the oatcakes. It had been smeared with green cheese, and was rather tough. He had heard Maggie say that the cook’s mood affected the baking. Small wonder, then, he reflected, and took another sip of usquebae, hoping the one would cancel out the other. The combination was even less palatable.

‘What brought Miller back that evening?’ he asked. ‘The Provost’s men found him in the forge out here wi a parcel of scrap metal on him. What was he looking for?’

‘Old metal, I am supposing,’ said Barabal before the other woman could speak. ‘He takes the old stuff, the broken pieces-’

‘The scrap,’ he supplied. ‘What, you mean he buys it in from other hammermen?’

‘Hah!’ she said bitterly, and Bethag in the shadows shook her head.

‘Not buying,’ she said softly.

‘Does Maister Hamilton ken this?’ he asked.

‘What are you thinking?’ retorted Barabal.

Opening his purse he fetched out the brass die, and held it out on his palm.

‘You ken what this is, mistress?’ he said.

‘Not me!’ said Barabal boldly, though her eyes had narrowed at the sight. ‘Good enough brass, but someone is hammering at it, by the look of it.’

‘Was Miller looking for this, maybe?’

‘I would not be knowing. I never spoke wi the man, I had the bairns to keep from him. They fear him.’

‘There should be two of these. Is the other one about the toft, would you say?’

Her sister-in-law said something emphatic in Ersche, which Neil translated:

‘There is nothing the like on this toft. She is sure of that.’

Gil frowned, trying to pull all this into one tale. It would not fit. Something was still missing, something he had not asked.

‘How much have you had to do wi Dame Isabella?’ he ventured.

‘Who?’ said Barabal blankly, at the same time as the younger woman said,

‘Is mistress to Forveleth, is so?’

‘And to Alan and Nicol,’ agreed Gil. ‘What has she done for you?’

‘Nothing good,’ said Barabal, ‘causing them turn up here and ask our aid, and us wi troubles enough!’

‘But before that?’ Gil suggested. ‘Had she no part in the other troubles?’

‘No,’ said Barabal firmly. Her sister-in law shook her head, though whether in agreement or disagreement Gil was not certain.

‘Has Miller been here the day?’ he asked.

‘Why would he do that?’ returned Barabal. ‘He has ears, the same as the rest of Glasgow, he will be hearing of what has happened. Why do you think we are shut in here, instead of about the toft as we should be? Half the Drygate was running about the place this morning, wanting to question us, nothing for it but to pretend we are not here. None of their mind it is, whatever happens on Clerk’s Land.’

‘She here yestreen,’ said Bethag reluctantly. ‘Miller.’

Gil, familiar with the Ersche confusion with the Scots he and she, simply looked questioningly at her. She gazed back at him, spread her hands, and spoke rapidly to Neil.

‘She is saying,’ he relayed, ‘The man was here yesterday. After you was here and before I came to the door, she is saying.’

‘And what did he want then?’ Gil asked.

‘They were shouting,’ he relayed. ‘She was not understanding it all. Her Scots is not so good as mine,’ he said disparagingly. ‘Were you hearing what they said, Barabal?’

‘I was not,’ she said firmly, ‘and nor was Bethag if she has any sense.’

‘He wanted her man to do something,’ the gallowglass went on, ‘and he would not. And he wanted him to go somewhere with him the day.’

‘Where?’

The answer to that was clear enough: Strathblane.

‘Why?’ Gil asked. ‘What did he want there?’

She shook her head blankly. ‘Important,’ she said. ‘No ken why.’