The Harper's Quine

Chapter Fourteen

‘We will have to reconvene,’ said David Cunningham, ‘to determine the questions of the bairn’s future still unsettled.’

‘Another day, I beg of you, maister,’ said the harper, as his sister put the little goblet in his hand. ‘I at least have had enough of great deeds for one day.’

‘I, too,’ muttered Ealasaidh. She accepted wine herself from the Official, and sat down.

They were all in the garden in the evening sun, with the replenished jug of wine and a plate of cakes. John Sempill and his household had gone home. Gil had felt it was typical of the man that he had asked no further questions. Euphemia’s guilt was clear enough to him in her flight. Euphemia’s brother also seemed to accept the fact, although he had been more intent on defending himself and casting blame on her in the matter of the missing rents. It seemed, indeed, as if Mistress Murray was the only person to feel any grief for her fate, and that appeared to be mixed with dismay at the loss of her own living.

Canon Cunningham was initiating a discussion with the harper on the differences in the law of inheritance on either side of the Highland line. Gil paid little heed to the polite exchange; his attention was being drawn to the other side of the garden where the mason and his daughter were in intense conversation. Alys’s head was bent, and he could not see her face, but Maistre Pierre’s expression was stem. Overcome by a sudden feeling that it was now his responsibility to chastise Alys if anyone was going to, Gil set down his pewter goblet and made his way between the box-hedges, his footsteps light on the gravel. As he approached, Alys turned and walked away, rapidly, aimlessly. The mason looked at her retreating back and moved towards Gil.

‘Who would be a father?’ he complained. ‘She has been a rational intelligent mortal since she could talk, but suddenly now she is betrothed — ‘ He bit off the next words.

‘Is something wrong?’ Gil asked, with a return of the familiar sinking in his stomach. Has she changed her mind? he wondered. Perhaps Euphemia’s fate -

‘No. She’ll come round,’ said Maistre Pierre. That was an impressive performance just now, Gilbert. You made all very clear — and with your uncle watching, too.’

‘He trained me,’ Gil pointed out. ‘But Alys — ‘

‘I should let her be.’

‘But what’s troubling her?’

‘She is mumping,’ said the mason in exasperated tones, ‘because she was excluded from that singularly unpleasant scene a little while ago. She feels she had a right to be present.’

Gil looked from his friend, bulky and indignant in the big fur-lined gown, to Alys, slender and indignant in almost identical pose at the other end of the path.

‘I have to deal with this,’ he said, half to himself.

‘She’ll come round,’ said the mason again. ‘Leave her.’

‘You have sixteen years’ advantage over me,’ Gil pointed out. ‘You came to terms with her long since. Alys and I have all our terms to settle, and this is certainly a clause which demands negotiation.’

‘Well, your diplomacy is clearly more polished than mine.’ Maistre Pierre looked beyond Gil at the wine and cakes. ‘Negotiating with your uncle is taxing enough for me. You go and make terms with Alys, if you feel you must.’

Filling two goblets with watered wine, Gil avoided the stately legal discussion and made his way to where Alys was pacing slowly along another of the walks, her brocade skirts brushing over the gravel. Stopping in front of her, he held out a goblet.

‘A toast with you, demoiselle,’ he said formally. She turned her head away. He held the goblet forward so that the backs of their hands touched. ‘Alys,’ he said, more gently. ‘What ails you, my sweet?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, with an attempt at lightness.

‘It is the duty of a good wife,’ he pointed out, ‘to speak the truth to her lord at all times. I assumed I was getting a good wife, and if it’s going to be otherwise I think I need to know it now.’

She looked at him uncertainly round the fall of her hood. Her face was pale and pinched, the narrow blade of her nose outlined sharply against the black velvet. He smiled at her, and put the goblet into her hand.

‘If you won’t drink a toast, shall we walk?’ He indicated the path beyond her. She set her other hand on his wrist and turned to walk with him between the beds of primroses and cowslips. Gil found himself thinking, suddenly and irrelevantly, of the primroses growing wild on the steep banks of the burn at Thinacre, where the Cunningham young had scrambled to pick handfuls of the flat, sweet-scented flowers for their mother’s still-room. These were slips of the same growth, brought in on the cart when the tower-house was cleared. And there had been primroses by the well at St Chattan’s, when he saw the hind, he recalled, and recognized that the images were not irrelevant at all. This was part of the next thing that he had asked for.

‘Tell me what troubles you, Alys,’ he prompted.

She paced on, carrying the goblet of wine, and at length said, ‘You have offended Maggie.’

‘Maggie and I are old friends. She’ll come round.’ But that was what the mason had said of Alys. Am I wrong about Maggie too? he wondered.

‘Nevertheless,’ said Alys, with another shy glance round the hood, ‘you have rewarded her ill. She had done an unpleasant task for you, and you repaid her by shutting her in the kitchen away from the excitement.’

‘I gave her the care of the bairn and of you,’ said Gil. She turned her head away. ‘Is that it, indeed? Your father said you were mumping at not seeing the excitement — ‘

‘I was not mumping,’ she said clearly.

‘It’s the kind of thing parents say,’ he agreed, ‘to reduce us to their power. Did you really want to see Euphemia torn to pieces by the dog?’

‘No,’ she said, with an involuntary shiver. ‘But I wished to be present while you explained what happened. I know you’ll tell me how you discovered it — won’t you?’ She turned to look up at him. He nodded. ‘But Maggie and I should have seen how they all heard your account.’

‘What — you think it was your right to be present?’ he said, startled.

‘It was certainly Maggie’s.’

‘And yours?’ He found he was looking at the back of her hood again. ‘This is the nub of it, isn’t it, Alys?’

‘I suppose it is,’ she admitted after a moment.

‘Then put your case to me, and then I will put mine, and we will both judge between them.’

‘But how can two judges agree? It takes three to sit on the bench in Edinburgh.’

‘One and one make three,’ he said fondly, ‘but I hope not until a year or so after we are wed.’ He heard the little intake of breath. ‘No, here are only two judges, so we must either agree, or agree to disagree. Come, Alys. You speak first. How was it your right to be present?’

He moved on as he spoke, leading her through the gate in the hedge, out of the formal flower garden to the kailyard on the slope below it. The burgh lay at their feet under its haze of smoke. The bell of Greyfriars began to ring for Compline before she spoke.

‘I also helped you to gather the facts of the story,’ she said at length.

‘So did a number of other people who weren’t there,’ Gil observed.

‘But most of those had duties elsewhere. You sent me from your side,’ she said, trying to suppress indignation.

‘I thought it would be dangerous,’ said Gil, annoyed to hear himself on the defensive, ‘and I was right. How could I take the risk, for you or the bairn?’

‘But you took it for yourself.’ She was looking up at him now. ‘Is that, after all, how you see marriage? That you have to be responsible for me as if I was a baby? I can run a house and bear children and do all the hard work, but outside the house I cannot look after myself or think for myself?’ She stopped by a bed of feathery turnip-sprouts and turned to face him properly. ‘That wasn’t what you said before. Do you remember? Women have immortal souls, you said, and were given the ability to seek their own salvation. How can they do that if someone else takes responsibility for their every deed and thought?’

He stared at her, his thoughts whirling, recognizing again that this girl had a mind like Occam’s Razor. And she remembered everything he said to her. She misread his silence, and looked away again, out over the burgh. Another bell was ringing, possibly the Blackfriars’.

‘I do not mean to be an unruly wife; she said earnestly. ‘Only, I thought you valued me for my mind, that you would allow me to think for myself, to make my own decisions, and now at the first moment there is a conflict you set me aside completely. That is different from Griselda’s marquis, but it is just as belittling. Women are not little mommets, to do things you admire and imagine for us and then be put back on the shelf. And you never thought, till the last moment, of it being Euphemia who had killed Bess Stewart,’ she went on. ‘We can be wicked as well as good.’

He was silent. After a moment she looked round at him.

‘That is the sum of my case. I think.’

‘In principle,’ he said slowly, ‘you are perfectly right. If you can think for yourself inside the house you can do so outside, and I must let you do so, or give you a good reason why I should overrule you. The scene in my uncle’s hall just now was rather more than exciting. James Campbell had his whinger out, there was nearly fighting, Euphemia had stabbed two women already. There was some danger. I thought that was a good reason to keep you back from it, but I can see that we should have discussed it first, however briefly. Will you forgive me?’

Her smile flickered and was gone.

‘But in practice, Alys, you must acknowledge, there may not always be time to discuss it. There may be occasions when I have to act for your safety without consulting you, simply because I am taller, or stronger, or more experienced in fighting.’

‘That I understand,’ she admitted. ‘Though I do not like it.’

‘I don’t expect you do, but I hope you will accept it and discuss it later, as we are doing now. As for making decisions,’ he went on, ‘I have a less exact memory for my own words, but I am very sure I said something about marriages where the wife is allowed to think for herself and decisions are made by both spouses together.’

‘You mean,’ she said slowly, ‘that we should have decided jointly whether I should stay to watch you expound the murder?’ He nodded. ‘Then may we also decide jointly whether you should go into danger without me?’

‘Going into danger is a man’s task in life,’ he pointed out. ‘As well expect to discuss with me whether you should open the bread-oven.’ Her smile flickered again. ‘Alys, I have told you how I see a marriage, and you have quoted my words back at me. How do you see it?’

‘As a partnership,’ she said promptly. ‘Different, but equal.’

‘I think we can agree on that.’ He looked down at her. ‘A debate, in which both spouses have a voice.’

‘An equal voice?’ She was looking at him directly again, her expression intent. The pinched look had gone, and her colour had improved. He smiled at her.

‘If each has an equal chance of being right,’ he said, ‘then the voices must be equal.’ He realized he was still holding the pewter goblet. ‘Now will you drink a toast, demoiselle?’

She looked in surprise at her own.

‘Where did this come from? Yes, a toast, maistre.’

They linked wrists. She gazed up at him across the rims of the two little cups.

‘To good fortune,’ she said.

‘To partnership,’ he said.

They drank the wine.

‘And the next time?’ said Alys.

‘The next time; he said, and it felt like an oath, ‘I will keep you by my side. If I can reasonably do so.’

‘Do you promise me?’

‘I will get my uncle to put it into the contract.’

He put his arms about her, feeling the warmth of her flesh between the bones of her bodice, but she held him off for a moment with a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with that direct brown stare. The scent of cedarwood rose from her brocade.

‘I have a lot to learn, haven’t IT she said at last.

‘We both have,’ he said. ‘We’ll learn together, Alys.’

She smiled blindingly at that.

‘We both have,’ she agreed, and put up her face for his kiss.

They went back through the hedge as the light faded, to find the legal discussion still raging, while over the herbbed by the house wall the mason and Ealasaidh were sniffing crushed leaves and exchanging remedies.

‘But creeping thyme is best for slow maladies,’ said Maistre Pierre earnestly as they approached, ‘because of its nature, clinging close to the ground.’ He turned to greet his daughter, but whatever he would have said was interrupted as the house-door was jerked open from within.

‘Here’s Maister Philip Sempill,’ said Maggie crossly, stumping out of the house. ‘Wanting to know how you knew. And if you’re wondering about the bairn, it’s asleep in my kitchen, with its nourice.’

‘I know I’m intruding,’ said Philip Sempill apologetically behind her, ‘ but I can’t rest till it’s clear to me.’

‘Come join us, Maister Sempill,’ said the Official resignedly. ‘Bring a light, Maggie, and bring more wine and a cup for yourself.’

Gil, somewhat reluctantly, drew Alys forward into the group as it gathered, settled her on a bench before anyone else could claim it, and poured out wine.

‘When were you sure?’ asked the mason, taking a handful of little cakes. ‘I was not certain until she ran away.’

‘To be honest,’ admitted Gil, ‘nor was I. It could have been James, all- along.’

‘But it wasn’t,’ said Philip Sempill, pleating the taffeta lining of one wide blue sleeve with the other hand. ‘I must admit, I thought it was.’

‘Make it clear to us,’ said the harper. He seemed to have shed a great burden of anxiety. ‘What happened?’

‘She must have known Sempill had sent for Bess, and why,’ Gil began obediently. ‘I thought at first that was the reason Bess died, to make it easier for Sempill to sell some of the property in Glasgow, but it wasn’t that, and it wasn’t the fact that Euphemia was pregnant and hoped it would be Sempill’s heir either. Sempill might not have known till I told him, but her brother certainly did, that her child could never have been legitimate.’

‘So it was the money,’ said the Official.

‘Yes. And possibly the plate, though I think her brother had that,’ Gil added. ‘We may never know its fate. I dare say there are silversmiths all over Scotland who would melt it down and never ask about the crest. She simply feared that if Sempill spoke to his wife he would discover that she had never had any of the rents from Rothesay. And you only had to look at Lady Euphemia to tell she was an expensive woman.’

‘I’ve always wondered how John could afford her,’ said Philip Sempill.

‘So she borrowed Antonio’s dagger, went out of St Mungo’s during Compline, and called Bess over. They were kin by marriage, Bess had no reason to be suspicious. Euphemia coaxed her into the Fergus Aisle so they could sit on the scaffolding, or maybe so she could throw up in privacy, for the traces were there.’ By his side Alys stirred, but said nothing. ‘Then she knifed her, seized her purse and the gold cross to make it seem like robbery, skelped back over the scaffolding and into the kirk for a quick word with St Catherine — ‘

‘I wonder what the holy woman was making of that?’ said Ealasaidh heavily.

‘Quite so. And after the service, when they all went out, she gave Antonio back his knife. I saw him sheathing it. I was just on their heels going into the kirkyard.’

‘How did she know how to strike so deadly?’ asked the mason. ‘Or do you suppose it was luck? And why the musician’s dagger and not her own?’

‘Not simply luck, for she killed Bridie the same way. I think one of her lovers may have taught her how to use a knife. It is the kind of thing she would have relished knowing.’ Not Hughie, he thought. Surely not Hughie?

‘Her own knife is — was a small one,’ Philip Sempill observed. ‘I saw it often at mealtimes. I suppose the Italian’s was better suited to the task.’

‘Would a woman think of such a thing?’ asked Maistre Pierre.

‘Euphemia would,’ said Sempill firmly. ‘She was drawn to knives, and blood. When one of the men cut his hand on a broken crock, Mally could scarce bind it up for Euphemia getting in the way staring.’

‘I remember, her reaction to the Italian’s blood was yet stronger,’ said the mason.

‘She must at some point have checked the purse,’ Gil continued, ‘probably on her way back into St Mungo’s, and found only a few coins, a key which must be the key to Bess’s box, and the harp key, which she dropped or threw away. The purse went on the midden. Maggie found the cross and the other key, hidden in a secret place in her jewel-box until it should be safe to bring them out. I expect if Sempill had ever got his hands on Bess’s effects she would have coaxed the box from him and made use of the key.’

‘She cannot have seen Davie and his girl, I suppose, though you told me she claimed to have done so,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘No doubt she was alarmed when we began to search for Bridie Miller.’

‘She must have enticed Bridie into Blackfriars yard in the same way,’ Gil continued. ‘The girl was easy enough to identify, she was telling the whole market what a narrow escape she had had, and she would be flattered by a lady who asked her advice about where she could be private. Euphemia had taken care to dress differently. On May Day evening she was wearing a hat, and the next day and also when I met her in the market on Thursday she was wearing a linen kerchief, a monstrous thing which changed her appearance completely. Like the Widow in Dunbar’s appalling poem — schene in her schrowd and schewed her innocent.’

‘I had never seen her wear such a headdress before those two days,’ said Philip Sempill. ‘It surprised me, I can tell you.’

Gil nodded.

‘She can’t have stopped to find out whether the poor lass saw anything, she simply got rid of her as quickly as possible. I suppose it is characteristic that she also took the few pennies Bridie had on her, as she took Bess’s coin, though it would scarcely pay for a finger of one of her gloves. The scent on Bridie’s kerchief puzzled me, until Mariota Stewart said something about Euphemia’s perfume smelling different when it was stale.’

‘Aye,’ said Maggie. ‘That was the other thing, Maister Gil, only you were so quick to be rid of me. All the clothes in her kist smelled like that, and it wasny the same as when it was on her at all.’

‘I noticed that often,’ said Philip Sempill.

‘And I’ve noticed that, fresh or stale, it makes Maister Mason sneeze, just as hawthorn flowers do. And then the serjeant arrested Antonio. I also bear some guilt for what happened then, because I know John Sempill, I should have been quicker to realize what he would do.’

‘No, Gil. I know him even better,’ said John Sempill’s cousin, ‘and I was taken by surprise too. Euphemia should also have known what would happen.’

‘I think she did. She had known John well, and for a long time, and think how economical to get one lover to execute the other. What would the Italian have told if he was put to the question? He didn’t look to me like a man who could withstand the thumbscrews or the boot.’

That would have silenced his music,’ said the mason. Ealasaidh flinched, but the harper did not stir.

‘I never asked her point blank, but I expect she would have sworn that he was with her all the morning Bridie was killed. If he was questioned, he would have told all he knew about her movements, both when Bess died and when Bridie died. I suspect he was also the father of her child. John’s success has not been notable in that way. So Antonio had to go, and as Maister Mason says, her reaction to the spilt blood was powerful. What sticks in my craw is that the poor devil begged her to help him, addressed her as Donna mia cara, dear my lady — and that was his reward.’

‘Poor devil indeed,’ said Philip Sempill. ‘I will say, I knew what was happening — that she had taken the Italian to her bed — and I hoped John never found out, but I never looked for it to end that way.’

‘Then we went to Rothesay and discovered this largescale pauchling of the rents. As I said, I had eliminated you and John both by then, but I was still thinking in terms of James Campbell, and every word I heard seemed to confirm it.,

‘To me, too,’ agreed Maistre Pierre in answer to Gil’s raised eyebrow. ‘But I cannot understand yet how Maister John Sempill never recognized the — what is your word? — pauchling. Embezzlement. He must have known what his land was worth.’

‘John doesn’t read very well, Grammar School or no, and he’s not a great thinker,’ said Philip, grinning. ‘I tried to suggest the rent was a bit low, but he’s so taken with James’s education, and yours, Gil, that he would never entertain the idea that things might not add up.’

‘And so you knew it was the good-sister; said the harper.

‘When she ran, I knew,’ said Gil. ‘Something I learned in Dumbarton set me thinking things through again. James Campbell had been there looking for Annie Thomson, and gone away without speaking to her because she was demented with a rotten tooth, poor lass. Her mother described him, and identified him as a Campbell. Now, if he was guilty, he knew what she might have seen, he had no need to question the girl publicly, and every incentive to make contact with her secretly and do away with her like the other lassie. Since he had tried to contact her quite openly, I could infer that he was not guilty, but had a reason for wanting to know what she had seen or heard the evening Bess died. So I began putting things together — there was that, and a conversation I had with Euphemia Campbell the day Bridie was killed when she knew far more than she should have done, and Mariota’s remark about the perfume — and began to think perhaps I knew the answer. But until Euphemia saw the cross and ran, it was simply the most likely explanation.’

‘I knew,’ said the harper calmly, ‘when I reminded the company that I am a harper and can determine the truth. All who understood me were in decent awe, but Euphemia Campbell was frightened. I smelled it.’

‘I knew at Bess-‘s funeral,’ said Ealasaidh.

‘What?’ said Gil.

‘She was waiting, out in the church,’ she said remotely. ‘My sight is good. I saw her in the shadows, waiting until we were done with touching the body. Why would she do that if her conscience was clear?’

‘It would have helped if you had told me,’ Gil said.

She turned a considering gaze on him. ‘Would it?’

Perhaps not, he acknowledged.

‘Do you think, sir,’ he said, touching the harper’s wrist, ‘that we did uncover the truth?’

‘I do,’ said Mclan harshly. ‘Justice has been served here.’

‘But what an end she met,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘Tom to pieces unshriven.’

‘She would have been held in the Bishop’s jail,’ the Official pointed out, ‘and tried, and if found guilty executed by drowning.’

‘And is that right, maister,’ said Maggie with interest, ‘that they haveny found her arm yet?’ Philip Sempill grimaced, and shook his head. ‘Likely it’ll be in the dog kennel.’

‘Has the dog been disposed of?’ asked the mason. Sempill, getting to his feet, laughed sourly. ‘ou do not know my cousin John, maister. Fortunately for them, the servants do, and the stableman had enticed her away with some meat with aniseed and tied her up. No, John sees no need to dispose of a good guard dog simply because it did what he requires it to do. He’s more put out because James Campbell will not bear the cost of his sister’s burial. It’ll need a sizeable donation to get her buried in holy ground, considering, and James says she was John’s problem in life, she may stay his problem in death. And for all John’s already sent to Dunblane last week, to let John Murray know he’s got an heir, he won’t see a plack of the old man’s money till he’s gone. He’ll have to sell that gaud she was wearing to coffin her.’

‘And it’ll need to be a coffined burial, by what I’m told,’ said Maggie.

Philip Sempill grinned wryly, and turned to bow to the Official. ‘I have taken up enough of your time, sir. I will take my leave of you, now that I understand what happened. I agree with Maister Mclan. We have seen justice here.’

Gil saw him through the house and down to the door. He paused there, a hand on the doorpost.

‘I wanted her, Gil,’ he said abruptly. ‘I would have married her, but Campbell of Glenstriven, as her goodbrother, preferred to take John’s offer. My Marion’s a good lass, but …’ Another crooked grin. ‘She’s not Bess.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Gil inadequately.

‘Bess Stewart was a bonnie woman, and a bonnie singer, and I saw her dwindle into a silent thing, feared to move when he was in the room. I would never have treated her like that.’

‘She can maybe rest easy now,’ Gil offered.

‘Not yet,’ said Philip Sempill, narrowing his blue eyes, ‘but I tell you, I will take care to exact the next part of the revenge out of your territory.’

Gil considered him.

‘Do that,’ he said, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘and good luck to it.’

When he returned to the hall he found the rest of the company had come in from the garden and were taking leave in various ways. The harper, with one hand on his son’s head, was reciting a sonorous blessing in Ersche while the baby regarded him with huge solemn eyes from his nurse’s arms and Nancy herself yawned and blinked sideways at all the people.

‘We must arrange a fresh tryst with John Sempill,’ said Canon Cunningham. ‘I have just agreed a time with Maister Mclan. And you and your lassie must be properly handfasted, with witnesses. We must agree a time for that too.’

‘I look forward to it,’ said the mason.

‘The sooner the better,’ said Gil, drawing Alys aside. She looked up and smiled at him, so he kissed her, and quoted, ‘Her fair fresh face, as white as any snaw, She turnit has, and forth her wayis went. Sweetheart, you must go now. I think I will sleep on my feet soon.’

It has been a long week,’ she said.

‘It has been an even longer day. I have sailed across the water, helped Matt draw a rotten tooth, procured the death of a murderer, been handfasted to the wisest girl in Scotland, and mended our first disagreement. At least I think we have mended it.’ He looked down at her anxiously. She nodded. ‘Good. And that has set a precedent.’

‘Precedent?’

‘That when we disagree, we can settle it by debate between us.’

Her smile flickered again, elusive as a wren in a hedge.

‘If there is time,’ she said, and put up her face to be kissed.

When all the company had gone he gathered up the wine-cups and took them down to the kitchen. Maggie was entertaining Matt with a lively account of the evening’s action which appeared not to suffer by the fact that she had not seen the centrepiece.

‘And they’ll keep the dog,’ she added. ‘Savage creature, I don’t know how they could live with it.’

‘Poor brute,’ said Matt.

‘And is that right, Maister Gil, that the bairn’s to be fostered with Maister Mason?’

‘So it appears,’ said Gil, deducing from this that he was forgiven. ‘And I’m to be its tutor.’

‘So you’ll start married life with a family.’

‘I’ll not be the first man that’s happened to,’ he said, setting the wine-cups down on the table. ‘They don’t usually come dowered with a lachter of properties in Bute, but if the rent from that pays to wash the tail-clouts, Maister Mason may be thankful.’

‘That’s a good lassie you’ve chosen,’ she said, her face softening. ‘And bonnie manners with it. Mind you,’ she added, ‘she’s a sharp one. I think she’ll tame you as readily as you’ll tame her.’

‘I still can’t believe my good fortune,’ he admitted.

‘When?’ said Matt.

‘When will the wedding be? When I can afford to keep a wife.’

‘She’ll wait for you,’ said Maggie. ‘She’ll do, Maister Gil. Your minnie will be pleased.’

Avoiding a conversation with his uncle, who seemed willing to go over the entire argument of his accusation again, Gil climbed to his attic and opened the shutters without lighting his candle. It was dark by this time, though greenish light in the sky still outlined the hills away to his left. Some of the shapes looked familiar now. Nearer at hand, the Bishop’s castle (Archbishop, he corrected himself) and the towers of St Mungo’s loomed dark. Nearer still, candlelight in the windows of the Sempill house showed three pairs of hands and another game of Tarocco.

He stood looking out for a little while, as the cards went round, thinking of the events of the day, and the long game of Tarocco that had been the evening. Not to Alys, not even to his uncle had he admitted how undecided he was. He had not known whether it was James Campbell he was looking for, or Euphemia, or even one or other of the gallowglasses, right up to the point where Maggie had handed him the cross.

Well, he thought, I have jousted for Truth, and won. And not only for Truth, it occurred to him, watching the play at the lit window. For Hugh, and for his Sybilla, poor girl, who was now avenged. No wonder his brother had saluted him in his dream. And also for Bess Stewart, who escaped a grim future and found love, however briefly, in her broken vows. (As I have done, he thought, and St Giles send it lasts longer than Bess’s happiness.)

Down in the dark between the Sempill house and the gate, the mastiff Doucette grumbled to herself about something. The curfew bell had rung long since. Windows were darkening along the street, fires were smoored for the night. The shutters were fastened tight at the window on the floor above the card game, where he had watched Euphemia wrestle with her lover, when he had still thought he was bound for the priesthood. But now I have a girl, he thought, who wrestles with her mind. We will debate the state of our marriage between us. And after the marriage-debate, there would still be the marriage-debt to settle, an extraordinarily satisfying thought. He thought of the warmth of Alys’s slender waist between his hands, and the sweet innocence of her kisses.

He closed the shutters and began to undress. Tomorrow they would settle matters with the mason.

Tomorrow he would see Alys.