The King's Corrodian

Chapter Seven

Enquiring on the Highgate for Maister Andro Pullar’s place of business got Gil first a disparaging, ‘Oh, him! He’s along that way.’ The second citizen he asked spat copiously on the cobbles, just missing Gil’s boots, before he jerked a thumb at the next forestair and said, ‘Yonder, in the grand house, like an honest man.’

‘It’s a grand house indeed,’ said Euan, impressed. ‘There’s a good living for a man o law in this town, that’s plain.’

Gil, climbing the stair, said nothing, but rattled the pin at the oak door. Euan had a point; it was a very handsome house, tall and narrow in the Dutch style, and recently built by the look of the stones of the lower floor. A clerk answered the door, and bowed them into a neat chamber where a liveried servant was kicking his heels on a bench along one wall, but rose as they entered. Besides the bench there was a table, a tall desk and a hearth with a fire in it. The furnishings were all new, locally made by a good craftsman, Gil thought. A door at the far side of the chamber was firmly shut, but voices were audible through it.

‘You’ll no mind waiting,’ the clerk announced officiously. ‘My maister’s got someone wi him the now. Hae a seat on yon bench if you wish, maister.’

He took up a pen from the desk and returned to copying something. Euan retired to a corner, conveniently close to the fire. Gil shook the rain from his plaid, nodded at the servant and sat down, wondering whether he needed a clerk to admit clients to his own house. Lowrie or one of the servants usually answered the door, and his notary’s practice was hardly profitable enough to keep a clerk as well as Lowrie. He occupied the time reckoning how much work he would need to bring in to make it worthwhile, and was concluding that he had no wish for that much extra work, when the voices from the inner chamber became suddenly louder.

‘I assure you, Mistress Trabboch-’

The clerk looked up, and the waiting servant flinched and braced himself.

‘You’ll assure me o nothing, you handless, shilpit wee sumph!’ declared a loud harsh voice. ‘Six weeks you’ve had to find him, in a place this size, and what can you tell me?’

‘I doubt you’ve been misinformed, mistress, for I-’

‘I wasny misinformed. Isabella Newton kens him as well as she kens me, she’d no mistake him.’

‘It’s a pity she couldny recall what habit he was wearing. But I assure you, mistress, there’s none o that name in any o the houses hereabout.’

‘Useless, you are! You’ll no see a penny piece for this, for I’ll no believe you’ve stirred yoursel off your arse in the matter at all. I’ll see mysel out, man. I’d no trust you to convey me to your ain stair.’

The door flung open, and a tall woman stalked out, her wide skirts swirling round her, a harassed maidservant hurrying after her.

‘Thomas,’ she said sharply as she crossed the chamber, elbowed the clerk aside when he would have opened the door for her, jerked at the latch and flung the heavy boards back. The door, rebounding, caught her servant’s shoulder as he hurried to accompany her, then crashed shut behind the party.

‘Dhia!’ said Euan from the corner. ‘You would take her for Scathach herself!’

The man of law who appeared from the inner room was not an imposing figure. A foot or so shorter than Gil, narrow of face and form, one shoulder higher than the other, he glared after Mistress Trabboch, then sniffed disparagingly and turned to Gil.

‘Aye?’ he said.

Gil bowed, and said in Latin, ‘Good day to you, brother. May I have a word?’

Maister Pullar stared hard at him for a moment, then turned back into his chamber, saying in the same language, ‘Hah! Come in.’

‘A difficult client,’ Gil observed, closing the door behind him.

‘Difficult!’ said Maister Pullar. ‘Aye, very difficult. How may I help you, brother?’

Gil introduced himself and they bowed again, the formal recognition of one man of law for another. Pullar sat down at his elaborate desk and waved at the nearest stool.

‘Have a seat, maister. And what brings Blacader’s quaestor into Perth? The Archbishop of Glasgow has no authority in Dunkeld diocese.’ His Latin had the accent of St Andrews rather than Glasgow.

‘I know that,’ Gil agreed. ‘I am lodged at the house of the Dominicans.’

‘Ah. In the matter of the disappearance of Leonard Pollock, I must suppose.’

‘Indeed.’ Gil was watching the man, maintaining his friendly expression. ‘I am told you had some dealings with him. I hoped you might be able to tell me a little, seeing he is now known to be dead.’

‘Dead, is he? That is certain?’

‘The fire which was thought to have carried him off in fact destroyed his body absolutely. We have found his ashes.’

Maister Pullar crossed himself, murmured something conventional, and folded his hands on his desk.

‘What proof do we have that the ashes are Pollock’s?’ he asked.

‘Circumstantial only,’ Gil admitted. ‘The house was locked and barred from the inside, and we found the key melted among the ashes. It’s hard to say who else they might represent.’

Pullar’s eyes widened briefly.

‘Melted?’ he repeated, and whistled. ‘Surely that must have been Hellfire.’

‘There was no smell of sulphur, nor other signs of demonic presence,’ Gil assured him. ‘I am working on the assumption that the fire was caused by some human agency, and seeking to learn who might have had cause to wish the man dead. The list is not short.’

‘Oh.’ Pullar contemplated his folded hands for a moment, a frown creasing his brow. Then he said, ‘I did indeed have some dealings with Pollock. I acted for him in one or two land transactions, very profitable to himself, and he has a strongbox deposited here.’ He fell silent. Gil waited, still watching; the man’s face gave away nothing further, and after a pause he continued, ‘I do not have the key, nor can I think it would be appropriate to open the box without some written authority.’

‘Father Prior?’ Gil suggested. ‘I am certain he would give you a letter over the convent’s seal requiring an inventory of the contents of the box. And I believe there is a key among the man’s effects at the Priory, which may be the key to the box.’

‘That might be suitable. Aye, that might be very suitable. Perhaps you would assist me to make such an inventory.’

‘That would be possible.’ Gil sat quiet, curious to see if any more information would emerge, and reflecting that he would not wish to play cards with this man; his expression did not alter for some time.

Finally Pullar appeared to come to a conclusion, and sat back, saying in Scots, ‘Aye, well, that’ll all be assopat now. You’ll be aware o his various sources o income, I take it, maister.’

‘I’ve found one or two,’ Gil admitted. ‘If you can show me any more I’d be glad of it.’

‘Aye. He’d the corrody, a course, a good sum lodged wi the Blackfriars by the Treasury to see to his keep as long’s he required it-’

‘Why was that?’ Gil interrupted. ‘D’you ken what prompted it? The Crown’s more like to set up a pension or a benefice than buy a corrody, by my observation.’

‘I asked him that myself,’ said the other man, ‘but I’d no answer. He himself wished the corrody, I believe, and it might well ha been to annoy someone, by one or two remarks he passed at other times.’

‘Another difficult client,’ Gil commented.

‘Aye,’ said Pullar flatly. ‘So he’d the corrody, but he’d brought a well-filled box wi him, and invested it wi care while he was still getting about. He’s a good income in rents, no within the burgh, a course, him no being a burgess, but from the lands outwith the town, about the Blackfriars and the like; there’s a good few properties scattered about there. He’d a couple o ventures overseas,’ he added, ‘but they wereny successful. Maybe if he’d taen Maister Halyburton’s advice-’

‘Interesting,’ said Gil. ‘Is there coin in the strongbox, then? For there wasny a great sum in the kist in his lodging.’

‘No, no,’ said Pullar. ‘For it’s all sent away, or at least the most o’t.’

‘Sent away?’ Gil repeated, aware of his eyebrows climbing. ‘Where to?’

‘I never enquired,’ said Pullar, in that flat tone. ‘It began two-three year ago. Every six month or thereabout, a fellow turns up bearing the key, shows me a jewel, collects what’s lying here and goes off again, and I send the key back to the Blackfriars. The last time or two it’s been an Irishman, afore that it was a Fleming, a different fellow every time, but they all had the jewel right enough. There’s one about due. I’ve been wondering what’s like to happen.’

‘What kind o a jewel?’ Gil asked. ‘I take it it’s easy identified.’

‘Oh, it’s that all right. An enamel badge on a chain, shaped like a white rose. A bonnie thing, but perilous.’

‘Perilous indeed!’ said Prior Boyd. ‘The badge o the Yorkist kings o England, that Harry Tudor overthrew in ’85. What’s that doing here in Perth? What’s the House o York to do wi Pollock?’

‘My thought and all,’ Gil agreed. ‘It’s, what, near ten years since Bosworth Field. There are plenty o their adherents still about trying to get a revolt thegether, and Margaret of Burgundy’s trying to get back at King Henry for the death o her nephews in the Tower wi every breath she takes, which will all take money like it’s going out o fashion. But why should a former Treasury man suddenly begin funding the Yorkist cause? Had he letters from abroad? Visitors?’

The Prior shook his head.

‘No that I ever saw,’ he said. ‘It’s only the last year or so he’s been confined to the House — to these premises,’ he amended. Gil nodded. ‘He might ha met anyone out in the burgh — he spent a good part o his time there. Could some agent of Burgundy have caused his death, maybe?’

‘I thought of that,’ Gil agreed, ‘but if he was sending them money, a good sum every time by what Pullar told me, why should they suddenly weary o him? It makes no sense.’

‘So we’re no closer learning by what agency the man dee’d.’

‘It’s less than two days since I got here,’ Gil pointed out, ‘and the trail was cold. I’m still gathering information. Once I’ve got it all, it’ll maybe make sense.’ Or maybe it won’t, he thought, but did not say. ‘Meantime, sir,’ he went on, ‘I’d as soon pursue young Rattray’s killer, if I can. The boy deserves justice.’

‘Aye.’ The Prior crossed himself, and heaved a sigh. ‘No member of the community has presented himself to confess,’ he said sadly, changing to Latin, ‘and I have not so far questioned those who accused one another, feeling that some delay might be beneficial in giving them time to reflect, and also that you might prefer to be present when I do so.’

‘I would value the opportunity,’ Gil replied in the same language. This was exactly what he had hoped for. He would have preferred to question the various members of the community privately, but since that was impossible this would be the next best thing.

He had returned to the Blackfriars in time for the midday meal, to find Alys still absent about the town somewhere and the men with no idea where she had gone. After they had eaten he had set all three of them to talk to the lay servants and the outdoor men, hoping that Brother Dickon would enlist Euan’s help at something backbreaking if he approached him, and repaired to the Prior’s study to report what progress he had made. It seemed remarkably little, particularly since he had suppressed any mention of the contents of Andrew Rattray’s linen bundle.

‘Should we have them in together?’ he continued now. ‘This would avoid any appearance of favouring one party or the other.’

Thomas Wilson and Alexander Raitts, summoned by a servant, jostled each other through the doorway, glaring sideways and both breathing hard, but they were sufficiently wise in their Order to maintain the silence they had been commanded to keep. Gil studied them as they took up an appropriately humble stance before their Prior, heads bent, hands tucked into their sleeves. He recognised Wilson now as one of the friars he had seen about the place, a broad-shouldered, broad-faced man with a pleasant smile and calculating eyes, who seemed much more composed than his companion. Raitts’s fingers were twitching inside his sleeves, perhaps drumming on the opposing wrists, making the heavy wool quiver. His nostrils were twitching as well. Both men were somewhat battle-scarred; Wilson bore a scabbed bruise on his cheekbone, and Raitts sported a magnificent black eye and a split lip.

Prior David delivered himself of a brief but pungent speech, reminding them of the value of truth, brotherly affection, and the stability of the Order, and instructing them to speak one at a time in answer to Maister Cunningham’s questions. Raitts shivered at that, and clasped his hands tightly; Wilson raised his head and looked at Gil, frowning slightly.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Gil, arranging his thoughts. ‘You mind I’m here to investigate the matter of Leonard Pollock’s disappearance.’ Wilson nodded. Raitts scowled. ‘I’m asked of your Prior,’ he bowed slightly towards his kinsman, ‘to consider the death o Andrew Rattray as well. I wasny at the Chapter of Faults when I’m told you accused each the other o causing these events. I want to hear all you ken that prompted you to say sic a thing.’ He pointed at Raitts. ‘In the order o the alphabet, you first.’

Wilson stiffened, and swallowed, but said nothing. Raitts stared from Gil to his Prior and back, looking appalled.

‘I–I — I — ’ he began, and gulped like a carp. ‘Is he to question us, Faither? On a Priory matter? It’s no appropriate.’

‘Answer the question,’ said Prior David.

‘Murder and arson,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘are pleas of the Crown, and hanging offences. It’s gone beyond your walls now, brother. What prompted you to accuse Thomas Wilson o murder?’

Wilson turned his head and glared, but held silence. Raitts gulped again, and said in a whisper, ‘He was about the place in the night, creeping out o the kitchen in the dark, whispering in corners wi Henry White, for I saw him. What else could he ha been at?’

‘And how did you come to see him?’ Gil asked. ‘I take it you were creeping about the place in the dark and all?’

‘I wasny creeping!’ said Raitts indignantly. ‘I went out to the — to the necessarium, all openly. You canny just step out in the dark. The stairs is as worn, you need to watch your feet and go by the wall, even wi a lantern, so I was going slow and quiet and here was this one-’

‘A moment,’ said Gil. ‘When was this?’

‘Why, the night the infirmary burned. The night the poor laddie was murdered.’ Raitts tried to look sideways out of his bruised eye at Wilson and flinched at the attempt.

‘Where is the necessarium? You’ve no privy at the same level as the dorter?’

‘It’s in the corner o the cloister,’ said the Prior, ‘at the foot o the day stair. Far from convenient, especial when it rains, though at least it’s under the cloister roof.’

‘The day stair.’ Gil tried to envisage the cloister. ‘So it’s at the other end o the refectory from the kitchens.’

‘Aye, and here’s this one, ganging along the cloister walk from the kitchen, talking wi Henry White, all in whispers.’

‘How did you identify them?’ Gil asked. Raitts stared at him. ‘What time was this? I take it it was full dark. How were you so sure it was Wilson and White?’

‘Well, it — well, it was obvious,’ said Raitts. ‘Who else would it be?’

‘It’s far from that, Alexander,’ said the Prior sternly. ‘If you accuse your brothers you must bring good reason, you ken it as well as I do, and all you’ve shown so far is that you were out your bed in the night and detected two others doing the same.’

Wilson stirred restively, but his superior looked hard at him and he bent his head. The librarian broke the clasp of his hands so that they seemed to leap out of his grubby white sleeves, gesturing wildly.

‘I took it it was Henry and this one talking about me at first,’ he said, ‘for that I’d to deny Henry a book that afternoon — there was another reading it — and he wasny best pleased; and this one’s been asking about me in the town to my discredit. I took it they were speaking o how I must be put out from here, He has to go, they said, but then it was, Secret knowledge, and Secret fire, and what should that be but witchcraft and burning the infirmary?’

‘It could be many things, my son,’ said the Prior sadly.

‘Did you hear those words?’ Gil asked. ‘You’re sure o them?’

‘Aye, I’m sure,’ said Raitts indignantly, in a tone which failed to convince Gil.

‘You heard nothing else? Only that?’

‘Is it no enough? Conspiring in the night, creeping away from the kitchen-’

‘I never!’ burst out Wilson, finally unable to contain himself, then dropped to his knees as the Prior gave him another adamantine look. ‘Forgive me, Faither,’ he said, head bent.

‘You’ll get your moment,’ said Prior David. ‘Maister Cunningham, have you more questions for Alexander?’

‘I have.’ Gil studied the librarian, who captured his hands one with the other, tucked them into his sleeves again, and waited apprehensively. ‘Let me be quite clear here. You came down the day stair, at what time?’

‘I’ve no idea the time,’ said Raitts irritably. ‘Afore midnight, likely.’

‘Afore midnight, and saw two persons in the cloister walk outside the refectory. Did you see them when you came down the stair, or when you came out of the privy?’

‘I’ve no doubt they were there as I cam down the stair,’ began Raitts. Gil raised his eyebrows. ‘But no, I didny see them till I cam out.’

‘They never heard you?’

‘I was moving quiet, so’s no to wake folk.’

Wilson grunted in disbelief, but kept his head down.

‘Then what did you do?’

‘I stood and listened, wi my light held low ahint my cloak, see, and heard what I tellt you, and then I thought, best get out o here, so I got away up the day stair again and back to my bed, and I sat in the dark and thought to talk it ower wi Our Lady and St Dominic, but they wereny answering me, and then Henry cam past me going back to his bed.’

‘You’re very sure it was Henry White,’ said Gil.

‘A course it was. He’s next me, see, the last on our side of the dorter, and Archie McIan opposite him, and I could hear Archie snoring all through. And I heard this one moving about and all,’ Raitts added bitterly, jerking an elbow at Wilson. ‘Fell ower his bed-end, so he did, as if he was drunk.’

‘Did you see a weapon of any sort? Did they have lanterns the same as you?’

‘They’d just come fro the kitchen,’ said Raitts with a flicker of indignation. ‘They’d just stole the knife from there, a course they had a weapon.’

‘But did you see it?’ Gil pressed.

‘No. He must ha hid it in his sleeve, or his belt, or the like. And aye they had lanterns, but held low, same as I was doing, to see the flagstones. Right treacherous they are, a man can trip or stub his toe as soon as step on them.’

Gil thought about this briefly, but continued: ‘You accused Wilson of being responsible for the death of Leonard Pollock and all. What grounds do you have for that?’

‘Well, it’s obvious,’ said Raitts. ‘If he’s slew one o the community, he must ha done the other. I’ve seen him, talking wi the man, likely being asked to pay for keeping his secrets hid, telling him other folk’s secrets and all. He’d plenty reason to do away wi him!’

Wilson stirred restively, but Boyd shook his head and said sternly, ‘That is no matter for you to speculate on. A question o secrets is one for me to deal wi, not you.’

Gil considered the librarian for a moment, wondering if he himself believed what he was saying. Having unburdened himself of all this he seemed calmer, but still trembled, and a muscle twitched beside his eye. He met Gil’s eye hardily enough, and suddenly said, ‘I’ll swear to it, on anything you ask o me.’

‘I’ve no doubt o that,’ Gil responded. He rose, excused himself to the Prior with a brief bow, and went out into the cloister walk. None of Raitts’s statement rang true somehow, but he felt it incumbent upon him to check the positions the man had described.

Two passing friars eyed him with faint suspicion as he located the day stair. The door to the necessarium, readily identifiable by smell, was next to it; standing at the foot of the stair Gil looked out into the cloister walk, along the row of slender columns which supported pointed arches and the red-tiled roof of the walkway in front of the refectory. As he had suspected, anyone approaching from the far end of the refectory would be clearly visible, but a watcher standing here, or even two paces to his right by the necessary-house door, would be equally clearly visible to those approaching. In the dark midnight, the small candle-lanterns the friars carried would show up well.

What did the man see, he wondered. One or two persons abroad in the cloister at dead of night, probably, but who were they and what did they discuss? Or perhaps they were all tiptoeing about with their lanterns, failing to see one another, like Romans in a scene of the Betrayal of Christ.

Back in the Prior’s study, the three Dominicans were as he had left them, silent as statues. Prior Boyd appeared to be praying. Gil sat down again, waited in equal silence till the older man looked up, then said, ‘Wilson. What did you see, that led you to make sic an accusation?’

Wilson straightened up, glanced at his Prior, and said firmly, ‘Brother Alexander is lying in his teeth.’ Raitts drew an indignant breath, but subsided under the Prior’s gaze. ‘About all o’t. I may ha passed the time o day wi the man Pollock, but no more than that, and I-’

‘Answer the question, my son,’ said Boyd sternly. ‘That isny what you were asked.’

‘What did you see?’ Gil asked again. ‘What hour was it, for a start? Are we talking o the night the infirmary burned?’

‘Aye, that night. About an hour afore midnight,’ said Wilson, ‘I rose wi a bellyache, and since I found no relief in the necessarium I went to see if I could rouse Brother James at the infirmary, but he never woke to my knocking, so I cam back here to the cloister. Then I tried the kitchen, hoping maybe for a bit peppermint or a clove or the like, but Brother Augustine keeps all secure. There was naught to be seen. So then I was making for the day stair, to go back to my bed, and here’s your man here talking secrets in the corner at the foot o the stair wi Henry White.’

‘No!’ said Raitts on a sobbing breath, shaking his bent head.

‘Alexander,’ said the Prior in warning tones.

‘So I stepped back into a shadow,’ continued Wilson, ‘and shut my lantern, and-’

‘Why?’ asked Gil. Wilson stared at him. ‘Why did you hide? You had no reason. You’re as entitled as they are to be abroad in the night.’

‘Which is to say, not at all,’ observed Prior Boyd disapprovingly.

‘Aye, well,’ said Wilson. ‘That’s why. If you’re about in the night on a — a private matter, and see another fellow, you assume he’s on the same kinna errand, no seeking fellowship and brotherly discourse. But these two was talking away, in whispers you could hear at St John’s I’d wager, so first off I thought I’d wait till they moved on up the stair and then I found they’d maybe no wish me to hear their words.’

‘And those were?’

‘Secret, they said, more than once, and None must hear, and the like. And then Fire, quite clear. I thought little o’t at the time, save to wonder what was so secret, and I wasny that long back in my bed afore the cry o Fire! went up, and see, next day — that’s only yesterday, Our Lady save us — I waited and waited for someone to confess, and then when they hadny confessed by the time we cam to Chapter o Faults I, well, I made certain o’t.’ His voice tailed off as he took in his superior’s expression.

After studying him for a long moment, Boyd turned to Gil.

‘Have you more questions, maister?’

‘I have,’ said Gil. ‘Was the infirmary in darkness? Did you try the door?’

‘Aye, it was still as the grave,’ said Wilson, ‘and the door was barred, else I’d ha got in and roused Brother James mysel.’

‘Barred?’ said the Prior. ‘I never kent James to bar the door. Brother Euan does, by what he’s said, but no James. In case somebody needs him, like you’re just saying.’

‘Well, I couldny shift it,’ said Wilson positively.

‘And then you went straight to the kitchen?’ Gil went on.

‘I stopped to think a moment, and then I minded the kist o spices, and made my way to the kitchen. But there was naught to be had there, Augustine keeps it all locked down, like I said, only the cat playing wi a couple mice, so then I cam back out into the cloister and that’s when I heard the two o them, whispering away in the corner.’

‘And when did you go back up to the dorter?’

‘No till after they’d gone up, you can believe me.’ Wilson grimaced. ‘That’s about the one true word your man here uttered, I did trip ower my bed-end, for that my lantern went out just as I cam to the top o the stair. It meant I could better see their lights still burning, mind you, Henry’s along by the far end and this one’s next to him. Which is how I kent who it had been talking out in the cloister.’

Gil considered this information.

‘When you heard the whispering,’ he said, ‘you didny ken yet who it was, am I right?’

‘Aye, I suppose,’ admitted Wilson.

‘So there’s no knowing who said what.’

‘Aye.’ The tone was reluctant. ‘I suppose.’

Gil turned to Raitts.

‘I ken who I heard,’ said that individual resentfully. ‘I’d swear to it.’

‘How did you ken? Could you make them out?’ Gil asked. ‘It’s no easy to identify a whisper. I’d no trust my ears in sic a situation, and you could hardly say the light was good.’

‘Oh, well, if you’re no to believe me,’ said Raitts, increasingly sulky. ‘I suppose you’ve made your decision, who’s right and who’s in the wrong.’

‘Alexander,’ said Prior Boyd. Raitts bent his head, his expression thunderous. Wilson looked briefly smug, until his superior said, ‘It’s clear to me that neither one o you has an ounce o cause for the accusations you brought yesterday. Accusations, let me remind you, which led your brothers into grievous behaviour and disturbed the peace o this cloister in sic a way as will take years to mend, which have wasted my time and Maister Cunningham’s listening to a catalogue o mishearings and misdeeds, and which have slandered each o you the other and worse still, have slandered Henry White, who is an obedient member o the Order.’ He paused for breath, while Gil admired his facility with words. ‘I’ll announce your penance the morn’s morn in Chapter, for I must pray over it. It’ll no be light, I warn you.’

Almost simultaneously, without looking at each other, both miscreants dropped first to their knees and then flat to the floor, face down, arms spread out in a cross shape. Gil felt a shiver go down his back: this was the most solemn form of the venia, the appeal for forgiveness and mercy, the version employed after a serious misdeed. He stared at the sprawled figures, aware of how substantial Wilson was even in abasement like this, and of how slight a creature Raitts was inside the layers of heavy woollen cloth.

Prior Boyd also considered the two bundled habits, the pale tonsures, the clenched fists.

‘Rise and go,’ he said. ‘Report to Brother Dickon, see what labour he can set you to, and maintain silence. I’ll speak to you afore Chapter.’

As the door closed behind his sons in religion, the Prior stood, and went to the nearer window. It looked out on the infirmary garden, but he seemed not to see the grey devastation, nor the handful of lay brothers and others working in the fading light.

After a long silence Gil said, ‘That was some help, in fact.’ His kinsman made a questioning sound, without turning. ‘They contradicted one another, but it’s clear enough they each saw two people talking in the cloister, and took it for one another and Henry White. I’d wish to ask him if he was also abroad in the night, and if so who he spoke to. And what about.’

‘Aye.’ The Prior finally turned away from the window, and looked searchingly at Gil. ‘I was thinking o their history. Those two. Sandy came late to the Order, he was a man grown when he was tonsured, but he should ha learned to think more clearly than that. It would be,’ he paused, reckoning in his head, ‘four or five year ago, I suppose, he turned up, wi naught to his name but forty merks and a bundle o books. Which were right welcome in the library, I’ll admit, he’d a copy of Pierre d’Ailly’s sermons Henry and I were very glad to see, but for all his reading he’s no a good thinker, and he’ll never make a preacher whatever we do. There’s even less excuse for Thomas, we’ve had him since he left the school. Errors in logic, suppositions taken for established facts, conclusions wi no foundation — that was what set off yesterday’s stramash. It grieves me sair, Gilbert.’

‘The whole community’s owerset,’ Gil observed. ‘First what happened to Pollock, now what’s happened to Andrew Rattray — it’s no wonder if they’re no thinking clearly.’

Boyd grunted, but came to sit down at his desk again.

‘You wish to question Henry,’ he said. ‘Will we send for him now?’

‘I’d sooner hear more o those two,’ said Gil. ‘Would either ha had cause to harm young Rattray?’

‘No!’ said Boyd, startled. ‘I’ve no idea that either o them had much acquaintance wi him. Thomas had the boy Mureson to his assistant the last six-month, I think he’s never had Rattray wi him. Sandy would know him, a course, in the library, but that’s no like to cause him to …’ His voice tailed off.

Gil preserved silence on this point, and said instead, ‘And Pollock? Has either o them mentioned dealings wi him?’

‘No,’ said the Prior, shaking his head.

‘I heard something in the town the day,’ Gil pursued awkwardly, ‘no greatly to Wilson’s credit.’

Boyd looked at him.

‘How does that no surprise me? Spit it out, son,’ he said. ‘You’d be the first to remind me, this is a matter o murder, secrets must out. It’s no clyping, it’s uncovering the truth.’

Carefully, naming no names, Gil relayed what the saddler had told him. Boyd heard him out, his face darkening, and finally said, in some dismay, ‘Aye, and if our corrodian had learned o this, here’s a good reason for Thomas to find himsel his enemy. I need to talk to Brother Thomas at more length.’

‘His name was in Pollock’s notes,’ Gil observed, ‘and also his initials in a list of what I take to be payments.’ Boyd nodded, but did not answer. ‘Can you recall Wilson’s demeanour when Pollock’s disappearance was discovered?’

‘He was amazed, like the rest o us. If he felt aught else, he concealed it from me. I tell you, Gilbert,’ said the older man, suddenly forceful, ‘if the Deil didny truly carry off our corrodian, he has visited this house none the less. Lies and deception, murder and discord, stealing, suspicion one o another, these are all his work. It will take the community years to recover.’ He paused, considering the future bleakly. ‘I’ll stand down once the matter’s settled. It will take another hand than mine to steer this vessel to quiet waters.’ And then, in what seemed like a natural progression of thought, ‘Shall we have Henry in? And best send for candles.’ He reached for the little bell on his desk.

Henry White, warned as his colleagues had been and given permission to speak, simply bowed and stood waiting in silence.

Gil studied the man for a moment, and then said, ‘On the night the infirmary burned and Andrew Rattray died,’ White turned a penetrating gaze on him, ‘were you abroad earlier, after the community was abed?’

White appeared to consider the question with care, and finally nodded.

‘I was,’ he agreed.

‘Did you meet anybody else moving about the place, or see any others?’

‘I did.’

Gil waited, but no more was forthcoming, so he persisted, ‘Can you name them? How many were there?’

‘There was more than one, but I canny name them.’

‘Had you no conversation wi any?’

There was a brief hesitation.

‘No.’

Gil eyed the lector principalis with some misgiving, a faint suspicion creeping into his mind.

‘Did you learn anything that night,’ he said carefully, ‘that bears on the question of who killed Andrew Rattray?’

‘How can I tell,’ White parried, ‘whether a matter bears on the question or no? All things are linked under God’s eye,’ he crossed himself, ‘that sees a sparrow fall.’

‘Aye, very pretty,’ said Gil. ‘Now tell me what you learned, sir.’

‘I canny say that I learned anything,’ White said.

‘Why were you abroad in the night, Henry?’ demanded the Prior.

White turned that sharp gaze on his old friend and said mildly, ‘I heard something outside, so I rose to see what it was.’

‘And what was it?’ Gil asked.

‘Why, I found the two who accused me, both about the place, quite separate. I’ll no compound the symmetry by claiming they were whispering one wi another. And once I’d found what was about, I went back to my bed. Does that answer you?’

‘Insufficiently,’ said Gil. ‘Who did you speak to, sir?’

‘I spoke to neither Thomas nor Sandy Raitts.’

‘So who did you speak to?’

‘I canny say that I spoke to any.’

‘Then how did you recognise Wilson and Raitts?’

‘I see better than most by night,’ said White. ‘Both men are conspicuous in build and manner. I formed certain conclusions, which were confirmed when I returned to the dorter and recognised who had been out his bed lately.’

‘And when the infirmary burned,’ said Gil, ‘it never occurred to you that anyone,’ he stressed the word slightly, ‘that you’d seen outside might know something about it?’

‘Oh, it did,’ said White. ‘But, like David here, I was willing to wait for the miscreant to confess on his own.’

Despite being pressed to answer, White would give no more information. Nor would he offer any about the death of Leonard Pollock, merely reminding Gil that they had discussed this matter before. When he had left, Prior Boyd sat silent for a little while, the candlelight flickering on his face and folded hands; then he turned to Gil and remarked, ‘You never asked Thomas nor Sandy about the man Pollock.’

‘Pollock was in the habit of extortion,’ said Gil. ‘I should prefer to question folk in private on that subject.’

‘The man o law,’ said Boyd obscurely. ‘Yet you questioned Henry.’

‘As he said, we’d discussed it before.’ Gil rose, as Boyd had done earlier, and went to the window. With the light behind him, he could see little through the small panes; work had ceased, and the ruins of the infirmary formed dark shapes, vaguely threatening in the twilight. His back still to Boyd, he said, ‘Who does Father Henry confess, can you tell me?’

‘Ah. You saw that.’

‘I did. I’ve met those forms o words afore this. I’m all in favour o the seal o confession, but there are times it makes my task the harder.’

‘Aye.’ Prior David appeared to consider, and after a moment said, ‘I can tell you who he confesses, I suppose. You could learn it from any in this house, after all. It’s the first-year novices, Munt, Mureson and Calder, Simpson and,’ the level voice checked and continued, ‘Rattray, poor laddie. Our Lady receive him under her cloak.’

‘Amen,’ said Gil, crossing himself. ‘And where do the novices sleep? No in the dorter, I take it.’

‘There’s no enough room in the dorter. They sleep above the sacristy, next the night stair. It’s no ideal, I admit. John Blythe the novice-master sleeps there along wi them.’

‘He sleeps sound, does he?’

‘Aye.’ The Prior grimaced. ‘He has a sleeping draught the now, since he’d complained o waking the entire night. He didny waste the time, he spent it in prayer, he said. Prayer has great value, but so does keeping awake to teach your classes in the morning. So aye, he sleeps sound, times the novices has to wake him for Matins.’

‘Who sees to the second-year men, George and his fellows?’

‘John confesses them. He and Henry have aye taen alternate years in charge, ever since I can mind.’

Gil turned away fro the window and sat down. His kinsman was still at the desk, looking as if he could not move under the burden now on his shoulders.

‘Tell me about the novices,’ he said. ‘Munt, Mureson, Simpson, Calder. I’ve met them. A mixed load, I’d ha said.’

‘You’d ha said right.’ Boyd sighed. ‘We don’t get the same laddies we did when I was young, keen fellows eager to take God’s Word into the country places. I mind the men in my class …’ His voice tailed off, and after a moment he shook himself. ‘Aye, well. These five. Four. Good laddies, well intentioned, but it was only Rattray and Mureson had a true vocation I’d say, and two more simply felt the life would suit them.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Simpson at least will make a good preacher, a good Dominican, when he settles down. He’s a sharp mind, a clear thinker, well able to open matters to those less able than himself. Munt will be happy enough once he learns obedience, never a jewel o the Order but no disgrace to it I expect.’

Gil, thinking of Munt’s remarks in the guest hall, preserved silence on this point, and said only, ‘And Calder?’

‘A difficult laddie,’ said Boyd after a moment. ‘He thinks he has a vocation, and it may indeed be God’s will for him, but the Order isny what he thinks it is. Teaching him is,’ he hesitated, and then said, ‘no easy. He will argue even against Brother Thomas at times. There is freedom o thought, Gil, and there is wilful foolishness.’

Gil nodded in sympathy. A Dominican who argued with the statements of Aquinas, the great theologian of the Order, would need to be a very deep thinker.

‘Sall never of sa sour ane brand ane bricht fire be brocht,’ he quoted.

Boyd looked blank for a moment, then said, ‘Ah, the tale of Rauf Coilyear. Aye, times I feel like that about the laddie. Mind you, he may make a preacher yet. He has a hold of St Paul’s thought, that we are all a part of the one body, and sees everything in those terms, and it makes a good foundation for a sermon. We can hope. But Rattray and Mureson. I think I’ve spent as much time in prayer ower them, Gil, as the rest o the community thegither.’

‘Why’s that?’ Gil asked cautiously. ‘You told me Rattray was devout, and Mureson seems a serious young man, very conscious of what’s due to his calling.’

‘He’s settled a lot, the last month or two. He found the Feast o the Incarnation a great comfort. He’s- he lacks patience wi those less observant than himself, has little charity for those who find the road stony or the Rule hard. I hope in time he’ll come to see that Our Lord loved sinners equally wi the good.’

‘One of those who lives by sense rather than reason?’ Gil prompted, in Aquinas’ own Latin. Boyd shot him a startled look.

‘I did not know you were acquainted with our Brother Thomas,’ he said in the same language. ‘No, that describes Sandy Raitts well, he’s no one for reason as you discerned the now. I think Mureson tries to apply the Rule to every aspect of life within this house, and expects others to do the same.’ Once again, Gil preserved silence, reflecting that this was, after all, the purpose of a Rule. That was why he had not sought a monastic career. ‘He is nearly as devout as was poor Andrew, and has a good understanding of the works of our Brother Thomas. I hope to make something of him in due time. As, indeed, I did of Andrew.’