The King's Corrodian

Chapter Nine

The cloister was dark and filled with the bitter wind, the bulk of the church looming against a ragged sky dotted with stars, but in the corner of the walkway by the library a cluster of candles and lanterns revealed confused patches of white, which resolved into sleeves, cowls, habit hems, appearing and disappearing against the black cloaks of a number of Dominicans. Many voices offered advice: the order for silence had clearly been forgotten.

‘No, don’t move him yet.’ Brother Euan’s soft voice cut through the hubbub. ‘Lay that over him, that’s right.’

‘What’s happened?’ demanded Prior Boyd. ‘How bad is he? Is it Henry indeed?’

Brother Euan looked up, and sat back a little, so that over Boyd’s shoulder Gil could see the patient, sprawled on the flagstones under two cloaks and a blanket. Henry White’s long face and thick dark hair showed in the light, with a dabble of dark blood on his cheek.

‘He is breathing well,’ said the sub-infirmarer. ‘No! Don’t move him!’ he repeated sharply to the man at his right. ‘I am not knowing how long he has been like this, but the blood is sticky on his head rather than wet.’ He indicated a patch on his own long skull, behind the left ear.

‘I found him like that,’ said another voice. Raitts, standing by the wall, sulky and resentful, with his hands bound by what looked like his own belt. ‘He was lying there and I heard him snoring, and came to see if it was some gangrel body seeking alms, and it was him. I never struck him, no matter what you say,’ he added to the man at his side. One of the second-year novices, Gil thought. Tam moved quietly from behind Gil and took up a stance at Raitts’s other side.

‘What is going on?’ asked Prior Boyd, in more authoritative tones. Several people began to answer him, but he held up one hand, pale in the flickering light, and pointed to the novice. ‘You. David Brown, is it? I canny see you in this light.’

‘No, Faither, it’s Robert Aikman.’ The young man ducked his head in a bow. ‘Archie and me was watching wi Brother Euan, and he sent us to find you, and as I cam through the slype I heard a noise, and came to see what was up, and here was our librarian, and Faither Henry on the ground. So I shouted, and he ran, and Archie and me caught him, and Archie fetched Brother Euan-’

‘Aye, and I should be sitting with Faither James,’ said Brother Euan, ‘to let these laddies be getting some sleep. There is too much the now for one Infirmarer, Faither, we will need to be choosing another to learn beside me.’ He looked down at Father Henry, his hands gentle on the man’s inert shoulder, at odds with the irritation in his voice.

‘I found him like that,’ said Raitts again. ‘I cam by here and there he was, and then these two come shouting at me and a course I ran, who wouldny, but I never struck him down.’

‘Can he be moved?’ the Prior asked Brother Euan.

‘I’ve sent Archie to fetch a hurdle,’ said the sub-infirmarer obliquely. ‘I’d as soon carry him steady on that as lift him wi his head falling all about. We could do wi a couple folk to be going ahead, make up the other bed, fetch hot stones from the kitchen. And you need to see Faither James, Faither,’ he added significantly.

‘Is this where he was lying when you found him?’ Gil asked Raitts.

‘He was closer to the wall,’ said Raitts. ‘I rolled him over to see who it was and why he was snoring like that. He’s stopped the snoring,’ he added unnecessarily. ‘He stopped when I moved him.’

‘Good,’ said Brother Euan.

‘How long ago was this?’ Gil asked. Raitts shrugged.

‘The half o an hour? No as much as an hour. I cam by here …’ He checked, and shuddered, ‘I cam by here to go into the kirk for that I heard voices in the guest yard, and there was women there. At this hour o the night! What’s women doing here the now? It’s no right!’

‘The woman who was in the yard has left,’ said Gil soothingly. ‘How come you were about? Where were you when you heard her?’

‘More to the point, why was Faither Henry here?’ said the Prior. ‘Who has struck him down, and why? This community is cursed, I begin to believe it.’ He crossed himself.

Brother Archie arrived with a wicker hurdle. Gil, looking around him, wondered if the whole community was now awake and here in the cloister. There seemed to be at least ten people milling about, though it was hard to count in the darkness. Brother Euan took over, issuing orders, getting his patient moved carefully onto the hurdle, directing four men to take the corners. The Prior firmly ordered everyone else back to bed, reminding them of the imposed silence, and followed as the small group with its burden moved off towards the door.

From his post Tam said, ‘An accident, maister? Or was he struck?’

‘I’m no certain.’ Gil moved towards the wall, where Raitts and his captor still stood, apparently uncertain of what to do. ‘Bring that light, would you? About here, you said he was lying?’ he said to Raitts, who looked up and nodded numbly.

‘Maybe a bit along. I canny mind.’

Faced with this level of precision, Gil resorted to inspecting the wall over a length of two or three ells, holding the light close and peering at the warm-coloured stone. He was rewarded; not far from where White had lain he found a dark sticky patch about shoulder height, with dark hairs caught in it. He touched it and sniffed his fingers.

‘Blood,’ he said aloud.

‘What’s that?’ said Raitts. And then, as if he could hold the question back no longer, ‘Maister, is she really gone?’

‘I saw her leave,’ said Gil.

‘What brought her here?’ he demanded fretfully. ‘How did she come here, out o all places?’

‘She’s seeking her man,’ Gil said. ‘Some friend thought she saw him here in Perth.’

‘Oh.’ The tone was dismayed. Raitts subsided, staring into the dark garden, or perhaps into some hell of his own. Brother Robert edged away a little.

‘You think he fell, then?’ said Tam.

‘I do.’ Gil straightened up and looked about him. ‘Though it’s hard to see what he might ha tripped over. And he hit the back o his head.’

‘These stones is slippy when they’re wet. Maybe he just couped ower.’

‘It’s stopped raining,’ Gil observed.

Robert Aikman quietly leaned forward, unbound Raitts’s wrists and held the belt out to him. The librarian looked down at his freed hands, then picked up the nearest lantern, and made for the doorway into the church, ignoring the belt. The novice watched him go, then looked helplessly at Gil.

‘Maybe you should go back to the infirmary,’ Gil suggested.

Left alone with Tam, he lifted the remaining lantern, looking about him.

‘It makes no sense,’ he said. ‘What was White doing here at this hour, when they should all have been abed? What was Raitts doing? And why should White fall over and strike his head, here where the flagstones are level and dry?’

‘That one they were holding for it,’ said Tam, ‘said he cam past here acos he heard women in the courtyard.’ He chuckled briefly. ‘You could hear that woman at Glasgow, I’d wager. As if he was planning to hide in the kirk,’ he elaborated.

‘Aye, it’s possible, though why he was abroad in the night at all-’

‘Maister Cunningham!’ Hurrying feet, a light at the doorway. A Dominican, his lantern picking the white sleeves and hem of his habit out of the night. ‘Maister Cunningham? Faither Prior sends for you, as soon as may be.’

‘What is it?’ Gil made for the door, Tam following hastily.

‘It’s Faither Henry. He’s — his habit’s a ower blood. He’s been stabbed!’

‘He’s living,’ said Brother Euan in his quiet voice, ‘and will live yet, by God’s grace. But aye, he’s been stabbed.’

‘Where?’ Gil demanded, keeping his voice down in turn. ‘Can I see the wound?’

‘Here.’ Brother Euan turned to the bed where the second patient lay, his head and shoulders on a backboard, a heap of bloody linen and wool discarded by his feet, one of the infirmary assistants just removing a basin of reddened water. Across the chamber, Prior Boyd had assumed his stole and was murmuring softly over Father James, whose face had changed in a subtle way Gil had seen before. ‘Our Lady has had our brother in her care, truly,’ the sub-infirmarer went on, drawing away the blankets over Henry White. ‘See, no great injury. I am thinking it has missed anything vital, and we found it afore he was bleeding to death.’

There was a long gash skidding down the left side of the man’s ribcage, oozing blood again after having been washed. There was blood still caked in the mat of black hair over the belly. Despite his words, the injury looked extensive, and Gil said as much.

‘Aye, but none so deep,’ said Brother Euan. He reached for a roll of bandage. ‘The knife has caught the ribs, I would say, and slid off. It goes only into the flesh here, not so deep as the vitals.’ He scooped something green from a tub onto a piece of linen and slapped it on the wound. ‘And St Dominic be praised I had Billy make up some of this the day. Will you take an end o that backboard, maister, till I get him wound up?’

Gil obediently helped the assistant to support White’s head and shoulders off the bed, so that Brother Euan could roll the bandage round the man’s muscular ribcage, strapping the wound securely. He fastened the end with a pin, nodded to them to lower the board, and turned his attention to the head injury, snipping away the hair round the contusion with a small pair of shears. His assistant quietly moved the linen-wrapped hot stone nearer to White’s other side and pulled the blankets up about the broad shoulders.

‘I’d thought he simply fell,’ said Gil, ‘cracked his head on the wall — in fact, I found where he struck — but this is another matter.’

Brother Euan threw him a look, but said simply, ‘Aye.’

‘It’s hardly an expert thrust,’ Gil went on, thinking aloud. ‘I suppose it could have been some kind o argument, then an unexpected blow, he went backwards and struck his head, the other fellow ran off …’

‘Or no.’ Brother Euan was smearing more green ointment on the head wound.

‘What, you reckon …’ Gil began. Their eyes met, then the sub-infirmarer looked down at his work.

‘Why was he abroad in the night?’

‘Why was Father Henry abroad in the night?’ Gil countered. ‘And now everyone’s been ordered back to bed, which hardly helps me find who was abroad and who wasny.’

‘Has he said nothing?’ asked Alys.

‘He’s still in a great swound from the blow to the head,’ said Gil. ‘Brother Euan felt he was best left like that meantime. Until he rouses and can tell us, if he will tell us, we’ve no idea who is to blame.’

‘And a knife,’ she said. ‘So the kitchen knife is not down the well.’

‘It looks like it,’ Gil agreed. ‘The Prior was determined we should not search for it just now, in the dark. It can wait until the morning, he says.’

‘What will you do?’ She was frowning. ‘Will Father Prior let you question them all now? He has really been little help so far, has he?’

‘More of a hindrance,’ said Gil drily, ‘though I hope it isn’t deliberate. When he finished ministering to Father James he heard what Brother Euan and I had to say, and agreed to call an early Chapter meeting after Terce and permit me to speak to it. Whether I’ll be able to question any alone, without him present too, we’ll see in the morning. Somehow I doubt it.’ He stretched his hands and feet to the dying fire. The black cat, taking exception to this, rose and stalked out of the room, tail flicking. Socrates watched it go, then lay flat again. ‘I suspect he’ll have to announce Father James’s death to them, he doesn’t look long for this world, which won’t help.’

‘What an evening,’ Alys said. ‘Indeed, what a day it has been. Gil, that woman. I saw her earlier, I think she is staying at the Greyfriars.’

‘I saw her earlier too,’ Gil said. ‘She expected the man of law Pullar to have found her husband. I wonder why she wants him back? Five years’ desertion is a long time.’

‘She seems like a woman to hold onto her possessions,’ Alys said. ‘A pity she and Mistress Rattray’s man could not make a match of it, they’d be better suited.’

‘The symmetry would be pleasing,’ he conceded.

She ignored this, biting the back of a finger thoughtfully. ‘Gil, this is very strange about Father Henry. Why was he talking to someone there, and at that hour? What was he talking about that would end in such an argument? There seem to have been a great number of the friars about, when they should all have been abed. What raised the alarm, I wonder?’

‘They may have been roused by Mistress Trabboch’s visit,’ Gil speculated. ‘She made enough noise, after all.’

‘Yes,’ said Alys inattentively. ‘I wonder, could he have been out about the place for the same reason as the other night?’

‘Whatever that is,’ said Gil.

‘You said he had heard something outside,’ Alys recalled, ‘and rose to see what it was. You also said he sleeps at the far end of the dorter.’

‘So Raitts said,’ agreed Gil.

‘His hearing must be good. Nobody else heard what he heard? He roused nobody to go with him?’

‘Secrecy,’ said Gil. ‘Whether he genuinely heard something, or simply went out to pursue something, someone, he suspected, he won’t tell us.’

She nodded. ‘It seems very like it. I suppose tonight he might have heard Mistress Trabboch and come out to see what was afoot, but it could equally well be the same reason, as I said.’

‘It hardly seems like the man to indulge simple curiosity,’ Gil said. ‘And we won’t know the answers till he recovers enough to tell us, if he does.’ He got to his feet. ‘Time we were abed and all, sweetheart. I’m past thinking clearly.’

‘In the library?’ Gil repeated in astonishment. ‘Why was I not woken?’

‘Aye,’ said Brother Dickon flatly. Across the table Alys was looking dismayed. ‘I’d ha woken you mysel, my son, but Faither Prior was determined I wouldny, said you’d hear all in the morning.’

‘And nobody heard anything?’ said Alys. ‘Noticed anything? When did it happen?’

Dickon shook his grizzled head.

‘He’s likely been lying there while all the tooraw about Faither Henry was going on. And how Brother Archie never thought to fetch me to that, I canny tell,’ he added.

Jennet set her spoon down in her porridge bowl and said, ‘Surely there’s a curse on this place. We ought to be getting hame, maister, it’s no a good idea to wait about here. We’ll all be murdered in our beds afore we go.’

‘I hope not, lass,’ said Brother Dickon.

‘Tell me again,’ said Gil. ‘Wilson was missed when?’

‘At Matins. He was out o his place, and after the Office Faither Prior sent to the infirmary to see if he was there, and when he wasny he set up a search. We were roused to help, and it was Archie and me found him in the library. Which by rights should ha been locked, save that our librarian says he lost the key a month ago.’

‘And he’d been stabbed,’ said Gil. ‘You were right, sweetheart,’ he said to Alys, ‘the knife is clearly not down the infirmary well.’

‘But how,’ said Alys in puzzlement, ‘how did he come to be there? Why would anyone meet another, alone in the dark, when there has been one death already? It makes no sense.’

‘He’s — he was a brawny fellow,’ said Gil. ‘It must ha been someone he trusted, to get close enough wi that knife. Assuming it’s the same knife.’

‘Aye,’ said Brother Dickon. ‘He’ll ha been stripped and washed by now, you’ll can get a look at the wound by daylight. But it’s no so like there’d be two knives at liberty about the house, it’s like to be the same one. And where was it hid when we searched the place last? I looked everywhere, desks and dorters and ahint the books in the library.’

‘You’ll have to show me where he lay,’ said Gil. ‘And I’ll need to see the body afore Chapter. Let me get my boots on.’

There was a lay servant on his knees with a bucket and scrubbing brush just inside the door of the library. Brother Dickon used an unsuitable expression under his breath, and hurried forward.

‘Gie’s a moment, Attie, lad,’ he said. ‘Maister Cunningham needs a look at the marks.’

‘It’s no lifting,’ said Attie, sitting back on his heels. ‘You can see it clear.’ He pointed. ‘Is this where he was stabbed, then, maister?’

‘It’s where he died, certain,’ said Dickon.

‘How was he lying?’ Gil asked. Dickon looked about him.

‘On his back, wi one arm out. You’ll see him, he’s set like that. As if he’d gone ower backwards, knocked that desk out the way, gone down off it.’

Gil studied the scene.

‘And the bloodstain? Under him when he was lifted?’

‘Aye, it must ha soaked into his cloak and then into the wood.’

‘So he’d ha been standing here,’ Gil moved into position, ‘just within the door at any road, and was stabbed — where?’

Dickon put out a broad hand, the fingers stiffened, and prodded Gil in the breastbone.

‘Got him in the heart this time. I reckon he didny die immediate — there was blood at his mouth and plenty soaked into his clothes, but it would ha been quick.’ He pulled a face. ‘We’ll need to move the furniture; naeb’dy’s going to want to stand here to study.’

‘Right,’ said Gil, and stepped back. ‘I want a look at him now, and then I suppose it’s Chapter. You can carry on,’ he said to Attie, who had been listening avidly.

The murdered man was laid out in the little house between Pollock’s and the makeshift infirmary, candles burning at his head and feet and two of his brothers in religion kneeling beside him with their beads. Gil, wondering briefly what had happened to the remains of Leonard Pollock, drew back the linen sheet to uncover Thomas Wilson, washed and stretched on a board in the attitude in which he had died, a narrow wound over his breastbone. His eyes were open, an expression of astonishment on his face, as if he felt so small a gash in his flesh should not have been wide enough for his life to escape by.

Hunting about, Gil found several straw mattresses rolled in a corner of the inner chamber. Drawing out a length of straw he inserted it carefully into the wound, and found it nearly a palm’s-breadth deep.

‘Likely nicked the heart, or one o the big vessels next it,’ Brother Dickon said. ‘He’d no last long once it happened, even if there had been help at hand.’

‘This is an expert blow,’ said Gil. ‘Someone kent what he was doing.’

‘I thought that,’ said Dickon. ‘Same’s Andrew Rattray, though if you’ve killt a pig or two you can cut a throat.’

‘No other marks on him?’ Gil was feeling the skull, checking the arms and hands. ‘Help me roll him till I see his back.’

‘No marks that Archie mentioned,’ said Brother Dickon, obliging. ‘He said, it looked as if he’d been taken by surprise.’

‘Like Faither Henry,’ said Gil, setting the body back as he had first seen it. ‘And the boy Rattray was sound asleep, I’d ha said. It’s been nobody he saw as an enemy.’

‘Aye,’ said Dickon. ‘It’s an internal matter, right enough.’ He drew the linen over Wilson’s surprised face and turned to leave the chamber. ‘Doesny seem right, leaving him staring like that, but we’ll no get his een closed till he softens.’

‘So he was well stiffened when he was found,’ Gil stated.

‘Oh, aye. The most o him was set solid, though his legs was still limber. He wasny that cold, either.’

‘Is that so?’ said Gil.

When they emerged from the slype, such members of the community as were not engaged in praying over the dead or caring for the injured could be seen filing quietly into the Chapter House on the far side of the cloister. Following them, Gil found the chamber already nearly full, but young Brother Martin was lying in wait, bowed politely and led him in silence to a stool near the great chair which awaited Prior Boyd.

He sat quietly, watching the friars gathering in their silence under the vaulted roof, observing how companionship and sympathy of thought could be expressed without word or gesture simply by the angle of head or shoulders, the turn of the neck. The brothers took their seats on the wall-bench, the novices stood in one corner near the door, the outdoor lay brothers in the other. The librarian sat isolated in the midst of the crowd, every face turned away from him. The first-year novices might as well have been leashed together like hunting dogs, looking about them but moving as a tight group.

The great door swung open again, the subprior entered, all rose and David Boyd paced in, the length of the chamber, and nodded to Gil. Turning to face his flock, he raised a hand and pronounced, ‘In nomine Domini.’

All responded with Amen, and they sat down with a ru? e and hush of heavy woollen fabric, a shuffle of booted feet. The Prior held out a hand and the subprior set a book into it; opening it at the marker Boyd said in Scots, ‘I’ll no read from the next chapter following yesterday’s reading. This is more apposite to our case.’

Gil, seated beside him, could see the round Latin script and the painted decorations on the page, simple curlicues and the occasional leaf, but found he was listening to a clear, confident Scots version.

‘Hae nane disputes, but if ony should arise, bring them to ane speedy end, lest anger grow into hatred, the mote into the beam, and your saul into a murderer’s. For he that hates his brother is ane cut-throat, ane slayer.’ The Prior paused to clear his throat. ‘If ye hae injured another …’ he continued.

The excerpt from Augustine’s Rule was lengthy. Gil, watching the faces as the rich Scots washed over them, could not feel it was reaching its target. Raitts sat solitary, shivering from time to time; the outdoor men with Brother Dickon in their midst stood at grim attention near the door; the novices in another group all seemed to be hanging attentively on the Prior’s words. Other faces were serious, anxious, dismayed; a few men were watching Gil, glancing away as he looked at them.

The Prior, having reached the end of his chapter, offered a prayer for guidance and protection in troubled times, sat back and considered his audience.

‘Likely you’ll all ken by now,’ he said, ‘that disaster has visited us again. Our brother Thomas Wilson was found this morning, cruelly done to death in the library. Afore that, our brother Henry White was stabbed. One o our number has sinned grievously against the whole community. We’ll ha to call in the Sheriff, but afore that Maister Cunningham, that has practice in sic matters, will help us order our thochts and maybe find the sinner in our own way, rather than give any brother ower to the Sheriff’s questioning. If Maister Cunningham asks a question and any o ye has an answer, he’s to raise his hand, and I’ll call on him to speak. Understood?’

Not the introduction I’d have wished, Gil thought, and leaned forward.

‘Let him not imagine that his sin will pass unnoticed,’ he quoted, using the original Latin. ‘He will surely be seen, and by those he thinks not of.’

A small stir of surprise went round the chamber: laymen did not usually have knowledge of the Rule. No need to mention that he had just read that sentence in the copy held by the Prior. Gil glanced from face to face and said carefully, ‘Right now, we canny tell just what happened. But each of you kens some wee bit of the picture, and if we put them all thegither we can learn more, and maybe enough, as Faither Prior has said, to save one o the community from torture.’ He paused, but nobody spoke. Well, they were still under an order of silence. ‘Think back to the end of Compline last night. It’s my understanding that you go from Compline straight to your beds, is that correct?’

‘It is,’ said David Boyd beside him.

‘At that point, was anyone out o his place? Does anyone recall noticing a gap where one o the brethren should ha been?’

There was a certain amount of shuffling, of looking from side to side, of shaking of heads. One of the lay brothers raised a hand.

‘Brother Archie,’ said the Prior.

‘Me and Brother George was helping in the infirmary,’ said Brother Archie diffidently. In the other corner of the chamber Brother George nodded agreement.

‘So you wereny in your bed, but you were in your place,’ said Gil. ‘Anyone else?’ Nobody else stirred, so he went on, ‘The next thing to happen, I think, was someone knocking at the gates demanding to see Faither Prior. Who was porter last night?’

Another of the lay brothers raised his hand.

‘Brother Jamesie,’ said the Prior.

‘It was me,’ said Brother Jamesie, ‘and what I did was, I let her into the yard wi her folk, seeing she wouldny take No for an answer and kept shouting at me, and I went through the slype and up the dorter to wake Faither, and he said he’d come out to the guest hall and to ask Maister Cunningham if he’d be present, and when I’d done that I went back to the lay dorter to wait in the warm till she’d to be let out the place.’

‘And she left in due time?’ said Gil.

‘Aye, she did, and a face like a skelped arse on her and all. I’m right sorry for her servants, so I am.’

‘Jamesie,’ said the Prior in reproof. Brother Jamesie bowed and muttered something apologetic.

‘While Mistress Trabboch was in the guest hall,’ Gil continued, ‘I think Brother Archie and Brother Robert Aikman,’ the two looked up from the midst of their respective groups, ‘crossed the guest-hall yard from the new infirmary and came through the slype into the cloister here. Were Mistress Trabboch’s horses still in the yard?’

‘Aye, they were,’ contributed Archie, ‘for one o them let fly a kick at me. We went through the slype, see, intending to go and waken Faither, since we didny ken he was a’ready awake, and just by the library door we cam upon our librarian bending ower Faither Henry-’

‘We didny ken it was Faither Henry,’ said Aikman. ‘He was bent ower something on the ground, and when he seen us he ran, so I ran after him and I brought him down, and Archie said, here was Faither Henry and he was deid, and Brother Sandy was shouting at us and we was shouting back, which brought Andrew Jackson and Patey Simpson both out the church where they were praying for Andrew Rattray, and they joined in and that fetched a good few folk out the dorter, and-’

‘Stop there,’ Gil said. ‘Now, we ken Henry White isny dead. When did he rise from his bed? Does anyone mind seeing him? Did he go to bed after Compline, or did he wait up?’

There was an expectant hush, with heads turning to see if anyone had any knowledge.

After a few moments Raitts straightened up, looked about him, and said dully, ‘I saw him go past my cell.’

‘When was that?’ Gil asked, taking this in.

‘Once all was asleep?’ said Raitts vaguely. ‘I canny mind. I was — I was thinking.’

One or two of the friars stirred restlessly, as if they would have made an immediate accusation.

Gil said, ‘When did you leave the dorter?’

‘Maybe an hour after Henry?’ said Raitts after another pause. ‘Maybe longer, I canny mind. Thomas went down and all,’ he added.

‘Afore or after Henry White?’ Gil asked.

‘Afore,’ said Raitts on reflection.

‘Was this afore or after Jamesie came to wake your Prior?’

‘Oh, long afore it,’ said Raitts, suddenly quite clear about something. ‘And when I heard Jamesie name Agnes Trabboch I thought a bit longer and then I went down and all.’ He caught himself up, looked about in alarm, and went on hastily, ‘To hide, you ken, for that there shouldny be women in the place. Two dwelling in the guest hall’s bad enough, at least those two’s civil and shamefast,’ I must repeat that to Alys, Gil thought, ‘but more o them demanding to come in at sic an hour o the night, it’s no right at all. I thought I would hide in the library, but I fell ower something by the door, and I was just seeing what it was when these two cam out the slype and shouted at me. So I ran, in case it was that woman, and there was no need for knocking me down,’ he ended with resentment.

Gil looked at the faces turned towards him.

‘Can any confirm that?’ he asked. ‘Did any hear White or Wilson leave the dorter?’

Further round the ring of seated brethren a cautious hand rose.

‘Brother Bernard,’ said the Prior.

‘Thomas is next me,’ said Brother Bernard, a round-faced man with a pair of wire-framed spectacles tied onto his face with a black ribbon. ‘I thought I heard him moving about, early on, no so long after Compline. I took it he’d the bellyache again, same as he complained o the other night. I never heard him come back up, but-’ His face changed as he recalled why, and he crossed himself.

‘Anyone else?’ said Gil. A few heads were shaken. ‘Well, it’s something. Where were we? Arguing over Henry White in the cloister out there,’ he recalled. ‘What happened next?’

‘We bound Brother Sandy,’ said Robert Aikman diffidently, ‘and Archie went for Brother Euan to see to Faither Henry, for we could see he’d hurt his head, and folk brought lights, and then Archie fetched Faither Prior and yoursel, maister.’

Gil nodded.

‘That’s clear enough. While you were all arguing over White, did anyone try the library door? Or see anyone else try the library door?’

‘I’d ha had plenty to say if they did,’ said Raitts angrily. ‘There’s nobody allowed in there if I’m no there.’

Looking at the man, Gil thought he was quite unaware of what he had just said. He glanced about the room; one or two expressions suggested their wearers had had the same thought, but nobody seemed inclined to admit to trying the door.

‘What happened then?’ he asked. ‘Mind me.’

‘Faither sent us to bed,’ said someone, without putting his hand up.

‘Did all go there?’ Gil pursued. ‘Two went to pray over Andrew Rattray, I’d ha thought.’ Two hands were raised, two heads nodded. ‘There were several in the infirmary, as I recall.’ Another three hands went up. ‘Anyone else?’ After a moment he looked directly at Raitts. ‘I think you went into the kirk. How long were you there?’

‘I stayed there till Matins,’ said the librarian sullenly. ‘They two can tell you that.’

One of the two bedesmen nodded. The other looked blank. Making a mental note to question them privately, Gil went on, ‘Those o you that were moving about at that time, did any o you notice anything or anyone out o place? Anything at all, even if there was a good explanation for it,’ he added. There was a silence. Finally he drew out his tablets and continued, ‘I’ll not keep the meeting by questioning each o you the now, but I’d like a list o all those that were about at that time, so I can get you later.’

‘Raise your hands,’ said Boyd, ‘any that were out their beds between Compline and Matins.’ He looked about the chamber, and began dictating the names to Gil. ‘That’s about right,’ he added when he had finished. ‘I canny recall that I saw any others at that hour.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Gil. ‘And one final question afore we move on to Matins. Did any set eyes on Thomas Wilson atween Compline and the time you were all sent back to bed?’

There was a long silence, into which someone muttered, ‘One o us must ha done.’

‘And I could name him,’ said another voice.

‘Who said that?’ Gil demanded. Perhaps wisely, the speaker did not identify himself. After a moment Gil went on, ‘Now, when you rose for Matins, was all as usual apart from the absence o Wilson and White?’

‘I thought so,’ said the Prior beside him. ‘Did any notice aught amiss?’

Heads were shaken, there were murmurs of No and No, till we were in our places.

‘Everyone else was present that should ha been?’

‘Apart from those occupied in the infirmary,’ qualified the Prior, ‘I saw no gaps in the stalls other than Henry’s and Thomas’s. We sought Thomas immediately the Office was over, and he was found as you have seen him, I think.’

Well, not quite as I saw him, Gil thought. ‘Who found him?’ he asked. There was a pause, and several heads turned, looking at one place on the bench.

‘Archie and me,’ said Brother Dickon from his corner. ‘Brother Sandy said we should search there.’

‘I did,’ admitted Raitts reluctantly, under the stares of his brethren. ‘I thought maybe he’d sneaked in there wi’out permission, and there he was, blood all ower the floor, the reading-desk couped ower. Archie and Dickon were there ahead of me,’ he added.

‘I’m told the library wasny locked.’

‘I lost the key,’ said Raitts defensively. ‘I canny tell where it went. I’ve no had it these three weeks or more. Since afore Yule.’

‘Is that generally kent in the house?’

Murmurs of agreement suggested that it was.

‘And what did you do when you found Wilson?’

‘He yelled out,’ said Jamesie. ‘And they all cam running.’

‘Who decided he was dead?’

‘It was obvious,’ said another brother. ‘Lying staring like that, never blinking in the light. I tried his pulse,’ he demonstrated at his own throat, ‘but you could tell, any road.’

‘What state was he in?’ Gil asked.

‘Well, he was dead,’ offered the friar. ‘No a very good state.’

‘I mean,’ said Gil patiently, ‘had he begun to stiffen? Was he cold, or still warm? When you found the blood, was it still wet?’

‘He was stiff as a board,’ said another man.

‘No, his legs was still limber,’ said someone else, ‘for they were a ower the place when we put him on the hurdle.’

‘His arms was set, just the same. And he was cold.’

‘No that cold. No as cold’s the floor, say. No very warm, mind.’

‘So he’d been dead a few hours,’ said Gil.

‘Aye,’ said someone.

‘Aye,’ said Prior Boyd. ‘Slain in secret by one o his brothers. One o us here in this Chapter House. This is no dwelling together in unity. This is no honouring God whose temple each o us is. This is foul murder, and though we may love the sinner we must hate the sin. I call upon the man who murdered Thomas Wilson to confess now, afore us all.’

There was a silence, which grew and grew. One or two heads turned, to see if any looked like coming forward; a few sat back, to emphasise that they would not.

After what seemed an eternity, the Prior said in weighty tones, ‘Well, if you will not confess, it seems I must name you mysel. Alexander Raitts, I accuse you o-’

‘No!’ Raitts sprang to his feet. ‘No, you canny, it wasny me!’

‘-enticing Thomas Wilson secretly away from his proper place into the library o this house-’

‘No, I never, I canny, I’ve no knife nor any weapon!’

‘-and there stabbing him to death. And I think it likely you slew Andrew Rattray and all.’

‘No!’ shouted Raitts. ‘I did no sic a thing. I’m innocent!’

The men nearest him hastened to seize his arms. He struggled, and more friars joined him, with a couple of the lay brothers. The first-year novices were staring, the second-year men looked appalled. Gil himself was deeply dismayed: this was not the outcome he had hoped for.

‘Take him out and confine him,’ said the Prior. ‘There must be a storeroom to the purpose.’ He turned to Gil. ‘Maister Cunningham, Gregory says, if scandal arise from truth, the scandal should be borne rather than the truth be set aside. You’ve made the truth right clear to us, and I thank you for it, though the outcome grieves me sair.’