The Merchant's Mark

Chapter Fourteen

‘This curst litter is full of boulders,’ complained Maistre Pierre.

‘We’re nearly at Glasgow now,’ said Gil, hiding a grin. ‘You’ll be home in an hour or two, and then you can lie in your own bed.’

He looked over his shoulder at the small cavalcade of their baggage and the escort Sinclair had provided. It had taken them two days to travel from Roslin, and Maistre Pierre had grumbled most of the way, about the horse he was expected to ride, about the litter which he did not need, about not having found a barber in Roslin, or about any other subject which came to mind. Clearly, the ten or twelve days he had spent being nursed by Mistress Robison had done little for his temper.

‘Why should I wish to lie in any bed?’

‘I’ve sent Luke on ahead,’ Gil said, ignoring this, ‘to warn the two households. I thought my uncle and Kate should know we’re near home, as well as Alys.’

‘And what if they don’t wish to know?’

‘And I need to get a word with Augie,’ Gil added. ‘He was wanting to speak to me the day I left, but Robert Blacader was back in Glasgow and sent for me, and there was no time.’

‘Tell me again what his lordship said.’

‘I’m attached to his retinue,’ said Gil. ‘It’s a formal appointment, with the title of Quaestor, and a benefice attached.’ He grinned. ‘Somewhere in Argyll. Not one of the fat ones, of course, no manse in the Chanonry or seat in Chapter, but still it’s a benefice, with enough to pay a vicar and still have a bit income.’

‘And the duties of this appointment?’

‘I’ve to do more or less what we’ve been doing. Look into any case of secret murder within the diocese, or maybe the entire Archdiocese, I wasn’t quite sure which he meant. Go where his lordship sends me, I suppose. Report to him, find justice for the dead.’

‘A wide remit,’ said Maistre Pierre doubtfully. ‘And when you are not so employed?’

Gil shrugged, and steered his horse round a pothole in the road. ‘I’ll have to wait and see if Blacader wants me at his side or not. If not, then I can live in Glasgow and set up as a notary, fetch in a little more money.’

‘So we may set a date for your marriage.’

‘Yes,’ said Gil with satisfaction. I long for the wedding, he thought. The lute tune sprang into his head, and with it the image of the three lutenists in Stirling bent together over their instruments, passing not that melody but its companion from one to another, runs and trills and doubling passages thickening the texture, while McIan sat in his great chair clasping his harp and listening intently. All will be well, he had said, and it was.

‘Does Alys know?’

‘I took the time to go by the house and tell her before I left Glasgow. When I came away she was considering the dry stores. She seemed to feel there were not enough almonds in Glasgow for her purpose.’

‘More than likely. I suppose she will want a second fine gown to be married in,’ said her father, with spurious resignation. ‘Black brocade is likely too sombre.’

They went on in silence for a while, past Garrowhill and Springboig. Maistre Pierre lay back among the cushions which supported him, staring at the swaying roof of the litter. The escort started an argument about a battle a few of them had been in, which someone tried to settle by singing a ballad in High Dutch. Gil thought of Rob, and then of Johan.

‘Will you stay in Scotland now?’ he asked.

Maistre Pierre turned his head to meet his eyes. ‘Why ever not?’

‘I wondered,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘if your task was now over.’

The mason considered him for a short time, then grinned without humour.

‘Well, I liked you for Alys because your mind is at least as good as hers, so I should not be surprised. No, my task is not over, Gilbert. That was only a part of it.’

‘So you remain in Scotland.’

‘I do.’

‘Good,’ said Gil lightly.

‘What brought it to your notice? I suppose I have been clumsy.’

‘I’ve been in the church at Brinay. While I was in Paris I had a friend came from near there.’

‘Now that I would never have expected. I have not, as you may have guessed.’

‘I wondered,’ said Gil. ‘My friend took me down to his father’s home for a week’s hunting one spring, and we went over to look at the church.’

‘Ah,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘It’s a tiny building, with a truly astonishing set of wall-paintings,’ Gil went on, ‘well worth the ride over there, but not a pillar to its name.’

‘So naturally you began to pay attention to such remarks.’

‘The more so as de Brinay himself didn’t correct you.’

The litter swayed on. Behind them, the escort had moved on to drinking songs. Their repertoire seemed to be considerable.

‘I am able to tell you very little,’ said Maistre Pierre at length. ‘The facts are not mine to reveal.’

‘That doesn’t concern me,’ said Gil. ‘You wouldn’t reveal the inmost secrets of the mason’s craft either.’ They looked at each other again. A small smile flickered in the depths of the mason’s untrimmed beard, the first time Gil had ever seen that trait of Alys’s in him. ‘No, what I would like is an assurance that you do not act to the detriment of my country.’

The litter lurched as one of the horses put its foot in a rut. Its passenger exclaimed sharply. Gil put a quick hand to the roof of the structure, but the animal recovered, and the litter swayed on.

‘At present,’ said Maistre Pierre after a little, ‘I am not acting, nor am I asked to act, to the detriment or danger of Scotland. France is an ally of Scotland,’ he pointed out.

‘But you aren’t acting for France,’ said Gil.

‘I am not acting against your country, Gilbert. I will swear it on anything you choose.’

‘Your word will do me.’ Gil studied his friend a moment longer, then reached down, and they shook hands. ‘What does it do to Alys’s status?’

‘Nothing. I was lawfully wedded to her mother, Christ assoil her, and can you doubt that she is my daughter?’

‘No,’ admitted Gil, and grinned again, thinking of the strong resemblance between the two. ‘Not that it would trouble me,’ he added, ‘but there are legal considerations.’ He looked about him. ‘Have we passed Carntyne already? We must be less than two miles from home.’

Kate Cunningham, sitting in the arbour in her uncle’s garden where it seemed to her it had all begun, stared out over the lower town and thought bleakly of her future.

There was really, she thought, very little about it that was positive. Less than three weeks since, on the morning after her failed petition to St Mungo, Alys had said to her, What has changed? and she had said, All my hopes are away. In taking brief charge of Augie Morison’s house and children, she had found first distraction and then, like green shoots in the snow, a new hope. But the buds, it seemed, were frost-bitten and would not flower. What a literary metaphor, she thought bitterly. Worthy of Augie Morison himself. Better with Chaucer: Love hath my name ystrike out of his sclat.

The last good moment she could think of had been when the King’s procession paused outside Morison’s Yard, on its way out of Glasgow on the Sunday morning, the day after Augie — after Maister Morison had been freed. Alerted by a servant in blue velvet, the entire household had been out at the gate, herself and Alys on either side of Morison, the men around them, Nan and Babb with the little girls at the back of the group. The King, glowing in blue satin and black velvet, his chestnut hair combed down over his shoulders, a gold chain with a sapphire jewel gleaming on his chest, had halted his dappled horse as everyone round Kate bent the knee.

‘Maister Morison,’ he had said. ‘I hope you found all in order when you got home.’

‘Y-yes, sir,’ managed Morison, straightening up, and he stepped forward in response to the King’s beckoning hand.

‘You lie, maister, you lie,’ said James in great good humour. ‘You mind, I’ve had a game of caich with Maister Cunningham this morning. I’ve heard about last night’s inbreak, just as you got to your own gates. Two of my lord St Johns’ men,’ he said, audible to all the neighbours, ‘taken in the act of housebreaking by the women of the household. I’ve thanked Maister Cunningham already, and I thank you now, maister, for your help in righting more than one great wrong these last few days.’

Morison bowed and stammered inarticulately. James drew the gold chain with its sapphire over his head and leaned gracefully down from the saddle. He must have practised that, thought Kate, watching.

‘A small token,’ said the King, setting the chain about Morison’s neck. As Augie, extinguished with amazement, backed away, James looked beyond him and called Kate and Alys forward.

Kate could hardly remember what he had said first, except for a teasing remark about Alys’s wisdom which had sent the younger girl’s chin up. There had been an exchange of sorts, and then the King had said seriously, ‘Scotland needs folk wi courage and a love of justice, ladies, and if the women of Scotland have such attributes as well as her men, we’ll breed sturdier sons to defend this realm. I’m proud to have such as you among my subjects.’

Rhetoric, thought Kate, is a royal study.

‘Now, I hope you’ll divide this among the folk of the household,’ he tossed a fat purse to Morison, who caught it at the last moment as his men grinned hopefully, ‘and here’s another wee token for the two of you ladies and all.’

Then there had been a heavy purse of red velvet in her hands, she had bowed her head, Alys was curtsying to the ground with another such purse clasped in the crook of her arm. The King’s voice above her head bade them Good day, his horse wheeled and set off down the High Street, and the procession clattered after it.

There was a hundred merks in the red velvet purse. Apart from the heap of coin which Morison and Maister Mason had counted on the majolica plate across the grass here, it was more money than Kate had seen together since her father’s death. If she had ever had any prospects of marriage, it would make a tocher, she thought. Or maybe she could buy a bit of land with it, rent it out, get some income that way. What point was there? she thought wearily.

‘Are you ready, my doo?’ said Babb now at her elbow.

‘Ready?’

‘We’re to go down the hill. Maister Mason cam home yesternight — ’

‘I know that,’ she said impatiently.

‘And we’re all bidden to his house the day. Maister Gil told you yestreen, for I heard him.’

‘So he did,’ she said. He had also told her, grinning like an ape, that he would be able to set a date for his wedding. She had heard the news from Alys already, and listened to her for three days while he was away thinking aloud about her plans; she had smiled, at both of them, and said the right things.

‘Come on, lassie, Maister David’s waiting,’ said Babb, with rough tenderness. ‘Do you good to get out. Mistress Mason’s company’s no that bad. Come on,’ she coaxed.

‘I saw Mistress Mason yesterday,’ said Kate. But she allowed Babb to hoist her upright, accepted her crutches, and clumped into the stable-yard where her mule waited for her. He turned as he heard her approach, and whuffled at her, nuzzling hopefully at her hand when she stroked his face.

‘Aye, Kate,’ said her uncle, stepping out at the house door as Babb led the mule round from the stable-yard. ‘Are we to get the whole tale of what happened now, do you suppose? Now that you and your brother and Peter Mason can each tell us a chapter?’

‘I never thought of that,’ she admitted. ‘There’s not been the time to fit it together, has there, what with Gil taking Alys to Roslin last week to see how her father did, and then going back this week to fetch him home. Aye, you could be right, sir.’

‘Good,’ said Canon Cunningham, striding out beside her towards the Wyndhead. ‘For I canny make sense of the half of it I’ve heard.’

Away down the High Street, dismounting before the mason’s house, Kate tried hard not to glance at the gates of Morison’s Yard four doors away. Babb was less inhibited.

‘They’ve painted that yett, I see,’ she said as Wallace was led away. ‘Matt was saying they were working on the yard. So I should hope, the work we put in to redd it up. Matt tells me they’ve been building and all,’ she added, in the face of her mistress’s indifference. ‘He’s put new glass windows into hall and chambers, so he says, and sent all the hangings to be cleaned, and hired two new lassies that Matt says’ll no last long what wi Ursel and Nan wanting them to work harder than they like.’

‘It aye surprises me,’ said Kate acidly, ‘how much Matt can tell you of other folk’s business, considering how little he ever says.’

‘Aye but,’ said Babb cheerfully, following her into the pend and missing the point of her remark, ‘he’s Maister David’s man. He’s bound to take an interest in other folk’s business. And those bairns are doing well wi Nan, he says.’

‘He would say that,’ said Kate, making her way across the courtyard between the bright tubs of flowers.

‘Aye, likely. Mind you the wee one’s as wild as ever, but the dumb one’s chattering away now, it seems, and their faither’s trying to learn them a wee poem. Did you ever hear the like? Can you do that stair the day, do you think, or will I lift you, my doo?’

Canon Cunningham was already within doors, seated beside Catherine near the hearth with its bowl of flowers and congratulating Maistre Pierre on his return home. He looked round as Kate found her balance, took her crutches from Babb and thumped into the hall from the fore-stair. Socrates paced over to greet her, his claws clicking on the polished boards.

‘Aye, here’s my niece. Our friend looks well, doesn’t he, Kate, for someone whose life was saved by a lute-string?’

‘We have prayed for him,’ said Catherine in French. Kate caught sight of Alys, beyond her father’s chair, biting her lip and crossing herself.

‘We won’t think about that now, sir,’ she suggested, and came forward when Maistre Pierre waved her to a seat. Socrates sat down with his chin on her knee, and she stroked his head. ‘Did you ever get a look at the church at Roslin by daylight, Maister Mason? It was still building when I visited there, and they would never let me look close at it.’

‘Indeed aye,’ exclaimed her uncle, accepting a glass of Alys’s cowslip wine. ‘I’ve seen it once, but that was a good while since. Is that right they’ve stopped the building at the crossing? What kind of a roof have they put on it?’

Alys flinched again. Kate took the proffered glass and drew the other girl down on the settle beside her.

‘Let them talk,’ she advised. ‘No good ever came of making them bite their tongues.’ Alys nodded, pulling a face of resignation. ‘Where has my brother got to?’

‘He was here earlier, but he went out,’ said Alys vaguely ‘He had an errand of some sort in the town.’

‘How is your father? He looks well enough.’

‘Tired from the journey. He may not dine with us, if I can persuade him — ’

‘Small chance, I would say.’

‘Likely But the wound is well mended.’ She shivered. ‘I’ve always feared a fall from scaffolding for him — I never thought of him meeting a man with an axe up there.’

‘It was the Axeman that fell,’ said Kate firmly, ‘and my brother that pushed him down.’

‘He said it was not,’ said Alys, her expression softening as she thought of Gil.

Save us from young lovers, thought Kate, but hid her exasperation. ‘He confronted Gil, and he fell,’ she said. ‘So put the Axeman out your head, he’s gone now. And falling to his death in a church like that,’ she added, ‘is a certain judgement.’

‘So Catherine says,’ admitted Alys. ‘I am less convinced.’

‘Oh, there’s no doubt at all, mistress,’ said Babb stoutly from behind Kate. ‘A clear judgement on him, for slaying folk behind barred doors and chopping folk’s oxter-poles in two.’ The door opened, and Socrates scrambled to his feet and hurried forward, his tail wagging furiously. ‘Aye, Maister Gil,’ added Babb.

Alys jumped up and went to meet Gil. He took her hands and kissed them quickly, and a significant look passed between them before he turned to bow to his uncle, greet Kate, draw a backstool into the circle and sit down.

‘Well, you’ve cast down more than this fellow with the axe, it seems, Gilbert,’ pronounced Canon Cunningham. ‘Oh, certainly I’ll have more of your wine, lassie. I’ve a letter this morning from Robert Blacader with the details of your appointment, and he tells me my lord St Johns is in some difficulties.’

‘He was removed with great suddenness, by what Gil tells me,’ said the mason. ‘I suppose he had not time to tidy matters as he might have wished.’

‘He has certainly been up to some joukery-pokery,’ said the Official. ‘I wish I could understand his part in what happened his last few days in office.’

‘Simple enough, sir,’ said Gil. Maistre Pierre rolled his eyes at him. ‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘perhaps not that simple. I think,’ he said with care, ‘we were pursuing two lots of coin, which were being moved about together. One was part of the old King’s hoard, as we thought, and the other was a loan from the Order of St John of Jerusalem to James Third, which I suspect that James never saw. It seems as if Knollys gave both to Sinclair for safe keeping, without telling him what it was, about the time of Stirling field. They were both friends of the old King, after all, it would be natural enough.’

‘Ah,’ said David Cunningham. ‘Instead of using either sum to the King’s benefit.’

‘Aye. But it seems word has come to the Preceptory from abroad to get the loan money back. Knollys asked Sinclair for it, and Sinclair realized what he held and rather than give it back he decided to move the whole lot, the St Johns money and the King’s hoard both, to …’ Gil hesitated. A strange look crossed his face. Where has he been, Kate wondered, and what has he seen? ‘To a place where it would be well protected,’ he continued. ‘By his account, he wanted to find out more about who was now responsible for the two sums of money. But Knollys, learning it was on the move, decided to seize it anonymously, so to speak.’

‘I see,’ said the Official. ‘If it was thought to be stolen, he might not have to repay it, and in any case he would be able to use the King’s jewels to pay the Hospital.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Gil. ‘Since he could hardly use them as currency anywhere in Scotland. So Wilkie and Carson, and Carson’s brother with the axe, attacked the cooper’s yard after persuading Billy Walker to leave the gate open for them. But their raid went wrong. The coin was to go in a barrel, to be covered by salt herring, and sent onward to Sinclair’s land disguised as part of the quarter’s rent. Half the coin had gone into the barrel, the other half was still on the horse, and Knollys’s men attacked too soon.’

‘How did they know when to attack?’ asked Alys.

‘Knollys’s net was both wide and fine, so I have heard,’ said Canon Cunningham.

‘In this case,’ said Gil, nodding agreement, ‘he likely had intelligence from Sinclair’s own household. They’re looking for a new sub-steward at Roslin, so Pierre tells me.’

‘It seems the previous man fell down a stair,’ expanded Maistre Pierre.

‘So,’ Gil returned to his narrative, ‘though it was no part of their plan, Carson’s brother, who we’ve seen was very ready to use his axe, killed Nelkin Fletcher.’ He hesitated, staring at nothing. Kate wondered what he could see. ‘The boy bolted with the horse and the other saddlebag. Wilkie and the two Carsons put the head in the barrel to conceal Nelkin’s death, in on top of what they thought was the whole of the treasure — ’

‘Ah!’ said David Cunningham again.

Gil glanced at him, and nodded. ‘Then they filled it up with the brine from the vat standing ready, and Billy Walker was induced to seal the barrel for them, being a cooper’s son and understanding the craft.’

‘And that was what woke the cooper’s wife,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘No, ma mie, no more wine for now.’

‘It must have been. Then I think the Axeman simply put the barrel on the wrong cart. His brother has now told us he was left-handed.’

‘I knew it!’ said Alys triumphantly, and Gil smiled at her where she stood with the flask of cowslip wine.

‘Mistress Riddoch looked out just in time to see one of them carrying Nelkin’s headless body out of the yard, and I suppose it’s still somewhere on the hillside, since there’s been no word yet from Linlithgow to say it’s been found.’

‘As simple as that,’ said Canon Cunningham.

‘And that was why they were so sure we had the rest of the money,’ said Kate.

‘They were certainly very persistent,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘both here in Glasgow, I gather, and also in the Lothians.’

‘Knollys must have been desperate to have the money found,’ agreed Gil.

‘Quite so. It seems,’ David Cunningham reported without expression, accepting more wine from Alys, ‘as if there was maybe a wee bit confusion between his own account rolls and the treasury’s. He’s already posted a string of cases to be heard at Edinburgh about sums owing to him personally, and Robert Blacader thinks there’s like to be at least one brought against him by the new Treasurer.’

‘For there is not so much joy in holding high office as there is grief in falling from a high place. I wonder,’ said Gil thoughtfully, ‘whether the Preceptory will be involved in those?’

‘Probably not,’ said his uncle. Maistre Pierre leaned back against the cushions in his great chair and closed his eyes. ‘There was a bit of legal bickering a few years since, and its connection was mostly straightened out then. And the loan, of course, is a separate matter and now concluded.’

‘And you got your own barrel back,’ said Kate.

Gil grinned. ‘We did. And there was some rare print in it. I told you that. Another Blanchflour and Eglantyne, a very bonny Virgil, the Sons of Aymon, a marvellous book on hunting. And — ’ he exchanged a complicit smile with Alys — ‘a betrothal gift.’

‘It will come home from the bookbinder’s next week,’ Alys said. ‘Two volumes in red leather, each with our initials on the cover and he Morte Darthur on the spine.’

‘And that will be the pair of you,’ said Kate, keeping the acid from her voice with difficulty, ‘jugged in your books like James the Gentle till you have to emerge for the wedding.’

‘Aye, you’re well suited,’ said Canon Cunningham. ‘But we are tiring our friend.’

‘No, no,’ said the mason, opening his eyes again. ‘Far from it. What were we saying? Are we about to set a date for the marriage?’

‘Ah!’ said the Official, and Catherine’s attention sharpened. Kate hid her hands in her skirts and clenched them tightly, pinning a smile on her face.

‘Next week?’ said Gil hopefully.

‘I thought late November,’ said Alys, setting down the flask of wine.

‘November?’

‘It’s barely three months hence,’ she pointed out, her smile flickering. ‘It will take me near that long to order up the dry stores we’ll need. We’ll want to hold the feast before Advent begins, and by then the Martinmas killing will be past, and there will be fresh meat in plenty. And your sisters will be able to attend.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Indeed,’ said Catherine in her elegant French. ‘I understand your next sister is about to become a mother again.’

‘Aye,’ said Babb, catching the drift of this. ‘Margaret, out at Bothwell. She’s due in a few weeks, so the word is, and it’s her third, it’s no likely to be late.’

‘So she should be able to travel by then,’ Alys said hopefully. ‘And if we give Dorothea plenty of notice, she should be able to find an errand for the convent to bring her over on this side of Scotland about the right time.’

And Kate and Tibby will be able to attend any time, thought Kate. No ties, no responsibilities, nobody else to consult.

Gil was laughing. ‘You have it all thought out, haven’t you? Well, if it can’t be next week, it might as well be November.’ He reached out and drew Alys close, and she looked down at him. The expression on her face dug to Kate’s heart. ‘But how I’ll last till then, sweetheart, I don’t know.’

‘There is a deal to be done before then,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘If you are to live in the lodgings we picked out over the courtyard yonder, there will be decisions to make, and work to be commissioned. We have the rooms panelled for you, I think.’

‘Well, well,’ said the Official. ‘So you’ll be leaving my house in late November, then, Gilbert?’

‘He’s near left it already,’ said Kate, and managed to keep the tart tone out of her voice. ‘He’s barely been home all the time I’ve been staying with you, sir.’

‘You must tell me as soon as you’ve the dates settled,’ went on David Cunningham, acknowledging this with a quirk of his mouth, ‘and I’ll bid Fleming keep them clear of cases. I’d not wish to be tied up in the Consistory tower while the dancing went on down here.’

‘And we must write to your mother with all the news,’ said Alys.

‘I shall be glad to renew my acquaintance with madame mere,’ said Catherine.

‘Which reminds me,’ said Canon Cunningham. He fished in his sleeve for his spectacles. ‘I wrote to my good-sister a few days since, to tell her about the appointment Robert our Archbishop had offered you, Gilbert, and she has replied.’ He produced a folded sheet from the other sleeve. ‘She’s well pleased, sends good wishes now the marriage can go forward, says she’ll write direct to you, Peter. But here’s a thing.’ He peered at the tightly written page. ‘She sends that she’s heard from her kinswoman Elizabeth Boyd at Kilmarnock. Angus’s countess,’ he elucidated. ‘It seems the King is still at Kilmarnock too, and like to be so for some while, for he spends his time with Elizabeth’s niece Marion. Which one’s Marion, Gilbert?’

‘Archie’s older daughter,’ Kate supplied. ‘I mind her. A wee plump thing, a bit younger than me. I suppose she’s nineteen by now.’

‘She would be,’ muttered Gil. What did he mean by that? Kate wondered.

‘Aye. Seems the King’s much taken wi her, spends night and day in her company. Night and day,’ he repeated with relish, ‘and can think of naught else.’

‘Well, he is a young man,’ said Maistre Pierre tolerantly.

‘So it worked,’ said Gil, but did not explain.

‘That’s the Boyds back in favour,’ said Kate. Her voice came out harshly. ‘If they’ve supplied his first mistress, the King’ll no forget them.’ And even Marion Boyd, plump and giggling, from a family which had seriously offended James Third and suffered for it, would achieve something Kate would not. Whatever else she provided for the King, she had already given him enough to ensure herself a handsome tocher, a good marriage.

‘No wonder Robert our Archbishop’s fixed at Stirling the now,’ mused the Official. ‘The Lords in Council can get on with running the country, with no interference from the King’s grace.’

‘Aye,’ said Gil, very drily. He sounds just like the old man, thought Kate.

There was a knocking at the house door. Maistre Pierre turned his head, frowning.

‘Who might that be?’

‘Are we expecting anyone else?’ Alys looked towards the door as one of the maidservants made her way up from the kitchen. ‘Who is it, Kittock?’

‘I don’t just know, mem,’ said Kittock, but Kate could hear a laugh in her voice. ‘Seeing it’s no the season for guizers. Will I let them in?’

Hardly waiting for Alys’s consent, she swung the great door open, exclaiming, ‘Oh, my, who can this be come visiting?’

Children, then, thought Kate, and unaccountably her heart leapt under her ribs.

Small bare feet pattered on the polished floorboards of the hall. Socrates tensed at Gil’s side, growling faintly, and was hushed. Two little winged figures came round the end of the settle into the circle, and paused, gazing in confusion at the number of people present. They wore smocks of white linen, embellished with white ribbons and little knots of daisies; crowns of ribbons and daisies were fastened among their short curls, and each one carried a posy of flowers. The smaller one’s wings were on crooked. The dog stared intently at them, the hackles standing up along his narrow back.

Our Lady preserve us, thought Kate, trying her best not to laugh, are they angels or cupids?

‘Who is this?’ asked Alys.

The smaller figure scowled at her. ‘That’s not what you say. You’ve to say, it struck a pose of amazement, ‘Who-are-these-finged-wigures?’

The men laughed, but Kate covered her mouth, straightened her face, and said, ‘Who are these winged figures?’

The children looked at each other, visibly counted to three, and recited together, beating time with their posies, ‘Nobles, gentles, tender friends, we are here to make amends.’

‘I am Liking,’ said the older one in the thread of a voice, while her sister mouthed the words with her.

‘I am Love.’

‘We are sent by heaven above,’ the two little voices went on, ‘to bring you thanks for all you’ve done, and promise heaven’s blessing.’

‘And to hope that the sun,’ continued the younger one uncertainly, ‘will shine on your wedding.’

‘Maybe not in November,’ muttered Gil.

They seemed to have come to the end of their verse. Canon Cunningham began to applaud, but Love stamped her bare foot at him.

‘Not yet. There’s more.’

‘Do we have to say anything else?’ Kate asked. He must have spent days teaching them that, she thought. He’s had this planned for a while.

‘She has to say Thank you for the blessing,’ said Love emphatically. ‘And then you get a poetry.’

Alys complied, and Gil echoed her, receiving another scowl for his pains. The two winged figures turned to Kate, counted to three again, and announced:

‘Flowers for the bonniest may, wi een of brown and hair of grey — ’ Behind them Gil snorted with suppressed laughter, and Alys shook her head sternly at him. ‘Take these flowers we here presentis, and the heart of him that sent us.’

They stopped in triumph, and simultaneously held their knots of daisies out to Kate. Canon Cunningham applauded, more confidently, and the mason joined in. Before Kate could take the posies, Love pushed her sister aside.

‘No! You can give the other one flowers. I’m giving flowers to our one!’

‘No!’ said Liking indignantly, showing more spirit than Kate had yet seen in her. ‘I’m giving them!’

Between laughing and weeping, Kate covered her eyes with her hand. And the heart of him that sent us. Oh, my dear man, she thought. In front of friends and family like this -

‘She’s greeting,’ said Ysonde. Her posy fell to the polished floorboards, and she fled round the end of the settle. ‘Da! Da, it’s not working. She’s greeting!’

Wynliane’s flowers joined her sister’s, and Wynliane herself leaned against Kate’s knee. Her small hand reached urgently to draw Kate’s down, and as Morison’s heavier tread came forward to join the group she said, almost inaudible, ‘Do you no want the flowers? They’re bonny.’

‘Yes,’ said Kate, and smiled into the blue eyes looking up at her. ‘I’ll take the flowers.’

‘I want to give her the flowers!’ said Ysonde, hurling herself forward from her father’s side.

‘No, I will!’ Wynliane bent to snatch at the nearest posy. Her sister pushed her aside, shrieking inarticulately. Morison stooped to separate them, making chiding noises.

‘I’ve a better idea,’ said Kate over Wynliane’s response. They stopped squabbling to look at her. She looked from one to the other, and then up at their father, watching her anxiously over their heads. He was wearing the King’s chain. ‘Both of you can give one posy to Mistress Mason, because you said her blessing very nicely, and then both of you can give the other posy to me, because I liked the poem you said for me.’

‘Did you?’ said Morison, as the children picked up one of the posies and advanced on Alys. ‘It’s no very good poetry.’

She looked down, and used her fingers to ease the tears from her eyes.

‘It’s the best I ever heard,’ she said.

Behind her, Babb blew her nose resoundingly on her sleeve.

‘I thought that too,’ she said. ‘The heart of him that sent us, it’s fair lovely. Will you take him, my doo?’

‘Babb!’ said Kate indignantly. ‘I don’t need your help to accept him!’

‘I just want to make sure,’ said Babb. ‘It’s the only chance you’re like to get, I don’t want you to waste it.’

‘Are you sure you want me?’ said Kate, her head on Morison’s shoulder.

It was much later. Love and Liking had been fed little cakes and milk and eventually removed screaming by Nan and Babb. Maistre Pierre, just as weary, had been persuaded to retire after dinner, and Canon Cunningham had gone reluctantly back to his duties at St Mungo’s after arranging to meet Morison and his nephew in the morning to discuss Kate’s marriage contract. But Catherine still sat upright on the cushioned settle nearest the bowl of flowers in the hearth, her handwork trailing across her black skirts, while on one side of the hall Alys and Gil said almost nothing with their heads together and on the other, now, Augie Morison looked fondly at Kate within the circle of his arm and said, ‘I’m very sure.’

‘I’ve a sharp tongue,’ she warned him, ‘and no tocher but the King’s purse.’

‘The King’s purse is yours, my lass. I’ll advise you if you want to venture it, but I’ll not lay a finger on it.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘You don’t want me at all, it’s the thought of venturing the King’s hundred merks you’re taken wi.’

He laughed at that. He’s getting the idea of my jokes, she thought.

‘Kate, my bonnie Kate, I tell you, ye ben of my lyf and deth the quene. It’s your sharp tongue and your sharp mind and your sharp courage I want. Wi those for your tocher, I’d take you barefoot in your shift.’

She tilted her head back to look at him, with a sudden recollection of the dream which had seemed like the end of all her hopes. Barefoot in her shift, she had stepped forward when the saint led her. Forward to an unseen, unknown bridegroom. I should have had more trust in him, she thought. He has sent me a miracle.

‘You nearly had to,’ she said. Morison’s mouth quivered, and he turned on the bench beside her and put both arms about her.

‘Stop talking,’ he said, and bent his head to kiss her. She held him off a moment.

‘Don’t let me forget, Augie,’ she said. ‘I owe St Mungo a pound of wax.’

His grip tightened.

‘We’ll make it five pounds,’ he said. ‘It’s no every day you get a wife wi a King’s purse to her tocher.’