The Nicholas Feast

Chapter Thirteen

The scholars, filing past, each stooped to lift a handful of earth from the mound and throw it into William’s grave. As the clayey lumps thudded on to the elm coffin-lid, Gil found Maister Kennedy at his elbow.

‘They’re comporting themselves well, Nick, but is this wise?’ he commented. ‘It sounds like the drums for the Dance of Death. You’ll have nightmares again tonight, surely.’

‘A touch of the Ut sum, cras tibi? No, I think it means they can be the more certain William’s dead,’ said his friend, and then with more formality, ‘Maister Gilbert, the Dean commands me to say that he and the Faculty will hear your findings on this matter in the Principal’s chamber after this. Lord Montgomery will also be present.’

‘I am ready to make a report,’ replied Gil with equal state. He looked across the scene of the burial, and encountered three stares: the Dean’s blue and acute, Maister Doby’s anxious, and off to one side Hugh Montgomery’s hotly alert. He raised his hat and flourished it in a general bow, and the two academics nodded and turned away to take their places in the procession as it formed.

‘I’ll see you there,’ said Maister Kennedy, and slipped away to round up the last few scholars before Gil could comment.

‘An interesting ceremony,’ said Maistre Pierre behind Gil, as the Steward began to circulate among the mourners, issuing select invitations to the cold meats and ale waiting in the dining-hall of the University.

‘The college looks after its sons,’ Gil returned. ‘There wasn’t much smoke, because incense costs money, but we have a ready-made choir which doesn’t have to be paid, and plenty of breath for speech and singing. Ceremony comes naturally.’

‘Now what happens?’

‘I’ll tell ye what happens,’ said Hugh, Lord Montgomery. The tail of the procession vanished singing into the church, and as the remainder of the congregation drifted towards the gates he left the church wall and came closer. ‘You, Cunningham lawyer, are about to tell me whose work that is — ’ He jerked a thumb at the open grave behind him. ‘I warned you, and I warned the clerks in the college. I’m quite prepared to put them to the question one by one, starting with the youngest.’

‘I’ve no doubt of that,’ said Gil politely. ‘Shall we go? Maister Doby and the Dean are expecting us.’ He saw the slight widening of the eyes, and pressed the advantage. ‘Oh, aye, you mind I was asking you about William Doig the dog-breeder, my lord? Here’s a strange thing. Maister Mason and I saw the same man this morning, leading a cart over the Dow Hill, and his wife and all the dogs with him.’

‘The Dow Hill?’ repeated Montgomery in amazement. ‘Why should — why should the man’s deeds be any concern of mine? I told you before, I’ve no knowledge of him.’

‘So you did,’ said Gil, pausing at the foot of the grave. Montgomery bent and angrily threw in a yellow clod.

‘So it’s your problem, no mine, if the wee mimmerkin’s run,’ he added, wiping his hand on his jerkin. ‘Get a move on, man, I want to get a hold of Bernard Stewart before he takes refuge the wrong side of that wall. And we’ll have my nephew Robert present, since none of my sons is here at the college. He’s full old enough to be involved.’

‘How old is he?’ Gil asked casually.

‘Sixteen on St Lucy’s eve next. A man grown.’ Montgomery grinned evilly, and seizing Gil’s elbow hustled him into the church, just in time to see Father Bernard and the colleague who had deaconed for him, about to retreat into the enclosed portion of the church with the newly washed Communion vessels.

‘Bernard!’ roared Montgomery, in much the same tone as he had used to the dogs at his fireside.

Father Bernard jumped convulsively, and dropped the paten from the top of his chalice. It bowled away across the paved floor, pursued by the other friar and by Maistre Pierre.

‘My lord?’

‘To the college. Now.’

‘I have a disputation to prepare — ’

‘You’ll do as I bid you, or you’ll have more disputation that you’ve stomach for, priest.’

‘My lord,’ said Father Bernard with a spurt of courage, ‘I’m not your chaplain any longer — ’

‘For which we may both thank God and St Dominic. Are you coming or do I make you?’

‘You offer violence to a priest, my lord, in the sanctuary?’ exclaimed the other Dominican, returning with the paten.

‘No,’ said Lord Montgomery softly, ‘I’m no offering it. I’m promising it, if he doesny do as I say!’ he bawled.

Both men flinched, and Gil interposed in Latin, ‘Father Bernard, I am about to report to the Dean and Principal on what I have learned about the death of the scholar William Irvine. I think it might be proper for you to be present.’

‘I? For what reason?’

‘You are the college chaplain.’

‘Oh.’ Father Bernard closed his mouth over the large teeth and looked down at the chalice and paten in his hands. ‘Very well. Edward, could I ask you — ?’

‘I got the Steward to set aside a platter for us,’ said Maister Doby doubtfully, surveying the single wooden dish on the linen-draped trestle table in the great chamber of his house, ‘but there’s more folk here than I looked for.’

‘I could go ask him for more,’ suggested Maistre Pierre. ‘And wine also, I think. Where are they served? In the Laigh Hall?’

He bustled off. Gil, mentally dividing the food into portions, could not blame his friend. Like the Principal, he had not expected so many to be present, though it was hard to see who could be dispensed with. The five senior members of the Faculty, whom he had encountered here in this room less than two days since, had every right to be present. So had the Second Regent and Maister Kennedy. Hugh Montgomery, unfortunately, had even more right, and Gil did not feel like voicing any objection to either of the supporters the man had summoned.

At least we made him leave his retinue outside, he thought.

‘Well,’ said Montgomery, as if on cue, ‘are we to keep my men kicking their heels in the yard the rest of the day, or are we to hear this report?’

‘I feel,’ said the Dean more civilly, ‘that we should begin, the sooner to put an end to the matter, if this should be possible.’

‘And anyway there’s no enough food,’ said Maister Doby. ‘We can hear Gilbert and get a bite after.’

‘I am ready,’ said Gil. He watched as his audience settled itself before the painted hangings, the Dean and the Principal in two great chairs, the two lawyers with their heads together on stools next to them, Maister Forsyth on the padded bench near the window. The younger regents and the chaplain were seated off to his right, and in the corner near the door, in another chair hastily borne in from the Dean’s own lodging, glowered Lord Montgomery with his nephew standing behind him like a body-servant. On the hangings the philosophers, impassive, stared into the distance.

Tucking his thumbs in the armholes of his gown, speaking in Scots out of courtesy to Hugh Montgomery, Gil began.

‘I first set eyes on William Irvine when he greeted me at the college yett on Sunday morning. He was very civil to me, until he discovered I was a Cunningham.’

‘So?’ said Montgomery. Gil glanced at him, and beyond him at his nephew’s superior smile.

‘His nurse Nan Irvine had asked me to deliver a package to him, one which had come from the boy’s late mother. I handed it to him, and what with that and his height and the colour of his hair, he caught my attention a few times during the rest of the morning, in the procession and at the Mass and the feast. He seemed excited about something, out of himself in some way. Generally he was speaking to someone, but none of the people he spoke to seemed to be glad of it.’

David Gray was staring at Gil with that haunted look on his face again.

‘After the feast there was the play. William left the hall before it was finished, though he had several large parts.’ Maister Kennedy grunted, and stuck out his legs to cross them at the ankles. ‘None of his teachers saw him alive again, although he was not missed until an hour or so later.’

‘None of his teachers?’ Montgomery broke in. Gil nodded. ‘Then who — ?’

‘I hope it will become clear before long,’ Gil said. Montgomery glowered at him for a moment longer, then snarled, and gestured angrily for him to continue.

‘I was among those who searched. We found him lying in the college coalhouse. He had been strangled with one belt, and his hands were bound with another. His purse was missing, which might have meant robbery, but the coalhouse was locked and the key was not in the door. His death was certainly secret murder. I was commissioned and required to investigate,’ said Gil, bowing to Maister Doby as generally representing the college, ‘so Maister Mason and I inspected the corpse and began asking questions.

‘William had been dead about an hour when he was found, perhaps two or more by the time we examined him. He had been knocked down before he was killed, and there were fresh quicklime burns on his gown and scuff-marks on the toes of his boots, which were otherwise well cared for. There was nothing else on him or in his clothes to tell us more. The belt round his neck was his own, and had recently been handled by someone whose hands smelled of cumin. And other spices,’ he added scrupulously.

‘You mentioned the cumin before,’ said Montgomery with impatience. ‘I canny see that it has anything to say in the business.’

Behind him his nephew eased imperceptibly backwards, to lean against the wall.

‘We next spoke to many of William’s teachers and fellow scholars and the servants of the University, and learned a number of valuable things. In the first place, the people who knocked him down and tied his wrists had left him, alive but dazed, in the limehouse. As a sort of student joke. Their story fits the facts I had observed, and I do not think they killed him.’

‘Their reasons were very unworthy,’ commented Maister Doby in grieved tones, ‘but I have no cause to doubt what they told me either.’

Montgomery grunted sceptically, but Maister Crawford rose to address the air between the Dean and the Principal.

‘What my colleague has described was common assault,’ he objected in Latin. ‘Are we to permit our scholars to attack one another without penalty? This will resound most grievously to the discredit of our University.’

‘It was not without penalty — ’ began the Principal.

‘Students will aye be students,’ said Maister Forsyth in Scots. ‘Sit down, Archie, and hold your peace. Gilbert has a lot to tell us.’

Montgomery grunted again in what sounded like agreement.

‘Therefore,’ Gil continued, as Maister Crawford sat down with a dissatisfied expression on his face, ‘someone else had killed him and put him in the coalhouse, for a reason which was not apparent.

‘In the second place, we found William’s purse. It contained a great sum in coin, a letter in code, and a draft will, in which he would have left his property to be divided between his friend Ralph Gibson and his nurse Ann Irvine.’

‘He was capable of the generous impulse,’ said Maister Forsyth approvingly.

‘There was no key, not even his own key to his chamber, which was locked. Using another of the college keys, we opened his chamber and found it had been searched and stripped of all the paper it contained, leaving behind a ransom in jewels and other valuables. William’s wolfhound pup, which shouldn’t have been in the room, had tried to defend its master’s property and been struck a blow on the head.

‘In the third place, we discovered that William had been in the habit of getting information and making it work for him.’

‘No harm in that,’ said Hugh Montgomery suspiciously.

‘Nobody was free of his attentions, though their responses varied. He extorted money or favours from fellow students, teachers, the kitchen staff, the college porter, on the basis of what he knew, and recorded it all in a notebook.’

‘Notebook?’ said David Gray, startled. ‘What notebook is this? Are you saying the boy wrote down all his misdeeds in a book?’

‘He did,’ said Gil, and looked round the room in a short silence. Most of the Faculty was frowning in what appeared to be disapproval. Hugh Montgomery was watching him with a deepening scowl, and behind him his nephew stood, rather pale, glaring down his nose in that Montgomery way. Father Bernard, as Gil’s eye fell on him, crossed himself and bent his head, his lips moving as if in prayer for William’s soul.

‘Now we go back in time a little. William left the hall where the acting was just before the play ended. Shortly after it ended there was a great clap of thunder and a very heavy shower, and the scholars all ran out to shut windows and rescue books. This was when William was discovered poking in someone else’s property, knocked down and tied up, and put in the limehouse. Shortly after that, the senior members of the feast dispersed in a more orderly fashion, so that many people were moving about the college for a quarter-hour or more. Unfortunately, I think it was during that time when William was killed.’

‘What makes you think that?’ asked the Dean, frowning. ‘On what do you base the statement?’

‘On several things. The extent to which the body had cooled when it was found, the fact that when my good-father and I inspected it later it was only just beginning to stiffen, and the supposition that if William had roused while he was in the limehouse he would have shouted, kicked on the door, and made other attempts to get the attention of the kitchen hands. Therefore I think he was killed before he had a chance to recover his senses.’

‘I see,’ said the Dean, though he sounded doubtful.

‘Thanks to some patient questioning,’ Gil bowed to the two regents, ‘and clever casting-up of the results, we managed to establish that nearly everyone whose initials were later found in the notebook, or whom I saw in speech with the boy that morning, had been in sight of one or more others for most of the break.’

‘Do you mean you have the notebook?’ asked Maister Crawford.

‘It fell into my hands yesterday,’ said Gil. ‘It has since met with a sorry accident and the pages cannot be read.’ He looked round his audience. Both the lawyers appeared to have relaxed a little. Montgomery’s jaw had tightened, and behind him Robert was watching with a glazed stare. The remaining members of the Faculty were stolidly unmoved. He drew breath to continue, and the door opened.

‘Your pardon, maisters,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘Here is more food, but these good fellows are needed back at the hall, so we must serve ourselves.’

He stood aside for two of the velvet-gowned college servitors, each with jug and heavy platter.

‘Robert can serve us,’ said Montgomery. ‘Make yourself useful, boy.’ He watched grimly as the trays of food were set on the trestle table, the servants left, and Robert with some reluctance stood away from the wall and approached the table. ‘Come on, you can serve out wine without a towel for once. As for you, Maister Cunningham. You’ve spent a while proving that nobody could have killed our William. When are you going to get to the name I want? The boy’s dead, and somebody’s to suffer for it.’

‘I’m in no doubt of that,’ said Gil. ‘I’m making a report, my lord. The Faculty will wish to be certain we have looked at everything that might have a bearing on the matter.’

‘Oh, get on with it!’ said Montgomery savagely. He took a wedge of cold pie from the tray Robert was presenting to him and nodded to the boy to proceed round the company.

‘On Sunday evening,’ Gil continued, ‘the dog-breeder called at the college yett asking for the wolfhound. Two more chambers were searched, by different hands, and I was robbed in the street of a bundle of papers. From all this I concluded that at least one party was still looking for something on paper.

‘On Monday, the bundle of papers was returned, for which I was grateful, and it became clear from the admission of one of his victims that William was gathering information not just round the college but more widely. He had that knack of fitting stray words and scraps of news together to make a story that would interest the King’s advisers.

‘Then Jaikie the porter was found stabbed at the college yett. There was another bundle of papers smouldering in his brazier which turned out to be William’s lecture-notes and other papers. Likely they had been lifted from the boy’s chamber when it was searched. Also in Jaikie’s chamber I found a dog-collar, hidden in a press.’

‘What has that to do with anything?’ asked Maister Crawford.

Maister Forsyth stirred irritably on his bench, but Gil answered, ‘It was a thing out of place. Why should the porter have a dog-collar in his chamber? And there is a dog in the matter, and the dog-breeder had been at the yett a number of times asking for the dog and therefore speaking to Jaikie.’

Maister Crawford grunted.

This was not going well. Lord Montgomery’s scowl was intent, but the other members of the Faculty wore assorted expressions of puzzlement, except for David Gray, who appeared to have settled into a blank exhaustion. Gil accepted a cup from the mason and sipped it. Wine, he thought, and well-watered. Bless the man. He drank deeper, and groped for the thread of his argument again.

‘It seemed likely that Jaikie’s death was connected with William’s — ’

‘I don’t see that,’ said Montgomery in argumentative tones.

‘I can well believe, my lord,’ said Gil with a slight bow, ‘that you would accept the existence of two separate enemies of the college at one time, but I find it more economical to think they are connected.’

Montgomery grinned at him, and gestured for him to continue. Robert reached the Dean and knelt before him with the depleted tray.

‘We therefore began to ask questions about both. Jaikie was a disobliging and ill-mannered employee, and quite capable of learning from William’s example, but none of William’s victims inside the college had been near him about noon. I think he might have tried to get money from someone who came to the yett from outside, someone else involved in William’s schemes, and been knifed for it.’

Robert had paused before him with the food. Gil looked down as the last slice of pie on the tray fell on its side.

‘No,’ he said with regret, ‘I’ll eat after I’ve done talking, Robert.’

‘Are you saying Jaikie was killed by one of William’s accomplices?’ asked the Dean. ‘Does this mean William was killed by someone from outside after all?’

‘Gilbert, I must remind you,’ said Father Bernard, ‘I have a disputation to organize this afternoon. Will this take much longer?’

‘You’ll sit here for as long as it takes, priest,’ said Montgomery, ‘and so will the rest of you. Get on with it, Cunningham.’

There was a knocking away through the house. Maister Doby looked up, startled.

‘The street door,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody to answer it — they’re all at the Laigh Hall to serve the food.’

‘Robert,’ said Montgomery curtly. The boy set the empty platter on the table and left the room with an expression of something like relief. His uncle nodded sharply at Gil, who took another draught of the watered wine and continued.

‘We asked questions of a number of people concerning Jaikie’s death. The last to see him alive seemed at first to have been Lord Montgomery and his nephew — ’ He met Montgomery’s wary scowl and continued smoothly, ‘who were each, separately, at pains to convince me that the other had left him first and that the man was alive when they last saw him.’

‘There is a contradiction there, Gilbert,’ said Maister Forsyth. ‘Almost an oxymoron, eh?’

‘I think rather a paradox, sir,’ said Gil. Montgomery was staring through the open door of the chamber, frowning. ‘Montgomery men will back each other to the death. I took it to mean that neither of them had killed Jaikie, but each feared the other might have.’

Maister Forsyth nodded approval of this, but Montgomery turned his head to look at Gil, his eyes narrowed.

‘We also questioned the dog-breeder. His answers were not in concordance with the observed facts, and though he claimed to have been exercising the dogs at noon yesterday someone else had seen his wife walking them as usual.’

‘Out on the Dow Hill,’ said Maister Crawford unexpectedly. ‘I saw her myself. There’s a black-and-white spaniel — ’ He found the Dean’s eye on him and stopped.

‘A useful contribution, Archie,’ said the Dean ambiguously. ‘Go on, Gilbert.’

‘We know Doig had been at the yett a number of times asking about the wolfhound. I think he was passing information to William, and possibly getting more information back and passing it on elsewhere as well. I know Jaikie was doing the same. I think Jaikie tried to get money or favours from Doig and was knifed for it.’

‘By Doig?’ said Montgomery incredulously. ‘He was twice the size. How could — ’

‘Jaikie was drunk,’ Gil said.

‘As usual,’ muttered Maister Kennedy. The Dean turned his blue stare on him.

‘You said yourself, my lord,’ Gil continued, ‘that he was sprawled in his great chair when you last saw him. A strong man, even one of Doig’s stature, could have knifed him easily enough in that posture.’

‘But have you no other evidence?’ asked Maister Doby ‘We couldny make an accusation like that about a Glasgow burgess, just because it could have happened.’

‘Was his clothing marked? Had he stolen anything of the porter’s?’ asked Maister Forsyth.

‘I do not think Doig is a burgess, but whatever his status the accusation would not be well founded,’ said Gil punctiliously. ‘He was wearing a leather apron when we saw him. It was much too big for him, very apt for hiding marks of any kind between chin and ankle.’ Several of the Faculty members nodded their understanding of this point. ‘And hidden in one of the dog-pens there was a bottle of usquebae. It had been stopped with a rag, precisely the way Jaikie used to stop his current jar. The evidence is circumstantial, no more.’

‘Perhaps he aye keeps his supply there,’ suggested Maister Kennedy.

‘The dogs had got at it,’ said the mason, grinning reminiscently ‘I do not think they were used to having it in their pen.’

‘This isny getting any nearer to the name I want,’ said Montgomery abruptly. Robert, slipping in through the open door, flinched as he spoke.

‘So where is this man now?’ asked Maister Crawford, ignoring this. ‘Are we to send some of the college servants to fetch him in for trial?’

‘Ye willny do that, clerk,’ said Montgomery, ‘for Doig’s run, so I hear. Now can we get on to the matter of who killed William?’

‘Run?’ repeated the Dean. ‘What do you mean, run?’

‘Maister Mason and I saw him leaving this morning,’ said Gil, ‘over the Dow Hill with a cart and his wife with all the tykes of Tervey on one leash.’ He met the Dean’s icy blue stare. ‘I had no authority to stop him. It was hardly secret murder, since the body was left in plain sight in the porter’s chamber, and he could have claimed easily enough that it was a matter of self-defence. There’s the matter of blood-money to Jaikie’s kin — ’

‘He had no kin,’ said Maister Doby.

‘Can we get on?’ demanded Lord Montgomery.

‘Very well,’ said the Dean in dissatisfied tones. ‘We must leave the matter of Jaikie’s death there, but I do not feel you have acted well in this, Gilbert.’

‘I do,’ said Maister Forsyth unexpectedly. ‘We must deplore the death of our porter, but the college has neither lost nor gained by it, which is better than might have been expected.’

Maister Crawford opened his mouth to speak, caught the Dean’s eye, and subsided.

‘To return to the question of William’s murder,’ said Gil. Montgomery muttered something. ‘When we set out all the information we had gathered and looked at it, we found inconsistencies. One or two people had lied about one or two matters. In particular, one man had lied about where he was during the time when I think William was killed, the time which began with the great clap of thunder and ended when the feast reconvened.’

The members of the Faculty were watching him intently. Beyond Maister Kennedy the chaplain sat upright and tense. Between him and the door, Montgomery’s narrow-eyed glare was backed by his nephew’s, though the boy appeared to be leaning surreptitiously against the wall again.

‘Someone in this chamber?’ asked Maister Forsyth. Gil flicked him a glance, and nodded.

‘Bernard,’ said Hugh Montgomery, low and dangerous. ‘Bernard, what have you done?’

Father Bernard unclasped his hands to cross himself.

‘Christ and all his saints be my witness,’ he said with great dignity, ‘I did not kill William.’

‘Then where were you at the time you should have been giving a lecture in the Theology Schule?’ Gil asked.

‘I was taken ill. The spiced pork — ’ began the chaplain, casting a look of loathing at Maister Coventry.

‘Yesterday you blamed the rabbit stew,’ said Gil.

‘And on Sunday,’ said Maister Forsyth, ‘you complained that you had got nothing at the feast beyond some of Agnes’s onion tart. Bernard, you must tell us the truth. You understand that.’

‘I will speak before my superior.’

‘You’ll speak now,’ said Montgomery quietly, ‘and you’ll speak truth. What have you done, Bernard? What have you done to Isobel’s boy?’

Nobody had moved, not even Montgomery, but suddenly the scene was a trial rather than a hearing. Gil caught Maister Crawford’s eye, and the other man of law nodded briefly and rose.

‘We must assume,’ he said, again addressing the gap between the Dean and the Principal, ‘that my colleague has good reasons for his implied accusation. Should not these reasons be heard before the accusation is consolidated? Then my cli- our chaplain may defend himself against them, refuting them one by one if he is able.’

‘Aye, if he’s able,’ said Montgomery, apparently following the Latin without difficulty.

‘Expound your reasons, Gilbert,’ said the Dean, and the Principal nodded, without removing his shocked gaze from Father Bernard.

‘I do not have to defend myself — ’

‘You do, Bernard. You do. Or I’ll make you,’ declared Montgomery, still in that quiet dangerous voice.

Gil, looking round the room, marshalled his thoughts and continued.

‘In the first place, Father Bernard claimed he had not had time to speak to William, early in the day before the procession, because he had to get the music-books to St Thomas’s. But the Steward remarked later that he had seen to flitting the music.’

‘He has just confirmed that he did so,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘I asked him, over in the Laigh Hall.’

‘I think they did speak. William showed you whatever it was in the package I had just delivered to him, didn’t he?’

Father Bernard stared at Gil, dark eyes impassive. After a moment, Gil went on, ‘Just before the end of the play, Father Bernard said he returned to the Dominicans’ house.’

‘My colleague will swear to it,’ the chaplain said, breaking his silence. ‘We discussed the subject of my lecture.’

‘I have no doubt of that,’ said Gil. ‘Then he returned to the college. By the time he did so, William was hidden in the limehouse. The scholars who hid him noticed their chaplain crossing the Inner Close behind them towards the Theology Schule, where his students were waiting for him. Something caused him to leave the lecture-room again, almost immediately — ’

‘I told you, I was taken ill — ’

‘It was the package, wasn’t it?’ said Montgomery harshly. ‘What was in it, Bernard?’

‘I saw no package!’

‘The boy showed you a piece of paper,’ said Gil. ‘I witnessed that.’

‘Only your word for it, Cunningham!’ said Father Bernard, showing the yellow teeth.

‘True,’ agreed Gil, ‘but why should I invent such a thing?’

‘He has mentioned it to me more than once,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘from the beginning of the investigation.’

‘We have witnesses who confirm these movements. They saw Father Bernard,’ Gil continued, nodding his thanks for this comment, ‘crossing the Inner Close after the end of the play, before the two o’clock bell rang. However we have two further witnesses who saw him in the Outer Close, just after the two o’clock bell, when he led me to believe he was giving a lecture. A lecture which did not in fact take place.’

‘Who — ’ began Father Bernard, and closed his mouth.

‘You may not realize,’ Gil said to Hugh Montgomery, who was staring intently at him, ‘that the door to the Theology Schule is in the Inner Close. Nobody lecturing there would need to be in the Outer Close.’

‘Aye,’ said Montgomery, and nodded. ‘But William’s chamber was in the Outer Close. I mind I asked him how come he was out here with the great ones and he tellt me he was valued in this place.’ Robert muttered something, and he turned his head to look. ‘What was that?’

‘Kind of thing he would say,’ repeated Robert with reluctance.

‘William’s chamber was in the Outer Close,’ agreed Gil. ‘Do you have your college key on you?’ he asked the chaplain, holding his hand out. Father Bernard stared at him, then slowly drew the cord over his head and dragged the key out from the breast of his habit. Gil turned it over. ‘When you showed me this yesterday there was a patch of rust on it, which is gone now.’

‘Anyone may clean a key,’ said Maister Crawford, suddenly remembering his role.

‘Not many does,’ said Montgomery. ‘What’s this to say, Cunningham?’

‘The dog,’ said Gil. ‘Someone struck the dog over the head.’

‘It was a patch of rust,’ said Father Bernard rather shrilly. ‘You’re reading too much — ’

‘I’ve cleaned too many hunting knives,’ said Gil. ‘That was blood on the key. The dog went for you, as he would have gone for you again next time he saw you. You struck him down.’

‘An ill-schooled puppy — ’

‘He is a remarkably intelligent and well-taught animal,’ said Maistre Pierre.

Gil put the key into Montgomery’s waiting grasp and said, ‘What were you searching for? You took all the paper in William’s chamber, and left the money and jewels. You were searching for something in writing. The piece of paper William showed you in the morning?’

‘I admit nothing,’ said Father Bernard steadfastly.

‘And during your first absence from the Theology Schule?’

‘Why should our chaplain so far forget himself as to strangle one of our scholars?’ asked Maister Crawford. ‘And not even one of his own students?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said the Dean. ‘We are going round in circles here. Gilbert, where does your argument lead?’

‘It leads to the thumbscrews in my lower hall,’ said Montgomery. ‘And I’ve a couple more devices I’ve a notion to try.’

Father Bernard shuddered, but said nothing. Maister Crawford bobbed up from his stool again, his round legal bonnet slipping sideways.

‘Has my colleague quite finished his accusation? May we discuss our chaplain’s defence?’

‘I do not have to defend myself — ’

‘There is more,’ said Gil. ‘The explanation Father Bernard offered when the dog would have gone for him, yesterday in Maister Mason’s house, was that dogs often dislike him because of his habit.’

‘You’ve hunted with dogs for years!’ said Montgomery explosively.

‘So I hear,’ agreed Gil. ‘Further, this man who claimed he scarcely knew William was the only person I spoke to, save his foster-mother, who knew that the boy had turned sixteen.’

‘That could be chance,’ said Maister Doby ‘I would say half the junior bachelors are turned sixteen by now.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Gil. ‘But he was also heard giving something in writing to another to be destroyed, very shortly before William’s lecture-notes turned up smouldering in Jaikie’s brazier.’

Maister Crawford popped up again, like the figure on a toy Gil had once had.

‘Dean, I must object!’ he began. ‘Is this the sum total of the case against our chaplain? It is a farrago of invention and nonsense. He was heard, indeed!’

‘Gilbert,’ said Maister Forsyth before the Dean could speak. ‘You have given us a number of circumstantial instances which may add up to an accusation. What you have not given us is any reason why Father Bernard, who is after all clericus, and the chaplain or pastor of this college, should do such harm to one of his flock.’

Father Bernard’s deep-set eyes turned towards him, glittering in the light.

‘That’s what I want to know too,’ said Montgomery. ‘Why, Bernard? Did you not ken he was Isobel’s boy?’

‘Oh, I recognized his parentage,’ said Father Bernard. ‘You had only to look at him. But I repeat, I did not kill William.’

‘Then where were you before the two o’clock lecture? Why did you cancel it? Why did you search William’s chamber?’

‘I admit nothing!’

There was a movement beyond the door, a footstep and another and a rustle of taffeta.

‘Perhaps I can shed some light,’ said a voice.