The Nicholas Feast

Chapter Five

Jaikie the porter was blocking the vaulted tunnel to the yett, hands on hips, glaring red-faced and indignant at Gil and the mason as they approached. The wolfhound at Gil’s knee began to growl quietly, and he hushed it as the porter launched into aggressive speech.

‘Now, you ken the rules as well as me, Maister Cunningham! Even William Irvine never had a leman calling at the yett for him — ’

Gil glanced over the man’s shoulder. At the far end of the tunnel Alys stood patiently in the street, her plaid drawn over her head against yet another pattering shower.

‘The lady,’ he said coldly, ‘is Maister Mason’s daughter, and it would have been common courtesy to ask her in out of the rain.’

The porter snorted in disbelief, but Maistre Pierre said, ‘It is indeed my daughter, and I am here to protect her from your lecherous students.’

Jaikie opened his mouth to comment, assessed the mason’s size and breadth of shoulder, and closed it again. As Maistre Pierre stepped past him into the tunnel he recovered somewhat and expostulated, with a puff of spirituous breath, ‘Ye canny bring a lassie in here just the same! It’s as much as my job’s worth if the heid yins catches ye here with her. And another thing — is that no William Irvine’s dog?’

Gil suppressed anger.

‘Let the lady past, if you please,’ he said, emphasizing the word. ‘She is here about the business I am conducting for the Principal and Dean Elphinstone.’ Whether it’s true or no, that ought to silence him, he thought.

Jaikie glowered at him, and finally stepped aside as Alys emerged from the tunnel on her father’s arm, bringing with her the feeling that the sun had come out again. Catching Gil’s eye she curtsied and said formally, ‘May I speak to you, Maister Cunningham? I have information which may be of value.’

Her father’s eyebrows went up and Jaikie gaped at her, but Gil, forewarned by her expression, replied in the same language, ‘Indeed yes, for I am sure your news will be worth hearing.’

‘That’s Latin!’ said Jaikie suspiciously. ‘How can a lassie ken Latin?’

‘Same way a student kens it,’ said Gil crisply. ‘Now stand aside, man.’

Biting his thumb and glowering, the porter stood aside and watched them. His mutter followed them across the courtyard.

‘I don’t know. Even William never had a leman at the yett, and he’d the half of Glasgow leaving messages for him.’ As they reached the door of the Bachelors’ Schule the mutter rose to a shout. ‘And is that dog to go back to Billy Dog now or no? He’s been asking for it.’

‘Gil, you must come to our house,’ said Alys, her hand on his arm. ‘Mistress Irvine is in great distress.’

‘Irvine,’ Gil said. He disengaged his arm and put it round her shoulders. The pup lay down firmly on his feet. ‘I should have thought. How can I answer you, mother, When my schoolmates have me slain? I take it she gave him her own name?’

‘Or her husband’s,’ said the mason, sitting down opposite them on another of the long hard benches. ‘That must be why the boy named her when he wrote his will.’

‘It has been more than a little trying,’ said Alys. ‘When Mistress Irvine found it was her foster-son who was dead — ’

‘Did the McIans tell her?’ her father interrupted.

‘No, they had left by then. Kittock mentioned it, and then she ran out in the street — ’

‘Tell us from the beginning,’ Gil said. He tightened his clasp on her shoulders, and she leaned a little against him.

‘The McIans came by the house,’ she said patiently. ‘The harper was a little upset, and wanted to ask after the baby. Mistress McIan told me about what happened — about the dead student, and how her brother knew where he was — ’

‘Not exactly,’ Gil said. ‘He knew he was behind a locked door.’

‘Oh. They spoke to Mistress Irvine, too, to thank her for trying to get the bairn to eat, and then they left. It was only a little while ago that Kittock said something about the dead man in Mistress Irvine’s hearing, and repeated enough to make her sure it was her boy. She became very distressed.’

‘Poor woman,’ said her father sympathetically.

Alys threw him a glance, and nodded. ‘She ran out in the street, and found some people coming from the feast, still in their gowns and hoods, and asked them who was dead, and what happened. They told her his name, and that he had been throttled — is that right?’ Gil nodded. ‘It took several of us to get her back into the house. I sent to Greyfriars, and Father Francis is with her now. But the thing is, Gil, that I think she may have information for you. She has mentioned knowing the young man’s mother, and that money comes from the Montgomery estates for his keep.’

‘This could be valuable,’ Gil agreed, ‘but there are matters I must see to here before I can leave. Alys, what you could do for me if you will — ’ She looked up hopefully. ‘- is take this animal home and feed him for me.’

‘If he will go with you,’ said the mason. ‘And I have a task for you also.’

‘Can’t I do anything else?’

‘Not yet.’ Gil smiled at her. ‘And the dog must be fed.’

‘Very well.’ She bent to offer the pup her hand to sniff. ‘He is a handsome dog — not like Didine at all, is he, father?’ As the mason grunted in agreement, she explained to Gil: ‘Catherine had a little dog when we came to Glasgow, a pop-eyed yappy creature. She died last year. This fellow is much more to my taste. What is his name?’

‘I have no idea. Probably Bran or Gelert or some such thing,’ said Gil disparagingly. ‘Everyone and his granny calls his wolfhound Bran. His head needs looked at, too.’

‘I see that.’ She stroked the rough flank, and the hairy tail beat twice on the floor. ‘Poor beast. And your task, father?’

The mason felt in his sleeve, and drew out the much-folded papers they had found in William’s purse.

‘See what you can make of that,’ he said, handing them to her. ‘The square one is in code.’

‘In code?’ She unfolded it carefully, and tilted it to the light. ‘Simple substitution,’ she said after a moment. ‘Look, here is the same group of letters, and here, and again here. I can decipher that,’ she finished confidently. ‘What about the other?’

‘Notes of some sort, transcribing the tablets.’ Gil held the little set out on his palm, and she glanced at it, and looked closer.

‘I saw those in Maister Webster’s shop,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am certain it’s the same set. I thought them too dear for something so small.’

‘William obviously thought otherwise.’ Gil slipped the leather cover off to look at the carved outer faces again. ‘This is fiddly work. It would have taken time.’

‘As for these notes.’ Alys looked down at the second sheet of paper. ‘M will be in G. I suppose G might be for Glasgow?’

‘Then M might mean Montgomery,’ said her father. ‘Who else!’

‘It’s possible,’ agreed Gil. ‘Very possible.’

Alys refolded the papers and tucked them behind her busk. ‘If I have time, I will work on that this evening.’

‘Is nane so witty and so wyce. I think you can do everything,’ said Gil in admiration.

She threw him a glinting look, and got to her feet. ‘I must go and see to the kitchen. Will you be in to supper?’

‘Who knows?’ said her father. ‘There is an entire college to question, I think. You see her out, Gilbert. I go to find John Shaw.’

Gil roused the pup and they walked down the shadowy tunnel to the yett, Alys’s pattens clopping on the paving-stones. There was movement in the porter’s small chamber, but the man did not appear. At the yett Gil paused, and pushed the animal towards her.

‘I have not forgotten my promise,’ he assured her. ‘If you wish to take part in the hunt, you shall do so, outside the college. I wish you could help inside as well.’

She put up her face for his kiss.

‘Some day there will be a college for women in Glasgow,’ she said composedly, and bending to take the dog’s collar led it out into the street. The effect of her parting speech was completely spoiled by the wolfhound, which, realizing it was being separated from its new hero, dug its paws into the mud, squirmed from her grasp and flung itself yammering back at Gil, with Alys in pursuit. Gil, laughing in exasperation, bent to gather the animal into his arms.

‘Leave the beast with me,’ he said, avoiding its passionate and muddy demonstrations of relief.

‘I think I must,’ she agreed, laughing with him. Her laughter faded as a mounted party went up the High Street, spurs jingling, and Gil paused in the gateway to watch them go, looking past her in dismay at the pack-mules laden with mud-splattered bales and boxes. ‘What is it? What have you seen? Is it the Montgomerys?’

‘No, not the Montgomerys,’ he said, in slightly hollow tones. ‘We have less time than I thought to get this sorted out. I know those riders, and I’d know the bay with the two socks if I met him in Jerusalem. Those are my mother’s outriders. She’ll be in Glasgow by tomorrow night.’

The college kitchen, having long since served up dinner in the Laigh Hall for the remaining scholars and regents, was resting from its labours. The charcoal fires out of the long brick cooking-range had been tipped into the hearth and lay in smouldering heaps, the blue smoke curling up past the long iron spits. Two sturdy lasses and a pair of grooms were scouring crocks in a corner, and another groom and a boy in a student’s belted gown were carrying them away. Some older women were seated round the table and Mistress Dickson, in a great chair in the corner, her feet in their large cracked shoes propped on a stool, was just sending another groom for some of the college’s wine.

‘Well, Maister Cunningham!’ she greeted him. ‘Sit you down and tell me about your marriage, then. What like’s your bride? Can she bake and brew?’

‘With the best,’ Gil assured her. He drew up the stool she indicated and the pup settled beside him on the flagged floor. ‘Agnes, is there any chance of some scraps for this beast? He must be yawpin with hunger, poor creature, for he can’t have been fed since before Terce.’

‘There’s some of the rabbit pottage left that it could have,’ said one of the women at the table, ‘and a wee take of the spiced pork. The plain roastit meat’s all ate up.’

‘There were just the two made dishes, is that right?’

‘Aye, and that was enough,’ said Mistress Dickson briskly. ‘For the money they allowed me, I did them proud, anyone’ll tell you that. Two made dishes, one of them kept for the high table, three sorts of plain roastit meat, an onion tart with flampoints to each table, all the breid they could eat.’ She checked the items off on long bony fingers. ‘And for the second course, a pike, kale pottage with roots in, a big dish of fruminty to each table. Raisin-cakes and cheese to clear it with.’

‘And the pheasant,’ said someone.

‘Aye, I forgot the pheasant. Sic a trouble it was to get it back in its skin.’

Gil, uncertain of how such a young animal’s belly would react to spiced pork, negotiated tactfully for a portion of the Almayne pottage, and began to remove the meat from the splintery bones with his knife. The dog accepted each morsel delicately, making no attempt to snatch or snap at his fingers, its hunger apparent only in the speed with which it swallowed. Mistress Dickson watched approvingly, over a cup of wine.

‘So that William turned up,’ she said at length.

‘He did,’ agreed Gil, picking another fragment of bone out of the bowl. ‘In the coalhouse.’

‘Tam, there, was in the coalhouse not an hour before he was found,’ said Mistress Dickson. Gil looked round, and found one of the grooms grinning importantly. ‘Weren’t you no, Tam?’

‘I was, and all,’ agreed Tam. ‘He wisny there, but,’ he added in tones of disappointment.

‘Saints preserve us, what a thocht!’ said one of the sturdy girls in the corner. The other one giggled.

‘Well, he wouldny be,’ said the student helping Tam. ‘Seeing it was the limehouse he was in anyway.’

‘What time was that?’ Gil asked. ‘Was it raining?’

‘What time? It was when I sent him for coals,’ Mistress Dickson interpolated.

‘And when would that be?’

After some discussion, with help from the three women at the table, it was agreed that Tam had gone for coals after one shower but before another.

‘What were the coals for? Whose dinner were you cooking by then, Agnes?’ Gil asked.

‘Aye, now you’re asking.’ Mistress Dickson scowled at the pup for a moment, chewing her lip. ‘I think it was the college dinner. I think I got the feast cooked on one carry of coals, and Isa there put the water on for the kale for the college dinner, and then we needed more. And lucky we did, for if Tam’d been later he’d have found the coalhouse door locked, by what I hear, and the dinner still to cook.’

‘And was that about the time the thunder started?’ Gil asked.

‘By here, you’re right, maister!’ said Tam. ‘For I mind now, I heard thunder when I was in the coalhouse. I thought it was the coals falling down on me!’ He laughed hugely at his own joke.

‘It was after that he went in the limehouse,’ observed the student.

‘It was the coalhouse, Nicholas,’ said Mistress Dickson crossly, ‘as Adam there’ll tell you.’

‘They said they’d put him in the limehouse.’

‘Who said that?’ asked Gil, feeding the dog another morsel.

The young man Nicholas, finding everyone looking at him, went red, but persisted. ‘When Maister Shaw sent me back to help with the crocks. I saw Lowrie Livingstone and the other two carry him into the passage that goes by the limehouse. They didny see me,’ he added.

‘They put him in the coalhouse, Nicholas,’ repeated Mistress Dickson. ‘I don’t know why you’re aye on about the limehouse.’

‘They said the limehouse,’ repeated Nicholas sulkily.

‘When did they say that?’ Gil asked.

‘When they came out of the passage. I was at the top of the kitchen stair,’ said Nicholas, pointing at the door, ‘and they came out just under my feet laughing about it. One of them said he’d be heard when he shouted, and Lowrie said In the limehouse? The walls are three feet thick. Then they went away across to the Outer Close.’

‘So was it them that killed him?’ asked one of the women at the table.

‘Why did they lie about him being in the limehouse?’ wondered Tam.

‘Well, it’s certain he was found in the coalhouse,’ said one of the men scouring crocks, ‘for I helped to bear him out of there.’

‘Aye, you did, Adam,’ agreed Mistress Dickson. ‘Just when I was needing you to fetch me another sack of meal.’

‘Did you see Father Bernard?’ Gil asked.

Nicholas looked blank. ‘Him? No. Was he about?’

‘One or two people were about,’ said Gil vaguely ‘Who else was here in the kitchen?’

‘I was,’ admitted Adam, pausing again in his work, ‘and I mind now, Nicholas, you came in and said something about William in the limehouse. I wonder how he got into the coalhouse,’ he speculated, ‘for he couldny open the door, with his hands tied like that. Strange we never heard him shouting or anything.’

‘Was his hands tied?’ said another of the women at the table avidly.

‘You heard nothing?’ asked Gil. ‘Where were you all?’

‘We were all here,’ said Mistress Dickson, ‘for Adam and Aikie yonder had shifted the most of the crocks already, while they were all at their play, and there was no more for us to do in the Fore Hall.’

‘Everyone who’s here now?’ Gil persisted. They looked round at one another, and several people nodded.

‘And Robert,’ said Tam.

‘I’d sent Robert to make sure all the crocks was shifted,’ said Mistress Dickson. In the corner, the two scullery-lasses looked quickly at one another and away again. ‘Rightly that’s John Shaw’s business, but he’d enough to see to, he asked me to oversee the crocks.’

‘I saw that William before that,’ said the third woman at the table.

‘Did you so? Where was he?’ Gil asked.

‘He crossed the Inner Close, here, and went up the next stair. He seemed as if he was in a hurry.’

‘Maybe you were the last to see him alive, Eppie,’ said the woman beside her with a pleasurable shudder.

‘Except for who killed him,’ Eppie pointed out. ‘I wondered at the time,’ she added, ‘for they were all still at their daft play, and I ken fine his chamber’s in the Outer Close where the siller dwells, but we’ve been ower thrang here, maister, to worry about one ill-natured laddie getting somewhere he shouldny.’

‘You found him ill-natured?’ said Gil innocently. A courteous paw was placed on his arm, and he handed over the last piece of meat. ‘The Dean and the Principal spoke very highly of him.’

‘Oh, aye,’ said Mistress Dickson. ‘They’d find him sweet-natured enough. He’d keep on their right sides, would William.’ She tilted her cup of wine to get the last mouthful, so that the steam-whitened underside of her tight red sleeve showed, and looked into its empty depths. There was a brooding silence. ‘He was aye on at me about the cost of food,’ she added. ‘If Maister Shaw was satisfied, what business was it of his, I said to him, but back he’d come with a note of who got a spare bite at the buttery door and who got wheaten breid when he should have had masloch. As if I’d turn away hungry laddies,’ she added.

‘If he could get a man into trouble, he would,’ said Tam. ‘I’m no sorry he’s away. Well, I’m no,’ he added on a defiant note.

‘He got your lass turned out,’ observed one of the other men. ‘What was it for?’

‘He said she took food home to her minnie,’ said Tam resentfully. ‘And what if she did?’

‘Aye, well,’ said Mistress Dickson, swinging her feet down off the stool. The pup, taken by surprise, backed against Gil’s knee and produced a rather squeaky growl. He hushed it, and it flattened its ears in apology. ‘This isny getting tomorrow’s breid kneddit. There’s water there, Maister Cunningham, if you wish to clean your hands before you leave my kitchen.’

‘Who do you think killed him, maister?’ asked the woman opposite Eppie, as the kitchen work began again. ‘Was it Lowrie Livingstone and them?’

Gil, drying his hands on his doublet, shook his head.

‘I don’t know yet. Who do you think?’ he countered.

‘They had no useful suggestion,’ he said to Maistre Pierre. They were standing at the gate between the college orchard and the Blackfriars grounds, watching the dog, which was casting about in the grass.

‘I think nobody has one,’ said the mason. ‘What was the useless suggestion?’

‘That one of his friends had throttled him. I asked who his friends were, but they were not willing to answer. He seems to have had few enough friends.’

‘Perhaps we should speak to those few next.’

‘After we have looked at the body again. Did John Shaw tell you anything?’

‘I have a list,’ said Maistre Pierre, drawing his own tablets from his purse, ‘of those who were waiting at the feast, and of what dishes were served. He became quite eloquent about serving the pike.’

‘It’s not everyone can splat a pike,’ Gil agreed. ‘Did you ask him if William had tried his extortion on him?’

‘I did not. I have to work with this man, remember, and whether he answered me honestly or not, I do not think he would forget that I asked. Besides, I think you are better than I at such questions.’

‘I hope that is a compliment.’ Gil nodded at the tablets in his friend’s large hand. ‘Who was serving?’

‘These three are college servants — Aikie Soutar, Tam Millar, Adam Anderson. Then these four are students, hired for the occasion — Nicholas Gray, Robert Montgomery, William Muirhead, George Maxwell. I asked,’ said Maistre Pierre slowly, ‘who went to the play and who would be clearing the crocks from the hall where the feast was. It seems the students were permitted to watch the play, since their fellows were acting in it.’

‘So the college servants were clearing the crocks,’ said Gil, ‘and crossing back and forth through the Inner Close and the Outer. Did all these four go back to their task after the play?’

‘It seems so. These two — the young men Muirhead and Maxwell — were handing sweetmeats and wine, and the other two were helping to shift the last of the crocks. That dog has done his duty. Should we go and pay our respects to the dead?’

In the bellhouse, which also served as mortuary chapel, there were candles and nose-tickling incense, and a rapid mutter of prayers. A pair of the Dominicans knelt, one on either side of the convent’s bier, where the corpse lay shrouded already. Their fingers flickered over their plain wooden rosaries.

‘I asked that he be left clothed till we could be there,’ said Gil, in some annoyance.

‘He was beginning to set,’ said Maister Forsyth, coming forward from the stone bench at the wall. ‘Aye, Maister Mason. Are ye well? His clothes are here, Gilbert, I kept them back, but the laddie himself is washed and made decent. And what have you deduced this far?’

‘Precious little,’ admitted Gil. ‘Can you tell me about William, maister?’

‘Not a lot, you know.’ The old man made his way back to the bench, and Gil and the mason settled on either side of him. ‘Let me see. He must be fifteen or so. A very able scholar, very good in the Latin, a few scraps of Greek, a little French. A good grasp of logic, a very clever disputant. A liking for secrets, and a powerful memory for oddments of knowledge. He had the occasional moment of generosity — I have seen him give coin to a beggar — but for the most part very close with his property or his learning.’

‘You did not like him,’ Gil suggested.

Maister Forsyth turned to look at him, the candlelight glittering in his eyes. ‘Have I said so?’

‘Was he likeable?’

‘No,’ said the old voice after a moment. ‘God has not given it to all of us to be lovable.’

‘God himself loves us all, even so,’ said the mason.

‘Amen,’ agreed Maister Forsyth. ‘William was admirable, but no lovable. One of the clever ones, for whom it is never enough.’

‘Erth upon erth wald fain be a king,’ Gil offered.

‘Indeed. And it goes on, does it not, And how that erth goes to erth thinks he no thing. Poor laddie. He made me think of a flawed diamond. Brilliant and glittering, ye ken, but if we tried to cut or polish him more he would fly in pieces. Now you, Gilbert, are like ivory or maybe jet.’

‘Jet?’ Gil repeated, startled.

‘Aye. Plain and serviceable, no show about ye, but taking a fine polish. A fine polish,’ he repeated approvingly.

‘Do diamonds have flaws?’ asked Maistre Pierre.

‘Who knows? But the figure is instructive.’

Gil, recovering his poise, said after a moment, ‘What do you suppose William meant by his questions at this morning’s meeting?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Maister Forsyth promptly in Latin. ‘It was a quite regrettable display of malice, but whether it was founded in any fact I do not care to speculate.’

‘Malice,’ repeated Maistre Pierre in French. ‘Was it only that?’

‘Maister Doby thought the remark about money might be a misunderstanding of the problem the college had about John Smyth’s loan,’ Gil said.

His teacher stared at the candles, while the prayers drummed on like rain.

‘It might be,’ he said at length. ‘It might be. John would remember that tale better than me, he was Wardroper at the time.’

‘Or it might be a dig at the Steward,’ Gil continued. ‘I gather William was exercised about the cost of food going through the kitchen.’

‘You canny starve growing laddies.’ Maister Forsyth was still watching the candles. ‘No, Gilbert, I dinna ken. Nor have I the smallest idea of what prompted the hints about heresy,’ he added in Latin.

‘It is an unpleasant thing to suggest,’ said Maistre Pierre in French.

The old man shook his head. ‘Ask another question, Gilbert.’

‘It seems,’ said Gil with some delicacy, ‘that William was given to extortion. Do you have any knowledge of this, maister?’

‘It grieves me to say it,’ admitted Maister Forsyth, ‘but I do.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘The poor laddie. I feared as much.’ He looked round at Gil. ‘He came to me privately one day last autumn, with a list of things I had said, taken out of context, hinting that it might be worth his while repeating them to Robert our Archbishop.’ He shook his head again. ‘I showed him the error of what he was doing. I also assured him,’ he added, with a gleam of humour, ‘that I had made most of these remarks to Robert Blacader in the first place. He went away, and I have prayed for him since. I feared that if he approached me in such a way he might approach others, to the danger of himself or of his …’ He paused, considering the next word. ‘Victim,’ he finished.

‘That is valuable information, maister,’ said Gil.

‘Well, well. Do you have more to ask me?’

‘What did you have to eat at the feast, sir?’

‘At the feast?’ Maister Forsyth smacked his lips reminiscently ‘Agnes did well, on the money we gave her. Spiced pork with raisins. Fruminty There was a pike, but I canny take pike. Tastes of mud. A great onion tart with cloves. Agnes canny cook Almayne pottage, but she’s a good hand with pastry. It was a good feast, and the spiced pork hasny repeated on me the way it often does. And then we had the play, and William’s costume was torn. A pity, that. The dragon is always popular with the younger students.’

‘And what did you do at the end of the play?’

The round felt hat bobbed as Maister Forsyth turned to look at Gil again.

‘The senior members of the Faculty retired to the Principal’s residence to ease themselves. We remained there for perhaps the quarter of an hour, and then went in procession back to the Fore Hall.’

‘Who are the senior members?’ asked Maistre Pierre.

Maister Forsyth, finally accepting the mason’s understanding of Latin, enumerated the Dean, the Principal, the two lawyers and himself.

‘And Maister Coventry was not there,’ said Gil.

‘No,’ agreed Maister Forsyth, ‘though he ought to ha been. I thought I saw him and Nick Kennedy gang the other way, to the Arthurlie building.’ He looked down at the pup, which after nosing the bundle of William’s clothes carefully had gone to sleep on Gil’s knee. ‘And what is this, Gilbert?’

‘We found him in William’s chamber. It’s against the statutes to keep a dog, isn’t it?’

The old man tut-tutted. ‘There ought to be a statute about keeping statutes. They mostly gets ignored. It’s fair taken on wi ye, Gilbert.’

‘Do we wish to look at the dead?’ asked Maistre Pierre. Gil nodded, and gathering up the pup under his arm rose to his feet. The two friars by the bier ignored him as he loosened the tape holding the shroud in place and folded the linen back. The dog stretched its neck and extended a long nose to sniff the red hair, bright even by candlelight, and Gil turned in haste to hand the animal to the mason.

‘Poor beast, I never thought — hold him for me, Pierre.’

‘I do not think him distressed,’ the mason said, watching as Gil felt carefully over the dead boy’s skull. ‘He may not recognize the scent. All I can smell is incense and soap. What have you found?’

‘Confirmation.’ Gil parted the springy hair, and moved one of the candles closer. ‘Aye, he’s hit his head on something. There’s a lump, and a bruise. That’s all I need, I think.’ He straightened up. ‘Bring the pup here.’

The pup, held up to see the corpse, sniffed briefly at the ghastly face, paid a little more attention to the grooved and swollen neck, then laid its head on Gil’s arm in a manner which spoke volumes. The nearer of the two bedesmen reached up without missing a syllable to scratch the rough jaw and was rewarded, as Maister Doby had been, with an infinitesimal lick.

‘One final thing,’ said Gil, gathering up the ill-smelling bundle of William’s clothes with his free hand. ‘Who would have a reason to kill him?’

‘Many people might have a reason,’ said Maister Forsyth, ‘but that doesny say they did it.’

‘Agreed,’ said Gil, but the old man would say no more.

‘Now what do we do, my plain and serviceable son-in-law?’ said the mason, closing the Blackfriars gate behind them.

‘But well-polished,’ Gil reminded him, setting the dog on its own paws. ‘We must look at these garments and then send them to be washed. We must speak to William’s friends. I must talk to Nick Kennedy about that list he made for me. Then, I hope, we can go back to supper and I must speak to Mistress Irvine.’

‘Ah, good, a short day’ Maistre Pierre looked about him. ‘This is good land the college owns. They could rent it out.’

‘They use it.’ Gil was heading downhill under the apple-trees, towards the kitchen garden which lay at the back of the sprawling college buildings and sloped down to the Molendinar burn and its watermills. ‘The students gather here on fine evenings to dispute or to hear half-solemn disputes between two of their teachers. They play football here too,’ he added, ‘though they should really go out to the Muir Butts for that.’

‘Half-solemn? You mean only one disputant may make jokes?’

Gil grinned, but before he could answer Maister Kennedy appeared round the corner of the buildings, exclaiming, ‘Gil! There you are! You’re wanted, man. Montgomery’s here, and he wants blood. Come and defend us.’

‘Not my blood, I hope,’ said Gil.

‘Possibly not,’ said Nick. ‘It seems he’d just ridden into the burgh, and when the Dean sent word concerning William he came round breathing fire. There’s been a bit of a ding-dong already.’

‘What help am I likely to be?’ asked Gil, following Maister Kennedy through the pend into the inner courtyard. ‘He’ll no be comforted to learn that a Cunningham’s trying to track down whoever it was killed his kinsman.’

‘Have you nothing to tell him? At least you can assure him you’re doing something.’

Hugh Lord Montgomery was standing before the empty fireplace in the Principal’s lodging, radiating rage like a hot brick. When Gil entered the room, with the mason watchful at his back, the Dean was explaining why no word had yet been sent to Archbishop Blacader.

‘You tellt me all that already,’ said Montgomery, glaring at Gil. ‘Is this what’s trying to sort it out? This — this Cunningham?’

‘Gil Cunningham, of the Cathedral Consistory,’ said Gil, bowing with a flourish of the illegal master’s bonnet. ‘And this is Maister Peter Mason, of this burgh.’

The man who had been head of his house since he turned fourteen, who had personally killed two Cunninghams and a Boyd, was big, though not so big as the mason, and his dark hair sprang thickly above a square-jawed face. Dark angry eyes glittered under thick brows as he stared down his nose at Gil.

‘And what, if anything, have you done to the point?’ he asked. ‘Why have ye no hangit the ill-doer already?’

‘Gilbert is an able — ’ began the Principal injudiciously.

I dinna want able,’ said Montgomery quietly. I want quick.’

‘The trouble with quick,’ said Gil, ‘is that it might also be wrong, and then where would we be? Supposing we hangit a Drummond or an Oliphant, or worse, a Murray or a Ross, and then found out he wasny guilty, my lord, who do you think his kin would attack? The college or the Montgomerys?’

‘I’ll take my chance on that,’ said Montgomery.

I think the college would prefer not to,’ said Gil. There was a pause, which seemed very long. Then Montgomery produced a sound like a snarl and flung himself down in the Principal’s great chair.

‘Well, tell me what you have found, then,’ he said savagely.

‘The young man called William Irvine was strangled with his own belt,’ said Gil, picking his words with care, ‘and hidden in the college coalhouse. This makes it secret murder, not murder chaud-mellé. We are working from two directions, trying to establish who had a reason for killing him and also who had the opportunity.’

‘And who had a reason?’

I have found no good reason so far,’ said Gil.

‘Folk gets killed for bad reasons,’ said Montgomery. ‘Look for the bad reasons, Cunningham law man. What about opportunity? Who had the chance to kill him?’

‘Most of the college, at the moment,’ said Gil. ‘We will get closer than that once we speak to everyone.’

‘Pick a likely culprit and put him to the thumbscrews,’ said Montgomery. ‘I’ve a set I can lend ye, if the college has none. That’ll get ye a confession, quick as winkin.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ said the Principal.

‘Listen, Maister Doby,’ said Lord Montgomery, getting to his feet. ‘This is Sunday, right? We’ll have the funeral Tuesday or Wednesday, and if this long drink of water hasny named our William’s killer to me by the time William’s in the ground, I’ll come in here myself with the thumbscrews and — ’

‘Not,’ said the Dean in glacial tones, ‘on University premises.’

There was another of those pauses.

‘No?’ said Lord Montgomery softly. ‘Then how about outside? Ye canny hide in yir two closes in saecula saeculorum, clerk. I’ll be waiting. I’ll pick them off as they go into the town, and put them to the question. Ye’ve got till after the funeral,’ he said again to Gil, and strode past him.

The mason stepped out of his way, and closed the door carefully behind him.

‘He must think a great deal of William,’ he observed, moving to the window which looked out into the courtyard.

‘I confess, Patrick,’ said Maister Doby in wavering tones, ‘that I feel the college could do without that man’s money now.’

‘I too, John,’ agreed the Dean. ‘Is that all you have learned so far, Gilbert?’

‘Not quite,’ said Gil. The Dean waited. So did Gil.

‘We speak to William’s friends next, no?’ said the mason after a short time. ‘Where do we find them?’

‘I will have them sent for,’ said the Dean, giving in.

‘You may use this chamber. But you must make haste, Gilbert,’ said Maister Doby anxiously, ‘for Vespers will be early and solemn tonight and the college will go in procession to the Blackfriars kirk from the Fore Hall.’

Ralph Gibson proved to be the lanky boy who had played Collegia, now revealing a remarkable crop of spots. Traces of paint still showed in front of his ears and at his hairline, and there was blue on his puffy eyelids. He sat down when bidden, and stared at Gil anxiously, his bony hands clasped between his knees.

‘You know what has happened, Ralph?’ said Gil. The boy nodded. ‘William Irvine is dead, and somebody killed him.’ Ralph nodded again.

‘It wisny me, maister!’ he bleated earnestly. ‘William was my friend. Him and Robert and me.’

‘That’s why I hope you can help me,’ Gil said. ‘Tell me about William.’

‘He was just William,’ said Ralph, taken aback.

‘Was he good company?’ Gil asked. Ralph nodded again.

‘Oh, aye, he was. He knew all sort of things,’ he added.

‘William told you things?’ said the mason. The boy glanced sideways at him under the blue eyelids. ‘What sort of things?’

‘All sort.’

‘Such as what?’

‘Well, where Maister Forsyth got his lecture notes from. Who tellt Maister Stewart that you canny believe all the doctors of the Kirk have wrote.’

‘He told you these things?’ Gil said, with no particular intonation.

‘Well, maybe no.’ Ralph wriggled a little. ‘But he kent them himsel. He said so. And I tellt him things.’

‘That hint about Father Bernard — was that what William meant by his question at the meeting?’

‘Maybe,’ said Ralph, floundering slightly. ‘I think quite likely, maister.’

‘William was a good friend?’ asked the mason.

Ralph, understanding the phrase in the Scots sense, nodded again.

‘He got me out of trouble with Maister Gray,’ he disclosed, ‘and he lent me money to pay my fees when my faither’s rick-yaird burnt out. Maister, will I hae to pay that back?’ he burst out. ‘For I haveny got it. William’s heir might want it, mightn’t he no?’

The pup, curled up on Gil’s gown by his chair, raised its head to study him, then tucked its nose under a hairy paw and went back to sleep.

‘William was a bastard,’ Gil said. ‘His nearest kin will get his goods and money. If there is nothing written down, Ralph, there is no proof of the loan at law — ’

‘Oh, but he wrote it down,’ Ralph said. ‘In his wee red book.’

‘A red book?’ Gil asked, memory stirring faintly. ‘What book was that?’

‘He wrote everything down,’ said Ralph, with vicarious pride. ‘He was aye making notes.’ He mimed a careful scribe, writing small into his cupped left hand. That was it, Gil thought, recalling the sight of William writing in his tablets while the Dean’s golden oratory rolled over their heads. Writing that draft testament we found? ‘He said, you never kent when a thing would come in handy, and there it would be in his bookie.’

William’s kin would not be bound by what the boy set out in his fictive will, but they might be prepared to be guided by it, Gil considered, looking at the tear-stained face in front of him. And half of William’s goods, or even a quarter of the worth of what they had found in the wrecked chamber, would be a considerable sum to this mourner.

‘Whoever is the nearest kin,’ he said, ‘I will speak for you in the matter of the loan. Now, tell us, Ralph, what did you do at the end of the play? Was anyone with you?’

‘At the end of the play?’ Ralph stared uncertainly for a moment. ‘Oh, aye. We all ran out when the rain begun. Robert and me went to our chamber, for he’d left some notes of William’s at his window and I’d left my other hose to air. Wringing wet they were, too,’ he added.

‘Where is your chamber?’ the mason asked. Ralph produced some tangled directions to one of the stairs in the inner courtyard.

‘And then you both went back to the Fore Hall?’ said Gil. ‘Did you go anywhere else first? How about the privy? Did you see anyone else?’

‘Well, everyone else was running about too,’ said Ralph reasonably. ‘There was Henry and Walter, up our stair, for I heard them shouting about Walter’s boots. And when I was back down in the close I mind there was Andrew, and Nick Gray. And then I just gaed back and took off my costume and cleaned my face, and then I gaed up to the Fore Hall, for there was some of the comfits for the players.’

‘And Robert went with you, did he?’ asked Gil. ‘This is Robert Montgomery?’

‘No, no, he’d to go back to the kitchen. He’d been serving at table, see,’ Ralph explained. ‘He had to go back and clear. Walter and Henry and Andrew and me,’ he counted off on his fingers, ‘all gaed back to the Bachelors’ Schule thegither. Robert and Nick were wantit in the kitchen. Maister Shaw was there and sent them back.’

‘Did they go to the kitchen together?’ Gil asked.

Ralph shook his head. ‘I didny see. Likely they did.’

‘What did you eat at the feast?’ Gil asked.

Ralph, startled by the change of subject, blinked at him, but answered readily enough, ‘Rabbit stew and some of the onion tart. I didny get much. We had to go and get changed for the play.’

The mason turned from the window where he had been looking out into the outer courtyard.

‘Tell us this, boy,’ he said. ‘Who do you think might have killed William?’

‘I don’t know, maister!’ There were tears in the young voice. ‘But I wish he hadny done it!’

‘Poor boy,’ said Maistre Pierre, when Ralph had gone.

‘A poor creature,’ Gil agreed. ‘I suppose William saw that too.’

‘And what of this red book?’

‘I have seen such a thing.’ Gil frowned. ‘I can’t remember where.’

‘It will come to you,’ said the mason with certainty. ‘Shall we have in the other boy now? Maister Doby said we should make haste.’

Having seen the head of the family, Gil felt there was no doubt that Robert Montgomery was entitled to his surname. The dark hair sprang from the wide forehead in the same way, and there was the same effect of radiant rage, no less powerful for being subjugated to the good manners of a well-taught student.

‘The Dean said you wished to question me, maisters.’

‘That is true,’ said Gil. ‘Please be seated.’

The boy sat down, staring intently at Gil.

‘Well? What d’you wish to ask me? We’re singing solemn vespers for him, I have to go and robe,’ he said. ‘And I need time to con the line, since I’ll be singing his part and no my own.’

‘William was your friend?’ said Gil.

‘I suppose you could say that.’ A shrug of one shoulder. ‘He’s — he was one of ours, even if he was a bastard. We spent time together.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘I don’t have to like all my kin, thank God.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Gil ambiguously ‘Tell me about William. Do you know who his parents were?’

Again that intent stare.

‘If I did I wouldny say so,’ the boy declared roundly. ‘If you want the dirty linen, you can ask at my uncle Hugh. And good luck to it.’

‘Then what can you tell me about him?’

Another shrug. ‘Clever bastard. Liked to know things. Kept himself separate.’

‘Would you say, nosy?’ asked the mason. Robert turned to stare at him.

‘You could say that,’ he said after a moment. ‘Some folk collects money, or relics, or plate armour. William collected information.’

‘What kind of information?’

‘All kinds. Who wedded who, what estates the King’s giving away, how the harvest was in Avon-dale — he’d write it all down.’

‘And sell it?’ said the mason. Robert froze for a moment, then turned to face Gil again.

‘I dinna ken,’ he said, with another shrug. ‘He wouldny tell me if he did, would he?’

‘Was his question at the Faculty Meeting about that kind of thing, do you think?’ Gil asked.

‘I tell you I dinna ken. I’ve no idea what he was on about.’

‘Ralph thought it might be about something the chaplain had said,’ said Gil, in deliberate misrepresentation.

‘Ralph’s a fool,’ said Robert dismissively.

‘Do you recognize this creature?’ Gil stirred the pup gently with one foot. It produced a muffled yip and its paws paddled briefly.

Robert’s angry gaze softened. ‘That’s a good wolfhound. Looks like one of Billy Dog’s.’

‘Billy Dog?’

‘His right name’s William Doig. He stays out the Gallowgait, beyond the East Port. Breeds dogs.’

‘I have heard of him,’ said the mason.

‘You’ve never seen this one before? This is the dog we found in William’s chamber.’

‘In his chamber? I didny — ’ began Robert, and checked. ‘I didny ken he had a dog in his chamber. I thought it was against the statutes.’

‘It is,’ said Gil.

‘It wasny in his chamber last time I was there.’ Robert considered the pup, which was now sitting up yawning, and snapped his fingers at it. ‘It’s a bonnie beast, right enough. Maybe he was keeping it down at Billy Dog’s,’ he suggested. The pup went forward, stretching out its long nose to sniff at his hand. He patted it, feeling gently at the shape of the skull.

‘Good bone on him,’ he said, and then, indignantly, ‘Who’s cut his skull for him, then?’

‘We found him like that.’

‘That should ha been seen to before now,’ said Robert, turning the pup’s head to the light.

‘I’ll get him physicked when I go home.’

‘Billy Dog would gie you something for it. They say he’ll cure anything on four legs.’

They all watched as the pup turned and wobbled drowsily back to its makeshift bed, circled once and lay down with a sigh.

‘You were serving at table, I think,’ said Gil after a moment.

Robert blinked slightly. ‘Aye, I was.’

‘When did you eat? What did you have?’

‘Anything I could get a mouthful of,’ he said frankly, ‘every time I went back to the servery. They never tellt us we’d have to eat after the rest, and handing out all that food on an empty wame was more than I could do.’

‘What did you think of the Almayne pottage?’ Gil asked, and smiled slightly at the grimace the boy pulled. ‘Agnes is famous for it.’

‘I’ve no doubt.’

‘Did you get a taste of the spiced pork?’

‘I did not. I canny take fennygreek. Gives me hives. We never get it at home. I’d some of the onion tart, and a lump of the pike after John Shaw had mangled it. Never saw anyone make such a mess of splatting a pike.’

Gil glanced at the mason, and went on, ‘And after the play, what did you do?’

‘Went to close my window and move some of my notes out of the rain.’

‘Your notes. Not William’s?’

‘Mine.’ The square chin went up. ‘Then I went back to the kitchen, to see if there was any food, and found myself shifting crocks from the Fore Hall.’

‘Who else did you see when you went to your chamber?’

Robert paused, considering this question.

‘Ralph cam with me. He’s my chamber-fellow, poor fool. I heard Walter and Henry. I heard Andrew, and Nick Gray cam into the kitchen just after me. I think I heard Lowrie Livingston and that, arguing on their stair. They’re aye arguing, those three, though if you look sideways at one of them the whole three of them gets on to you.’

‘Any more?’

‘If I think of any more I’ll tell you.’ Robert looked past the mason at the sky. ‘I need to go, maisters. Is that all your questions?’

‘Just the one more,’ said Gil. ‘Who would have a reason to kill William?’

There was a pause, in which the anger built up behind Robert’s intent stare again.

‘How the deil would I know who he’d done an ill turn to?’ he said softly, and rose. ‘Good e’en to ye, maisters.’

The door closed behind him with a gentle firmness which was somehow more offensive than if it had slammed. The mason whistled.

‘Veuillez votr’ universite,’ quoted Gil ironically, ‘prier pour l’âme.’

‘Even his friends do not regret him,’ Maistre Pierre agreed. ‘Except for that poor Ralph. Now what must we do? I confess, every time you ask about the feast I am more aware of being hungry.’

‘We should clearly speak to this Nicholas Gray, but he will shortly go to Vespers like the rest of the college.’ Gil bent to lift the pup and reclaim his short gown. ‘I want one word with Nick Kennedy, and then I think we can go home to supper, provided Alys has not fed it to the pig.’

‘I think you may be too late for Maister Kennedy also.’ The mason closed the shutters as the sound of the Te Deum floated in from the courtyard. ‘The procession is leaving already.’