Pat McIntosh - The Fourth Crow

They had repaired to the inner courtyard; Gil wanted to consider what he had learned so far, and it seemed a good moment to consume Kittock’s dole. Now he continued, ‘I reckon they’d be some kind of kin of Ninian’s, third or fourth cousins maybe, closer than they are to me. The two of them are lodged wi Canon Muir on Rottenrow, who Dame Ellen said was another kinsman. I need to get a word wi him, confirm that, confirm what they were doing last night. I’m not at all convinced they gave us the whole truth.’

‘Austin knew the corp, or thought he did,’ Lowrie agreed, ‘he was struck wi horror at first sight. It could have been her bruises, but it seemed to me he recognised her.’

‘Henry was very quick to silence him.’

‘I liked his suggestion of the Gallowgate.’

‘A nice piece of misdirection. It could even be true.’

Gil extracted the cheese from between the remainder of his bread and ate it. Lowrie was watching him intently and chewing hard, and after a moment swallowed and said,

‘I had another word wi the servants here, both the guests’ household and the hostel folk, now it’s known Annie’s missing.’ Gil made an interrogatory noise. ‘The two that guarded her kept a good eye on her till about midnight, it seems, because there were folk about till that hour. The man Sawney says she spoke to him then, asking him to set her free, addressed him by name, so I think we can assume she was there and unharmed at that point. I’ve a note of who slept where here in the hostel, which should help if we’re checking movements, and that pair in the chapel the now, Will and Bessie, are man and wife and dwell by the gate here, and they mentioned there were comings and goings in the night.’

‘Oh, there were, were there?’ Gil gave his crusts to the expectant dog and took another hunk of bread from the linen wrapping. ‘Did they name anyone?’

‘No, it seems the door was left unbarred a-purpose, in case they brought Mistress Gibb back earlier than the dawn. The woman, Bessie, heard the door go an hour or so afore midnight, so she reckoned, and looked out assuming she’d be needed to help Annie back to the women’s hall, but the courtyard was empty.’ Lowrie dug in his purse for his tablets, found the right leaf and scrutinised his notes. ‘And twice more after that she heard footsteps and the door closing, and voices in the courtyard. Seems it shuts wi a thump that shakes their bed, no matter the care that’s taken. She never looked out the later times, she said she took it if she was needed they’d bang on the lodging door. Likely she was too warm to move by then,’ he added in faint amusement.

‘Three times the door went,’ said Gil thoughtfully.

‘Three times after they were in bed,’ Lowrie qualified.

‘A good point. And yet none of the folk we’ve spoken to referred to being out of the hostel. You’d think they might have mentioned it.’ He considered the final portion of bread and cheese, then broke it carefully into two large pieces and a small one, handed the small one to the dog and gestured to Lowrie to take one of the others. ‘Did her man hear anything?’

‘He says he heard the door go but never roused enough to take note of how often.’

‘Hm,’ said Gil. ‘Did you get anything from the others? From the Shaw servants?’

‘No more than I’ve told you already. So do we need to start asking who was about in the night?’

‘That can wait.’ Gil brushed breadcrumbs from his person, gathered up the linen cloth and shook it out. Several chaffinches flew down onto the cobbles, keeping a wary distance from the dog, but flew up again when the two men rose. ‘I want to get another look at the Cross, and the ground about it, if Andro and his men haveny trampled it into dust. The amount of movement there must have been, they’d surely have left some trace.’

‘Who?’ Lowrie followed him across the outer yard. ‘Whose traces are you thinking we might find?’

Gil nodded to Sir Simon at his chamber window and strode on, out of the gate, before finally saying,

‘At the very least, Annie herself and whoever released her from her bonds. Depending on what came after that, it could be as many as five or six people we’re trying to track.’

‘Do you think she went willingly?’ Lowrie asked after a moment.

‘A lot turns on that,’ agreed Gil. ‘And on precisely why she was released.’

Lowrie was silent while they skirted the high sandstone walls of the Castle and approached the gate of St Mungo’s kirkyard. Finally he said, counting off the points on his fingers,

‘Marriage by consent, whether for love or money. Marriage by capture. Simple compassion.’

‘As a hostage,’ Gil supplied. ‘To get control of her land or her money, even without marriage. Any of these.’ He paused on the slope that led down to the Girth Burn, looking about him. Off to their left the building site which was Archbishop Blacader’s addition to his cathedral church showed signs of life, with the clink of metal on stone and the creak of wooden scaffolding; as Gil turned that way Maistre Pierre’s head showed above the wall. Seeing them, the mason waved, and vanished down into the structure.

Between the Fergus Aisle and the burn which formed the boundary of the kirkyard was a clump of hawthorns, their berries just beginning to show in still-green clusters. Taller trees beyond them threw a thick-leaved shade. Crows swirled about their tops, cawing, and the long blades of bluebells grew thickly in the dappled spaces between the glowing sunlit trunks, the flowers long faded and the green seed-cases ripening on the curved stems. A sudden memory assailed Gil, of hunting among the bluebells for a harp-key while the harper’s mistress, small John’s mother, lay dead in the Fergus Aisle, of finding a wisp of woollen thread from her plaid on one of those same hawthorn bushes.

‘So again we search the kirkyard,’ said Maistre Pierre at his elbow.

‘Aye. Have Andro’s men been here?’

‘No, they have tramped the other bank of the Girth Burn, through the gardens, but did not enter the kirkyard. I suppose they have no jurisdiction on church land.’

‘There’s been nothing bigger than a fox through those bluebells,’ said Lowrie.

‘Not in the last day and a night,’ agreed Gil. ‘Let’s take a look at the Cross itself.’

They approached with care along the path, all three men scrutinising the ground about their feet as they went. The Cross was not a cross, but a tall stone with the shadows of ancient images still visible on all four sides; it could easily date back to Kentigern’s time. If it had ever had arms they were long since broken off, but Gil thought he could make out a cross carved in relief on one uneven surface, with the ring, or nimbus, or symbol of the infinite Godhead, or whatever it was, circling the juncture.

‘It takes more than one man,’ observed Maistre Pierre, ‘to tie someone to that, unless the subject is willing.’

‘Did you say you saw them bind Mistress Gibb?’ Lowrie asked.

‘I did. It took three of them. I was rounding up my men like a sheepdog, you understand, and young Berthold was right at the front of the crowd. I had a good view. Two were servants, I should say, and one man in a gown worth a baron’s ransom who held her in her place while the men bound the ropes about her. And one of the clergy, was it that fellow Craigie? offering up prayers.’

‘So was the other woman, the one in the chapel now, still alive when she was put here?’ Lowrie stood still to contemplate the idea. ‘Why would she consent? Or was she already dead, or in a great swoon from the beating, or what? I wouldny think it any easier to bind a dead woman here than a live one.’