Pat McIntosh - The Fourth Crow

‘Did you challenge him on that?’ Gil asked.

‘Did I no! But it was no use, he’d a long tale about it was gien him by the Almoner hissel, I could ask him if I wanted.’

‘And did you?’ Gil prompted, wondering if Barnabas had thought of that by himself.

‘What do you think? Anyway, these last few weeks, it’s come to be more and more at a time. In fact my freen was saying last week, he’s no certain he can take any more, the merchants o Dumbarton are looking sideyways at him a’ready.’

‘Had you told Barnabas that?’

‘I did.’ Gil waited, not looking at the man. Socrates came whirling back at the gallop from wherever he had been, thrust his nose briefly under his master’s hand, and loped off again. Tam drew a deep breath, and let it out again. ‘Daft, I was,’ he admitted. ‘All I got then was a sweering, language like you’d never expect fro a servant o Holy Kirk, and tellt that I was in ower my ears already, and my freen in Dumbarton and all, and I could haud my wheesht and keep the trade going. Which is all very well for him to say,’ he added, ‘he’d no notion o trade, that was clear, when the market’s gone it’s gone and no point saying Keep it going.’

Gil, who had heard rather differently from his successful merchant brother-in-law, said,

‘Convenient for you the fellow’s deid, I’d think.’

‘Oh, aye,’ agreed Tam, ‘but you’ll no lay it at my door, freen, I was never near St Mungo’s the day he was slain, I was here about the shore all day or drinking at Maggie Bell’s place. Along wi your man,’ he finished pointedly.

‘So Euan has already told me,’ Gil accepted.

‘Pit doon the well, was he, that Barnabas? No a good way to go. Oh, throttled first, do you tell me? No that that’s any better.’

‘So how was Barnabas to collect the coin for the last load? What will you do now?’

‘That’s just it,’ said Tam, showing signs of discomfort. ‘I’m no right sure how best to proceed. I’ve been turning it ower in my head, see, all the way up fro Dumbarton. He’d ha come down the night, likely wi another two-three barrels, and I canny think whether to sit out and watch, and see if his principal comes instead or maybe sends another, or whether to go to my bed and hope he doesny, or go up St Mungo’s and hand this bit coin to the Almoner, or what.’

‘Where did you meet Barnabas? Did he bring his cart right down to the shore?’

‘No him.’ Tam waved a hand downriver, then retracted it. ‘No, you canny see fro here, the bridge is in the way. The far end o the shore where we haul up, there’s a great stand o trees and bushes and that. It’s the foot o St Thenew’s land.’ Gil nodded. ‘He’d hurl his cairtie down the track by St Thenew’s itsel, and pull it into the shadows there, so me and the laddie, or whoever I got to gie us a hand, had to carry what goods he brought down to the shore on our backs.’

‘So nobody else got a look at him,’ said Gil.

‘Aye. So what I’m thinking, I might sit about the brazier by the sail-shed, see if anybody cam down looking for me the night. But I’m wondering, this fellow that might be waiting in the shadows, how much does he maybe ken? How much does he think I ken?’

Gil turned his head to look at the mariner. The hazel eyes met his, their expression troubled.

‘I’ve no wife, maister,’ he said, ‘but I’ve the laddie. My nevvy. I’d no want to leave him on his lone.’

‘The other fishermen?’ Gil suggested.

‘Maybe. I’m owed a few favours.’

Gil considered the sky again. The drizzle had stopped, and the grey clouds were lightening; it was probably nearly Sext.

‘I ought to get away up to the Castle,’ he said. ‘Will you be about the shore the day?’ Tam nodded. ‘I’ll come and find you, or send by one of the Provost’s men. I think we could give this fellow more than he bargains for.’

‘I’m perfectly well,’ said Alys. ‘No need to worry about me.’

‘It’s not like you,’ said Kate. ‘Will you have some of Ursel’s gingerbread?’

‘I’ll have some gingerbread, if I may, Mammy,’ said her younger stepdaughter hopefully.

‘You’ve had a piece already, Ysonde. Take the dish to your aunt.’

Ysonde gave a dramatic sigh and tossed her head, but lifted the wooden platter and presented it to Alys with quite a creditable curtsy. Over the row of broken gold-brown pieces her penetrating glance met Alys’s, and she said significantly,

‘Dame, how does my gay goshawk?’

Alys kept her face straight with difficulty; behind the child Kate made no such attempt, though she contrived not to laugh aloud. The older girl, Wynliane, was looking shocked.

‘Maister Lowrie? He is well, Ysonde. He is gone into Ayrshire today, on an errand for your uncle.’

‘Tell him his bonnie white doo was asking for him,’ said Ysonde with aplomb.

‘Seeing the rain’s stopped,’ Kate intervened, ‘you and Wynliane may take John and baby Edward out into the yard, if you’ll watch them carefully.’

When the children had gone outside, along with their nurses and a still-offended Jennet, Kate turned to Alys, but was forestalled by Babb, who said eagerly,

‘Now what’s this happened up the town, mistress? A woman murdered, they’re saying, and in a chapel at that? What chapel is it?’

‘Was Gil called to it?’ Kate said, watching Alys’s expression.

‘We were both there. They sent round last night.’

‘Both of you? Did you go to support those lassies you were telling me about? It’s surely not one of them that’s killed?’

Alys settled down to recount the events of the evening, along with what she and Gil had learned from the residents of the hostel and its various guests. Kate and the gigantic Babb listened attentively, both crossing themselves in shock from time to time as she unfolded the full extent of the sacrilege which had taken place.

‘There was word from the Dean already this morning,’ she said. ‘There is to be a special meeting of Chapter this afternoon, to which he seems to think Gil can bring the name of the killer already, so that they may anathematise him. Does it need the Archbishop for that, or could the Chapter do it in a body?’

‘What, wi bell, book and candle?’ said Kate. ‘D’you know, I have no idea. What a thing to happen here in Glasgow. You hear of it out among the wild Ersche, and a course there was the Bruce getting excommunicate by the Pope, for the same crime in Paisley Abbey, but that was two hundred year ago, not here and now!’

‘My granny tellt me about the Bruce,’ said Babb improbably. ‘Her granny’s granny was there and heard it, or maybe it was her granny, I canny mind, she’d heard all about it any road. They read the Pope’s letter out fro the high altar, and all cast down their candles and shut their books, so you could say he was excommunicate twice. Cursed him north and south and east and west, so it did, and sleeping and waking, eating and fasting and a’ things you could think of, and all Scotland wi him. Read in all the kirks, it was. No that we paid any mind,’ she added.

‘Terrifying,’ said Alys.

‘But who does Gil think.?’ began Kate, and stopped. Alys shook her head.

‘No way to tell for now.’

‘Yes, it’s too soon.’ Kate reached for the jug. ‘Some more of this spiced ale? If the anathema goes ahead we can look for someone to dwine and sicken or drop dead, I suppose, but if they’ll have to summon Robert Blacader from Stirling or wherever the court is the now to issue it, it could all take a while.’

‘We could,’ said Alys noncommittally. ‘Myself, I doubt whether someone who would do such a thing would be affected by excommunication, but there is no knowing.’