Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘No, I suppose I would not.’

‘I wonder why,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I did not like him myself, but he is not my priest.’

‘He’s nobody’s priest,’ Gil pointed out, ‘though it seems he acts for Thorn and the coaltown when John Heriot’s busy. I don’t think I’d take well to anyone that read the Malleus Maleficarum for pleasure, and he’s not the world’s most powerful logician either.’

‘John Heriot? That is the vicar here in Carluke?’ Gil nodded in answer, and Alys went on, ‘I thought the women at the Pow Burn disliked Fleming particularly. I wonder what. . I wonder if Murray tried to remonstrate with him, and he killed the man?’

‘Over what?’

‘Perhaps he made advances to Joanna. Or to Phemie. Or perhaps Murray guessed why he had consulted Mistress Lithgo and proposed to make it public.’

‘Murray would hardly step in to defend Phemie, by what you say.’

‘I suppose not. Gil, we must find some trace of Murray. Where will you search today?’

‘Michael is following the trail for now. I thought to pursue the identity of the man from the peat-digging further afield, but instead I might go up to Forth and find out what they know up there. Will you come with me?’

She shook her head. ‘If we work separately, we can find the answer sooner. Then you can continue to show me swordplay.’ Her faint blush made clear her awareness of the double meaning in her words.

He smiled reluctantly, trying to cover his disappointment. ‘What will you do, then?’

‘I want to find Joanna’s family, if your mother will let me borrow Henry again. I wonder if Jamesie Meikle knows …’

There was a scraping at the door. Gil crossed to it and let Socrates in, and the conversation paused while they both acknowledged his greetings. Once the dog had settled down Gil said, ‘To ask about the agreement with the collier at Dalserf, you mean?’

‘That too.’ She nodded. ‘And Gil, you must find the other two men, the sinkers. They are also important. I wonder if they really have gone to Linlithgow?’

‘You think Murray is dead, don’t you?’

‘I do,’ she said seriously, and crossed herself. ‘What worries me is why.’

‘I suppose that depends on who killed him, and that’s not easy to guess. He isn’t much liked, but he seems to be respected, there’s no sign he was thieving from the business, his wife says nothing against him — what about young Phemie? I’d believe her capable of riding out to meet him and stabbing him, if he jilted her as you say. The two sinkers might have killed him for the coin, I suppose, but why go openly to Linlithgow if so?’

‘Her brother? Would he be capable of it?’

‘I’d say so. He’s one to want to have the maistry in londes where he goes , and I suppose he would take exception to it if Murray was trying to take charge, or make decisions that weren’t his to make. But when would he have the chance?’

‘It’s a long ride from Glasgow, but he could do as you suggest for Phemie.’

‘True. Not an easy journey to get an exeat for, just the same.’ Gil grinned. ‘ Maister Doby, may I have leave to go and slay my aunt by marriage’s second husband? I think the Principal would find it lacking in the Christian virtues.’ Alys giggled. ‘I suppose that’s why he and Michael dislike one another so much,’ he went on. ‘I thought there would be daggers out when they set eyes on one another last night.’

‘They must be acquainted,’ Alys observed. ‘Other than both being at the university, I mean. They are much of an age, and they have grown up living within a mile or two, on the same lands. That will make matters worse.’ She shook out her skirts, and turned to the door. ‘Shall we go down?’

The corpse from the peat bog was not improving with exposure. Peering over the steward’s shoulder, Gil was dismayed to note the way the cracks in the skin were extending over the elbows and knees. He stood aside to let the two colliers have a closer look, and saw Crombie flinch at the sight.

‘I’ve got Danny the carpenter to him,’ said Alan Forrest anxiously, ‘and he says he’s been maybe five and a half foot high in life, and he’s away to make a box we can put him in. So I thought, Maister Gil, if we had him cried by the bellman the length of the parish, we could show him to anyone that thinks they might put a name to him, and then we could bury him decent.’

‘You were right, Jamesie. His own mother couldny put a name to him,’ said Adam Crombie. He dragged his appalled gaze from the face and surveyed the rest of the body. ‘But I thought you said he had all his fingers?’ he added to Gil.

‘Oh, the Devil’s bollocks!’ said Alan with unaccustomed vigour, bending to look at the damage. ‘Maister Gil, I’m right sorry! The household has all been after me, kitchen and yard, for a closer look, which is why I had him locked in here,’ he waved a hand at the feed-store where they stood, ‘and one of the women’s been on about a charm against getting lost on the moor. Someone’s been in here and got one of his fingers off.’ He peered round at the floor, then back at the torn black flesh and exposed brownish bone. ‘I ken who’s done it, I’ll wager.’

‘Why should he protect you against getting lost on the moor?’ said Gil in exasperation. ‘He met with a sorry end himself, poor devil. Get it back, Alan, and make it clear we’ll not have him treated like that.’

‘There’s a thing, though,’ said Jamesie Meikle, who was still studying the corpse’s face. ‘Seems to me, he’s no got the look of a man who’s met wi’ violence, for all the different ways he was slain.’

‘How can you tell that, Jamesie?’ demanded his master in scornful tones. ‘You said to me yourself, his own mother wouldny — ’

‘Aye, but,’ persisted the collier. ‘He’s a face to fright the weans, I agree, but he’s not been feared himself.’

‘You’re havering, Jamesie,’ said Crombie dismissively, but Gil, considering the bundle of bones and peeling skin, began to feel the collier had a point. There was something peaceful about the way the body was disposed, despite its savage death.

‘At the rate his skin’s drying out,’ he said, ‘we’ll need to bury the fellow soon anyway, but I’d rather he went under the earth wi’ a name to call his own. Send to Andro Bellman, Alan, that’s a good thought, and get him to publish a description abroad. I suppose you’ve no idea who he might be, Crombie?’

‘None.’ The younger man looked round as the horses were led out in the sunshine past the door of the feed-store. ‘We’ll get away out your road, Maister Cunningham, and my thanks to your lady mother again for our night’s lodging. I’m for Kilncaigow first, to confront David Fleming.’

‘I’ll ride out with you as far as the peat-digging,’ said Gil. ‘I want another look at where this fellow was found, and then I’m for Forth and Haywood.’

‘What, up on the roof of Lanarkshire?’ said Crombie. ‘What would anyone go there for? The folk walk bent sideways from the wind. Our lads go up there times to get a taste of ale other than Agnes Brewster’s, but there’s no more attraction than that.’

‘I’m still on the trail.’ Gil followed the two men out into the yard and snapped his fingers for Socrates, who loped over to him from the horse-trough. ‘Alan, you’ll need to keep him safe, or he’ll be round the parish in more fragments than the True Cross. Crombie, do you ken the name of the clerk up at Forth? Who is it you sell coal to?’

The peat-digging told Gil nothing new. He spent a little while confirming what he had observed on the day he had first seen the place, then mounted up again and rode on up the hill. It was a bright day, and much less windy than yesterday; the sun was warm on his face, there were larks singing high up under the fluffy clouds, and the familiar round-shouldered bulk of Tinto Hill showed away to his right. His discontent began to lift. Socrates galloped in great circles on the rough grass, until Gil saw a small flock of ewes with their lambs and whistled the dog in to take him up on the pommel. Even the air seemed cleaner up here, he thought. At times like this he wondered why he stayed in Glasgow.