Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘I never heard that,’ said Patey

And if it doesn’t tell it now, thought Gil, it will by the time Sir John gets to his bed tonight. Who koude ryme in Englysshe proprely His martirdom? for sothe it am nat I , is clearly not a permissible standpoint here.

‘Thorn, you see, Thorn , maister,’ persisted the priest. ‘It can be none other!’ He clapped his hands together like a child, smiling radiantly. ‘Oh, Maister Cunningham, I’m so joyful I could dance like King David, here in the Worn Way. Indeed! And we’ll get him out of madam your mother’s feed-store as soon as maybe and brought down here to the kirk, and lay him up properly. What a great thing for my parish, sir! To have our own founder, our own evangelist, to dwell here as patron of our kirk!’

‘They’ve nothing like it in Lanark,’ agreed the clerk, nodding again. ‘Them and their wee bit of the True Cross!’

‘Are you saying that’s your saint that Rab Simson found, Sir John?’ asked Patey ‘Never! It’s no but a stinking bundle of rotted leather, and so Henry tellt all the folk standing in line in our stable-yard this morning.’

‘No, surely, sir,’ objected Alys, ‘he has no tonsure, no trappings of a priest — ’

‘There’s no sign on him at all,’ agreed Gil.

‘Did St Roch have the trappings of a priest, madam?’ demanded Sir John eloquently, waving his hand towards the church. ‘Did Our Lady wear a nun’s garments? Besides,’ he added in a more practical tone, ‘you said yourself, maister, they’d have rotted down in the peat. We’ll get him clad as befits him soon enough. Indeed.’

‘Who’s this coming, Maister Gil?’ said Steenie, peering past the buff-coloured folds of Alys’s skirts. Gil turned in the saddle, to see a rider in Cauldhope livery approaching fast, leading a spare horse.

‘I must send to your lady mother to get all arranged,’ warbled the priest. ‘We’ll have a great procession, wi’ music and green branches, and — ’

‘Sir John!’ said the newcomer urgently, reining in beside the group. Gil’s horse shied restlessly, and Socrates hurried back from his inspection of the kirk-yard gate, hackles up. ‘Thanks be to Our Lady I’ve found you, maister. I’m sent for you to Davy Fleming.’

‘Oh!’ said Alys, and caught Gil’s eye.

‘To Davy?’ repeated Sir John in amazement. ‘What’s to do, Simmie? Is he in a bad way? I heard he was on his feet again.’

‘He was,’ said Gil. ‘He was up at the Pow Burn yesterday.’

‘Aye, but he sickened again yestreen after his supper,’ said Simmie. ‘And I’m seeking yourself and all, Maister Cunningham. Maister Michael said to ride on to Belstane for you, but since you’re here I’ve no need. He’s wanting a word wi’ you, and it seems to be eating at him.’

‘I will come too,’ said Alys.

‘Maister Michael wants a word?’ asked Gil.

‘Oh, I couldny say to that,’ said the man confusingly, ‘but it’s for certain Davy Fleming wants you, for I heard him say as much to the maister. Mind you,’ he added, ‘I’m no so sure myself he’s near death, for the way he shouted at Maister Michael this morning out of his bed, you never heard the like.’

‘Just let me pack up what’s needed,’ said Sir John briskly, all professional concern. ‘I’ll need to bear an intinctured wafer wi’ me, Jock, and I must borrow a horse — ’

‘You’ll no need, I brought this beast in for you,’ said Simmie.

‘You’ll be wanting the new box, then,’ said the clerk to his master, with a significant look.

‘Aye, indeed!’ agreed Sir John. He grinned, and clapped his hands together. ‘A good thought, Jock! Just wait here, Simmie, and I’ll be right with you.’

Gil was shocked by the change in David Fleming, and recognized from the sudden stiffening of her back that Alys was equally dismayed. The man was huddled in the steward’s chair in the little chamber off the hall, bundled in rugs and racked by spells of shivering. The truth was self-evident of Alys’s statement that he had his death on him; overnight his plump cheeks seemed to have fallen in, his eyes were sunken, dark-ringed and feverishly bright, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow, darkening the limp, mousy hair which clung to it.

Alys went forward and began to feel her patient’s forehead and neck with gentle fingers. He looked blankly at her, and then at Gil, then said to Michael where he stood in the doorway, ‘I want a word wi’ Maister Cunningham. It’s right urgent, sir.’

‘I’m here,’ said Gil, wondering if the man could see clearly.

‘There, now, my poor friend,’ said Sir John in sympathy. He set his leather case down on a handy stool and began unbuckling the straps which secured it. ‘We’ll ha’ a bowl and a jug of fresh well-water, maybe, Maister Michael? And I’ll need a towel and basin and all. Indeed.’

Michael nodded and turned to the door of the steward’s room. Over his directions to Simmie out in the screens passage Fleming said hoarsely, ‘This first. I’ve something I must tell you, sir.’

‘Now, now, man,’ chided Sir John. ‘What could be more urgent than your own confession and healing?’

‘You should rest,’ said Alys, ‘and gather your strength.’

‘Aye, well, I’m done for, mistress,’ said Fleming, and licked dry lips, ‘but this is important. I’ll last long enough to set this in your hands, Maister Cunningham. You’ll need to peruse this afore the quest on Thomas Murray, so you can tell the Provost all that’s needful, all the evidence against the witch. One of them or the other — or maybe they’re both in it,’ he added. ‘Aye, I wish I could ha’ seen them took up for witchcraft and put to the test, but if that’s no God’s will for me, I must go without.’

‘Tuts, man,’ said Sir John, ‘we’ll no give up hope for you yet. We’ll see to your spiritual needs, but then I’ve a remedy to try that I’ll swear’s sovereign against all wasting diseases, and who more deserving of it than yourself?’

‘Set what in my hands?’ asked Gil. ‘Let me take it and get away, Sir David, and leave you to your spiritual duties.’

‘The rent rolls,’ said Fleming, catching at Alys’s wrist. ‘There they are on the desk waiting for your man, mistress, the rent rolls for the coal-heugh, the old one and the new one. You’ll need to read it wi’ care, maister, but it’s all in there, all you need to know, you mind I told you of it last time you were in this chamber.’

‘I hardly think Sir James would be pleased if I went off with his rent rolls,’ objected Gil.

‘Maister Michael will permit it,’ suggested Fleming. Michael, reappearing in the doorway, nodded agreement. His face was thinned by anxiety, exaggerating the curved jaw and pointed chin.

‘I could go through them too,’ said Alys.

‘No, no,’ said Fleming, condescending even in his weakness, ‘maybe you can read, lassie, but you’ve no the experience. It takes a man of law to discern these things — ’

‘Here’s your basin, clerk,’ announced Simmie, charging in past his master, ‘and your water and all. Is it to be a wee Mass of healing? Or is it this new saint you’ve got? He should be a good help, seeing that Davy himself found him buried.’

‘Ah, thank you, Simmie,’ Sir John turned from the leather case, ‘and you can stay, indeed, and give me a hand wi’ the censer.’

‘New saint?’ said Fleming, distracted from his preoccupation. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s revealed to me,’ said Sir John importantly, and kissed his stole before he set it over his shoulders, ‘the corp from the peat-digging can be none other than St Malessock who first brought the gospel to this parish.’ He bent to the leather case again, and produced a small linen bundle which he unfolded to reveal a leathery stick-like object. ‘And here I have one of the holy man’s fingers — ’