Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘And what has the inquest found?’ he asked. ‘Did they get a name for the man?’

‘No, sir,’ said Gil. ‘Nobody in the burgh knew him.’

‘No surprise in that, I suppose,’ said the King. ‘He’s likely from wherever the hoard money’s been hid these four years, and not from Glasgow at all. And the barrel came from Linlithgow, you say?’

‘The barrel was exchanged for ours,’ said Gil with care, ‘somewhere between Linlithgow and Glasgow. Or so I believe, sir.’

‘Aye,’ said James thoughtfully. ‘No saying, is there? But why? And why put the head and the coin both into brine?’

‘I hope to find out,’ said Gil.

‘Tell me when you do. And I hope you find your books, maister,’ said the King, and Gil realized this was the first person to whom he had told the tale who had expressed the wish. ‘Meantime, there’s the matter of a reward for finding the treasure. That’s two thousand merks waiting for us in Glasgow, forbye the jewels — we’re certainly grateful, man. My lord Treasurer, you’ll see to that the now, will you?’

Thus dismissed, Gil retreated from the card-room, followed immediately by Knollys, who gestured to one of his own servants and bustled Gil back through the sequence of stuffy crowded rooms, asking affably after his uncle as they went, studying him with those round pale eyes. Gil, recalling Canon Cunningham’s strictures on this man as one of the most litigious in Scotland, answered as non-committally as he could.

‘And this barrel,’ said Knollys, pausing at a door which led out into a courtyard. The servant began striking light for the torch he carried. Knollys stepped into the yard, and Gil followed. Windows glowed above them, and overhead the sky was still greenish with the last of the light. ‘Naught else in it?’

‘No, sir,’ said Gil. ‘Just the saddlebag of coin and the head.’

‘Aye,’ said Knollys thoughtfully. He stopped in the centre of the courtyard, tapping his teeth with a fingernail. One of his rings glittered as his hand moved. ‘What made you so sure it was from the late King’s hoard, then?’ he asked, his tone soft.

‘The only thing that’s certain,’ said Gil with caution, ‘is that along with the coin we found a roll of jewels, including badges of the Queen’s household and the like. There’s no seal on the purses, but we assumed the coin went with the jewels. The saddlebag isn’t marked, the barrel and the head could have come from anywhere.’

‘Aye,’ said Knollys again, and the ring sparked. ‘What like man is it, the head I mean?’

Gil shrugged. ‘He looks like a Scot,’ he began.

‘I never suggested he wasny,’ said Knollys.

‘Maybe a fighting man, by the haircut. No more than thirty year old, maybe less.’

‘Aye,’ said Knollys a third time, tapping his teeth again. The man in the St Johns livery approached, holding the sputtering torch high. ‘I see what you mean. Could be anyone.’ Ignoring his servant, he set off towards the far corner of the courtyard. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll keep the Archbishop informed,’ he added as Gil followed him.

Up two more flights of stairs they reached a tower chamber where, even at this late hour, a clerk was working at a tall desk. The servant stationed himself outside the door, torch in one hand, the other on his sword.

‘Aye, Richie,’ said Knollys to the clerk. ‘Where are your keys? We’ll have the great kist opened, if you please.’ He produced a bunch of keys on a chain at his own belt, and he and the clerk went through the careful procedure of opening the great iron-bound box in the corner of the chamber, selecting and counting out twenty merks, placing them in a canvas purse, closing the box and locking it again.

‘The man who found the treasure will be grateful,’ Gil said, signing the receipt presented to him and thinking of Andy. ‘If it is from the late King’s hoard, is that the last, do you suppose?’

The clerk paused in turning to file the paper, but did not speak; the Treasurer said blandly, ‘Oh, I am certain Robert Lyle thinks there is more out there.’

‘Is there no record of who held the different portions?’ Gil asked.

‘None that I ever saw,’ said Knollys. ‘Or if any was kept, it was lost at the battle. I doubt if even his grace himself knew, by the end, where he’d planted this or that portion.’

‘Who do we know of, that has returned their kists?’

‘Atholl the late King’s uncle,’ said Knollys promptly. ‘My predecessor in this office. Robert Hog at Holyrood. Alan of Avery, or rather his sire.’ The clerk said something. ‘Aye, Richie, I’d forgot that. George Robinson the Edinburgh custumar was said to ha taken a thousand pound o’ the customs money,’ he explained to Gil, ‘and carried it to the north to raise a host, where folk were mostly for the late King. If he did, it’s never been recovered, and in any case I have my doubts. It’s a suspicious kind of sum, a thousand of anything. The sort of amount folk name when they just mean a lot of coin.’

Gil nodded agreement.

‘But you must understand, Maister Cunningham, this was all in my predecessor’s time. I know nothing of the matter, other than what has appeared since the start of the present reign.’

The clerk flicked a glance at his master, but said nothing. Gil nodded again, and took the canvas purse from the desk and stowed it in his jerkin.

‘Why this portion should have appeared now, in such circumstances,’ he said, ‘is beyond me.’

‘Your father was out at Stirling field for the old King, was he no?’ said Knollys.

‘He was indeed, my lord,’ said Gil politely. ‘And died for him too.’

The ruby ring flashed again, but Knollys, a man who had changed sides at the moment most expedient to himself, did not respond. Instead he said, in considered tones, ‘Some of his friends might be a help to you, if you want to know where the barrel came from. Ross of Montgrenan, Ross of Hawkhead, Dunbar of Cumnock, all might have ideas about it.’

‘It’s very possible, my lord,’ Gil agreed. ‘A valuable suggestion.’

‘So now if you’ll excuse me,’ said Knollys, ‘I’ll get back to the cards.’

‘Afore ye go, my lord,’ said the clerk quietly, and his master turned to look at him. ‘If you’d just sign this.’

‘What is it? What is it?’

‘For the coin I gave out to Wilkie and Carson at noon. Expenses.’

‘To — ?’ Knollys bit off the question. ‘Aye, right. I hope to God they catch up with Carson’s brother. Why they ever let him go off his lone — ’ He stopped himself again. ‘You never paid them for that last piece of work, I hope, Richie?’ The clerk shook his head. ‘Right. I don’t pay for failure.’

‘The word was good,’ muttered the clerk, and fell silent at a burning glance from Knollys. Gil made some business of ensuring that his jerkin was laced over the purse he had been given, and Knollys signed the paper and flung the pen down on the desk, shaking his wide furred sleeve down over his rings.

‘So you’ll be into Ayrshire, then,’ he said, making for the door. The man with the torch set off in front of him, to light the stair.

‘One other thing you might be able to tell me, my lord,’ said Gil, following the Treasurer down the spiral. ‘I’m looking for a harper I believe might be in Stirling — the man McIan. He and his sister have played for my lord Archbishop before now. Do you know how I might find out his whereabouts?’

‘Aye, I believe I’ve heard them,’ said Knollys dis-missively over his shoulder. ‘If they’ve played before Robert Blacader, likely Maister Secretary will ken where they’re to be found. Ask at William Dunbar, Maister Cunningham.’

Having warned the household of the Precentor of Holyrude Kirk that he would likely be late, and promised to bar the door when he came in, Gil set off with Socrates towards the lodgings Dunbar had suggested as a likely place to find his friend the harper. Despite the curfew bell there were many people still about, day labourers hurrying homeward, folk going visiting for the evening. A troop of mounted men clattered past him down the hill, the eight-pointed star of the Knights Hospitallers gleaming pale on their black cloaks. The harper’s lodging lay one stair up, well down a vennel off the High Street, but the dog seemed to detect no unusual threat, and Gil picked his way down the darkening alley with no more than ordinary caution.