Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘He was after bigger game than your medal,’ said Maistre Pierre, sitting down opposite.

‘He was, wasn’t he,’ agreed Gil. ‘Though Sir Raoul wouldny admit it. Here he comes,’ he added, as their new companion followed them into the tavern.

When the interrogation on the hillside was ended, the man Gray had been supplied with a few coins and a loaf from someone’s saddlebag, and offered a sight of Tam’s St Christopher medal to ward off sudden death.

‘Look on St Christopher’s face and you willny die unshriven,’ Rob had said, borrowing the medal from his still-dazed colleague.

The man had been genuinely grateful. Gil had watched him trudge away along the track to make for Edinburgh, and then remarked to the Hospitaller, ‘Now why should the Preceptory be interested in this?’

‘Have I said it is?’ asked Sir Raoul lightly. ‘Our concern is for justice and the King’s Peace on our lands.’

‘So what did you hope to find in our baggage?’

‘Nothing,’ said Sir Raoul. ‘And nothing was what we found.’

‘Nothing,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘in a small heavy bundle.’

The Hospitaller turned and looked directly at him. ‘You cannot expect me,’ he observed, ‘to discuss the Preceptory’s business with chance-met travellers.’

‘It was no chance,’ said Maistre Pierre at Gil’s shoulder.

‘And we are involved in the business already,’ Gil added, ‘if half Linlithgow can be raised to steal our baggage. It would surely benefit both parties if we were to share information.’

‘I cannot discuss the Preceptory’s business,’ said Sir Raoul again, on a faint note of apology. ‘Excuse me.’ He strode away from them towards Johan, who was inspecting the still-dazed second prisoner a little way away. Gil and the mason looked at one another, and Rob spoke up from where he and Luke were sharing a flask of something.

‘Can we no get on the road, Maister Gil? We’ll no be where we’re going afore Prime at this rate.’ He rose, and came over to his master. ‘And another thing,’ he said quietly. ‘This lot were after us right enough.’ Gil looked enquiringly at him. ‘Him they cry Johan, he said something to their leader in High Dutch. I canny speak it that well, but I can understand it, from when Matt and me was away at the wars, and he was saying we was the band some laddie had tellt them was on the road.’

‘Simmie,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll wager that was his errand. But why should St Johns be interested in our barrel?’

‘You said Treasurer Knollys was eager for you to ask questions in Ayrshire rather than the Lothians,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘Maybe it was one of theirs that was in the barrel,’ suggested Rob. ‘You thocht he was a fighting man, maister.’

‘Maybe,’ said Gil thoughtfully. He turned as Sir Raoul approached. ‘We must be on our way, sir. The day wears on.’

‘True,’ agreed the other. ‘And you do not wish to be held up again. For that reason,’ he said politely, ‘I have commanded Johan to ride with you, as protection.’

Gil had attempted, civilly, to decline the man’s company, but Maistre Pierre had said suddenly, ‘Let him join us, Gil. Our friend is right. Another sword may be of assistance.’

Now, in Bathgate, on one of the major routes between Edinburgh and Glasgow, they had paused for food. Johan slid along the bench to sit by Maistre Pierre, and nodded at the group.

‘Ve go far?’ he asked, in horribly accented Scots.

‘We go to Roslin,’ said Gil.

‘Roslin? Ver dwells Sinclair?’

‘Aye,’ agreed Gil. The inn-servant slapped a platter of boiled salt fish and bread in front of them, and stood with his hand out for the money. Gil opened his purse and counted out the coins, while the others helped themselves to the food. Johan, when invited, took a portion and ate moderately, casting thoughtful looks at Gil from time to time. He had removed helm and coif, revealing short fair hair and a strip of pale skin between the hairline and the weatherbeaten tan of his bony face.

‘The man Gray,’ said Maistre Pierre through a large mouthful, ‘told us little of value.’

‘You heard it, did you?’

‘I did. We know, I suppose, that he was hired by this Archibald — Baldy — and another with a feathered hat, to steal from us something in a pack which had belonged to their master, and which had been sought and not found, by Baldy or another, at Leith.’

‘We’d a horse we cried Baldy once,’ said Tam vaguely, ‘for the white spot on his broo. A good goer he was an all.’

‘A fair summary,’ agreed Gil, ignoring this, and took a bite of bread and fish. ‘And we heard of a man with a feathered hat,’ he added, switching to French. Johan frowned, watching them.

‘The same, you think?’

‘Or a coincidence.’

‘Mm.’ Maistre Pierre took another wedge of bread. ‘And what have we got, or not got, that they are after? The load that went to Stirling, or something else?’

‘And why is the Spital interested? They had obviously heard a lot about us,’ observed Gil in Scots.

‘How so?’ asked the mason, annexing the last pickled onion. ‘Shall we have more food?’ He waved to the man at the tap of the big barrel without waiting for an answer.

‘De Brinay knew I was a lawyer,’ Gil said, and looked down at his dark clothing. ‘I may be soberly dressed, but my inkhorn and pen-case are out of sight in my baggage. I never said to Riddoch what my calling might be, though I know you named your own, and we left these three out in the street. So the Spital never got the information from him.’ He glanced at Johan, who looked enigmatically back at him. ‘Either Simmie brought that word as well as the rest from Sinclair this afternoon, or they knew about us already.’

‘Out in the street,’ muttered Tam. ‘There was something …’

‘What is it, man?’ asked Rob, looking at him in concern.

‘Something I’ve forgot, when we were out in the street. Did someone speak to us?’

‘Half the lassies o Linlithgow,’ said Rob, grinning. ‘You were cawin’ the pump handle to them for kisses.’

‘I never!’ said Tam in alarm.

‘No, you never,’ said Luke, despite Rob’s grimaces. ‘He’s having you on.’

‘If you kick me again,’ said Maistre Pierre to Rob, ‘I will eat your share of the food.’

‘Someone did speak to us,’ said Tam, and rubbed his forehead. ‘Who was it?’

The second platter of bread and fish disappeared more slowly. Gil shared a great hunk of bread with Socrates, and tore a portion of stockfish into shreds for the dog, relishing as always the contrast between the strong, sharp teeth set in the narrow, powerful jaw and the delicate, well-bred manners the animal displayed.

‘Well,’ he said, licking onion sauce off his fingers when the platter was empty, ‘shall we ride on? Tam, are you fit, man? Maybe I should have taken you to your kin at the Wheetflett.’

‘Kin,’ muttered Tam, edging along the bench after Rob. ‘Kin. That’s it. He said kin.’

‘What are you on about?’ demanded Rob.

‘Is it what you’d forgot?’ Luke asked.

‘Aye,’ said Tam, and lurched to his feet. ‘Aye, Maister Gil, I’ll manage, never you worry. But that’s it, right enough. That’s what I’d forgot. When we were at the well, the three of us, waiting for you and Maister Mason,’ he said earnestly, hobbling after Gil to the door, ‘a man cam down the vennel from the place you were in first. The lute-maker’s, was it? Well clad, he was. Might ha been the lute-maker hisself.’

‘So?’ said Gil, helping his servant over the doorsill.

‘He said to me, Was I with those two men that were there just now. I said, Aye I was, since there wereny two other men thegither, saving us, in the street at the time,’ he added, grinning. ‘And he said, Tell your maister, he said, that Barty Fletcher, would that be the right name?’