Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘Dead?’ said the Archbishop. Gil was aware of sharp attention from the group. ‘How did that come about?’

‘Did you question him?’ asked Knollys. ‘Who was he?’

‘We had no chance,’ said Gil. Who had relaxed a little? he wondered. It was hard to keep an eye on everyone present, particularly in the leaping candlelight. ‘We took him prisoner when he attacked our party, but he died before we could question him.’ And I know his name, he thought, but we’ll keep that quiet just now.

‘And you’re saying,’ said James, ‘this is the same man that slew the carter here on Thursday night? The carter’s lassie was before us earlier this night, asking justice for her man. Do we have more than her word to link this axeman to this carter?’ He held out his hands, one for each miscreant, and linked the fingers to illustrate his meaning.

‘My sister saw them talking in a tavern,’ said Gil.

The King’s eyebrows went up, and the Treasurer said, laughing indulgently, ‘Now, maister, surely not! Your sister would never be in the kind of tavern such a man would drink in!’

Gil, preserving his expression, explained the purpose which had taken Alys and Kate to the tavern. James nodded in approval.

‘A clever notion,’ he said. ‘Very clever. That’s a good-thinking lassie you’re betrothed to, Maister Cunningham.’

‘She’s the wisest lassie in Glasgow,’ said Gil, and could not keep the warmth out of his voice.

The King grinned at him, a sudden man-to-man look. ‘You like them clever, do you, maister?’ he said. Before Gil could find an answer to this he went on, ‘Well, we’ve a name for the man in the barrel, but no body, and now we’ve a body for the man with the axe, but no name. This’ll not do, gentlemen. My lord St Johns,’ he said formally to Knollys, ‘I hope you can write the morn’s morn as Sheriff of Linlithgow, and have your depute get a search made up on the hillside for the body that went out those gates.’ Knollys bowed his head, and behind him a servant in the St Johns livery drew a set of tablets from his purse and made a note. The men of Linlithgow will love that, thought Gil, just at harvest-time. ‘And, my lord Treasurer,’ continued the King, ‘I hope you’re searching already for the place where the treasure was hidden. Where there’s some of it, there might be more.’

‘Aye, sir, you can be certain,’ said Knollys, smiling. Blacader watched him across the table, his face inscrutable.

‘And you, Maister Cunningham,’ said James, ‘can find me the name of the man wi the axe and his confederates. But I’d sooner you stayed in one piece yourself, maister, for Scotland can do with clear thinkers.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ said Gil.

‘And now,’ said the King, ‘shall we have the servant lass and the merchant in, and set all these tales thegither?’

‘Is it not ower late for that, sir?’ suggested Blacader.

‘Havers. It canny be past midnight,’ said James. ‘Fetch them in.’

Gil, in a moment’s hesitation, considered announcing that his tale was not finished, dismissed the idea, and found he was aware of someone else hesitating in the same way. He looked from one blue-chinned face to the other on either side of the table. Blacader’s gaze slid sideways from his towards the door, where a servant was just leaving; Knollys said pleasantly, ‘You had a good day for such a long ride, Maister Cunningham. What road did you take to reach Glasgow?’

‘It was,’ Gil agreed, following this lead. ‘Dry, but no too hot. I came direct from Roslin, so I rode through Bathgate and the Monklands, and it was dry all the way.’

‘It’s been a good week for the harvest,’ said James, looking round from a low-voiced conversation with Angus.

By the time Augie Morison and his servant were escorted before their King this topic was being generally explored. It was clear that James had a good understanding of the work of the land and its place at the centre of existence. Gil, who had met scholars older than James who failed to accept this, was favourably impressed.

Someone had evidently taken care of Mall for the evening. Her face and hands were clean, her hair combed out over her shoulders, and though nervous of all the fine people she seemed much calmer than the grief-stricken girl Kate had described from the previous morning. As she knelt before him, the King broke off what he was saying and turned to her.

‘And here’s this bonnie lass again,’ he said. Gil, comparing Mall’s plump bosom and round cheeks adversely with Alys’s fine-boned person, drew his own conclusion about how the King liked them. ‘And Augustine Morison, merchant of Glasgow,’ he went on, looking past her. Morison also dropped to his knees. ‘We’ve learned a wee thing or two more about this business, and it’s time to go over it all again.’

‘Aye, your grace,’ said Morison into the pause. He threw an apprehensive look at Gil, who smiled at him as reassuringly as he could, trying not to show the pity he felt. Two nights’ confinement, however gentle, had left its mark on the man; he was drawn and anxious, with a haunted look in his eyes. Gil guessed he had spent the time worrying about his children.

‘Now, Mall,’ James continued, ‘you asked us for justice for your man, since he was killed by an intruder in the night. But tell me this, lass. He was a thief himself. What justice does he deserve?’

Mall, hands clamped together before her waist in a pose of prayer which, deliberately or no, made the most of the view down her bodice, bent her head and said, ‘Aye, your grace, he was taken thieving from our maister’s house.’ She ducked her head even further, as if to avoid meeting the master’s eye. ‘But that never deserved death, your grace, least of all s-such a death — ’ She bit her lips, and after a moment went on, ‘It’s just no right, your grace, it’s no right at all.’

There was something in one of the old statutes, thought Gil. He could visualize the section of the St Mungo’s copy. Which one was it?

‘Are you saying that even a thief deserves justice?’ said Blacader. She glanced fleetingly at him under her eyebrows and nodded. ‘Why not leave it to the Provost? Is there no justice in Glasgow?’ Behind her, Morison closed his eyes. Across the card-table, Knollys’s eyes seemed like to pop out of his head and down the girl’s bodice.

‘I’m feart they’ll no trouble themselves further,’ she whispered. ‘They brocht it in as murder by a stranger and I’m feart that’ll be the end on it.’

‘And is it not murder by a stranger?’ asked James.

‘I seen the man,’ she said desperately. ‘Like I tellt your grace, I seen the man. I heard what he said to my Billy. Surely he can be socht and hangit for his death?’

‘Quoniam attachiamenta,’ said Gil, and several of the bystanders nodded. The King raised his eyebrows. ‘It provides,’ Gil went on, and heard his uncle’s voice in his own, ‘that where a thief has been killed secretly, without calling the watch or bailies, the thief’s kin or the bailies can charge his killer with murder just as if he had not been a thief.’

‘Very proper,’ said James. ‘I’ll have justice for all Scots, gentlemen, be certain of that. Mind you,’ he added, humour tugging at his long mouth, ‘the case is no that straightforward.’

‘Why should we believe a word of this?’ said Knollys. ‘The lassie’s lying all through. I can’t see why your grace is wasting time on her. She wants the attention, and she’s getting it.’

She’s getting it, thought Gil, assessing the direction of the Treasurer’s popping eyes.

‘She’s getting it,’ agreed James, considering Mall again. ‘Surely she wouldn’t lie to her King?’ Mall shook her head energetically. ‘Especially not before the relics. What is it you keep here in the chapel, my lord?’