Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘He would say that,’ said Kate, making her way across the courtyard between the bright tubs of flowers.

‘Aye, likely. Mind you the wee one’s as wild as ever, but the dumb one’s chattering away now, it seems, and their faither’s trying to learn them a wee poem. Did you ever hear the like? Can you do that stair the day, do you think, or will I lift you, my doo?’

Canon Cunningham was already within doors, seated beside Catherine near the hearth with its bowl of flowers and congratulating Maistre Pierre on his return home. He looked round as Kate found her balance, took her crutches from Babb and thumped into the hall from the fore-stair. Socrates paced over to greet her, his claws clicking on the polished boards.

‘Aye, here’s my niece. Our friend looks well, doesn’t he, Kate, for someone whose life was saved by a lute-string?’

‘We have prayed for him,’ said Catherine in French. Kate caught sight of Alys, beyond her father’s chair, biting her lip and crossing herself.

‘We won’t think about that now, sir,’ she suggested, and came forward when Maistre Pierre waved her to a seat. Socrates sat down with his chin on her knee, and she stroked his head. ‘Did you ever get a look at the church at Roslin by daylight, Maister Mason? It was still building when I visited there, and they would never let me look close at it.’

‘Indeed aye,’ exclaimed her uncle, accepting a glass of Alys’s cowslip wine. ‘I’ve seen it once, but that was a good while since. Is that right they’ve stopped the building at the crossing? What kind of a roof have they put on it?’

Alys flinched again. Kate took the proffered glass and drew the other girl down on the settle beside her.

‘Let them talk,’ she advised. ‘No good ever came of making them bite their tongues.’ Alys nodded, pulling a face of resignation. ‘Where has my brother got to?’

‘He was here earlier, but he went out,’ said Alys vaguely ‘He had an errand of some sort in the town.’

‘How is your father? He looks well enough.’

‘Tired from the journey. He may not dine with us, if I can persuade him — ’

‘Small chance, I would say.’

‘Likely But the wound is well mended.’ She shivered. ‘I’ve always feared a fall from scaffolding for him — I never thought of him meeting a man with an axe up there.’

‘It was the Axeman that fell,’ said Kate firmly, ‘and my brother that pushed him down.’

‘He said it was not,’ said Alys, her expression softening as she thought of Gil.

Save us from young lovers, thought Kate, but hid her exasperation. ‘He confronted Gil, and he fell,’ she said. ‘So put the Axeman out your head, he’s gone now. And falling to his death in a church like that,’ she added, ‘is a certain judgement.’

‘So Catherine says,’ admitted Alys. ‘I am less convinced.’

‘Oh, there’s no doubt at all, mistress,’ said Babb stoutly from behind Kate. ‘A clear judgement on him, for slaying folk behind barred doors and chopping folk’s oxter-poles in two.’ The door opened, and Socrates scrambled to his feet and hurried forward, his tail wagging furiously. ‘Aye, Maister Gil,’ added Babb.

Alys jumped up and went to meet Gil. He took her hands and kissed them quickly, and a significant look passed between them before he turned to bow to his uncle, greet Kate, draw a backstool into the circle and sit down.

‘Well, you’ve cast down more than this fellow with the axe, it seems, Gilbert,’ pronounced Canon Cunningham. ‘Oh, certainly I’ll have more of your wine, lassie. I’ve a letter this morning from Robert Blacader with the details of your appointment, and he tells me my lord St Johns is in some difficulties.’

‘He was removed with great suddenness, by what Gil tells me,’ said the mason. ‘I suppose he had not time to tidy matters as he might have wished.’

‘He has certainly been up to some joukery-pokery,’ said the Official. ‘I wish I could understand his part in what happened his last few days in office.’

‘Simple enough, sir,’ said Gil. Maistre Pierre rolled his eyes at him. ‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘perhaps not that simple. I think,’ he said with care, ‘we were pursuing two lots of coin, which were being moved about together. One was part of the old King’s hoard, as we thought, and the other was a loan from the Order of St John of Jerusalem to James Third, which I suspect that James never saw. It seems as if Knollys gave both to Sinclair for safe keeping, without telling him what it was, about the time of Stirling field. They were both friends of the old King, after all, it would be natural enough.’

‘Ah,’ said David Cunningham. ‘Instead of using either sum to the King’s benefit.’

‘Aye. But it seems word has come to the Preceptory from abroad to get the loan money back. Knollys asked Sinclair for it, and Sinclair realized what he held and rather than give it back he decided to move the whole lot, the St Johns money and the King’s hoard both, to …’ Gil hesitated. A strange look crossed his face. Where has he been, Kate wondered, and what has he seen? ‘To a place where it would be well protected,’ he continued. ‘By his account, he wanted to find out more about who was now responsible for the two sums of money. But Knollys, learning it was on the move, decided to seize it anonymously, so to speak.’

‘I see,’ said the Official. ‘If it was thought to be stolen, he might not have to repay it, and in any case he would be able to use the King’s jewels to pay the Hospital.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Gil. ‘Since he could hardly use them as currency anywhere in Scotland. So Wilkie and Carson, and Carson’s brother with the axe, attacked the cooper’s yard after persuading Billy Walker to leave the gate open for them. But their raid went wrong. The coin was to go in a barrel, to be covered by salt herring, and sent onward to Sinclair’s land disguised as part of the quarter’s rent. Half the coin had gone into the barrel, the other half was still on the horse, and Knollys’s men attacked too soon.’

‘How did they know when to attack?’ asked Alys.

‘Knollys’s net was both wide and fine, so I have heard,’ said Canon Cunningham.

‘In this case,’ said Gil, nodding agreement, ‘he likely had intelligence from Sinclair’s own household. They’re looking for a new sub-steward at Roslin, so Pierre tells me.’

‘It seems the previous man fell down a stair,’ expanded Maistre Pierre.

‘So,’ Gil returned to his narrative, ‘though it was no part of their plan, Carson’s brother, who we’ve seen was very ready to use his axe, killed Nelkin Fletcher.’ He hesitated, staring at nothing. Kate wondered what he could see. ‘The boy bolted with the horse and the other saddlebag. Wilkie and the two Carsons put the head in the barrel to conceal Nelkin’s death, in on top of what they thought was the whole of the treasure — ’

‘Ah!’ said David Cunningham again.

Gil glanced at him, and nodded. ‘Then they filled it up with the brine from the vat standing ready, and Billy Walker was induced to seal the barrel for them, being a cooper’s son and understanding the craft.’

‘And that was what woke the cooper’s wife,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘No, ma mie , no more wine for now.’

‘It must have been. Then I think the Axeman simply put the barrel on the wrong cart. His brother has now told us he was left-handed.’

‘I knew it!’ said Alys triumphantly, and Gil smiled at her where she stood with the flask of cowslip wine.

‘Mistress Riddoch looked out just in time to see one of them carrying Nelkin’s headless body out of the yard, and I suppose it’s still somewhere on the hillside, since there’s been no word yet from Linlithgow to say it’s been found.’