Pat McIntosh - The Merchant's Mark

‘What, Billy’s cousin?’ said his master. The members of the assize made their way to the area roped off for them at the side of the courtyard, where Sir Thomas’s clerk approached them, wielding a copy of the Gospels in a much-rubbed leather binding.

‘Oh, ye’re listening, are ye? Look at that fifteen men, maister, and tell me how many of them’s a friend to you?’

‘Wheesht, Andy. They’re fencing the court now.’

After the long process of swearing-in, Sir Thomas addressed the assize, explaining clearly that they were there to establish who the dead man was, how he had died, and who was responsible for his death; but that if they were unable to say any of these things for certain, ‘which seems the maist likely circumstance, neighbours,’ he added, they were to admit it clearly rather than bring an accusation which could not be proved. Gil, watching, saw the sidelong glances some of the men exchanged, and was suddenly uneasy.

As he had proposed an hour earlier when they delivered the treasure to him, Sir Thomas began by drawing from Maister Morison an account of the opening of the barrel.

‘It was well sealed before you broached it?’ he prompted.

‘Oh, aye,’ agreed Morison. ‘Sound and tight.’

‘And you expected to find books in it,’ the Provost went on, with faint incredulity. ‘What books in particular?’

‘Just what Andrew Halyburton was able to send,’ said Morison, his eyes brightening. ‘We were in hopes that he’d get books neither one of us owned yet.’

‘Aye, well, it’s an odd way of doing business,’ Sir Thomas commented. ‘And that’s the barrel yonder, is it? Has it your mark on it, maister?’

‘It has,’ agreed Morison. ‘And two shipmarks forbye, and some other folk’s merchant marks.’

‘But never Thomas Tod’s shipmark,’ said a voice loudly from the crowd. Sir Thomas stared round, frowning.

‘Who said that?’ he demanded. There was a disturbance, and the sandy-haired Billy made his way to the front.

‘Me,’ he said. ‘Billy Walker, that’s journeyman carter to Maister Morison. See that puncheon,’ he went on, without waiting for encouragement. ‘It’s not got Thomas Tod’s shipmark, for all my maister says it’s the one that cam out of Tod’s ship. I just thocht it was strange, that.’

‘Is that right?’ Sir Thomas said to Maister Morison, who nodded.

‘Both right,’ he said. ‘I saw it lifted from Tod’s ship myself, and so did Billy here, the only puncheon in the shipment, but it’s not got his mark on it. We thocht it was strange and all.’

‘Did you ask Tod why it was in his ship, if it never had his shipmark?’

‘No, for we only saw it was lacking his shipmark when we had it here in Glasgow and set up ready for broaching,’ said Morison reasonably.

‘The carter has changed his tune from this morning,’ said Maistre Pierre in puzzled tones. Gil nodded absently, staring over the heads of the onlookers. At the back of the crowd was a man as tall as himself, in a black cloak and felt hat. He was watching Billy intently, his flat, big-featured face expressionless. Then, as if aware of Gil’s scrutiny, he looked round, and suddenly smiled, a sneering expression that made his tuft of a beard twitch, and ducked away among the crowd. He had a long-hafted weapon in a vast leather sheath on his shoulder.

‘Who was that?’ Gil said. ‘I’ve not seen him in Glasgow before.’

‘Who?’ asked Maistre Pierre.

‘Hush,’ said Morison.

Sir Thomas, frowning again, persevered with the account of the summoning of the serjeant, and finally obtained corroboration from Morison’s companions by the simple method of saying rapidly, ‘And you gentlemen agree with that? And you, Andy Paterson? Good. Now, has any of you ever seen this man before?’

‘Never,’ said Morison confidently.

‘Nor I.’ Maistre Pierre nodded agreement. Gil opened his mouth to speak, but Sir Thomas had already turned to the assizers. They agreed, with much mumbling and shuffling, that they thought the man was a stranger.

‘I seen him afore,’ said Billy Walker from the front of the crowd. Morison turned his head to stare at him, open-mouthed, and Gil was aware of some muttering among the assizers where they stood penned at Sir Thomas’s right hand.

‘Where have ye seen him, man?’ demanded Sir Thomas. ‘Who is he, then?’

‘I’ve no notion who he is,’ said Billy hastily. ‘Just I’ve seen him somewhere.’

‘That’s no help,’ said Sir Thomas crisply. ‘Now, I’ve looked at the head myself, and so has Maister Mason here. He looks to us like a fighting man, and it seems possible he was heidit after he was dead, no killed by being heidit, but there’s no more to be told beyond that. Does anyone present have anything more to tell the quest?’

‘Aye,’ said Billy. ‘Just this, sir. If they’ve no seen him afore, how come my maister and Andy and those got Jamesie Aitken and me out of the way while they broached the puncheon, and what was it they were agreed no to tell the serjeant?’

‘What are you saying?’ demanded Sir Thomas. The courtyard was suddenly full of noise. Over it the serjeant shouted for silence, with little success.

‘I’m saying they were for leaving Serjeant Anderson out of it,’ repeated Billy in righteous tones, ‘for I heard one of them say it.’

Gil, with a sinking feeling, stepped forward and caught the Provost’s eye, and when Sir Thomas leaned towards him he said quietly, ‘I mind saying that, sir. It was in connection with the other matter, the one we discussed the now, that’s to go to the King.’

Sir Thomas nodded, and gestured again at Serjeant Anderson, who renewed his stentorian calls for silence. When he was eventually successful, the Provost said resonantly, ‘That was a matter which came straight to me, and very properly too. What about this, of getting you and the man Aitken out of the way?’

‘It must ha been when they found the heid,’ said Billy obligingly. Morison looked at Gil in dismay, and one or two of the assize nudged each other and pointed at this. ‘Me and Jamesie was kept working in the barn, and first they never said a word to us about what was in the puncheon, just bade Jamesie go for Serjeant Anderson instead of setting up a hue and cry of murder, and then after the serjeant took the heid away Andy Paterson sent us down the back to wash carts. But I’d to go back up into the yard for cloths and a bucket,’ he explained virtuously, ‘since Andy never furnished us ony, as Jamesie’ll bear me out, and I heard them saying this about keeping the serjeant out of it.’

‘ Ah, mon Dieu ,’ muttered the mason. Andy drew a long breath through his teeth.

‘Keeping the serjeant out of it’s no matter,’ declared Sir Thomas, ‘for I ken what that was for and it’s none of his mind. It’s already gone to the Archbishop. And Maister Morison got the serjeant to see to the head afore the other matter came to light, as you’ve just told us, Billy Walker. But why did you no set up a hue and cry, maister? The law’s quite clear on that.’

‘I was just horror-struck,’ Morison protested. ‘We all were. And my bairns were about the yard, I didny want them to see — that.’ He nodded at the trestle with its burden.

‘I never saw the bairns about the yard,’ asserted Billy. Several of the assizers looked at one another and nodded significantly at this. The man Andy had identified as Billy’s cousin was speaking in confidential tones to his neighbour.

‘This man is destroying his own employment,’ said Maistre Pierre in Gil’s ear. ‘What is he about?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Gil. ‘But I don’t like the look of the assize.’

‘Serjeant,’ said Sir Thomas irritably, ‘can you add any sense to this?’