Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘Properly he belongs to William’s next kin,’ said Gil doubtfully, ‘but he must be fed and physicked before they can be here to claim him.’

‘That’s true. It seems to like you, Maister Cunningham. Would you take it? As regent with a duty for the late keeper,’ said the Second Regent formally, ‘I ask you to have a care to this animal until its right owner can be identified. Will that do?’

‘Admirably,’ said Gil, and grinned. The pup licked his hand with a long wet tongue. ‘Do you suppose Alys would give me some bread and milk for him, Pierre?’

‘And this,’ announced Maister Kennedy, practically gnashing his teeth, ‘is the library’s second copy, bound up with Laurence of Lindores’ commentary on the Book of Suppositions. I have been hunting for this for over a year!’

‘It was not the only treasure in his chamber,’ said Gil, setting several bundles on Maister Doby’s reading-desk.

‘So I perceive,’ said the Principal, eyeing them askance. ‘What are all these?’

‘Four books belonging to the library’ Gil indicated the little volumes. ‘Who is librarian just now, maister? Perhaps some change to the rules?’

‘I will recommend it. And these?’

‘Two more books, apparently William’s own. One belonging to the senior bachelor, Michael Douglas, which I will return to him. A green silk purse with a surprising amount of money, and some jewels.’ Gil unrolled the red cloth jerkin, to reveal the three elaborate brooches which he had pinned to the cloth.

‘He should certainly not have kept these in his chamber,’ said the Principal after a moment, ‘setting temptation in the way of his fellow students.’

‘Quite so. There are also two rings, which I stowed in the purse with the money, and these.’ He unrolled the jerkin further. ‘We can ask at the armourer where he got a pair of daggers like that, but I suspect it wasn’t in Glasgow.’

There was a high wailing sound from the antechamber.

‘What is that noise?’ asked the Principal, distracted.

Gil, aware he was going red, said, ‘It’s William’s dog. It’s taken a liking to me. Maister Mason was going to take it to his house to wait, but it’s reluctant to go with him.’

‘A dog? How could the laddie keep a dog in secret?’ asked Maister Doby, perplexed.

‘It may not have lived in his chamber,’ Gil speculated. ‘Maister, may I ask some questions?’ The older man inclined his head. ‘Can you suggest who might have been William’s enemy?’

‘Oh, no. Not to such an extent. Although he was clever he was not admired,’ admitted Maister Doby, ‘and he was not as popular as one might expect, but surely he had no enemies?’

‘Clearly he had one at least, as Maister Crawford said,’ said Gil. ‘Can you offer me any interpretation of his question at the Faculty meeting? That might lead us to his enemy.’

‘But it might also lead us to suspect unjustly someone who was in fact innocent.’

‘Maister,’ said Gil patiently, ‘the boy deserves justice. Moreover, the person who killed him needs the succour of Holy Kirk, to bring him to repentance and confession of his sin.’

‘That is true,’ agreed the Principal. He thought deeply for a short while, then sighed and said heavily, ‘I can shed no light on the suggestion of heresy, and I suspect you will not find anyone who will.’

‘Probably not,’ agreed Gil.

‘But I wondered if the charge of peculation might be a garbled recollection of something that happened when John Goldsmith was Principal.’ Maister Doby paused, and counted carefully, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk. ‘Aye, in ’85. The college had borrowed money from old John Smyth, you remember him?’

‘My uncle has mentioned him. He was senior song-man at the cathedral, was he no?’

‘Quite so.’ The Principal glanced at his door. ‘That dog sounds to be in pain.’

‘It’ll stop greeting when it sees me,’ said Gil, embarrassed.

‘Then in God’s name have it in and silence it.’

Gil fetched the pup from the anteroom, where the mason gave it up with some relief, and returned to his seat with the creature, trying to repress its ecstatic embraces.

‘That’s a dog of breeding,’ Maister Doby remarked acutely, watching as it sat down at Gil’s feet and laid its head on his knee. ‘Someone will ken where he got it from. Where was I? Oh, aye, old John Smyth. Well, he wanted his money back, and Maister Goldsmith couldn’t just put his hand on it, and David Gray was Bursar at the time and catched in the midst of the ding-dong. I mind he was ill with the worry of it at the time. You follow me?’

‘I think so,’ said Gil with caution. ‘You are saying that there was a little trouble about money, and Maister David Gray was caught up in it.’

‘But without fault,’ said the Principal firmly. ‘I mind the whole thing. John Smyth got his money in the end, we had to borrow from the archdeacon to pay him, and one or two said David had mismanaged it, but they didny see the books, and I did, for I was Wardroper that year. In any case, Gilbert, David was at the high table with the Dean and me, he canny have throttled the boy.’

‘He was, wasn’t he,’ agreed Gil, recalling the way Maister Gray had sat staring into the flan-dish before him. ‘What were you eating up there, maister? Was it any better than what we got?’

‘I think Dean Elphinstone commended the spiced pork,’ said Maister Doby, ‘but to tell truth, Gilbert, I have no sense of taste these days. One stew is much like another. There was raisins in it, I can tell you that.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will lock these things away. Have you the inventory? Good. And signed by Nicholas and Patrick. Excellent. You were aye one to think of everything, Gilbert.’ He bent and held out a hand to the pup, which inspected it solemnly and administered a minuscule lick. ‘But we willny lock you away, treasure or no, eh? Take care of the brute, Gilbert. They eat like a student, at this age.’

The Principal turned to the door, as there came a tapping on the planks from the other side. He opened it, and a fond smile crossed his face.

‘Well, Billy? This is William Ross, Gilbert. He and his brother lodge at my house. What is it, Billy?’

‘If you please, maister,’ said William Ross, stepping confidently into the room and bobbing his head in a schoolboy’s bow, ‘Jaikie at the yett sent me to say there’s a bonnie young lady asking for Maister Cunningham.’

Jaikie the porter was blocking the vaulted tunnel to the yett, hands on hips, glaring red-faced and indignant at Gil and the mason as they approached. The wolfhound at Gil’s knee began to growl quietly, and he hushed it as the porter launched into aggressive speech.

‘Now, you ken the rules as well as me, Maister Cunningham! Even William Irvine never had a leman calling at the yett for him — ’

Gil glanced over the man’s shoulder. At the far end of the tunnel Alys stood patiently in the street, her plaid drawn over her head against yet another pattering shower.

‘The lady,’ he said coldly, ‘is Maister Mason’s daughter, and it would have been common courtesy to ask her in out of the rain.’

The porter snorted in disbelief, but Maistre Pierre said, ‘It is indeed my daughter, and I am here to protect her from your lecherous students.’

Jaikie opened his mouth to comment, assessed the mason’s size and breadth of shoulder, and closed it again. As Maistre Pierre stepped past him into the tunnel he recovered somewhat and expostulated, with a puff of spirituous breath, ‘Ye canny bring a lassie in here just the same! It’s as much as my job’s worth if the heid yins catches ye here with her. And another thing — is that no William Irvine’s dog?’