Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

Getting to his feet, Gil was aware of a single quick, penetrating, maternal glance before her attention was turned to the mason stepping hastily forward to greet this guest. Watching her dealing expertly with Maistre Pierre’s words of welcome and of apology for not having been at the door to meet her, Gil recalled that Egidia Muirhead, Lady Cunningham, had for years occupied a senior place in the household of Margaret of Denmark, James Third’s devious and melancholy Queen, encountering the many foreign visitors who made their way through the court.

‘Et tecum, Bernard,’ she was saying now in response to Father Bernard’s blessing. ‘How long have you been back in Scotland? You’re not teaching at the college, are you?’

‘I am indeed,’ said Father Bernard in his deep musical voice.

‘And here is your son,’ said Maistre Pierre.

Gil went down on one knee to kiss the offered hand so like his own. Her long fingers gripped his, hard and briefly, and she said in Scots, ‘I’ll have David Cunningham’s hide for cushions. He sent Tam out to meet me, to bid me have no ill-ease for you, so of course I brattled on into Glasgow with all possible haste, and here I find you at the clack with half the burgh. Get up, son, and we can all sit down.’

‘Hardly the half of Glasgow,’ Gil protested, obeying.

Her grasp on his hand tightened again as he straightened up, but all she said was, ‘Don’t argue, my dear. It’s unseemly’ She seated herself on one of the tapestry chairs, and asked kindly, ‘So when did you return to Glasgow, Bernard?’

‘Some years since,’ admitted Father Bernard. ‘And you, madam? I believe you are alone now? Is all well with you?’

‘As well as a poor widow can expect,’ said the lady of Belstane. ‘I have my dower lands. We win a living. Is your mother still alive?’

‘She died two years since at the feast of St Remy, and is buried at Irvine, said Father Bernard with precision. Lady Egidia raised her eyebrows, and he added, ‘She died as the widow of Lord Montgomery’s kinsman Robert. His grandsire’s brother, I believe.’

‘God rest her soul,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘And what are you doing at the college, Bernard?’

‘I have the honour to be chaplain there, and to deliver a course of ordinary lectures. Which reminds me …’ He cast a glance at the sky through the glazed upper portion of the window. ‘I must not tarry longer. I have a disputation to prepare for this afternoon. My colleagues in the Faculty of Arts will rejoice to hear that you took little scathe, Maister Cunningham.’

In a flurry of mingled bows and benedictions he got himself out of the room, followed by Maistre Pierre. Gil’s mother, hardly waiting for their footsteps to disappear down the stair, sat down again saying with satisfaction, ‘He never could stand being questioned. Wretched man. And his mother was a good woman,’ she added. ‘Well, Gil, what is this you’ve got yourself into?’

‘Mother,’ said Gil, ‘this is the demoiselle Alys Mason.’

‘We’ve met,’ said Lady Egidia, smiling at Alys, who still stood by the door. ‘I was met most graciously and hospitably at the yett, and welcomed into the house. It is truly kind of you, my dear, to take my abominable boy in when he was hurt.’

Alys, who had opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and looked uncertainly at Gil. Suddenly she was wearing the pinched look of distress he had seen before, her high-bridged nose very prominent.

‘Mother, we are — ’he began.

‘You are embroiled in something at the college, Tam tells me,’ his mother persisted.

‘Mother, what are you — ?’

‘Forgive me,’ said Alys. ‘There are things I must see to in the kitchen.’

She slipped out, and Gil began again.

‘Why don’t you — ?’

‘A most accomplished lassie,’ said his mother, ‘and certainly not the kind to take as your mistress. This is a well-ordered house, and Maister Mason seems a cultured man. I can see they are people who — ’

‘I had your letter.’

‘Oh, you did? I assumed it had gone astray.’ She tipped her head back to look at him. ‘I see you can still blush, dear. Then you know my feelings.’

‘My uncle thinks differently,’ said Gil. ‘He favours the marriage.’

‘Your uncle! He’s a sentimental old man,’ said Lady Cunningham crisply. ‘We educated you for the Church, Gilbert, and — ’

‘I ken that, mother, and I value my learning next to my hope of salvation, but — ’

‘- and I don’t want to see you throw it all away for the sake of a pretty face,’ she continued as if he had not spoken.

‘I have no intention of throwing it away. My uncle is certain I will still get a living in the Law.’

‘What does he know about it?’ demanded his mother, dismissing the senior judge of the Archdiocese with a snap of her fingers. ‘We were determined one of our sons was for the Church, Gil. Your share of the money went to pay for your learning, and I’ve no more to give you. You must have a benefice to live on, so you must be a priest, it’s that simple. Besides, who will say Masses for your father and Hugh and Edward?’

‘Masses?’ repeated Gil. His head was beginning to throb again. ‘What’s wrong with the Masses being said for them already in Carluke? I thought you paid Robert Meikle for that!’

‘Aye, but it’s better if it’s said by blood kin.’

‘Mother, if I had died at Stirling instead of Edward, who would say the Masses then?’

‘Yes, but you didn’t,’ she said unanswerably.

Footsteps, and a rattle of claws, sounded in the room nearest the stairs. Alys appeared in the doorway as the wolfhound scurried in past her, slithered on the waxed boards, and flung itself, yammering ecstatically, into Gil’s arms.

‘Your pardon, madame,’ she said, ‘but Michael wishes to speak to Maister Cunningham, and he must be back at the college soon.’

Michael, following her, made a brief general bow in the doorway. Gil, fending off the pup one-handed, acknowledged the boy’s presence with a sort of relief, but his mother said, ‘Come in, godson. Should you not be at a lecture?’

‘I’ve missed that,’ admitted Michael. ‘We’re supposed to be gated till after St John’s day, but Lowrie said we should tell you, Maister Cunningham, and I drew the straw and Maister Doby said I could get out for this because we’re sort of kin. Just. If you’ll forgive it, madam.’

‘What should you tell me?’

‘Our chamber’s been searched.’

The wolfhound, having made certain that its idol was safe, thrust its long muzzle under Gil’s arm and rolled its eyes at him.

‘Was anything taken?’ Gil asked. ‘Or anything damaged?’

‘Not that we can see.’ Michael grinned. ‘You would hardly tell it’s been done, except for Lowrie’s idea.’

‘And what was that?’ asked Lady Egidia.

‘Hairs,’ said Michael. ‘We knotted one of each of our hairs together in threes, Tod — er, Lowrie and Ninian and me, and put them among our papers where they would fall out if someone else meddled, but they wouldny blow away by accident. That was after William’s chamber was searched,’ he explained. ‘And they were still there after Vespers but no after dinner.’

‘What might they have been looking for?’ asked Alys. She was still wearing the pinched look of distress, but she sounded perfectly composed. Michael glanced at her and went red, to his own obvious embarrassment.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We’ve no secrets. None like that, any wise.’

‘Surely this is some kind of student joke,’ said Lady Egidia. ‘I can mind a tale or two from your time at the college, Gil.’