Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘Gil,’ she said clearly. ‘Slip the collar, and you will win free.’

‘Dorothea?’ he said, but she had turned back to her prayers. ‘ Slip the collar and you will win free ,’ he repeated, and woke with a start.

As he turned in at the mason’s pend, under the swinging sign with its bright image of a white castle, a voice in the shadows said, ‘And here is Maister Cunningham. Good day to you, maister.’

He checked, and the harper and his sister emerged into the light. Ealasaidh was clad as usual in her loose checked dress, but McIan was in silk and velvet as if he had been playing for one of the wealthy households of the burgh.

‘The bairn has fed,’ continued Ealasaidh abruptly.

‘Thanks be to God,’ said Gil.

She crossed herself with her free hand, but McIan said in his resonant voice, ‘Thanks to the dog, it seems. A blessing on the beast, for now I think my son will live.’

‘It seems so,’ agreed Gil. ‘We can all be glad of it. How are you both? Are you well, after yesterday’s stushie?’

‘Well enough,’ said Ealasaidh sourly. ‘Maister Cunningham is kind to ask it. At the Provost’s lodging they were more anxious to hear about the stushie at the college, as you cry it, than to hear us play.’

‘We are both well,’ said her brother, ‘but you have taken some small hurt, they tell me at the house. Brawling in the street, is it? A fine thing for my son’s tutor.’

‘I’ll try to deport myself more seemly,’ Gil said.

The harper turned blank eyes on him, and his white beard twitched as if he smiled slightly. ‘You should not be risking your hands like that again. A scholar must write, as a musician must play. And have you ended the other matter yet? Have you found the ones that you are hunting?’

‘Not yet.’

‘It will be soon,’ said McIan. ‘But you must be very certain. You will take the holy woman’s advice.’

‘Your pardon, sir?’ said Gil, startled.

‘Och, come away,’ said Ealasaidh, as Gil stared open-mouthed. ‘We must go offer a candle at St Mary’s for the bairn’s breaking his fast, and Maister Cunningham wants his dinner. Good day to you, maister.’

She bowed, gathering her plaid about her, and tugged at her brother’s arm, to draw him down the High Street towards their lodging. He turned obediently, but added over his shoulder to Gil, ‘It will be as the cartes fall, even if you are playing with a damaged hand.’

‘What cards?’ Gil asked, but the two continued down the street without seeming to hear him.

Alys was crossing the hall as he entered from the fore-stair. Her face lit up, and she came to greet him, then drew him to the nearest window-seat, saying in concern, ‘Gil, you have done too much. Have they fed you at the college?’

‘I’m all right,’ he said, sitting down gratefully. He raised her hand to his lips, and she turned it and stroked his cheek, a little shyly.

‘I will fetch food.’ She slipped away, and he sat with his palm to the place she had touched, marvelling at the feel of her fingers on his skin. Musician’s fingers, he thought, and found himself trying to make sense of the harper’s words. And had he really seen Dorothea? And what was he thinking about before that?

‘William’s victims,’ he said, opening his eyes.

‘We must make a list,’ said Alys, seated opposite. The wolfhound raised its head from his knee and beat its tail on the cushion.

‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he said hastily. ‘I was thinking.’

‘Good. Drink this.’

‘More willow-bark tea?’ She nodded, and he drank off the little beaker and handed it back to her. ‘Still not foul enough. You’ll never get your ’pothecary’s licence.’

She smiled, and the elusive dimple flashed. ‘Now eat. What were you thinking?’

‘It seems very likely,’ he said, reaching for the pasty on the tray beside him, ‘that William was killed by one of the people on whom he had practised or attempted his extortion.’

‘It’s very possible,’ said Alys, as he paused to take a bite. Flakes of pastry scattered down his doublet, and the dog’s nose twitched. ‘How many are there? You have mentioned several already.’

‘Not more than a dozen or so.’

‘So many? Are you joking?’

‘No,’ he said ruefully. ‘Alys, what’s in this pasty? It’s very good.’

‘Cheese and roots and fresh herbs,’ she said dis-missively ‘But also, Gil — ’

‘Ah, Gilbert,’ said the mason, emerging spruce and newly barbered from the stair which led to the upper floor. Alys glanced at him, and away again. ‘Good, you have been fed. What did you learn from the chaplain?’

‘He claims he was never in the Outer Close after he left at the end of the play.’

‘He was seen there,’ Alys said.

‘I think he was the one who searched William’s chamber,’ said Gil, ‘which would take him across the Outer Close. What I am not yet certain of is when or why he did so. What was he looking for?’

‘Papers,’ said the mason. ‘Secrets. We know William collected secrets.’

‘It could be.’ Gil poured himself a beaker of ale from the jug on the tray. ‘Father Bernard is kin to the Earl of Lennox, who was a supporter of James Third but is now in favour with the present King, so I suppose William could have learned something inconvenient to him.’

‘The letter you delivered for Kittock’s guest?’ suggested Maistre Pierre.

‘No,’ said Gil doubtfully. ‘That came ultimately from the boy’s mother, and William seemed not to know what was in it. Although,’ he added, ‘after he read it he demanded a word with Father Bernard, which I do not think he got.’

‘What about the spying?’ said Alys. ‘Could that have brought about his death?’

‘I’m reluctant to put much weight on something Father Bernard suggested.’

‘No, but it is true. He was dealing in information. It is clear from the letter to Lord Montgomery — ’

‘You have deciphered that?’

Alys, with a triumphant air, drew a little sheaf of papers from the hanging pocket at her waist and held it out. Biting off another mouthful of pasty Gil set the savoury thing down on the tray and took the bundle one-handed, tilting the papers to the light.

‘Well!’ he said after a moment. ‘Sweet St Giles, the boy was in deep.’

‘Is it all genuine, then? Who is this A he refers to? Is it the Earl of Angus?’

‘It looks it.’ Gil returned to the beginning of the letter with its formal salutation to William’s richt weel-belovit amp; respectit kinsman, the Lord Hugh, Baron Montgomery. In Alys’s elegant, accomplished hand, the dead boy’s voice was still clear. I have stablisshit, he had written, and again, I have maid certaine of this. ‘I think it must be Angus. He mentions a betrothal. It must mean this betrothal of Angus’s daughter to my kinsman Kilmaurs.’

‘It is confusing,’ said Alys thoughtfully, ‘that the Earl of Douglas was a Douglas, but the Earl of Angus is not an Angus but another Douglas.’

Gil nodded, half listening. Most of the document concerned the doings of the Earl of Angus, the ambitious, misguided head of the house of Douglas. I have learned what is to be the marriage settlement, William had written, and gave the details. From Gil’s conversations with his uncle, he judged these to be accurate. A is gathering his men at Kilmarnock, the letter went on. And then, sending Gil’s eyebrows up, the statement: I have seen by means of M the copy of a letter of A to the king H.

‘Sweet St Giles!’ he said again. ‘Alys, you are certain of this part? That Angus is writing to English Henry?’