Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘I was taken ill. The spiced pork — ’ began the chaplain, casting a look of loathing at Maister Coventry.

‘Yesterday you blamed the rabbit stew,’ said Gil.

‘And on Sunday,’ said Maister Forsyth, ‘you complained that you had got nothing at the feast beyond some of Agnes’s onion tart. Bernard, you must tell us the truth. You understand that.’

‘I will speak before my superior.’

‘You’ll speak now,’ said Montgomery quietly, ‘and you’ll speak truth. What have you done, Bernard? What have you done to Isobel’s boy?’

Nobody had moved, not even Montgomery, but suddenly the scene was a trial rather than a hearing. Gil caught Maister Crawford’s eye, and the other man of law nodded briefly and rose.

‘We must assume,’ he said, again addressing the gap between the Dean and the Principal, ‘that my colleague has good reasons for his implied accusation. Should not these reasons be heard before the accusation is consolidated? Then my cli- our chaplain may defend himself against them, refuting them one by one if he is able.’

‘Aye, if he’s able,’ said Montgomery, apparently following the Latin without difficulty.

‘Expound your reasons, Gilbert,’ said the Dean, and the Principal nodded, without removing his shocked gaze from Father Bernard.

‘I do not have to defend myself — ’

‘You do, Bernard. You do. Or I’ll make you,’ declared Montgomery, still in that quiet dangerous voice.

Gil, looking round the room, marshalled his thoughts and continued.

‘In the first place, Father Bernard claimed he had not had time to speak to William, early in the day before the procession, because he had to get the music-books to St Thomas’s. But the Steward remarked later that he had seen to flitting the music.’

‘He has just confirmed that he did so,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘I asked him, over in the Laigh Hall.’

‘I think they did speak. William showed you whatever it was in the package I had just delivered to him, didn’t he?’

Father Bernard stared at Gil, dark eyes impassive. After a moment, Gil went on, ‘Just before the end of the play, Father Bernard said he returned to the Dominicans’ house.’

‘My colleague will swear to it,’ the chaplain said, breaking his silence. ‘We discussed the subject of my lecture.’

‘I have no doubt of that,’ said Gil. ‘Then he returned to the college. By the time he did so, William was hidden in the limehouse. The scholars who hid him noticed their chaplain crossing the Inner Close behind them towards the Theology Schule, where his students were waiting for him. Something caused him to leave the lecture-room again, almost immediately — ’

‘I told you, I was taken ill — ’

‘It was the package, wasn’t it?’ said Montgomery harshly. ‘What was in it, Bernard?’

‘I saw no package!’

‘The boy showed you a piece of paper,’ said Gil. ‘I witnessed that.’

‘Only your word for it, Cunningham!’ said Father Bernard, showing the yellow teeth.

‘True,’ agreed Gil, ‘but why should I invent such a thing?’

‘He has mentioned it to me more than once,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘from the beginning of the investigation.’

‘We have witnesses who confirm these movements. They saw Father Bernard,’ Gil continued, nodding his thanks for this comment, ‘crossing the Inner Close after the end of the play, before the two o’clock bell rang. However we have two further witnesses who saw him in the Outer Close, just after the two o’clock bell, when he led me to believe he was giving a lecture. A lecture which did not in fact take place.’

‘Who — ’ began Father Bernard, and closed his mouth.

‘You may not realize,’ Gil said to Hugh Montgomery, who was staring intently at him, ‘that the door to the Theology Schule is in the Inner Close. Nobody lecturing there would need to be in the Outer Close.’

‘Aye,’ said Montgomery, and nodded. ‘But William’s chamber was in the Outer Close. I mind I asked him how come he was out here with the great ones and he tellt me he was valued in this place.’ Robert muttered something, and he turned his head to look. ‘What was that?’

‘Kind of thing he would say,’ repeated Robert with reluctance.

‘William’s chamber was in the Outer Close,’ agreed Gil. ‘Do you have your college key on you?’ he asked the chaplain, holding his hand out. Father Bernard stared at him, then slowly drew the cord over his head and dragged the key out from the breast of his habit. Gil turned it over. ‘When you showed me this yesterday there was a patch of rust on it, which is gone now.’

‘Anyone may clean a key,’ said Maister Crawford, suddenly remembering his role.

‘Not many does,’ said Montgomery. ‘What’s this to say, Cunningham?’

‘The dog,’ said Gil. ‘Someone struck the dog over the head.’

‘It was a patch of rust,’ said Father Bernard rather shrilly. ‘You’re reading too much — ’

‘I’ve cleaned too many hunting knives,’ said Gil. ‘That was blood on the key. The dog went for you, as he would have gone for you again next time he saw you. You struck him down.’

‘An ill-schooled puppy — ’

‘He is a remarkably intelligent and well-taught animal,’ said Maistre Pierre.

Gil put the key into Montgomery’s waiting grasp and said, ‘What were you searching for? You took all the paper in William’s chamber, and left the money and jewels. You were searching for something in writing. The piece of paper William showed you in the morning?’

‘I admit nothing,’ said Father Bernard steadfastly.

‘And during your first absence from the Theology Schule?’

‘Why should our chaplain so far forget himself as to strangle one of our scholars?’ asked Maister Crawford. ‘And not even one of his own students?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said the Dean. ‘We are going round in circles here. Gilbert, where does your argument lead?’

‘It leads to the thumbscrews in my lower hall,’ said Montgomery. ‘And I’ve a couple more devices I’ve a notion to try.’

Father Bernard shuddered, but said nothing. Maister Crawford bobbed up from his stool again, his round legal bonnet slipping sideways.

‘Has my colleague quite finished his accusation? May we discuss our chaplain’s defence?’

‘I do not have to defend myself — ’

‘There is more,’ said Gil. ‘The explanation Father Bernard offered when the dog would have gone for him, yesterday in Maister Mason’s house, was that dogs often dislike him because of his habit.’

‘You’ve hunted with dogs for years!’ said Montgomery explosively.

‘So I hear,’ agreed Gil. ‘Further, this man who claimed he scarcely knew William was the only person I spoke to, save his foster-mother, who knew that the boy had turned sixteen.’

‘That could be chance,’ said Maister Doby ‘I would say half the junior bachelors are turned sixteen by now.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Gil. ‘But he was also heard giving something in writing to another to be destroyed, very shortly before William’s lecture-notes turned up smouldering in Jaikie’s brazier.’

Maister Crawford popped up again, like the figure on a toy Gil had once had.

‘Dean, I must object!’ he began. ‘Is this the sum total of the case against our chaplain? It is a farrago of invention and nonsense. He was heard, indeed!’

‘Gilbert,’ said Maister Forsyth before the Dean could speak. ‘You have given us a number of circumstantial instances which may add up to an accusation. What you have not given us is any reason why Father Bernard, who is after all clericus, and the chaplain or pastor of this college, should do such harm to one of his flock.’