The Merchant's Mark (36 page)

‘Yes, sir,’ said Gil inadequately, trying to conceal amazement. James turned, peering into the shade of the gallery. His back was lean, well muscled, decorated here and there with
spots. The chain belt showed at his waist above the top of his hose. Gil wadded his own towel and wiped hesitantly at the royal hide.

‘Harder, man,’ commanded the King. ‘You’ll never shift the salt playing pat-a-cake like that. Aye, that’s better. Now, while we’re not to be
interrupted,’ he said, staring direct at the three men in the gallery, ‘tell me what you didn’t tell me yestreen.’

Gil froze for a moment, then continued rubbing at the King’s shoulders.

‘How much of it, sir? There’s a fair bit.’

‘Let’s have the kernel of it. Some of my late father’s hoard,’ he crossed himself, and his other hand strayed involuntarily to the iron chain at his waist, ‘was
being moved about the country, and it seemed to me someone was trying to thieve it on its way. Am I right?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Gil again. ‘There was also some part of what may have been a loan from the Knights of St John. It was still in the sacks, with the seals on. I would say his
late grace never saw it.’

‘And if my father never kent it was there,’ said James, leaning back against Gil’s ministrations, ‘and it could be stolen away, whoever got it could write it down sheer
profit.’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘Who?’

‘I would say you’ve guessed, sir.’

‘Aye, but guesses are no proof. Have you proof, maister? Let’s hear it.’

‘I have,’ said Gil. He gave as compressed a summary as he might of the successive attempts to intercept the search for the identity of the dead man and the remainder of his load. The
King listened intently; halfway through, without interrupting, he turned, gestured to Gil to turn his back, and twisting his own towel into a rope began rubbing Gil down as if he were a horse. The
three watchers in the gallery never stirred.

‘And these two you took last night,’ said the King when Gil finished his tale, ‘that the Watch have put in the Tolbooth for you, are the same as attacked you along with the
axeman on the Pentlands, and have been seen with him in Glasgow.’ Gil nodded. ‘Body of Christ, the road from here to Edinburgh must be smoking by now. Even at this time of year with the
long days, it’s a hard ride across Scotland. And how much have they admitted, maister?’

‘Unless the Watch got anything from them,’ said Gil, ‘not even their names, though I know what those are, and the injured man at least is linked to –’

‘Ah!’ said the King, and paused. ‘I suppose he could still deny it.’

‘No matter, sir,’ said Angus from the shadows. ‘If we tell him they’re taken –’

‘Aye, and ask for his seals. We’ll have both off him, my lord Angus, before we leave Glasgow. The Treasurer’s seal and the Comptroller’s both.’

‘And gladly, sir,’ said Angus emphatically. ‘Bring them to you, will I?’

‘Aye, for we’ll need to discuss who gets them next. But first,’ said James, as a thought struck him, ‘I want enough coin off him for two-three days. Including,’ he
slapped Gil on the shoulder quite as if he were a horse, ‘there you are, maister, you’re done, including two, no, three purses for this morning. You know the sort of thing, my
lord.’

‘This curst litter is full of boulders,’ complained Maistre Pierre.

‘We’re nearly at Glasgow now,’ said Gil, hiding a grin. ‘You’ll be home in an hour or two, and then you can lie in your own bed.’

He looked over his shoulder at the small cavalcade of their baggage and the escort Sinclair had provided. It had taken them two days to travel from Roslin, and Maistre Pierre had grumbled most
of the way, about the horse he was expected to ride, about the litter which he did not need, about not having found a barber in Roslin, or about any other subject which came to mind. Clearly, the
ten or twelve days he had spent being nursed by Mistress Robison had done little for his temper.

‘Why should I wish to lie in any bed?’

‘I’ve sent Luke on ahead,’ Gil said, ignoring this, ‘to warn the two households. I thought my uncle and Kate should know we’re near home, as well as
Alys.’

‘And what if they don’t wish to know?’

‘And I need to get a word with Augie,’ Gil added. ‘He was wanting to speak to me the day I left, but Robert Blacader was back in Glasgow and sent for me, and there was no
time.’

‘Tell me again what his lordship said.’

‘I’m attached to his retinue,’ said Gil. ‘It’s a formal appointment, with the title of Quaestor, and a benefice attached.’ He grinned. ‘Somewhere in
Argyll. Not one of the fat ones, of course, no manse in the Chanonry or seat in Chapter, but still it’s a benefice, with enough to pay a vicar and still have a bit income.’

‘And the duties of this appointment?’

‘I’ve to do more or less what we’ve been doing. Look into any case of secret murder within the diocese, or maybe the entire Archdiocese, I wasn’t quite sure which he
meant. Go where his lordship sends me, I suppose. Report to him, find justice for the dead.’

‘A wide remit,’ said Maistre Pierre doubtfully. ‘And when you are not so employed?’

Gil shrugged, and steered his horse round a pothole in the road. ‘I’ll have to wait and see if Blacader wants me at his side or not. If not, then I can live in Glasgow and set up as
a notary, fetch in a little more money.’

‘So we may set a date for your marriage.’

‘Yes,’ said Gil with satisfaction.
I long for the wedding
, he thought. The lute tune sprang into his head, and with it the image of the three lutenists in Stirling bent
together over their instruments, passing not that melody but its companion from one to another, runs and trills and doubling passages thickening the texture, while McIan sat in his great chair
clasping his harp and listening intently.
All will be well
, he had said, and it was.

‘Does Alys know?’

‘I took the time to go by the house and tell her before I left Glasgow. When I came away she was considering the dry stores. She seemed to feel there were not enough almonds in Glasgow for
her purpose.’

‘More than likely. I suppose she will want a second fine gown to be married in,’ said her father, with spurious resignation. ‘Black brocade is likely too sombre.’

They went on in silence for a while, past Garrowhill and Springboig. Maistre Pierre lay back among the cushions which supported him, staring at the swaying roof of the litter. The escort started
an argument about a battle a few of them had been in, which someone tried to settle by singing a ballad in High Dutch. Gil thought of Rob, and then of Johan.

‘Will you stay in Scotland now?’ he asked.

Maistre Pierre turned his head to meet his eyes. ‘Why ever not?’

‘I wondered,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘if your task was now over.’

The mason considered him for a short time, then grinned without humour.

‘Well, I liked you for Alys because your mind is at least as good as hers, so I should not be surprised. No, my task is not over, Gilbert. That was only a part of it.’

‘So you remain in Scotland.’

‘I do.’

‘Good,’ said Gil lightly.

‘What brought it to your notice? I suppose I have been clumsy.’

‘I’ve been in the church at Brinay. While I was in Paris I had a friend came from near there.’

‘Now that I would never have expected. I have not, as you may have guessed.’

‘I wondered,’ said Gil. ‘My friend took me down to his father’s home for a week’s hunting one spring, and we went over to look at the church.’

‘Ah,’ said Maistre Pierre.

‘It’s a tiny building, with a truly astonishing set of wall-paintings,’ Gil went on, ‘well worth the ride over there, but not a pillar to its name.’

‘So naturally you began to pay attention to such remarks.’

‘The more so as de Brinay himself didn’t correct you.’

The litter swayed on. Behind them, the escort had moved on to drinking songs. Their repertoire seemed to be considerable.

‘I am able to tell you very little,’ said Maistre Pierre at length. ‘The facts are not mine to reveal.’

‘That doesn’t concern me,’ said Gil. ‘You wouldn’t reveal the inmost secrets of the mason’s craft either.’ They looked at each other again. A small
smile flickered in the depths of the mason’s untrimmed beard, the first time Gil had ever seen that trait of Alys’s in him. ‘No, what I would like is an assurance that you do not
act to the detriment of my country.’

The litter lurched as one of the horses put its foot in a rut. Its passenger exclaimed sharply. Gil put a quick hand to the roof of the structure, but the animal recovered, and the litter swayed
on.

‘At present,’ said Maistre Pierre after a little, ‘I am not acting, nor am I asked to act, to the detriment or danger of Scotland. France is an ally of Scotland,’ he
pointed out.

‘But you aren’t acting for France,’ said Gil.

‘I am not acting against your country, Gilbert. I will swear it on anything you choose.’

‘Your word will do me.’ Gil studied his friend a moment longer, then reached down, and they shook hands. ‘What does it do to Alys’s status?’

‘Nothing. I was lawfully wedded to her mother, Christ assoil her, and can you doubt that she is my daughter?’

‘No,’ admitted Gil, and grinned again, thinking of the strong resemblance between the two. ‘Not that it would trouble me,’ he added, ‘but there are legal
considerations.’ He looked about him. ‘Have we passed Carntyne already? We must be less than two miles from home.’

Kate Cunningham, sitting in the arbour in her uncle’s garden where it seemed to her it had all begun, stared out over the lower town and thought bleakly of her
future.

There was really, she thought, very little about it that was positive. Less than three weeks since, on the morning after her failed petition to St Mungo, Alys had said to her,
What has
changed?
and she had said,
All my hopes are away
. In taking brief charge of Augie Morison’s house and children, she had found first distraction and then, like green shoots in the
snow, a new hope. But the buds, it seemed, were frost-bitten and would not flower. What a literary metaphor, she thought bitterly. Worthy of Augie Morison himself. Better with Chaucer:
Love hath
my name ystrike out of his sclat
.

The last good moment she could think of had been when the King’s procession paused outside Morison’s Yard, on its way out of Glasgow on the Sunday morning, the day after Augie
– after Maister Morison had been freed. Alerted by a servant in blue velvet, the entire household had been out at the gate, herself and Alys on either side of Morison, the men around them,
Nan and Babb with the little girls at the back of the group. The King, glowing in blue satin and black velvet, his chestnut hair combed down over his shoulders, a gold chain with a sapphire jewel
gleaming on his chest, had halted his dappled horse as everyone round Kate bent the knee.

‘Maister Morison,’ he had said. ‘I hope you found all in order when you got home.’

‘Y-yes, sir,’ managed Morison, straightening up, and he stepped forward in response to the King’s beckoning hand.

‘You lie, maister, you lie,’ said James in great good humour. ‘You mind, I’ve had a game of caich with Maister Cunningham this morning. I’ve heard about last
night’s inbreak, just as you got to your own gates. Two of my lord St Johns’ men,’ he said, audible to all the neighbours, ‘taken in the act of housebreaking by the women of
the household. I’ve thanked Maister Cunningham already, and I thank you now, maister, for your help in righting more than one great wrong these last few days.’

Morison bowed and stammered inarticulately. James drew the gold chain with its sapphire over his head and leaned gracefully down from the saddle. He must have practised that, thought Kate,
watching.

‘A small token,’ said the King, setting the chain about Morison’s neck. As Augie, extinguished with amazement, backed away, James looked beyond him and called Kate and Alys
forward.

Kate could hardly remember what he had said first, except for a teasing remark about Alys’s wisdom which had sent the younger girl’s chin up. There had been an exchange of sorts, and
then the King had said seriously, ‘Scotland needs folk wi courage and a love of justice, ladies, and if the women of Scotland have such attributes as well as her men, we’ll breed
sturdier sons to defend this realm. I’m proud to have such as you among my subjects.’

Rhetoric, thought Kate, is a royal study.

‘Now, I hope you’ll divide this among the folk of the household,’ he tossed a fat purse to Morison, who caught it at the last moment as his men grinned hopefully, ‘and
here’s another wee token for the two of you ladies and all.’

Then there had been a heavy purse of red velvet in her hands, she had bowed her head, Alys was curtsying to the ground with another such purse clasped in the crook of her arm. The King’s
voice above her head bade them
Good day
, his horse wheeled and set off down the High Street, and the procession clattered after it.

There was a hundred merks in the red velvet purse. Apart from the heap of coin which Morison and Maister Mason had counted on the majolica plate across the grass here, it was more money than
Kate had seen together since her father’s death. If she had ever had any prospects of marriage, it would make a tocher, she thought. Or maybe she could buy a bit of land with it, rent it out,
get some income that way. What point was there? she thought wearily.

‘Are you ready, my doo?’ said Babb now at her elbow.

‘Ready?’

‘We’re to go down the hill. Maister Mason cam home yesternight –’

‘I know that,’ she said impatiently.

‘And we’re all bidden to his house the day. Maister Gil told you yestreen, for I heard him.’

‘So he did,’ she said. He had also told her, grinning like an ape, that he would be able to set a date for his wedding. She had heard the news from Alys already, and listened to her
for three days while he was away thinking aloud about her plans; she had smiled, at both of them, and said the right things.