Hue and Cry (39 page)

‘Giles does not ask for anything,’ Meg interrupted quickly, ‘and we know the money that you paid to Robin Flett . . .’

Her father shook his head. ‘That amounts to nothing,’ he assured her. ‘I’m ashamed to hear you mention it. And as for Giles, I should gladly give him half of what I have, if he would only take it. Peace, child, I do not mean you. It’s your brother I am talking about.’

‘I have earned a little money at the college,’ Hew protested, startled. ‘I admit it is not much. But do you think me profligate?’

‘I know not, son. Advise me,’ his father said gravely. ‘It is not
my business to look over your accounts. But there was a bill sent here, instead of to the college, whether by mistake or by design I could not say, and I confess I was perplexed at the amount. And if you have a similar tab at your taverner and tailors, then I fear that you may bankrupt us.’

Hew looked bewildered. ‘What bill can you mean?’

‘I have it somewhere here.’ Matthew fished a piece of crumpled paper from his sleeve. ‘Aye, pass me my spectacles – it’s from the west port stables, for damage to their premises, and for shoeing, oats and sundries, the sum of five hundred pounds.
Five hundred pounds
, Hew! Is it the king’s own light horse you have stabled there?’

Hew was aghast. ‘Five hundred pounds? How can that be possible? Are the stables completely destroyed?’

Meg burst out laughing. ‘For shame, Father, how can you tease him?’ she scolded. ‘Don’t mind him, Hew! Giles has amused us with tales of Dun Scottis. The bill was for eighty-eight pounds.’

‘Eighty-eight pounds, nine shillings and sixpence,’ Matthew corrected severely, ‘which was more than quite enough. Now, I know you are fond of the horse, and won’t have a word said against him, but may I suggest that you stable him here? It will save us both a fortune. And I’ll reinforce the fence.’

Hew conceded defeat. ‘Aye, if you will. He’s a good horse at heart.’

‘He’s a limmar,’ Matthew contradicted, ‘through and through. But none the worse for that. Now, here we are together again,’ he beamed at them. ‘And all is well. There was a time when I feared for you both. Now Meg has recovered and is to be married, and Hew has come home, there’s cause to be merry. I’ll call for some wine.’

‘Yet Hew is unhappy, I think,’ Meg said perceptively. ‘What is it?’ She turned to her brother. ‘You barely raise a smile. I think things have not turned out as you hoped.’

Hew stared into the fire. The posset cups shone silver, hanging from the hearth, the plate rubbed worn and clean. There were cushions at his back he knew from childhood, fallow deer embroidered on a scarlet ground.

‘Forgive me, Meg. I do not want to spoil your happiness. Yet all the while, I cannot help but think of Nicholas.’

‘Nicholas is stronger by the day,’ his sister told him gently. ‘Giles believes there may be hope.’

‘Hope of what?’ he answered miserably. ‘For you and Giles, I am content. Your outcome is a happy one. But for the rest, I see no hope; I cannot help it, Meg. The days pass. I take my students – Nicholas’ students – closer to their end and their examinations. I chase golf balls on the links. I talk of books with Robert Black. And in the afternoons I read to Nicholas or play a game of chess in Giles Locke’s rooms, where Nicholas confides that such and such a student may need help with declamations, this one’s steady, that one’s shy, this one fumbles at the page, and all the while he knows that he must die. I cannot save him. These boys will proceed to their examinations, and the king will come and hear their play, and Gilchrist will speak his smooth lies, and at the end of it all, my friend will hang.

‘I have resolved the case, and yet I know not how to fight it. Nicholas is arraigned for trial in May. And though I know who did these crimes, I may not name them. I have proofs; I may not show them. I have witnesses; I may not call them. We are back where we began. All I have is Nicholas, who reeks of guilt, for he is careless of his fate. Against us, Gilchrist and the dead boy’s letters seal our ends.’ His frustration bordered on despair.

Meg rose without a word and left the room. But shortly she returned, with a jug of wine, a loaf of new-baked bread, and butter on a tray.

‘All things are better broken over bread,’ she counselled quietly. ‘Can you not defend the charge?’

‘He may not contradict the charge,’ their father said. ‘It is the nature of the law.’

‘It is unjust,’ Hew countered.

Matthew shook his head. ‘In practice, it would seem so. There’s logic behind it. The burden of the proof lies with the prosecution, not with the defence. If the charge can be proven, it cannot
be contradicted, or the act of contradiction would be proof of perjury. If the charge cannot be proven, then there is no cause to contradict it; the accused is not required to give another version of the crime. In consequence, the sole defence depends upon the weakness of the prosecution case. The art lies in the words of the indictment, of the libel writ concluding “
Ye may not deny
.” No charge that is explicit may be answered. The trick to prosecution is to word the accusation tight enough to force out all defence yet loose enough still to be proved. Its weakness lies between the two.

‘In this case, it’s the proofs themselves that you must contradict. How will they proceed? We may assume the charge will not be proved by confession, for Nicholas has not confessed. Most likely, it will not be proved by exculpation, which is precluded by the wording of the writ. It must be proved by witness, then. Gilchrist and the letters, and your friend’s own bloodied gown are proofs that will require corroboration. The word of one man will not be enough. Now, the prosecutor may protest the statements here of Agnes Ford and Gilbert Strachan. You should reject them as irrelevant, which the justice will allow you. Denounce them as rebels. For Gilchrist, you must try to undermine him. He will have to swear he does not speak from hatred. You may call your friends to witness whether this is true. Does he know you are disposed to challenge him?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Hew reflected, ‘unless Robert Black has told him so. That I count unlikely. Robert lacks conviction, yet he still has virtue. He was once false to Nicholas, and he repented it. He will not make the same mistake again. These last few weeks in college I have bitten back the words, and Gilchrist seems to trust me well enough. He asks me to his home, and pours me wine. I flatter and dissemble there.’

‘Then you are the better placed to discredit him.’

‘That will be difficult.’ He sighed. ‘It will be said he does not bring the charges lightly, since they implicate the college in the crimes. I dare not call Giles, for he is already compromised by his defence of Meg.’

Meg coloured slightly but did not demur as Hew continued, ‘Robert will not take the stand. The minister, the man from Holy Trinity, might be prepared to give a true impression of his soul, yet he does not know the facts. Gilchrist will aver it is the crime he hates, and not the man. Which leaves me Nicholas alone to pitch against the devil. And even if he cared to fight, he is no match.’

‘There is a last recourse,’ said Matthew thoughtfully, ‘though it is a desperate one.’

‘I’ll hear it,’ answered Hew.

‘You may refuse the trial and plead before the king, to come into his will, and he may pardon him.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘The king has come of age. He has a favourite lately come from France, his kinsman the sieur d’Aubigny, an older man who has a wife and child. James has taken him to heart. Too much, his friends protest. There is talk of inwardness, of an improper closeness.’

‘How do you hear such things?’ Hew teased him.

‘Rumour carries even here. I still have friends at court. For my part, I construe it as the fondness of a lonely, love-starved boy, bereft as he has been of family life. Ah, you see my drift. Though he was born a prince, he still was born a child. The king has been in thrall to schoolmasters like Gilchrist and your friend Buchanan.’

‘They are
not
alike,’ objected Hew.

Matthew went on smoothly, ‘And to him, they’re tyrants. He is ill-disposed to like them. Now he shakes the chains. If you are careful, you may touch his sympathies. He may read his own heart in the boy’s. But do not force the likeness home. He must perceive it for himself. It’s hazardous.’

‘You need a way,’ Meg put in, ‘to hold fast the king’s attention. To set the case before him, so he understands the whole.’

‘Meg, that is genius!’ Her brother exclaimed.

‘What did I say?’

‘Nothing, aye, and everything.’ Hew leapt to his feet and began
to pace the room. ‘I think I see the way. Aye, there will be risk. But still, there’s time enough . . .’ Suddenly he grinned.

‘Could you make some dye? Enough to fill a bathtub? Of a violet shade?’

‘I think so,’ Meg looked hesitant. ‘I know it can be made from watercress. There’s plenty to be had here in the burn. But there’s other things we need.’ She wrinkled up her nose. ‘A vat of urine fresh and strong.’

‘If reputation counts for aught,’ Matthew interjected, ‘then we will not want for that.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

He snorted, ‘Why, yon bladderskite.’

His children stared at him.

He coughed apologetically. ‘I mean the shit horse, Scottis.’

The boy was tired. His mind had begun to make shapes of the words on the paper, no longer letters but patterns. The candle stub had left a smoky film upon the page. He rubbed his eyes.

A sharp knock on the doorframe startled him. He heard a warning cry of ‘
Salve
’, and the door flew upon. The boy stumbled to his feet.

‘
Salve, magister
,’ he answered anxiously. ‘Forgive me, Master Cullan. Do you want for water? I filled the basins after dinner. Was there not enough?’

‘Peace, I have not come for water. Where’s your roommate?’

‘In truth, I know not, sir,’ the boy looked away, ‘I think perhaps that he is gone to Master Black.’

‘For shame, you must not lie for him. No matter, though, it’s you I want. I hoped to find you quiet here. But shall we sit?’ Hew sat down upon the bed.

‘And it please you, sir,’ the boy replied unhappily. He tottered on the corner of his stool. The master smiled at him. ‘How do you find your studies, Thomas? Do they go well?’

‘Yes, sir. Master Black is kind.’

‘It is late to be working still. Your candle should be out by nine.’

‘Master Black allows a further hour, sir.’ The boy hesitated. ‘It is hard for me to do what must be done by day. But after dark . . .’

‘It is your quiet time?’ Hew asked him wryly

‘Aye.’

‘And who do you work for this quiet hour, Thomas? For yourself, or your truant bedfellow?’

The boy flushed. ‘I try to get the theme. I find it hard.’

‘For a clever lad like you? I doubt your fellows do not work so hard.’

‘They have no cause to, sir,’ he answered, close to tears. ‘They have more play.’

‘For certain,’ Hew said kindly, ‘they have you. But it’s to be commended that you work. I do not come to blame you. I fear you are misused here.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘Master Gilchrist says it is an honour, sir, to serve the college and to bed down with an earl.’

‘Your roommate? He is not an earl.’

‘As good as, Master Gilchrist says.’

‘He does not use you cruelly, then?’

‘He is not here.’

Hew understood the plea in the boy’s voice, and nodded. ‘You have your peace in the night while he plays truant in the town, and were his delinquencies checked, it would be worse for you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he answered simply.

‘Well then, your regent knows him truant?’

‘Aye.’

‘Then nothing need be said. I am sorry to disturb you in your quiet hour. I have a favour to request of you, which you may think on privately. You know, I doubt, that the king is to come here to visit?’

Thomas answered with a nod, as Hew went on. ‘Well then, I am making a play, in Latin, to perform for him, and I would like you to take on a part. I fear it will be work for you, on top of what you have, but I would beg you to consider it.’

‘I . . .’ the boy stammered, ‘a play for the king? But is it not for the magistrands?’

‘It is, for the main part, the magistrands’ play, and yet I need a young lad, competent in grammar, to play this particular part. I think the role will please the king.’

‘But how shall I do it, sir?’ Thomas pleaded earnestly. ‘How may
I
impress the king? You must ask someone else.’

‘I think you will impress him well. The principal also would wish you to do it. He is anxious that the bursars should perform.’

‘I could not speak before the king. I should be feart.’

Hew chided mildly, ‘No, your training must prepare you to speak before the world. You should know your worth. Besides, the king will like you. You are not so far apart.’

Thomas looked incredulous. He said politely enough, ‘I cannot think us further, sir.’

‘Nor yet so far. The king beneath his crown is just a boy like you. Besides, the king has been well schooled and has a scholar’s ear. Few of our students make verses so sound. Your master schooled you well and your tones are like to please him. And you are a bursar too, which throws a glowing light upon the Crown. There is a world of difference, I grant you, between your life and his, and betwixt the both of you and this sad part I bid you play, and yet beneath it all, you share a common heart.’

‘I cannot think it possible,’ the boy said doubtfully, ‘below the crown there beats a heart like mine. But can a king have feelings like the rest?’

‘I know not,’ answered Hew, ‘in truth, he
should
not. Yet the king is young. I mean to try his feeling, and the play shall be our proof.’

‘How so? If he does not like it?’

‘He will like it, Thomas. And if he does not, no blame shall come to you. It is a moral tale, and will be most properly and prettily done. If you retain your proper countenance, he will be pleased to see it, I can promise you.’

‘Well … but tell me,’ the boy implored, ‘what is the part?’

‘If you promise to keep it secret,’ Hew confided, ‘then I’ll tell it. It is a sad tale.