The King's Corrodian (13 page)

‘You said one of the novices mentioned that he left the priory at night,’ Alys pointed out. ‘I suppose we know now where he went.’ She began to fold the linen round the little collection, and paused, looking at the finely hemmed margin. ‘This is a kerchief, and good quality linen, at that. I suppose it must be hers, whoever she is. Poor woman, she will grieve for him.’ She tucked in the last corner to secure the package, and pulled up the hem of her gown to reach her purse, hanging between gown and kirtle. ‘Shall I keep it for now, or will you?’

‘You keep it.’ Gil got to his feet. ‘I have more papers to deal with, or at least tablets.’ He kicked lightly at the kist on which she had set the second candle. ‘I should have studied Pollock’s effects before this.’

‘There has hardly been time,’ she observed, straightening her skirts. ‘Do you wish help, or shall I hear what else the servants have to say? Perhaps Euan is returned by now.’

‘I doubt it.’ He moved the candle and opened the kist. ‘Aye, the men may have learned more from the lay brothers. Alys?’

‘What?’ She turned from the door, and the candlelight lit the razor’s-edge outline of her nose. He held out a hand, smiling at her.

‘Kiss me first.’

Armed with the lingering memory of the kiss, he began to sort through Leonard Pollock’s property. It was a task he generally enjoyed, when faced with an array of documents from which he could piece together an individual’s life and activities; but when, as now, the documents were entangled in a mass of clothing and other effects, none of it very clean, it was less to his taste. The clothes he slung over the raised lid of the kist, thinking he would get Nory to tend to them later. They were all of good quality, and would certainly have kept their owner warmer than the other members of the community, though the moth had got into some of the furs. They seemed to him to represent a considerable sum of money, perhaps invested over a number of years.

By the time he reached the bottom of the kist he had a total of ten sets of tablets laid on the floor beside him, together with a bundle of five or six folded documents. He tapped round the sides and base of the kist to check for hidden compartments; finding nothing he rose from his knees, drew the candles more conveniently, and sat down to study his finds, supervised by the cat.

‘He’s kept all his records,’ he said in French. ‘Ten years’ worth of notes of extortion and favours, identified by initials, with one or two names in full. Young Rattray was one.’

‘I remember,’ said Alys suddenly. ‘You had just mentioned him when the dog found – found the man’s foot.’

‘Indeed, yes.’

They were seated together by the sinking fire, to talk over the day’s findings. The servants had been despatched to bed, Socrates was sprawled by the ashes, and the moment of privacy seemed very sweet.

‘So who else was named?’ Alys asked, tilting her head on his shoulder to look up at Gil’s face. ‘I recall two others. Brother Dickon said they were men of Perth, I think.’

‘Those two, yes. There were some I recognised, members of this community. I must ask the Prior for a list of the brethren, so I can establish whether he had any victims outside the walls. He kept no record of the alleged misdeeds, I suppose that was all in his head, but the returns are listed. Candles, small sums of money, items like a chicken or a haunch of beef which he sold on.’

‘He sounds a very unpleasant man.’

‘That seems to be the consensus.’

‘What are the names he mentioned?’

Gil drew his own tablets from his purse, opened them and tilted them to the single candle. The lines of writing showed up palely in the dark wax, more of a prompt than a script.

‘Billy Pullar and Jaikie Wilson,’ he recalled. ‘Dickon said those were men of Perth. Certainly Pullar is a local name. Young Rattray, Thomas Wilson and Sandy Raitts were all named in full.’

‘Oh!’

‘Quite so. And there were payments under their initials, all three.’

‘Henry White is not named?’

‘No. But there were also James Anderson, Edward Gilchrist – the Infirmarer, the Cellarer – with no payments noted either by name or by initial, and a P.S. whom I take to be the novice Simpson, who said he resisted the extortion.’

‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘His secret was merely a lost book, serious enough but hardly a great misdeed. In a community like this,’ she paused, ordering her words, ‘the person challenged I suppose would have to set the initial demand, at least, against the possible penance if the misdeed was revealed.’

‘Pollock would have pitched his demand to take that into account.’

‘Yes. But then, if one succumbed, gave him what he asked, that is a further misdeed, and the longer it goes on, the deeper one is mired. And one can tell no one, because that is to risk making public whatever it is he has discovered.’

‘I need to pursue Pollock’s acquaintance in the town tomorrow. Today has been chiefly devoted to young Rattray. Do we know, is he any kin to Sir Silvester?’

‘Sir—? Oh, Mistress Buttergask’s friend? Gil, I never thought to ask her.’

‘You were thinking of Pollock at the time.’ He tightened his arm about her shoulders. ‘I would have expected the Prior to mention it if they were connected. Did she say Sir Silvester was away? I should probably get a word with him when he returns, but her statement was quite definite, you think?’

‘She described what she thought she saw very clearly,’ Alys agreed. ‘It sounded to me like the smoke from the – the burning – towering over the house and then blowing away.’

‘Yes.’ Gil considered his notes in the flickering light. ‘I wonder what really happened? How could someone have got in to set the man on fire? The whole house was sealed, one way or another. I’d have said barely a draught of air could enter.’

‘If we continue to ask questions,’ she said with confidence, ‘we will find the answer. So tomorrow you will look for these two men in the town?’

‘To begin with, at least. Likely Brother Dickon can tell me where to find them. And you? What will you do?’

‘I return to the Greyfriars. I hope Brother Michael may have more advice.’

He looked down at the black woollen crown of her head in puzzlement, but did not pursue the matter. She drew herself out of his clasp and stood up, reaching for his hand.

‘Jennet will be asleep by now,’ she observed. ‘You will have to unlace me.’

Gil tucked his tablets away with the free hand, and got to his feet.

‘I expect I can manage that,’ he said.

‘The entire house,’ said Prior Boyd. ‘Wi the exception o the lay servants and the outdoor men, a course. If they’re holding silence they canny be accusing each other o breaking the Rule. At least, no so easily,’ he added sourly. ‘My apologies, Gilbert, if it makes your task the harder, but the health o the community comes first. If you’re needing to question a man, we can have him in here and he can speak afore me.’

‘As you wish, sir,’ said Gil, preserving his countenance with some difficulty. This would indeed make his task harder; the entire community had been sentenced last night to dwell in silence, when not reciting the Office, until the Prior should lift the ban. He had been summoned after Chapter to hear the news, but it had already been brought to them with their morning bread and ale by one of the kitchen men, who was nearly as dismayed as Gil.

‘How Brother Augustine’s to get by, I canny tell,’ the fellow had said, rubbing his jaw. ‘I’ve a thick ear already, only for asking what he was signing me about, and he’s broke a platter ower Billy’s head for fetching him oatmeal instead o rye flour.’

‘Since the outdoor
conversi
are not included in the injunction,’ continued the Prior now, switching to Latin, ‘I have instructed Brother Dickon to give you all pos sible assistance. I hope with this support you may pursue your investigation with due haste, which is now become essential.’ He paused, and Gil raised an eyebrow. ‘I have received a letter from Stirling. The Crown is taking an interest.’

‘It had to happen,’ said Gil. ‘The man was a Crown official, after all. Just who is taking an interest, sir? Surely not the King’s Grace himself?’

The Prior crossed himself, an expression of alarm on his face.

‘Our Lady forfend! My correspondent does not say, only that there have been inquiries from the Treasury about the matter.’

‘Inquiries?’ said Gil. ‘More than one?’

‘More than one.’

‘Pollock would ha been there in Knollis’s time,’ Gil said thoughtfully in Scots. ‘Maybe I should go ower his papers again, see if there’s aught in them that might interest the Treasury.’

‘Aye, afore they send someone to see for theirsels,’ agreed his kinsman. ‘How long will this take, Gil? I need the matter settled, whatever the cost, and I’m aware that will be high. But once we ken which of us is guilty and all’s dealt wi, maybe the house can quiet down again and we can address oursels to God’s work as we’re charged.’

‘I’m nowhere near finding the answer,’ said Gil. ‘I need to ask more questions. How long will you keep the community silent?’

The Prior spread his hands in acceptance of the point, then rose as the little bell began to ring for Terce. Feet scuffed in the cloister outside as the brothers moved in silence towards the church. Gil held the door for the older man, bent his head for the blessing, and watched him pace off after the last of his flock; then, pulling his plaid up round his neck against this morning’s biting wind, he made for the infirmary courtyard.

He remembered this place in high summer, with bees buzzing in the lavender hedge and a rosebush bending over the path; it was set between the infirmary itself, the side of the Chapter House, and a high wall over which he could see bare apple trees tufted with grey lichen, and he recalled that it had seemed to collect the sun’s warmth and hold it, distilling it into a healing peace. Little of that remained now; the garden was ruined, hidden under stacks of half-burned timbers and broken roof-tiles, and the dismal smell of burning still hung over everything. He picked his way through the various obstacles to the well, and leaned on the parapet to peer in.

The water surface was perhaps five feet down, but the well seemed to be deep; beyond the reflection of the sky, with his head black against it, he could see the first course of the stonework, but below that all vanished into darkness. He stood for a while, thinking what a suitable metaphor this made for his situation, and considering what to do next. A trip into the burgh of Perth seemed inevitable, but the question was whether to deal first with the man of law named in young Rattray’s papers, or with Pollock’s mysterious visitors. None could be approached until he had a direction for them, which would have to wait until the Office was ended and Brother Dickon and his cohort were free.

‘Maister?’ It was Nory, on quiet feet. ‘Maister, that’s that Euan come back fro the town. Claims he’s got word for you.’

‘Has he, now?’ He straightened up. Nory came to his side, looked in disapproval at the smears of soot on his hands and shirt-cuffs, and glanced into the well.

‘Leckie in the kitchen was saying that’s twenty foot deep,’ he observed. ‘Likely that’s where the missing knife is gone. He’d no hang onto the thing, after he’d slain the laddie, and it’s the handiest place to put it.’

‘My thought and all,’ Gil agreed. He wiped his hands on his hose and turned away. ‘Let’s hear what Euan has to say for himself.’

Euan was seated in at the fire, a mug of ale in his hand. He rose when Gil entered the chamber, grinning.

‘Your good health, maister! Here I’ve learned all sorts, and found the man Pollock’s accomplice and everything you need.’

‘And where were you last night?’ Gil enquired.

‘Och, no, I wasny intending that, and I’m sorry for it, so I am. See, maister, I was on my way back here when who should I meet, in yon street wi all the leatherworkers, but Alistair MacIain that’s an Ardnamurchan man, and him a good fellow, even if he is from Acharacle. And afore we knew it, it was nightfall and the gates was shut, so I was going home wi him, and we were talking the most o the night, what wi all the doings from Ardnamurchan I had to tell him.’

‘Did you get Brother Euan’s simples?’ Gil interrupted.

‘Och, yes, I did that, and they are waiting for him now in that wee house where he was yesterday. I told Brother George, that’s there watching the old man, what I had fetched. But I was telling you, maister, I’ve been hearing all sorts that you need to ken, and one of Alistair’s neighbours was a friend o the man Pollock and was forever visiting him here and talking of how he was an important man and kent all kind o secrets.’

‘Was he, now?’ Gil sat down. ‘Go on, then. What’s his name?’

‘It’s a Jaikie Wilson, that’s a journeyman leather-worker to a saddler in the town, and cousin to the rent collector here. So that’s likely his accomplice, see, and probably set fire to him and all,’ said Euan earnestly. ‘And I can be taking you there, at least to Alistair’s house, and he can direct you to the other fellow.’

‘Never heard o him,’ said Jaikie Wilson firmly.

‘Och, the leear!’ exclaimed Euan. ‘When there’s the whole o Perth telling us you visited the man regular.’

Wilson was an unprepossessing scrawny individual in an out-at-elbows doublet and stained hose; tracked down at his employer’s workshop, he had come reluctantly to talk to Gil. Now he scowled at Euan and said, ‘I’ll no take that from a filthy Erscheman that canny tell the truth himsel!’

‘That’s enough,’ said Gil before Euan could reply. ‘Wilson, you’re named in Pollock’s papers and notes, and Brother Dickon tellt me you were there often visiting the man.’

‘Oh,
that
Pollock!’ said Wilson ingenuously. ‘I thought you meant another one. Aye, I suppose I did call on him now and then. My faither served him one time,’ he divulged. ‘But I gaed to Maister Tammas at St John’s Kirk after the – the fire, and he dowsed me wi holy watter and that, and he says I’m no contaminate.’

‘And what did you do for Pollock?’ Gil asked. ‘Carry messages? Carry errands?’

Wilson shrugged thin shoulders.

‘Aye, now and then,’ he said again. ‘Nothing important.’

‘Like what?’ Gil prompted.