The King's Corrodian (18 page)

‘I’ve no doubt they were there as I cam down the stair,’ began Raitts. Gil raised his eyebrows. ‘But no, I didny see them till I cam out.’

‘They never heard you?’

‘I was moving quiet, so’s no to wake folk.’

Wilson grunted in disbelief, but kept his head down.

‘Then what did you do?’

‘I stood and listened, wi my light held low ahint my cloak, see, and heard what I tellt you, and then I thought, best get out o here, so I got away up the day stair again and back to my bed, and I sat in the dark and thought to talk it ower wi Our Lady and St Dominic, but they wereny answering me, and then Henry cam past me going back to his bed.’

‘You’re very sure it was Henry White,’ said Gil.

‘A course it was. He’s next me, see, the last on our side of the dorter, and Archie McIan opposite him, and I could hear Archie snoring all through. And I heard this one moving about and all,’ Raitts added bitterly, jerking an elbow at Wilson. ‘Fell ower his bed-end, so he did, as if he was drunk.’

‘Did you see a weapon of any sort? Did they have lanterns the same as you?’

‘They’d just come fro the kitchen,’ said Raitts with a flicker of indignation. ‘They’d just stole the knife from there, a course they had a weapon.’

‘But did you see it?’ Gil pressed.

‘No. He must ha hid it in his sleeve, or his belt, or the like. And aye they had lanterns, but held low, same as I was doing, to see the flagstones. Right treacherous they are, a man can trip or stub his toe as soon as step on them.’

Gil thought about this briefly, but continued: ‘You accused Wilson of being responsible for the death of Leonard Pollock and all. What grounds do you have for that?’

‘Well, it’s obvious,’ said Raitts. ‘If he’s slew one o the community, he must ha done the other. I’ve seen him, talking wi the man, likely being asked to pay for keeping his secrets hid, telling him other folk’s secrets and all. He’d plenty reason to do away wi him!’

Wilson stirred restively, but Boyd shook his head and said sternly, ‘That is no matter for you to speculate on. A question o secrets is one for me to deal wi, not you.’

Gil considered the librarian for a moment, wondering if he himself believed what he was saying. Having unburdened himself of all this he seemed calmer, but still trembled, and a muscle twitched beside his eye. He met Gil’s eye hardily enough, and suddenly said, ‘I’ll swear to it, on anything you ask o me.’

‘I’ve no doubt o that,’ Gil responded. He rose, excused himself to the Prior with a brief bow, and went out into the cloister walk. None of Raitts’s statement rang true somehow, but he felt it incumbent upon him to check the positions the man had described.

Two passing friars eyed him with faint suspicion as he located the day stair. The door to the necessarium, readily identifiable by smell, was next to it; standing at the foot of the stair Gil looked out into the cloister walk, along the row of slender columns which supported pointed arches and the red-tiled roof of the walkway in front of the refectory. As he had suspected, anyone approaching from the far end of the refectory would be clearly visible, but a watcher standing here, or even two paces to his right by the necessary-house door, would be equally clearly visible to those approaching. In the dark midnight, the small candle-lanterns the friars carried would show up well.

What did the man see, he wondered. One or two persons abroad in the cloister at dead of night, probably, but who were they and what did they discuss? Or perhaps they were all tiptoeing about with their lanterns, failing to see one another, like Romans in a scene of the Betrayal of Christ.

Back in the Prior’s study, the three Dominicans were as he had left them, silent as statues. Prior Boyd appeared to be praying. Gil sat down again, waited in equal silence till the older man looked up, then said, ‘Wilson. What did you see, that led you to make sic an accusation?’

Wilson straightened up, glanced at his Prior, and said firmly, ‘Brother Alexander is lying in his teeth.’ Raitts drew an indignant breath, but subsided under the Prior’s gaze. ‘About all o’t. I may ha passed the time o day wi the man Pollock, but no more than that, and I—’

‘Answer the question, my son,’ said Boyd sternly. ‘That isny what you were asked.’

‘What did you see?’ Gil asked again. ‘What hour was it, for a start? Are we talking o the night the infirmary burned?’

‘Aye, that night. About an hour afore midnight,’ said Wilson, ‘I rose wi a bellyache, and since I found no relief in the necessarium I went to see if I could rouse Brother James at the infirmary, but he never woke to my knocking, so I cam back here to the cloister. Then I tried the kitchen, hoping maybe for a bit peppermint or a clove or the like, but Brother Augustine keeps all secure. There was naught to be seen. So then I was making for the day stair, to go back to my bed, and here’s your man here talking secrets in the corner at the foot o the stair wi Henry White.’

‘No!’ said Raitts on a sobbing breath, shaking his bent head.

‘Alexander,’ said the Prior in warning tones.

‘So I stepped back into a shadow,’ continued Wilson, ‘and shut my lantern, and—’

‘Why?’ asked Gil. Wilson stared at him. ‘Why did you hide? You had no reason. You’re as entitled as they are to be abroad in the night.’

‘Which is to say, not at all,’ observed Prior Boyd disapprovingly.

‘Aye, well,’ said Wilson. ‘That’s why. If you’re about in the night on a – a private matter, and see another fellow, you assume he’s on the same kinna errand, no seeking fellowship and brotherly discourse. But these two was talking away, in whispers you could hear at St John’s I’d wager, so first off I thought I’d wait till they moved on up the stair and then I found they’d maybe no wish me to hear their words.’

‘And those were?’

‘
Secret
, they said, more than once, and
None must hear
, and the like. And then
Fire
, quite clear. I thought little o’t at the time, save to wonder what was so secret, and I wasny that long back in my bed afore the cry o
Fire!
went up, and see, next day – that’s only yesterday, Our Lady save us – I waited and waited for someone to confess, and then when they hadny confessed by the time we cam to Chapter o Faults I, well, I made certain o’t.’ His voice tailed off as he took in his superior’s expression.

After studying him for a long moment, Boyd turned to Gil.

‘Have you more questions, maister?’

‘I have,’ said Gil. ‘Was the infirmary in darkness? Did you try the door?’

‘Aye, it was still as the grave,’ said Wilson, ‘and the door was barred, else I’d ha got in and roused Brother James mysel.’

‘Barred?’ said the Prior. ‘I never kent James to bar the door. Brother Euan does, by what he’s said, but no James. In case somebody needs him, like you’re just saying.’

‘Well, I couldny shift it,’ said Wilson positively.

‘And then you went straight to the kitchen?’ Gil went on.

‘I stopped to think a moment, and then I minded the kist o spices, and made my way to the kitchen. But there was naught to be had there, Augustine keeps it all locked down, like I said, only the cat playing wi a couple mice, so then I cam back out into the cloister and that’s when I heard the two o them, whispering away in the corner.’

‘And when did you go back up to the dorter?’

‘No till after they’d gone up, you can believe me.’ Wilson grimaced. ‘That’s about the one true word your man here uttered, I did trip ower my bed-end, for that my lantern went out just as I cam to the top o the stair. It meant I could better see their lights still burning, mind you, Henry’s along by the far end and this one’s next to him. Which is how I kent who it had been talking out in the cloister.’

Gil considered this information.

‘When you heard the whispering,’ he said, ‘you didny ken yet who it was, am I right?’

‘Aye, I suppose,’ admitted Wilson.

‘So there’s no knowing who said what.’

‘Aye.’ The tone was reluctant. ‘I suppose.’

Gil turned to Raitts.

‘I ken who I heard,’ said that individual resentfully. ‘I’d swear to it.’

‘How did you ken? Could you make them out?’ Gil asked. ‘It’s no easy to identify a whisper. I’d no trust my ears in sic a situation, and you could hardly say the light was good.’

‘Oh, well, if you’re no to believe me,’ said Raitts, increasingly sulky. ‘I suppose you’ve made your decision, who’s right and who’s in the wrong .’

‘Alexander,’ said Prior Boyd. Raitts bent his head, his expression thunderous. Wilson looked briefly smug, until his superior said, ‘It’s clear to me that neither one o you has an ounce o cause for the accusations you brought yesterday. Accusations, let me remind you, which led your brothers into grievous behaviour and disturbed the peace o this cloister in sic a way as will take years to mend, which have wasted my time and Maister Cunningham’s listening to a catalogue o mishearings and misdeeds, and which have slandered each o you the other and worse still, have slandered Henry White, who is an obedient member o the Order.’ He paused for breath, while Gil admired his facility with words. ‘I’ll announce your penance the morn’s morn in Chapter, for I must pray over it. It’ll no be light, I warn you.’

Almost simultaneously, without looking at each other, both miscreants dropped first to their knees and then flat to the floor, face down, arms spread out in a cross shape. Gil felt a shiver go down his back: this was the most solemn form of the
venia
, the appeal for forgiveness and mercy, the version employed after a serious misdeed. He stared at the sprawled figures, aware of how substantial Wilson was even in abasement like this, and of how slight a creature Raitts was inside the layers of heavy woollen cloth.

Prior Boyd also considered the two bundled habits, the pale tonsures, the clenched fists.

‘Rise and go,’ he said. ‘Report to Brother Dickon, see what labour he can set you to, and maintain silence. I’ll speak to you afore Chapter.’

As the door closed behind his sons in religion, the Prior stood, and went to the nearer window. It looked out on the infirmary garden, but he seemed not to see the grey devastation, nor the handful of lay brothers and others working in the fading light.

After a long silence Gil said, ‘That was some help, in fact.’ His kinsman made a questioning sound, without turning. ‘They contradicted one another, but it’s clear enough they each saw two people talking in the cloister, and took it for one another and Henry White. I’d wish to ask him if he was also abroad in the night, and if so who he spoke to. And what about.’

‘Aye.’ The Prior finally turned away from the window, and looked searchingly at Gil. ‘I was thinking o their history. Those two. Sandy came late to the Order, he was a man grown when he was tonsured, but he should ha learned to think more clearly than that. It would be,’ he paused, reckoning in his head, ‘four or five year ago, I suppose, he turned up, wi naught to his name but forty merks and a bundle o books. Which were right welcome in the library, I’ll admit, he’d a copy of Pierre d’Ailly’s sermons Henry and I were very glad to see, but for all his reading he’s no a good thinker, and he’ll never make a preacher whatever we do. There’s even less excuse for Thomas, we’ve had him since he left the school. Errors in logic, suppositions taken for established facts, conclusions wi no foundation – that was what set off yesterday’s stramash. It grieves me sair, Gilbert.’

‘The whole community’s owerset,’ Gil observed. ‘First what happened to Pollock, now what’s happened to Andrew Rattray – it’s no wonder if they’re no thinking clearly.’

Boyd grunted, but came to sit down at his desk again.

‘You wish to question Henry,’ he said. ‘Will we send for him now?’

‘I’d sooner hear more o those two,’ said Gil. ‘Would either ha had cause to harm young Rattray?’

‘No!’ said Boyd, startled. ‘I’ve no idea that either o them had much acquaintance wi him. Thomas had the boy Mureson to his assistant the last six-month, I think he’s never had Rattray wi him. Sandy would know him, a course, in the library, but that’s no like to cause him to …’ His voice tailed off.

Gil preserved silence on this point, and said instead, ‘And Pollock? Has either o them mentioned dealings wi him?’

‘No,’ said the Prior, shaking his head.

‘I heard something in the town the day,’ Gil pursued awkwardly, ‘no greatly to Wilson’s credit.’

Boyd looked at him.

‘How does that no surprise me? Spit it out, son,’ he said. ‘You’d be the first to remind me, this is a matter o murder, secrets must out. It’s no clyping, it’s uncovering the truth.’

Carefully, naming no names, Gil relayed what the saddler had told him. Boyd heard him out, his face darkening, and finally said, in some dismay, ‘Aye, and if our corrodian had learned o this, here’s a good reason for Thomas to find himsel his enemy. I need to talk to Brother Thomas at more length.’

‘His name was in Pollock’s notes,’ Gil observed, ‘and also his initials in a list of what I take to be payments.’ Boyd nodded, but did not answer. ‘Can you recall Wilson’s demeanour when Pollock’s disappearance was discovered?’

‘He was amazed, like the rest o us. If he felt aught else, he concealed it from me. I tell you, Gilbert,’ said the older man, suddenly forceful, ‘if the Deil didny truly carry off our corrodian, he has visited this house none the less. Lies and deception, murder and discord, stealing, suspicion one o another, these are all his work. It will take the community years to recover.’ He paused, considering the future bleakly. ‘I’ll stand down once the matter’s settled. It will take another hand than mine to steer this vessel to quiet waters.’ And then, in what seemed like a natural progression of thought, ‘Shall we have Henry in? And best send for candles.’ He reached for the little bell on his desk.

Henry White, warned as his colleagues had been and given permission to speak, simply bowed and stood waiting in silence.

Gil studied the man for a moment, and then said, ‘On the night the infirmary burned and Andrew Rattray died,’ White turned a penetrating gaze on him, ‘were you abroad earlier, after the community was abed?’

White appeared to consider the question with care, and finally nodded.