‘Why a shrike?’ Gil wondered. ‘He says he’s a robin now, because he’s dead. Oh, and Pierre and I are hoodies.’
‘All in black as you are, wi a grey plaid, I can see how he’d think you were a hoodie,’ said Nick, ‘but a robin? Maybe like the one in the bairns’ rhyme? Who killed cock-robin?’
‘I, said the sparrow, wi my bow and arrow,’ recalled Gil. ‘But it was a dagger killed Naismith, no an arrow. I wonder who he’s cast as the sparrow? And do you tell me you have to wait till he’s out of sight after the Mass before you can lave the vessels?’
‘Oh, aye. Or he starts on the Apocalypse again and then gets violent, it seems. I’ve never taken the chance. Let’s talk of something more cheerful. How’s the wedding plans going? Got the bed set up yet?’
‘The painters are still at work.’
‘It’s to be hoped they finish afore the great day,’ said Nick, ‘or we’ll all be covered in paint when we put you to bed. Oh, aye, my new gown came home.’ He got to his feet, setting down his glass, and went to the kist at the foot of his own bed. ‘Wat Paton’s man brought it round this afternoon. Now is that no braw?’ He shook the garment out and held it up, a long gown of dark red velvet with a heavy fur lining. ‘Mind, I still think we should ha been both of us in our Master’s robes, but I’ll do you proud as your groomsman in this, will I no?’
‘We’d be more symmetrical in academic dress,’ Gil agreed, ‘but I’ll tell you, we’ll be warmer in these. Mine’s much the same, but cut in blue brocade. We’ll make a good turnout.’
‘And I’ll get years of wear out of this,’ said Nick, in satisfaction. ‘Provided the moth doesny get into it.’ He stroked the fur again, and folded the rich material with care. ‘I’d ha stood up for you anyway, Gil, you’d no need to bribe me like this. And have you got the rings ready?’
Gil thought briefly of the two circles of gold in their little silk pouch, stowed in his uncle’s strongbox for safety. His was quite plain, set with a single dome-cut garnet; Alys’s was the most delicate work he could commission in Glasgow, ornamented with linked hearts and the single word, SEMPER. Always. He found he was rubbing his ring finger, and stopped.
‘Aye, the rings are ready,’ he said.
By the time Gil left the college, after a quick word with Patrick Coventry the second regent, depute to the gentle Principal Doby it was late. The rain had stayed off, but the cold wind whipping dark clouds across the stars was not an improvement. He paused outside the great wooden yett, hitching his plaid up higher, and considered what to do next. Of the options which presented, going home to the house in Rottenrow was the more sensible and less attractive.
He turned downhill, towards his lodestone.
Chapter Seven
There were still lighted windows in the mason’s sprawling house, and lute music floated faintly on the wind. Gil picked his way across the courtyard, avoiding the bare plant-tubs; as he set foot on the fore-stair the door opened and more light fell across the damp flagstones.
‘Gilbert,’ said Maistre Pierre with pleasure. ‘Alys thought she heard your footstep. Come in, come in, and take some wine. We have been sitting above stairs. Did you learn anything from the Deacon’s mistress? Is that where you have been? Perhaps,’ he said, and grinned, white teeth catching the candlelight as he lit the two of them up the stair, ‘I should object, if you come to your betrothed from calling on another man’s mistress.’
‘I was well protected,’ Gil assured him, following him into the little painted closet. ‘I took Dorothea with me.’ Alys had set her lute in its case, and turned to greet him, her honey-coloured locks gleaming in the candlelight. He gathered her close and kissed her, then released his clasp as he felt her draw back slightly.
‘How is she, poor creature?’ she asked. ‘The man’s mistress, I mean. And your sister? Is she tired from the journey?’ Her hand slid into his like a little bird into its nest. To see her fingers that be so small! In my conceit she passeth all That ever I saw. But she won’t let me kiss her, he thought.
‘My sister is well,’ he answered her, and sat down with her on the cushioned bench. ‘She’s looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. She and I went to see Marion Veitch after you left us, Pierre, before supper.’
‘And?’ Maistre Pierre was pouring wine, not Malvoisie but the red Bordeaux wine he favoured. Gil took the glass in his free hand and described the visit to the house by the Caichpele.
‘That poor woman,’ said Alys again as he finished. ‘She has been very badly treated. I hope Sister Dorothea was able to comfort her.’
‘It’s a sorry tale,’ Gil agreed. ‘But as matters stand, she won’t lose by the man’s death. His existing will was much more generous to her and to the little girl as well, Agnew tells me.’
‘Oh, you have seen the lawyer?’
‘After supper. And also Maister Veitch at the bedehouse.’
‘Who else benefits from the old will?’ asked Alys.
Gil looked down at her where she leaned against his shoulder, and smiled. ‘There are one or two bequests of named property to his kin, by what Agnew says, and something for the bedehouse, something for the child by name, and the residue goes to Marion Veitch. I would say he’s purchased several plots of land since it was drawn up. She’ll be a wealthier woman than he intended.’
‘Oh,’ said Alys thoughtfully. ‘So the man’s death comes very convenient for her.’
‘It does.’
‘And for who else?’ asked Maistre Pierre. ‘Did he have enemies, have you discovered?’
Gil grimaced. ‘According to Maister Veitch anyone in the bedehouse, not only the six brothers but Millar and Mistress Mudie as well, had cause to dislike him. Marion’s brother John was very angry with him last night. I don’t yet know who his friends were, other than Agnew and one of the Walkinshaws, and I must find out. I should have asked Agnew just now.’
Maistre Pierre grunted, and sipped his wine, pausing to savour it respectfully.
‘What else do we know about the Deacon?’ he said. ‘Consider how did he die. That is the first thing’
‘Did you say he was killed somewhere else?’ said Alys.
Gil nodded. ‘He was stabbed, by two opponents, one of them left-handed. After he was dead his eyes were closed, and he lay for a while in one position, perhaps as long as three hours, and then he was moved to the bedehouse garden, where he fell into another position.’
‘Do not forget the marks on his face,’ prompted Maistre Pierre, ‘and the straw in his garments.’
‘Straw?’
‘Flakes of straw,’ agreed Gil. ‘Those may have come from Agnew’s chamber in the Consistory tower. Someone has been sweeping the chambers, I think, and his stair is covered in fragments.’
‘So that confirms Agnew’s story.’ Maistre Pierre took one of the little cakes from the half-empty plate on the tray, and bit it thoughtfully.
‘So far,’ agreed Alys. ‘What else, Gil?’
‘His keys were on his belt,’ continued Gil, ‘and gate and door were locked as usual. It seems most likely that he was moved somehow to the Stablegreen and put over the wall into the garden, rather than being taken in by the door.’
‘And then he was heard walking about,’ said Alys.
‘Someone was heard. There was a light and movement in his lodging about ten o’clock, witnessed by Mistress Mudie and by Millar separately.’
‘You make it very clear,’ said Maistre Pierre. Alys reached for the plate of cakes and offered it to Gil.
‘You think it was not the man himself who was heard in his lodging,’ she said. ‘So who was it? And why?’