Here, under the vaulted ceiling, surrounded by stacks of lumber, a broken altarpiece, the benches for the college meetings in the Chapter House, the planks and beams for the seating before the west door at Pentecost, the vergers had made themselves comfortable. Several suspiciously ecclesiastical chairs had been padded with folds of elderly brocade, two lamps and a row of candle-stands were lit by wax candles, a brazier of glowing charcoal contested the chill of the ancient stones. The ropes for the cathedral’s three bells descended through a suitable aperture in the vault, and were gathered up to one side of the door.
There were only two people in the chamber, the useless Robert sitting with a cup of ale which must have come from the barrel set up under one of the narrow windows, and Galston, moving counters about on a cloth spread on a tall desk beside another candle-stand. When Gil tapped on the heavy door of the chamber Robert clambered to his feet, bleating some sort of welcome, and Galston looked up and came forward immediately.
‘Maister Cunningham,’ he said, raising his hat.
‘Finish your accounts,’ Gil recommended, ‘or you’ll lose your tally.’
‘Not accounts, maister,’ said Galston, ‘but the week’s duties to be rearranged.’ He crossed himself, frowning, and Robert said something faint about Aye, poor Barnabas! ‘I’ve questioned the men,’ Galston went on, ‘and put the fear o God into them, no to mention the fear o Tam Galston, and I have to say, maister, I’ve learned little enough to aid you, save that Robert here caught sight o Barnabas hastening through the kirk.’ Robert nodded eagerly. ‘He’d the cord in his hand, so he says, and when he spoke to him he said he couldny wait, he’d to catch someone afore he left the kirk.’
‘Did he say who it was?’ Gil asked Robert directly. The man nodded again.
‘Oh, aye, he did, poor Barnabas, at least he said, Where is he? I’ve to catch him afore he leaves the place.’
‘Did he name the man he was seeking?’
‘Oh, no, he never said a name.’
Gil met Galston’s glance over the blue-clad shoulder.
‘Did he say aught else, Robert?’ asked the head verger.
‘No, no, I doubt it,’ said Robert amiably, ‘he was in that much of a hurry, that was all he said. Where is he, I’ve to catch him, him and his sack-ties, he said, now see what’s come o’t. He’ll need to deal wi’t, he says.’
Gil caught Galston’s eye again, and said carefully,
‘What did he mean about the sack-tie, Robert, do you suppose?’
‘Why, that was what he was holding, was it no?’ said Robert, surprised. ‘Likely he was seeking him to gie it back to him.’
‘And did he say who he was seeking, to give the sack-tie to?’ Gil asked patiently. ‘Or what he had to deal with?’
‘No, no,’ said Robert with regret. ‘He never. But it was one o the clerks,’ he added.
‘What makes you say that?’ Gil prompted, while Galston rolled his eyes, his impassivity broken.
‘Well, we was all in here, the rest o us,’ Robert said, ‘and he’d ken that, we’re aye in here at that hour, getting a bit bread and ale that Maister Galston sees us, afore we set up for Vespers and Compline and then see to all for the morning. We waited for him a while, but he never came, so we just ate his share and all.’
‘Is that right?’ Gil raised his eyebrows at Galston, who nodded a little reluctantly. ‘And you were all in here? All the vergers but Barnabas, and Robert till he joined you?’
‘Aye, that’d be right,’ said Galston after a moment reckoning on his fingers, and Robert emitted a faint bleat of agreement.
‘That’s very helpful,’ said Gil. ‘My thanks, Robert.’ He dug in his purse and found a coin for the man, who accepted it gratefully, glanced at his superior and hurried out with an indistinct remark about the candles for Sext.
‘He’s truthful enough,’ said Galston drily. ‘He’s too much o a fool to make a good leear. We’re still searching the place, maister. We’ve found naught to interest you this far, but there’s still both the towers and the Vicars’ hall to go, there’s a few wee neuks in all o them might hold a barrel or a sack wi nobody noticing.’
‘Would he have access to the Consistory tower?’ Gil said. ‘The vergers go all over the building, I ken that, but he’d have no duties there, I’d ha thought anyone that saw him could question why he was there.’
‘That’s true, maister, but we’ll check just the same,’ said Galston, reverting to his previous manner. ‘One o my men has stole fro Holy Kirk, there’s nobody will say I was remiss in finding how it was done or in putting it right.’
Chapter Eight
Carefully not looking at the row of fat beeswax candles which lit the chamber, Gil settled down to question the man about the vergers’ duties. He was surprised by how extensive they were. He was aware of the cathedral servants, always moving about the building in their blue belted gowns, the embroidered badge on the breast displaying St Mungo’s tree and bell, but he had never had cause to list how many things had to be done in such a big, important kirk.
‘Oh, aye, maister,’ said Galston. ‘And if it’s no done by the clergy, it’s done by my men.’ Gil raised an eyebrow, and Galston expanded: ‘So if it doesny mean going about in a procession, it’s a vergers’ matter, and if it does mean a procession, there’s one or maybe two o my men there wi the rod or the mace, put a bit dignity into it.’
‘And the watch and ward of the building?’ said Gil, keeping his own counsel about that. ‘How is it kept secure by night?’
‘Aye,’ said Galston, a little uncomfortably. ‘See, maister, we’ve aye jaloused if there was to be trouble, it would be someone after the treasure, which is kept well under lock and bars by the Thesaurer, or after the holy relics, or the altar-furnishings out there in the kirk, or maybe after the Body o Christ itself,’ he crossed himself, ‘where it’s kept in the tabernacle. So it’s the kirk itself we keep watch on, and we do that by me sleeping in here.’
‘In here?’ repeated Gil, startled. He looked about him, but could see no signs of permanent residence. Galston nodded at the nearest stack of lumber.
‘I’ve a straw plett and some blankets stowed ahint the Easter Sepulchre yonder, maister. I get them out when the place is barred for the night. It’s warm enough in here, wi the brazier going, and if I were to hear anything I’m right handy for the bell-ropes.’
‘You are that,’ Gil agreed, recognising the wisdom of this. One man could hardly hope to defend a building this size, but he could raise the alarm. ‘It’s a big building, mind, for a man to guard on his own.’
‘I’m no on my own, maister,’ said Galston with a simplicity which rebuked. Gil nodded in acknowledgement of this point, and went on,
‘So you’d say Barnabas has never shifted aught out of here by night?’
‘No out o the main building. The Consistory clerks sees to locking up their door,’ Galston nodded towards the south-west tower, ‘and I lock the outside door to this tower after the Almoner and them has gone.’
‘Which leaves us,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘the Vicars’ hall and its undercroft.’
‘It does,’ agreed Galston. He eyed Gil in the light of the candles, then lifted a snuffer and began extinguishing the nearest. ‘You reckon the goods have left here by night, then, maister?’
‘It seems likeliest.’ Gil found another snuffer and started at the other end of the row. ‘Given that Maister Jamieson’s been aware of a shortfall for a while now, he’d ha noticed if anything was being shifted by daylight, you’d think.’
‘Aye, Canon Jamieson would notice,’ agreed Galston, still intent on the lights. ‘So it might no ha been Barnabas, right enough.’