‘Aye. Well, come and we’ll see about this quest. I bade the Serjeant be sure and pick me a biddable assize this time, the last two he’s found me have been packed wi fools.’
‘They did what?’ said Alys incredulously, and set the ladle back in the kale-pot. ‘They brought it in-?’
‘Against Annie herself,’ agreed Lowrie, his eyes dancing. ‘The Provost was quite displeased.’
‘It is a thing most extraordinary,’ said Catherine. Further down the long board, small John shouted as his little plate was set in front of him.
‘And what of Annie’s kin? What did they say?’
‘They were none of them present.’ Gil spooned kale, and frowned at it. ‘I’m surprised Otterburn never cited any of them as witnesses, at the very least to swear to the time Annie was last known to be at the Cross.’
‘That does seem strange,’ Alys agreed.
‘I think he sees the two matters as entirely separate,’ Lowrie observed.
‘But what did he do? He could not let it stand, surely?’
‘He directed them again,’ Gil said, grinning at the recollection. ‘It was as much his own doing as the assize’s. He should never have tried to get the cuts in the cloth past them.’
‘What cuts are these?’
‘Lowrie discovered them.’ Gil gestured at the younger man to explain, and addressed himself to his meal.
The scene in the courtyard had been one to relish; the assize, duly sworn and cautioned, had listened to the evidence placed before it, inspected the cuts on the blue kirtle, asked some questions about Annie Gibb which had alarmed Gil, and retired to consider its verdict. Less than an hour later, it had filed out into the courtyard again, and the spokesman, asked if he had a verdict to pronounce, had squared his shoulders and said importantly,
‘Aye, Provost, that we do.’
‘And what is it, man?’ demanded Otterburn. ‘How do you find this woman met her death?’
‘We find,’ said the spokesman, a well-built man whom Gil recognised as the keeper of an alehouse on the Briggait, ‘that Peg Simpson met her death by being unlawfully killed by this woman Annie Gibb-’
‘What?’ said Otterburn sharply, his colour rising.
‘And then bound to St Mungo’s Cross after she was dead, and then throttled wi a sack-tie stole from the almoner, which was a most sacrilegious thing to ha done,’ continued the spokesman. ‘And we find Annie Gibb guilty o murder, and she should be put to the-’
‘You’ll find no such thing in my court, Dandy Greenhill!’ said Otterburn. ‘The lot o ye, get back in that chamber and stay in it till ye’ve decided what I tellt ye to decide! It’s clear as day, persons unknown, two o them!’
‘See, I tellt ye,’ hissed Greenhill at one of his fellow-assizers. ‘Provost, we’ve talked it through-’
‘Well, ye’ll just ha to talk it through again,’ said Otterburn. ‘Walter, you’ve never wrote that down, have you? I’m no having that stand as a verdict.’
‘He got his verdict the second time, persons unknown,’ said Gil now, helping himself to another slice of the sausage which went with the kale. ‘The bystanders seemed to agree wi that,’ he added. ‘I heard more than one saying the assize was trying it on, maybe hoping for another wee refreshment for their second session. They were disappointed, if so, Otterburn sent in a jug of water from the Castle well.’
‘And these two men who were arguing with a woman,’ Alys said, smiling at this. ‘Is there any description?’
‘Several,’ said Lowrie, ‘none compatible with any other, from folk who’d heard the tale. Big men, wee men, in armour, in hodden grey, wi swords, wi cudgels. I’ll need to get a word wi this man Johnson when he gets back from Kirkintilloch. He dwells right on the Stablegreen, so he could well ha heard something useful. I spoke to his wife, but she’d seen nothing, and couldny recall what he said yesterday about it. Oh, and the folk at the Trindle had never heard o the man Barnabas. I described him, but they were certain there had never been one of the vergers in the place.’
Gil nodded.
‘Barnabas showed no sign of recognising Peg when we took her from the Cross, though a course we all thought she was Annie at that point. I asked his fellows, and none o them had ever heard him mention a woman, or the Trindle itself. That bears that out, then.’
He paused to consider the afternoon, as the women cleared away the kale and sausage and set out a dish of little almond tarts. Alys handed the dish round; when all at the head of the table were served she sent it further down, where it was greeted with a shout of ‘Pie! Pie John!’ Catherine began cutting her pastry into little pieces with her eating-knife.
‘Lowrie, you can get over to Vicar’s Close after we’ve eaten,’ said Gil. ‘Talk to Habbie Sim’s man, see if he minds when he last saw that gown, yellow brocade faced wi green taffeta, and the box wi his Tarot cards. Oh, and see if you can make out where Barnabas had the apricots and figs from. I meant to ask them that this morning and all, but it slipped my mind.’
Lowrie nodded, colouring up. Catherine said, in French,
‘I do not think Maister Sim has robbed St Mungo’s. He is a good son of Holy Church.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Gil, ‘but I’m too close to him to handle that part of the matter.’ She inclined her head in agreement. ‘It’s a bit near even to send Lowrie, but I’m no certain any of Otterburn’s men would ask the right questions of his man, and Otterburn himself would simply frighten the fellow.’
Crossing the outer courtyard of the pilgrim hostel, the dog at his heels, Gil met Sir Simon just leaving the chapel.
‘Maister Cunningham,’ said the priest, nodding. ‘And have you aught to report?’
‘Nothing,’ said Gil. ‘I was hoping you might have news.’
Sir Simon grimaced.
‘None, neither good nor bad, maister. Sir Edward is still wi us, weaker but in his full wits. I will say, that doctor is right clever wi the medicines the way he keeps the old fellow’s pain at bay and yet allows him his mind clear. And there’s no sign o Annie Gibb. Were you wanting a word wi any of them? The doctor’s here, a course, and I believe the women’s come back fro St Mungo’s, but the good-son’s got the men out searching the Stablegreen again.’
‘I want to talk to the two men that were guarding Annie that night,’ Gil said. ‘One o them said he’d come from her father’s house.’
‘Now, I think that’s the one that’s stayed behind,’ said Sir Simon. ‘In case there should be errands to be run, ye ken.’
Fetched from the men’s hall, the man Sawney was willing enough to talk.
‘Aye, I last had an answer from her just about midnight,’ he assured Gil. ‘She was sounding like hersel, asking me to set her free, though she said she had no cramp nor anything in her feet, we’d bound her wi good attention to that. And the next time, maybe an hour later, I thought she was asleep. I wish I’d gone closer,’ he admitted, ‘we’d maybe ha had a better chance o finding her if we’d kent sooner she was flown.’
‘You’d kent her a while,’ said Gil, letting this pass.
‘Aye, from she was a wee thing,’ the man agreed. ‘I mind her on her first powny, wi her hair down her back. A bonnie lass, and a loving. I served James Gibb afore she was born, ye ken, maister, and a good man to serve he was and all. Deid now, a course, and Marian Wallace o Crosslee deid and all, Our Lady be thanked, and no knowing what’s come to her wee lassie.’
‘Her mother, you mean?’ Gil said, recalling the names in the documents he had seen at Sir Edward’s side.
‘Aye, that she was. A good lady, and well dowered, or so I heard.’
‘What was her dower? Was it lands, or money?’ Gil asked hopefully, but Sawney shook his head.
‘I’ve never a notion, maister. See, I was never out o Tarbolton till we rode to Glenbuck wi Annie. If the mistress’s lands was ever mentioned by name, other than Crosslee where she cam frae, I’d no ha taken any mind, I only heard they was plenty.’
‘And it all went to Annie,’ Gil said.
‘The whole lot went to Annie,’ said Sawney, ‘no matter what her kin said.’ Gil raised his eyebrows. ‘See, there was some talk o a bit land wi a mill, or a mine, or something o the sort, gey profitable, that James Gibb’s cousin laid claim to, though he wasny even the same surname. Away ayont Cumnock, it was. His man o law tried to serve a bit paper on Annie, the cousin’s man I mean, after her faither was deid, but Sir Edward and his man saw them off. That’d learn them, said Sir Edward,’ he grinned at the memory, ‘to take her for an unprotected lassie.’