‘I apologize that I did not come to your aid, Gilbert,’ he said, ‘but I was somewhat distracted. How many were there? We had certainly four at this side.’
‘And these two, and two more who ran,’ said Gil. He looked at the approaching horsemen, who had turned off the track and were now moving purposefully towards them over the grazing-land, and did not sheath his whinger. ‘Eight all told, I suppose. Tam, can you rise, man?’
‘Aye, maybe,’ replied Tam, making no attempt to do so. ‘My head’s broke, and I think I got kicked in the knee. They were after the packs, Maister Gil. What’s in them, that they were so eager to get them? What did you fetch from Stirling?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gil absently, still watching the riders.
The newcomers slowed as they reached them; they wore black mantles over well-worn, well-maintained armour, and the fishtailed Cross of St John showed white on each man’s left shoulder. Two of them separated and moved past the scene of the attack, one to each side in a practised way. They turned, and all four halted.
‘Maister Gil,’ said Rob uneasily, ‘what’ll we do?’
‘Good day, messieurs,’ said a tall man with a dark, neat beard like Maistre Pierre’s. He bowed slightly over his horse’s neck and his sharp eyes scanned them all, missing nothing ‘Raoul de Brinay, at your service. I regret that I must ask you not to move. Except,’ he added with a gleam of humour, ‘perhaps to call the hound off his kill.’
Gil looked round at de Brinay’s men, each with sword drawn and ready, each as relaxed and watchful as their leader. He exchanged a look with Maistre Pierre, and sheathed his whinger.
‘Keep still, Rob. We are peaceful travellers, sir,’ he went on in French. ‘We have done no wrong. Even if we are on St Johns land, I do not think you have the right to hold us like this.’
‘Probably not,’ agreed the Hospitaller amiably, ‘but I feel compelled to ask you what are you carrying, to attract such a band of thieves?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Gil.
‘We are seeking a shipment of books,’ said Maistre Pierre, ‘and have travelled from the west in pursuit of them, but we have not found them so far. We have nothing of value in our packs.’ His right hand moved on his knee.
‘Let us make sure,’ suggested Sir Raoul, unbending slightly. He nodded to one of the men beyond Gil. ‘Johan? And you may as well leash your dog, monsieur, and tend to your servant if you wish it.’
Gil dismounted, gave his reins to Rob, and dragged Socrates away from his prisoner, praising him lavishly. The man scrambled to his feet, despite the dog’s threatening snarls, and would have made off, but a small movement of the bare sword of the nearest rider appeared to change his mind for him, and at a word from Sir Raoul the same rider lighted down and bound the thief’s wrists.
‘De Brinay,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘Are you from Brinay itself, sir?’
The Hospitaller glanced curiously at him, and nodded. ‘I am. You know it?’
‘I have built there, before I was a master. Repairs to two columns in the church nave. You must be the brother of the present lord.’
‘His cousin.’
The man addressed as Johan had removed his mailed gauntlets and was searching their packs quickly and economically, feeling each of the saddlebags and moving on to the next. The horses fidgeted, and both Luke and Rob watched him warily as he felt expertly at their scrips, but neither dared to say anything. The two purses in Gil’s pack caused him some interest, but when he had ascertained their size through the heavy leather saddlebag he went on. Finally he met his leader’s eye again and shook his head, the light glinting on his grey steel helm.
‘Nicht hier,’ he said. ‘Nur Kleingelt.’
There was a short exchange in a language which Gil took to be High Dutch, though he only caught one or two words. The other two St Johns men watched, bare swords unwavering, and Gil wondered what Robert Blacader would say to hear his quite generous contribution to expenses described as small change. He bent over Tam, but decided there was little wrong with him besides a sore head, and bruising on shoulder and knee. The remaining man had a lump the size of a duck egg on his skull and was just beginning to stir; Socrates eyed him suspiciously but made no comment.
‘Sir Raoul,’ Gil said at last. The Hospitaller turned to look at him. ‘If I tell you our story, you will see that you have no reason to hold us.’
‘Who said I was holding you?’ said Sir Raoul very politely. ‘I should be enchanted to hear this history, sir. Is it long?’
‘Not long.’ Gil recounted, as briefly as he might, how the wrong barrel had come home and what had happened to its contents, and how they were still searching for the books and the missing musician.
‘A head and one saddlebag,’ said the Hospitaller when he had finished. ‘Is there any reason why I should believe you, sir?’
‘Not in the immediate term,’ Gil admitted, wondering if he had imagined the slight emphasis on the one. ‘I have the papers for the barrel we’re searching for, giving the contents as books, but as to the rest, you would have to send to Glasgow to catch up with my lord St Johns, assuming he travels with the King, and to get word from the Provost.’
Sir Raoul smiled, showing white teeth with one missing.
‘It is an advantage of dealing with a lawyer,’ he proclaimed. ‘They always have a clear idea of what is proof. I think I may not trouble our noble Preceptor in this matter. Is there any more, sir? Did nothing appear along with the empty barrel?’
‘One thing more,’ said Maistre Pierre, who had been silent for some time. ‘One told me, as to a fellow craftsman, you understand, that someone else enquired for the carts which had lain in Linlithgow on Monday night.’
‘Did he give a name?’
‘No name. He called him the Axeman.’
‘Was ist?’ said Johan. ‘Was heisst das?’
‘The Axeman,’ said Sir Raoul in Scots.
The standing prisoner let out an exclamation. ‘What did ye say? The Axeman? Is he in this? Oh, man! Oh, man!’ he moaned, and dropped to his knees. ‘Just kill me now, maisters, for I canny bear to wait till he catches up wi me! Oh, man!’
‘Ma foi,’ said the Hospitaller, gazing down at the man. ‘What is the matter? What is he saying?’
‘It seems he fears this axeman,’ said Maistre Pierre.
‘And so would you, if you’d heard the half o what I’ve heard,’ groaned the prisoner. ‘He never tellt us the Axeman was in this.’
‘We must hear more,’ said Sir Raoul, and looked at the sky. ‘Messieurs, it is late in the day to be setting out for Glasgow, and one man injured at that. Will you come with me to the Preceptory, where we may question these two in more comfort?’
‘We are still travelling,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘We have come from the west, as I told you, and now I think we must go south, till we find what we seek.’
‘We weren’t making for Glasgow,’ said Gil with reluctance. ‘But I admit I would like to hear them questioned. After all,’ he grinned suddenly, and switched to Scots, ‘this one was taken in fang — caught by the dog in the very act of robbery.’
Sir Raoul grinned back at him, sharing his enjoyment of the legal play on words. ‘Ah. Then we may at least be seated while we talk to them.’ He looked about. ‘And if we are to dispense justice, simple tact suggests we should do it off the Carmelites’ land. Let us repair to the track, which is ours.’
Tam was heaved back on to his horse, and the groaning thief slung over someone’s saddlebow, and they moved off the grazing-land. The conscious prisoner complained bitterly as he was herded along, on the theme of the ill-treatment of a condemned man.
‘Nobody’s condemned you yet,’ said Gil in some amusement.
‘Oh, I’m doomed. He’ll get me,’ sniffed the man. ‘He’ll catch up wi me. I need a priest, I have to make my confession. Ave Mary grassy plena,’ he mumbled. ‘And I canny sign myself wi my hands bound like this.’