Questioned, he admitted that his name was Andrew Gray, their other captive was Jemmie Forrest, and they were both from Linlithgow. Sir Raoul seated himself on a convenient earthen dyke, inspected him sternly and asked, ‘Who else was in your band?’
‘I never kenned all their names, maister,’ said Gray, and sniffed again. ‘It was a man I met in the Green Lion, he was looking for help to get back something of his maister’s so he said, and he hired four or five of us there in the tavern.’ He glowered at Tam, who was being anointed and bandaged by Johan and Maistre Pierre in committee. ‘He showed us him yonder, walking along the street, said he’d laid him information so you’d be sure to come up here, so we came out to wait for you, and never had any dinner, and he never tellt us the Spital was in it neither, and if the Axeman wants the same thing he’ll get me, he will.’
‘What was he wanting back?’ Gil asked. Socrates, lying at his feet, raised his head and looked from one face to another.
‘He never said.’ Gray flinched away from the dog’s intent gaze. ‘We had to get a pack o some sort,’ he added, apparently trying to be helpful.
‘He ordered someone to get the packs,’ Gil recalled, and the man nodded.
‘And who was his master?’ asked Sir Raoul.
‘He never let on, maister. Never said nothing about him, nor what his own name was, nor his friend’s.’
‘What did his friend call him? Did he have a name for him?’
Gray looked warily at Gil while this idea penetrated his skull.
‘Baldy,’ he said at length. ‘He cried him Baldy He wasny bald, just the same,’ he elaborated kindly, ‘for ye could see his hair sticking out at the back of his coif. Likely it was short for Archibald, ye ken.’
‘I ken,’ said Gil. He looked at Sir Raoul. ‘Does that mean anything to you, sir?’
‘How should it?’ parried the Hospitaller.
‘Did either of them say anything else?’ Gil asked Gray hopefully. ‘Where they had come from, maybe, or who had sent them? Who told them we had this thing of their master’s?’
Gray stared at him, and shook his head. Too many questions, thought Gil, annoyed with himself. He tried again.
‘Were they from hereabouts?’
‘No.’ The man shook his head again. ‘They wereny anybody we ever saw afore. Willie said,’ he added, ‘he thocht they were from Stirling, or there. Just by the way they talked, ye ken.’
‘Can you describe them?’ asked Sir Raoul. Gray looked blankly at him. ‘What did they look like?’
‘Just ordinary,’ said Gray. ‘One of them had a hat on,’ he recalled. ‘No Baldy, the other one.’
‘A hat?’ repeated Sir Raoul.
‘Instead of a blue bonnet,’ explained Gil, gesturing at the decrepit knitted object on Gray’s head. ‘What kind of a hat? A felt one? Did it have a brim?’
‘Just ordinary,’ said Gray again. ‘It had a feather in it,’ he added.
Further questioning produced no more details. At length the Hospitaller said, ‘I ought to fine you for attempted robbery, Andrew Gray.’
‘I’ve nothing to pay a fine wi,’ muttered Gray. ‘Nor I’ll have no time to earn it afore he gets me.’
‘Then leave Linlithgow,’ said Sir Raoul impatiently. ‘Go now, without returning to your home, and this man you fear will never find you.’
‘Go? Where would I go, maister? Set out on a journey unshriven?’
‘How would I know? Stirling, maybe, or Leith.’
‘No Leith,’ said Gray, shivering. ‘One o them said he’d been to Leith and no found it, whatever it was they socht. Or maybe someone else had been to Leith. Any road, I canny go there.’
‘Then go to Edinburgh,’ Gil said. ‘It’s big enough to get lost in.’
By the time the augmented party stopped, an hour or so later on the other side of the hills, to get a bite of food and rest the horses a little at a tavern in Bathgate, Gil was no clearer in his mind about the afternoon’s events.
‘What’s going on, anyway, Maister Gil?’ asked Rob, pushing Tam down on to the bench between them. ‘Are the Spitallers on our side or no? We drove off the thieves, and then the Spital held us and searched us. I was feart that fellow Johan would be away wi my St Peter medal out my blanket. And now he’s to ride along wi us, whether you will or no.’
‘He was after bigger game than your medal,’ said Maistre Pierre, sitting down opposite.
‘He was, wasn’t he,’ agreed Gil. ‘Though Sir Raoul wouldny admit it. Here he comes,’ he added, as their new companion followed them into the tavern.
When the interrogation on the hillside was ended, the man Gray had been supplied with a few coins and a loaf from someone’s saddlebag, and offered a sight of Tam’s St Christopher medal to ward off sudden death.
‘Look on St Christopher’s face and you willny die unshriven,’ Rob had said, borrowing the medal from his still-dazed colleague.
The man had been genuinely grateful. Gil had watched him trudge away along the track to make for Edinburgh, and then remarked to the Hospitaller, ‘Now why should the Preceptory be interested in this?’
‘Have I said it is?’ asked Sir Raoul lightly. ‘Our concern is for justice and the King’s Peace on our lands.’
‘So what did you hope to find in our baggage?’
‘Nothing,’ said Sir Raoul. ‘And nothing was what we found.’
‘Nothing,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘in a small heavy bundle.’
The Hospitaller turned and looked directly at him. ‘You cannot expect me,’ he observed, ‘to discuss the Preceptory’s business with chance-met travellers.’
‘It was no chance,’ said Maistre Pierre at Gil’s shoulder.
‘And we are involved in the business already,’ Gil added, ‘if half Linlithgow can be raised to steal our baggage. It would surely benefit both parties if we were to share information.’
‘I cannot discuss the Preceptory’s business,’ said Sir Raoul again, on a faint note of apology. ‘Excuse me.’ He strode away from them towards Johan, who was inspecting the still-dazed second prisoner a little way away. Gil and the mason looked at one another, and Rob spoke up from where he and Luke were sharing a flask of something.
‘Can we no get on the road, Maister Gil? We’ll no be where we’re going afore Prime at this rate.’ He rose, and came over to his master. ‘And another thing,’ he said quietly. ‘This lot were after us right enough.’ Gil looked enquiringly at him. ‘Him they cry Johan, he said something to their leader in High Dutch. I canny speak it that well, but I can understand it, from when Matt and me was away at the wars, and he was saying we was the band some laddie had tellt them was on the road.’
‘Simmie,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll wager that was his errand. But why should St Johns be interested in our barrel?’
‘You said Treasurer Knollys was eager for you to ask questions in Ayrshire rather than the Lothians,’ said Maistre Pierre.
‘Maybe it was one of theirs that was in the barrel,’ suggested Rob. ‘You thocht he was a fighting man, maister.’
‘Maybe,’ said Gil thoughtfully. He turned as Sir Raoul approached. ‘We must be on our way, sir. The day wears on.’
‘True,’ agreed the other. ‘And you do not wish to be held up again. For that reason,’ he said politely, ‘I have commanded Johan to ride with you, as protection.’
Gil had attempted, civilly, to decline the man’s company, but Maistre Pierre had said suddenly, ‘Let him join us, Gil. Our friend is right. Another sword may be of assistance.’
Now, in Bathgate, on one of the major routes between Edinburgh and Glasgow, they had paused for food. Johan slid along the bench to sit by Maistre Pierre, and nodded at the group.
‘Ve go far?’ he asked, in horribly accented Scots.
‘We go to Roslin,’ said Gil.
‘Roslin? Ver dwells Sinclair?’
‘Aye,’ agreed Gil. The inn-servant slapped a platter of boiled salt fish and bread in front of them, and stood with his hand out for the money. Gil opened his purse and counted out the coins, while the others helped themselves to the food. Johan, when invited, took a portion and ate moderately, casting thoughtful looks at Gil from time to time. He had removed helm and coif, revealing short fair hair and a strip of pale skin between the hairline and the weatherbeaten tan of his bony face.