‘Who was that?’ Gil said. ‘I’ve not seen him in Glasgow before.’
‘Who?’ asked Maistre Pierre.
‘Hush,’ said Morison.
Sir Thomas, frowning again, persevered with the account of the summoning of the serjeant, and finally obtained corroboration from Morison’s companions by the simple method of saying rapidly, ‘And you gentlemen agree with that? And you, Andy Paterson? Good. Now, has any of you ever seen this man before?’
‘Never,’ said Morison confidently.
‘Nor I.’ Maistre Pierre nodded agreement. Gil opened his mouth to speak, but Sir Thomas had already turned to the assizers. They agreed, with much mumbling and shuffling, that they thought the man was a stranger.
‘I seen him afore,’ said Billy Walker from the front of the crowd. Morison turned his head to stare at him, open-mouthed, and Gil was aware of some muttering among the assizers where they stood penned at Sir Thomas’s right hand.
‘Where have ye seen him, man?’ demanded Sir Thomas. ‘Who is he, then?’
‘I’ve no notion who he is,’ said Billy hastily. ‘Just I’ve seen him somewhere.’
‘That’s no help,’ said Sir Thomas crisply. ‘Now, I’ve looked at the head myself, and so has Maister Mason here. He looks to us like a fighting man, and it seems possible he was heidit after he was dead, no killed by being heidit, but there’s no more to be told beyond that. Does anyone present have anything more to tell the quest?’
‘Aye,’ said Billy. ‘Just this, sir. If they’ve no seen him afore, how come my maister and Andy and those got Jamesie Aitken and me out of the way while they broached the puncheon, and what was it they were agreed no to tell the serjeant?’
‘What are you saying?’ demanded Sir Thomas. The courtyard was suddenly full of noise. Over it the serjeant shouted for silence, with little success.
‘I’m saying they were for leaving Serjeant Anderson out of it,’ repeated Billy in righteous tones, ‘for I heard one of them say it.’
Gil, with a sinking feeling, stepped forward and caught the Provost’s eye, and when Sir Thomas leaned towards him he said quietly, ‘I mind saying that, sir. It was in connection with the other matter, the one we discussed the now, that’s to go to the King.’
Sir Thomas nodded, and gestured again at Serjeant Anderson, who renewed his stentorian calls for silence. When he was eventually successful, the Provost said resonantly, ‘That was a matter which came straight to me, and very properly too. What about this, of getting you and the man Aitken out of the way?’
‘It must ha been when they found the heid,’ said Billy obligingly. Morison looked at Gil in dismay, and one or two of the assize nudged each other and pointed at this. ‘Me and Jamesie was kept working in the barn, and first they never said a word to us about what was in the puncheon, just bade Jamesie go for Serjeant Anderson instead of setting up a hue and cry of murder, and then after the serjeant took the heid away Andy Paterson sent us down the back to wash carts. But I’d to go back up into the yard for cloths and a bucket,’ he explained virtuously, ‘since Andy never furnished us ony, as Jamesie’ll bear me out, and I heard them saying this about keeping the serjeant out of it.’
‘Ah, mon Dieu,’ muttered the mason. Andy drew a long breath through his teeth.
‘Keeping the serjeant out of it’s no matter,’ declared Sir Thomas, ‘for I ken what that was for and it’s none of his mind. It’s already gone to the Archbishop. And Maister Morison got the serjeant to see to the head afore the other matter came to light, as you’ve just told us, Billy Walker. But why did you no set up a hue and cry, maister? The law’s quite clear on that.’
‘I was just horror-struck,’ Morison protested. ‘We all were. And my bairns were about the yard, I didny want them to see — that.’ He nodded at the trestle with its burden.
‘I never saw the bairns about the yard,’ asserted Billy. Several of the assizers looked at one another and nodded significantly at this. The man Andy had identified as Billy’s cousin was speaking in confidential tones to his neighbour.
‘This man is destroying his own employment,’ said Maistre Pierre in Gil’s ear. ‘What is he about?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Gil. ‘But I don’t like the look of the assize.’
‘Serjeant,’ said Sir Thomas irritably, ‘can you add any sense to this?’
‘All I can say is, I never saw any bairns either,’ said Serjeant Anderson portentously. ‘What’s more, sir, when I asked the gentlemen to touch the corp they all did it very willingly except — ’ he paused dramatically — ‘for Maister Morison.’
‘And did the corp bleed?’ asked an assizer from behind the rope.
‘How could it bleed?’ asked Sir Thomas irritably. ‘He’s been heidit. He’s no blood left.’
‘No, it never bled,’ admitted the serjeant regretfully.
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ declared the Provost. ‘Has the assizers any questions they want answered? Or anything more to tell the inquest?’
‘Aye. I’d like to know how long Maister Morison had the puncheon in his keeping,’ said a grey-haired man in a tavern-keeper’s apron.
‘Not as much as a week,’ said Morison nervously. ‘The carts only came home yestreen. No, the day before now. I convoyed them straight from Linlithgow after the whole load was put ashore at Blackness on Monday.’
‘And ye had it under your eye all that time, maister?’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Morison. ‘Well,’ he amended, ‘save for when it was warded for the night, and then there was a guard on it.’
‘Was there aught else in the puncheon?’ asked a man with the stained hands of a working dyer. Morison looked at the Provost, who intervened.
‘Aye, there was, Archie Hamilton, but it’s a matter for a higher court than this one. It’s all in hand, so ye’ve no call to speir at that.’
‘And there was a deal of brine,’ added Morison.
‘Is he a Scot?’ asked another man with a strong likeness to the dyer. ‘Or is he some kind o foreigner? A Saracen, maybe? Or English, even?’
‘What would a Saracen be doing in Glasgow?’ demanded Sir Thomas in exasperated tones. ‘And if he’s English, he’s past telling us himself, I warrant you, Eckie. He could be anyone. He’s been a grown man, wi one blue eye and one brown, and his hair’s dark, and that’s all we ken.’
‘And he’s no half an ell high,’ said someone from the back of the crowd, to general laughter.
‘It’s Allan,’ said someone else. ‘Like the sang. Gude Allane lies intil a barell.’
This raised more laughter, but there seemed to be no further questions or information. Sir Thomas withdrew, and the assizers were ceremoniously released from their pen and escorted into confinement in the hall of the Provost’s lodging to deliberate on what they had heard.
‘How long will this take?’ asked Maistre Pierre as the last man disappeared, followed by Sir Thomas’s clerk.
‘There’s a refreshment to be served,’ Morison said. ‘They’ll be no quicker than it takes to get that by, and maybe a lot slower.’
‘A refreshment? I thought such a jury should be starved to hasten its decision.’
‘How would you get anyone to serve if you starved them?’ Gil asked. ‘What is Andy doing there, Augie?’
‘Giving Billy orders for the rest of the day, maybe.’ Morison watched the two men, who were conversing in a fierce undertone. ‘Tell your sister again how sorry I am, Gil, that the saint never answered her prayer. What will she do now?’
‘I have wondered that,’ said Maistre Pierre.
‘I’ve not asked her. Go back to Carluke, likely, and try to accept her lot. She and Tib have no tocher,’ Gil said directly, turning to look at Morison, ‘and who would take her with that leg and no land to sweeten the bargain?’