Friend & Foe (24 page)

‘We never found the man,’ said Hew, ‘who disturbed the quiet here. We must make a search for him.’

‘We must not,’ asserted Meg. ‘For he is of no consequence. And there is nothing he could say, to hurt my heart, or harm this place.’

He looked into her face, and saw that it was true.

Chapter 23

A Wicked and a Guileful Mouth

The term drew to a close, and in the last week of July the students of St Salvator’s had gathered at the gate, preparing to depart. Meg brought flasks of ale, and fresh baked bannocks tied in cloths, for those who had no horses and were forced to go on foot. The richest brought their grooms and bearers for their bags, and set off at the gallop for their manors, halls or towers. At the new foundation, the reformers had proposed that the vacation be curtailed, to keep the sons of gentle folk from sluggardry and sloth, but, mindful of the cost, the colleges resisted this. Their livings did not stretch to further bed and board. For the poorest college bursars the vacations were a trial, though Giles helped where he could.

Hew had hired two milk-white mares for James and Roger Cunningham, who would break their journey over several evenings, and at several inns. James had joined his brother at the chapel door, where Hew dispensed instruction, letters and advice. Once the students had departed, Meg came to his side. ‘Who was that with Roger Cunningham?’

‘His brother James,’ said Hew. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason,’ Meg said, absently. ‘They do not look alike.’ She took her brother’s arm. ‘While we have a moment on our own’ – Giles had taken Matthew down to see the horses – ‘I would like to speak to you.’

‘Not more secrets, Meg,’ he teased, but realised in a heartbeat she had something on her mind.

‘It is a matter, rather, of discretion. I do not like to mention it to Giles, after all that happened. For I would not hurt his feelings for the world. But I cannot help but wonder what became of John. You have not heard, as I suppose, if he has been found?’

‘As I understand it, he has not been found.’

Her friend had disappeared, and left no trail behind. The fisherman at Crail was traced, and had confirmed the Richan boy had sought to buy a boat from him. But he would not confirm that they had struck the deal, or that any bond had been advanced to pay for it. In all events, the case was immaterial, for John had not turned up to lay claim to the boat, the boatman had it still.

‘The common thinking,’ Hew reported, ‘is that he has drowned, his body deep entangled at the bottom of the sea, or he is spirited away, with neither hair not sound of him. And I am sorry for it, Meg.’

‘I am sorry for it too,’ his sister sighed. ‘For then he is condemned, without a trial. I know you will not hear it, Hew, but I do not believe that John killed Harry Petrie.’

‘And why do you suppose I will not hear that?’ questioned Hew.

‘Because I had supposed you thought like all the rest.’

‘And when,’ he risked a smile at her, ‘have you known me do that? The truth is,’ he was serious now, ‘that I am not convicted of it. If John was in the tower when Harry Petrie fell, then he could not have fired the shot that struck him down. It does not want Bartie Groat’s degree of skill in geometrics to work out that the pellock did not come from up above him, but from somewhere on the ground. The sergeant of the guard was doubtless well aware of that, and yet he spoke no word of it, which must throw suspicion on his whole account. Which is not to say, of course, that John is not a suspect, but that we must find proof of where the bow was shot – I would hazard, on the south side of the place where Harry fell. No one saw John there. And since the southern aspect is in clear view of the guardhouse, that gives pause for doubt.

‘And there are other questions. How could John afford to buy himself a boat? You telt me Harry Petrie had put up the money for it. Why would he do that?’

‘From kindness, Hew,’ contended Meg. ‘The simplest and most natural reason in the world. Because he was his friend. It is no more nor less than you would do for Giles.’

So much might be true, thought Hew. For Meg, with her kind heart had known John Richan best. And Hew would buy the boat for Giles, without a second thought. But he could well afford to; Harry was a futeman in the castle guard, and could scarcely have afforded, on a futeman’s pay, to advance a loan that John could not pay back. What were Harry’s
expectations
, telt to Hew by Bess? Was it for the money that he had been killed? And what had it to do with the paper in his pocket, and his dealings with John Colville, the Master of Requests? These questions he kept close, and secretly from Meg, for fear that he would frighten her by mention of the map, which showed the building works in the cellar of her house.

‘Is there not a way,’ Meg pleaded, ‘you can find the truth? For rumour and report are sure to travel after him. The news of the disgrace will follow to his family, far away in Orkney, who will suffer at the shame of it.’

Hew accepted, ‘I can try. But ye maun be aware, the truth is not always what we would hope, and is sometimes not what we expect.’

‘That danger I can face,’ insisted Meg.

‘In that case,’ promised Hew, ‘I will ask the crownar, Andrew Wood, to give me leave to go into the castle, and put further questions, for I cannot think that the archbishop will be willing to agree to it unless it has the sanction of the Crown. The time is ripe, for Andrew Wood is coming here to speak with me today.’

‘Then I am content.’ Meg hesitated. ‘I did not want to say . . . but there is something more.’

‘Hm? What more is that?’ Hew already was distracted, planning the first steps of his investigation, working out the plat that he would put to Andrew Wood.

‘If I tell you something, something else apart, will you give your word, you will not act upon it?’

‘I cannot promise that, without knowing what the matter is.’

‘Then promise you will think on it, and will do nothing rash.’

‘I promise I will think on it,’ he smiled.

‘The matter then is this. It is Roger’s brother James. We have met before.’

‘Aye? And where was that?’

‘At our father’s grave.’

She had his full attention now. His sharp wits working quickly understood the truth of it, but did not want to hear. ‘He was at the interment, perhaps. For his father was one of the bearers.’

Meg shook her head. ‘It was not at the burial. James was the young man I spoke of, who telt me our father was damned. I wondered how he knew that I was mourning for my father, when he telt me he was sorry, he had lost a father too. Now I understand, and there can be no doubt of it. I recognised his face. But do not blame him, Hew. That poor, unhappy boy!’

Back in his own chamber, Hew packed up his things. His papers, clothes and books were wrapped up in a box, sent ahead by carrier, home to Kenly Green. The light green cushioned sitting chair he gave to Bartie Groat, who received it in a spirit of amazement and affray, to find himself possessed of so delicate a thing. Bartie stayed in college through the summer months, and took solitary suppers in the empty hall, from the last dregs of the barrels and the scrap bags of the grain. Once, Hew had invited him to stay at Kenly Green. Bartie had refused. He was working on a thesis on the mathematick arts, no word of which had ever made it to the page.

Ordering his room brought order to Hew’s mind, where Meg’s revelation had begun to make some sense. Though he suspected Roger, he had not suspected James; together, it became apparent how their trick had worked. James had been a presence all the while: he had been at Matthew’s grave, and in St Leonard’s kirk, and to
several of Hew’s lectures, watching unobserved. He had taken classes also over at St Mary’s, had studied ancient texts, and, it now seemed clear, had penned the Hebrew verses pinned to Melville’s door, though Hew suspected it was Roger who had put them there. He had no doubt the curses had been meant for him. The boys had set a challenge – a
defiance
, Roger said – designed to drawn him in. They knew that he was vain enough that he could not resist. And James was at St Mary’s when the hawthorn bladders burst. At first, Hew had discounted all those at the lecture, lacking both a method and an opportunity. Now he understood that this was a mistake. Suppose that James had slipped away, to visit the latrines? In the crowded stairway, would he have been missed? Suppose he had remained there while the talk took place, and crept out to the quietness, to fire his brother’s bow, returning just as easily to drop it in the sink. Roger, Hew supposed, had left the bow before for him, when he brought the bladder in and tied it to the tree, and pinned the Hebrew psalm at Andrew Melville’s door. The green lights Andrew Melville saw perhaps were Roger too. Had James sent him back, to find the hidden bow, or had he been disturbed, in some other piece of mischief? On that occasion, it appeared, he had not wanted to be caught.

The younger brother, noticed Hew, had taken all the risks. The lecture hall was full, and it would not be hard for James to stand up on the stair and slip among the crowd as they were coming out. Who could say, for certain, whether he was there? And who could fault a man, if he had been missed, for having the misfortune to be called to the latrines? The bladder filled with blood was plainly Roger’s plat, and he had been full proud of it. His brother was the bowman, and the better shot. No wonder James was wary:
please do not tell me he confessed to that
.

The brothers bore a grudge for their father’s death, so much was apparent in what James had told to Meg. And what had Roger said to Andrew Melville’s face? ‘Ye maunna mind it, sir. It was not meant for you.’ Then Bartie had been right, the hawthorn was a snare, and all of it was done, on purpose, to catch Hew.

He wondered, to what end? For if it was to remedy, and counter his neglect of them, then they had achieved it, and all to the good, for Roger was much happier than he had been before. But that did not account for the translation of the psalm, which Hew had little doubt was intended as a threat. Was Hew the dark opponent, who had stood at Richard’s side condemning him to death? Or was it Hew himself the boys had brought to judge?

His reflections were cut short by the coming of the coroner, who walked in without knocking.

‘Are we undisturbed?’ Andrew Wood was not a man who wasted time on niceties.

‘I
was,’ answered Hew.

‘What I have to say to you must not be overheard.’

‘There is no one near.’

Sir Andrew Wood did not sit down. This seemed to Hew a natural part of his intent to daze and daunt, and he would not be cowed by it. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘There are two pressing matters that I must discuss with you,’ Andrew Wood replied. ‘The first concerns the death of the duke of Lennox. The king is careful to impress upon the common multitude that Lennox died a Protestant, true to his ain faith.’

Hew nodded. ‘So much I have heard, in his proclamation.’

‘The king does not believe that it will be enough to quell the people’s doubts, though it must still their tongues. He wants to put it to the test, in a court of law.’

‘That is very interesting,’ said Hew, who began to have a sense of what matter was to come. ‘But I cannot see how it refers to me, since, as you are aware, I do not practise law.’

‘The king is of a mind that you are fit to practise it, if you will or no. I have made it plain enough that I do not agree with him.’

Hew grinned. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘The king has in his possession Esme Stuart’s heart, which it is his pleasure that ye should defend.’

‘Has the king gone mad?’

Sir Andrew did not smile. ‘I did not choose to ask him that. But his state of mind is somewhat frayed and fraught. I had half a hope that the concerns of his new council might distract him from his cause; unhappily, that has not proved the case. I can tell him, if you will, that I have not found you fit, or that you have refused, but it is as strongly in your interests to accept the case as I doubt it may be to refuse.’

The choice, as Hew could see, was not a happy one. In truth, he had no will to defend the duke of Lennox, whose conversion from the Catholic faith he took to be a fraud, designed to win the confidence and favour of the king. He pondered on a way to stall the king’s intention, till such time as James should mellow to a calmer frame of mind.

‘Pray tell his highness, though I am not prepared for it, I will give it thought. The duke of Lennox’s heart will want a strong defence, and, as I suppose, a sharper wit than mine, and one more fully versed and practised in the law. It will want, besides, a man to go to France, to find the matter out.’

‘I am not persuaded,’ the coroner said, drily, ‘that his Highness is concerned with finding out the truth of it.’

‘But he must concede, a kenning of the truth, whatever that may be, is an essential part of the defence. Send him my good will . . . and tell him I will look into the law, and see what can be done.’

‘That defence will hold him for a while. Very well,’ the coroner agreed. ‘I will put it to him it will take you time to forge a proper case, and in that while we may hope that his Grace will think better of this course and come to his right senses.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Hew bowed. ‘There is a matter, though, that I would like to raise with you, since I have a sense that it concerns the king’s security.’

‘Aye? And what is that?’

‘It concerns the death of a man called Harry Petrie, at the castle here.’

Andrew Wood was silent for a moment. And Hew, who was not afraid to look into his face, was conscious that the words had
somehow a struck a chord. He sensed a tightening there, though the expression did not change, that indicated to him that the coroner was listening with a sharp alertness he had not betrayed before. But when at last he spoke, his voice was neutral, flat. ‘That death is in the archbishop’s jurisdiction. And, I am told, was caused by a young Orkney archer, who has since fled. Why do you infer a danger to the Crown?’

‘For I am not convicted that the Orkney archer killed him. I think that Harry’s killer may be in the castle still, and may present a threat. Harry was in contact with a man called Colville, that was Master of Requests.’ Hew proceeded carefully. Again, he noticed Wood take note, an almost imperceptible reaction to the name.

‘What kind of contact?’ Andrew frowned.

‘That I cannot tell you, sir.’ Hew was not prepared to speak about the map until he had established what it meant for Giles. ‘But give me leave and licence, and I will find out.’