St Mungo's Robin (36 page)

‘Same as our handcart that the boy took away yestreen?’ said his fellow.

‘Aye, but Hob was slain yesterday by a madman,’ objected the first one, ‘the whole street kens that. That cloak was here on Monday after Terce.’

‘Would you swear to that afore the Sheriff?’ Gil asked. The three clerks looked at one another.

‘Aye, I suppose we could,’ agreed Sir John.

‘Then would you bring the cloak and hat to the quest at noon,’ said Gil, ‘rather than gie them to me?’

‘We could say Nones a bit early,’ suggested the younger acolyte, looking interested.

‘But what about the charity for the lepers?’ asked the priest anxiously.

Maistre Pierre reached for his purse. ‘This will warm the lepers,’ he said, extending a generous handful of coins. ‘Now will you bring the garments to the quest?’

‘We’ve a fair bit to determine,’ pronounced Sir Thomas, stepping on to the dais and sweeping the castle hall with his scowl, ‘so we’ll get on wi
it. Who’s for the assize? They’ll need a strong stomach for it. We’re deciding on Deacon Naismith as well as Hob Taylor, and he’s been lying about a good wee
while.’

The place was full. Genuine witnesses, others who thought they might be witnesses, and anyone who wanted to hear more about the deaths of Hob and the Deacon of St Serf’s, were all crowded
into the large space. John Veitch had been led in between two men-at-arms, his hands bound before him, to a volley of hissing and pointing. The corpses had been firmly excluded, and lay in state,
sheltered from the rain under a striped awning in the castle courtyard, with two more men posted well upwind of the Deacon in his coffin.

Gil had found himself a place behind the table where the Sheriff’s clerk sat with his pen-case and inkwell, several pieces of clean parchment before him. Beside him Maistre Pierre stood
studying the people assembling in the body of the hall, and fidgeted through the long procedure of selecting fifteen householders of good repute. Gil, well used to it, thought that it went faster
than usual today. Most of those present wanted to get to the interesting part.

Once the assize was selected, the names written down, the men sworn in by Walter the clerk holding a worn copy of the Gospels, they were led outside to inspect the two bodies, and returned
looking a little green in places.

‘Well, they were warned,’ said Maistre Pierre. Gil nodded.

‘Now,’ said Sir Thomas with relish, ‘we’ll take Hob Taylor first. Who identifies him?’

‘I do,’ pronounced Maister Agnew, standing forward out of the crowd. ‘That’s my servant Hob Taylor right enough, lying dead out there in his shroud, crying out for
vengeance. And I accuse the man John Veitch yonder of his murder.’ He raised his arm and pointed at John Veitch, who looked back at him without expression.

‘He doesny look mad,’ observed a woman near Gil. ‘He’s a good-looking chiel.’

‘Och, you, Jennet Clark,’ said her neighbour.

‘Let’s hear your reasons,’ said Sir Thomas. Agnew launched into an account of returning to his house to find Veitch standing red-handed over Hob’s bloody corpse, a scene
which caused him to wipe his eyes when he described it.

‘And what did you do then, maister?’ asked Sir Thomas.

‘I ran out into the street and shouted Murder,’ declared Agnew. ‘And all the neighbours came running and took the man captive, and we bound him wi stout ropes and brought him
here to the castle.’

‘That’s no just how I heard it,’ said Sir Thomas, looking round. ‘Maister Cunningham, where are you? Step up here and tell the assize what you found.’

Gil came forward, bowed to Sir Thomas and to the assize, and then on a whim to the audience. They seemed to like it.

‘I got there just as John Veitch was taken captive,’ he said clearly, ‘along wi my friend Maister Peter Mason, master mason in this burgh and kent to many of you. We had a look
at the corp, and so did one or two others that were standing by.’ He looked about him, and identified Maister Sim, standing near the dais with the other members of yesterday’s impromptu
assize. He described the scene in Agnew’s hall, the blood-soaked matting, the pile of kale leaves, the way Hob lay face down in his blood, and Sim and the other three nodded as he spoke and
gave their agreement at the end.

‘What’s these kale leaves to do wi it?’demanded Sir Thomas.

‘I’ll come to that, sir,’ said Gil.

‘The man was standing red-handed over my poor servant,’ said Agnew loudly. ‘Hae an end to this waste of your time, Sheriff, and take him out and hang him now, take a rope to
him!
Repay him for his iniquity, wipe him out for his wickedness
,’ he declaimed.

‘No, no,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘No use of your Latin in my court, and this is a good tale. Go on, Maister Cunningham.’

‘Maister Mason had a look at the corp,’ said Gil.

Maistre Pierre stepped forward, to recount his conclusions about the length of time it would have taken for Hob to die.

‘You’re still saying this madman stood over him and watched while he bled to death!’ expostulated Agnew.

‘No,’ said Maistre Pierre simply, ‘for he had been dead some time when I saw him.’

‘How d’you ken that?’ asked a man in the assize, a blocky fellow in a shoemaker’s apron. ‘Had he set, maybe?’

‘Aye, he had,’ agreed the man called Willie, who was standing beside Habbie Sim. ‘I noticed that mysel. Just his head and his neck, see, so it wasny that long, but longer than
the madman had been in the house.’

‘No telling how long he’d been there –’ began Agnew.

‘Oh, that’s easy enough,’ said Gil. ‘I’ve questioned the sister of the accused man, and a working man who spoke to him on his way, and a witness who was in the next
garden when he reached your house, maister, and they’re all agreed on that.’

‘Aye, where’s this laddie that was in the next garden?’ demanded Sir Thomas irritably. Eck Paton was dragged forward to the edge of the dais by several of his neighbours eager
to see him make his contribution to the day’s entertainment, and stood reluctantly to be questioned by the Sheriff. His story seemed to disappoint many of the audience, and some of the assize
tried to suggest he was mistaken.

‘No, no,’ he assured them, ‘for I wasny out that long, and I saw it all.’

‘Eck Paton’s story agrees wi the time the other witnesses gave us,’ Gil said.

‘Then the madman must have been there earlier,’ objected Agnew, ‘and slew Hob and went away.’

‘I never left my sister’s house till Sext,’ declared John Veitch from where he stood by the wall. One of his guards elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and he flinched.

‘You be quiet the now,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘You’ll get your chance if it’s needful.’

‘All these witnesses is all very well,’ said another of the assize from within their roped-off enclosure, ‘but you canny get past one thing, Sheriff, and that’s the way
the corp himself sat up and accused the man that slew him. The whole town kens about it, and it canny be denied.’

‘He never sat up!’ declared Maister Sim. ‘I was there and saw it all!’

‘You willny deny he groaned,’ said Agnew sharply, ‘and we all saw the blood run from his mouth, enough for the villain to bathe his feet in!’ He wiped at his eye again,
and Maister Sim nodded reluctantly.

‘Aye, that’s true,’ he admitted.

‘That is wrong,’ Maistre Pierre muttered. ‘It is the righteous who will wash their feet in blood. We are in the Psalms, I fancy.’

Gil glanced briefly at his friend, and stepped forward again.

‘Maister Agnew,’ he said. Agnew looked at him, slightly suspicious. ‘I mind you took John Veitch’s hand, to make certain he touched the corp.’

‘Aye, I did.’

‘Would you show the assize how you took hold of him?’ Gil held his hand out. With some reluctance Agnew reached out and took hold of his wrist.

‘No, that wasny it,’ said Maister Sim from below the dais. ‘I could see that much from where I was standing. Your grip was lower down. Aye, more like that,’ he added as
Gil shifted his hand within Agnew’s grasp. ‘You’d a good hold across the back o his hand, Tammas, and your fingers –’ He stopped, and looked at the Sheriff. ‘His
fingers went right round under his hand,’ he finished.

‘That’s what I recall,’ said Gil mildly. He turned to look at the members of the assize, and held his hand up, Agnew’s still clasping it. The other man snatched his away
as he realized Gil’s intention, but at least some of the assize had seen how two sets of fingers were turned towards them. ‘Who touched Hob?’ Gil said to the crowded faces.
‘It looks to me as if they both did, so who did he accuse? Was it John Veitch, or was it his master?’

‘I’m never accused of his death,’ began Agnew.

‘I’m saying,’ said Gil, ‘that on this evidence you’d as well be accused as John Veitch, and the other evidence, of finding him red-handed, doesny stand
up.’

‘So who slew the man?’ demanded one of the assize, as Agnew gobbled like a blackcock at this assertion.

‘Aye, well, that’s what we’re here to establish ,’ said Sir Thomas crisply. ‘Get on wi it, Maister Cunningham. What have ye to tell us now?’

‘Can we turn to the other corp next, Sheriff?’ Gil asked formally.

‘We’ve no dealt wi this one yet,’ objected someone.

‘I hope we can wind up both matters at once,’ said Gil. ‘But maybe we should set John Veitch free, since it’s clear he couldny ha slain Hob Taylor.’

‘No yet,’ said someone in the assize. ‘I’m no convinced yet.’ There were rumbles of agreement round the audience.

‘No, no,’ concurred Sir Thomas. ‘We’ll keep him under guard a while longer.’

‘Is this a new heading?’ demanded the clerk Walter. ‘Or is it a whole new quest? Do I need a new bit parchment or no?’

‘Aye, a fresh page, Walter,’ said Sir Thomas, and the clerk muttered angrily and took out his penknife to scrape out a line he had written. Gil stared at him, and Sir Thomas went on,
‘Now, if we’re to look at the Deacon’s death, best get on wi it, maister.’ Distracted, Gil bowed, and made a handing-over gesture. ‘Oh, aye. Who identifies the other
corp? I hope ye all had a good look at him.’

‘Aye, from upwind,’ said the shoemaker from the assize enclosure, and there was general laughter.

‘Did ye study the wounds?’

‘Aye,’ said another man doubtfully, ‘but no very close. It looks like there’s been more than one weapon at him, like it was a man wi dagger and whinger maybe.’

‘Aye, two weapons,’ agreed Sir Thomas. ‘Who identifies him, then?’

Andrew Millar pushed his way to the foot of the dais and agreed that the second corpse was that of his superior, Deacon Robert Naismith of St Serf’s bedehouse. The Sheriff dealt in short
order with the finding of the body, the manner of death, and the probable time of death. Maistre Pierre, explaining this, made reference to the idea that the body had been moved, and the shoemaker
spoke up again.

‘Let’s hear more about that, maister. How can you tell?’

‘He had begun to stiffen while he lay in one place,’ said Maistre Pierre, glancing at the Sheriff, ‘somewhere he lay on braided matting which left a mark on his face which was
still visible the next day. Then he was moved, and continued to set in the new position in the garden.’

‘Could he no ha moved himself?’ asked another of the assize.

‘Don’t be daft, Rab,’ said his neighbour, ‘the man was deid, that’s why he’d begun to set. Who moved him, that’s what I’d like to ken.’

‘I hope we’ll find out,’ said Gil.

‘I fear it’s clear enough,’ put in Agnew. ‘My poor brother must ha stabbed the Deacon in his madness, and later bore the body out into the garden. He’s got no
recollection of it now, but it’s the only explanation.’

‘No quite,’ said Gil. ‘For one thing, there’s no rush matting in the bedehouse.’

‘That’s his brother that’s rose up again,’ whispered someone behind him. ‘They’re saying he’s cured of his madness and seeing visions.’

Ignoring this, Gil led the assize carefully through what was known of the Deacon’s last movements, detailing the meal at the house by the Caichpele, the argument with Marion Veitch and her
brother, at which several of the assize looked darkly at John Veitch where he stood under guard by the wall, and the departure to meet Thomas Agnew, who agreed that he had last seen Naismith an
hour later. Andrew Millar came forward again to describe how he had heard footsteps in the Deacon’s lodging after he came in that night.

‘Aye, aye, hold up here,’ said an assizer. ‘This was at an hour or two afore midnight, did ye say?’ Millar nodded. ‘And we’ve just heard, wi the way the corp
was set, it looked as if he was deid no long after supper.’ Millar glanced at Gil, and nodded again. ‘So who was it was walking about in his lodging, maister?’

‘I’d like to hear the answer to that and all,’ put in Sir Thomas.

‘You’ll have your answer,’ Gil assured the man. ‘Once we’ve all the facts, the answer will be clear enough.’

‘So you say,’ said Agnew, ‘but I maintain it’s obvious already. Can we no ha done wi this nonsense, Sheriff, and get about our business?’

‘Let’s hear your facts, Maister Cunningham,’ said Sir Thomas, ignoring him.

Gil took a deep breath, and bowed to all his hearers again. This was extraordinary. He had expounded his solution to a death before, to much smaller groups; making it clear to fifteen
householders whom he did not know, and a hall full of onlookers, was quite different, but he was enjoying it.

‘The corp was found near the back wall of the bedehouse garden,’ he began. Carefully he explained where the body was lying, what made him think it had been put over the back wall,
and how it had been taken round to the Stablegreen. Without naming his sister, he told the assize about the handcart, with its burden, and the movements in the dark.

‘Now the same person,’ he said, ‘had seen John Veitch going down the High Street not half an hour earlier. It wasny John Veitch put the Deacon’s body over the
wall.’

One or two of the assize nodded. A small flurry of movement and hissing whispers behind Maistre Pierre suggested Marion had tried to speak and been hushed.

‘What I think happened,’ Gil went on, watching the members of the assize, ‘is this. Deacon Naismith ate supper in the house by the Caichpele, and announced that he was about to
make a will. Then he left the house, and went to meet somebody else. Sometime that evening he was stabbed. He was left where he died, for an hour or two, and then moved on the handcart, put over
the wall at the back of the bedehouse garden, and the handcart returned to its place. Then the person who stabbed him walked into the bedehouse wearing his cloak and hat, and slept the night in the
Deacon’s lodging. In the morning he joined the bedesmen for the first Office of the day, and then left the chapel and went back to his own house.’