The Merchant's Mark (8 page)

‘I’m looking for a word with my lord Archbishop,’ Gil said. ‘Where can I find him?’

‘Oh?’ Maister William Dunbar, secretary to Archbishop Blacader, raised his eyebrows. ‘Can you mean something’s actually happened in Glasgow?’ He considered Gil, and
the acid smile appeared again. ‘It’s been quiet since May, and now Gil Cunningham wants a word. Another killing? Another secret murder? Who is it this time, the Provost and all the
bailies? Or is it something to do with a portion of the late King’s hoard found in a barrel?’

‘Partly,’ said Gil. ‘Where is his lordship?’

‘Oh, attending on the King.’ Dunbar waved in the general direction of the castle, and another passer-by ducked and cursed him. ‘Is that what you’re after? Entry to the
court?’

‘Robert Blacader will do well enough,’ said Gil. ‘Can you get me in to him?’

‘I’m bound there the now,’ admitted the smaller man. ‘I should be with him, only he sent me out an errand for the King’s grace. Confidential, I need hardly
say.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Gil agreed. ‘And you’ve delivered your message? Can you get me to his lordship?’

‘I can,’ said Dunbar, turning to walk on up the hill. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it,’ offered Gil, suppressing annoyance. ‘After I’ve spoken to Robert Blacader,’ he added.

Dunbar considered this, his eyes narrowed, and at length he nodded. ‘See your men and your beasts settled,’ he said, ‘and apply for me at the gatehouse in an hour. I’ll
do what I can for you. Mind, it had better be a good story.’

‘Oh, it’s all of that,’ said Gil.

‘And I suppose you want a lodging this night as well?’

‘I can see to that for myself. How is the court just now?’

‘Right now, very unsettled,’ said Dunbar morosely. ‘My lord of Angus arrived before noon for a word with him.’ From the emphasis on the pronoun, Gil interpreted it as
referring to the young King James. ‘We think he’s planning to go into Ayrshire, and we’re not certain how many of us are wanted. How big a house is the place at
Kilmarnock?’

‘Angus’s place? Not big enough for the court,’ Gil replied. ‘You’ll have to lie out in the town, as you do here.’

‘Hmm.’ Dunbar considered this prospect, and halted again. ‘Even my lord Archbishop?’

‘Better ask some of Angus’s people. I’ll leave you here, William. My lodgings are on Back Wynd. In an hour at the gatehouse, then.’

Following Maister Dunbar along a seemingly endless enfilade of stuffy rooms, through waves of conflicting smells of civet and moth-herbs, musk and lavender and stale furs, Gil
barely had time to pick out the familiar faces. People he had been at school with, at college with, or met briefly in Glasgow were among those sitting or standing about, playing cards or dice or
talking about hunting. One or two showed signs of recognizing him.

‘My lord’s playing at the cards with the King,’ said Dunbar, pausing in a doorway. ‘Wait in this chamber, Gil. I’ll see if I can get him out between
games.’

Gil grimaced. A good game of Tarocco could last the best part of an hour. He nodded, and looked about him as Dunbar’s tonsure disappeared past someone’s green brocade shoulder into
the next room.

‘I know you,’ said a voice beside him. ‘You’re a Cunningham, aren’t you?’ He turned, to find a big fair man at his elbow, all cherry-coloured velvet and
yellow silk. Noll Sinclair of Roslin, friend of his parents and of the late King, clapped him on the shoulder and grinned at him. ‘Gled Cunningham’s youngest. Gilbert, is it?’

‘Sir Oliver,’ said Gil formally, looking into the handsome face level with his. ‘My God, I haven’t heard my father’s by-name in years.’

‘Aye, well.’ Sinclair’s grin vanished briefly. ‘A bad business, that. And your brothers and all. Grievous. How’s your mother? How does she manage?’

‘My mother’s well, thank you, sir. She has her dower-lands near Lanark, and wins a living.’

‘Oh, aye.’ The grin reappeared. ‘She stayed with us at Roslin a time or two, and some of your sisters with her. I mind her then instructing me on horse-breeding. So she’s
running horses on her dower-lands, is she?’

‘It’s good enough grazing out by Carluke,’ said Gil, nodding. ‘And it’s high enough to breed hardy beasts. She knows what she’s doing.’

‘I’ve no doubt of that where Gelis Muirhead’s concerned. And what are you doing, yourself? Will you be for the Church or the Law?’

‘The Law,’ said Gil firmly. ‘I’ll take my notary’s oath next month, and hang up my sign in Glasgow.’

‘If I’ve business to do in Lanarkshire I’ll remember that,’ said Sinclair. He hitched at the wide sleeves of his gown, turning back the cuffs so that the yellow silk
lining showed to advantage. ‘So it’s the secular life, is it? And a marriage in mind, so I heard.’

‘Contract signed,’ agreed Gil.

‘My good wishes on that,’ said the other affably. ‘And how is Glasgow? What’s this we’ve been hearing today? A piece of the old King’s hoard turned up in the
burgh? In a barrel?’

‘I suppose the word would spread fast,’ Gil said in some annoyance.

‘This is the court,’ said Sinclair. ‘There’s nothing to do but gossip or listen to gossip. I thank God fasting every time I come near the King that I’ve no need to
hold office.’ Gil, who knew the story of the bargain struck by a previous Stewart with a previous Sinclair, merely nodded. ‘I suppose there’s no doubt that it’s the
King’s money?’ Sir Oliver went on, his tone casual. ‘Coin is only coin, after all, it doesn’t have the owner’s badge on it.’

‘It isn’t only money,’ said Gil reluctantly. ‘There are jewels as well. Some of those are the owner’s badge, indeed – very obviously out of the royal
treasury.’

‘Oh?’ Sinclair’s eyebrows rose. ‘And where did ye find this? Was it really in a barrel? And what’s this about a head? What like was it? Do you ken whose? Is it some
thief or other, or a fighting man?’

‘You’re well informed, sir,’ said Gil. And full of questions, he thought. ‘No, I’ve no notion whose. If I knew where the coin had been hid these four years I might
be closer to giving him a name, but it won’t be easy to get an answer to that.’

‘I should say not,’ agreed Sinclair. ‘Ask at Robert Lyle, why don’t you. He seems to have information the rest of us lack.’

‘Gil,’ said Maister Dunbar at his elbow. ‘My lord will see you now.’

‘I’m sure Robert Lyle will want a word,’ reiterated Sinclair. Gil, with some relief, raised his hat and bowed to him before turning to follow the little poet from the
chamber.

Robert Blacader, well-found, blue-jowled and tonsured, was waiting in a windowless closet between that room and the next, seated on a folding chair, a stand of newly lit candles on the chest
beside him. The light gleamed on the dark brocade of his gown, the silver fittings of belt and purse at his waist. When Gil entered he held out a hand.

‘I can spare you a short time, Maister Cunningham,’ he said. Gil knelt to kiss the ring. ‘I hope your uncle is well?’ Gil murmured something. ‘I believe it was you
found this treasure that appeared this morning?’

‘I was present when it was found, my lord,’ Gil parried.

‘Sir Thomas never sent me more than the bare bones of the tale to it.’

‘There’s more to tell now in any case, my lord.’

The Archbishop gestured, and Gil stood obediently and gave him a succinct account of the finding of the head and the treasure, and then of the inquest and its result. Blacader heard him out in
growing annoyance, and finally shook his head, saying irritably, ‘The Provost has acted as he must, but Christ aid me, I never heard such nonsense. It’s surely been a wilful false
verdict. I’ll send to Sir Thomas the morn, and look into it closer when I reach Glasgow. Has this fellow – what’s his name, Morison? Has he enemies in the burgh?’

‘No more than any successful merchant,’ said Gil. ‘He’s harmless enough, I’d have said. A gentle soul.’

‘Hmm,’ said the Archbishop. ‘And he has asked you to sort it out, has he?’ Gil nodded. ‘Aye. After you dealt with those other two matters, it would be an obvious
choice,’ continued Blacader thoughtfully. He stared at Gil for a moment, the candlelight flickering on brow and padded cheeks. ‘I think you must. We’ll not waste the
Justiciars’ time with this kind of thing. William,’ he said, and Maister Dunbar stirred at the door of the little room. ‘Something towards Maister Cunningham’s expenses, I
think. Ten merks should do it. And you’ll report to me, Gilbert.’

‘Gladly, my lord. Thank you,’ said Gil fervently, going down on one knee again. This was more than he had hoped for: Blacader had just attached him to his own retinue, however
informally.

‘And now,’ said the Archbishop, getting to his feet, ‘I must go back to the King. Come with me, Gilbert.’

The inmost chamber was crowded with bystanders and servants in the royal livery, but their gaze, direct or sidelong, showed where to look. Near the empty hearth a table was set up, covered in a
silk carpet, the cards still lying on it in tricks as they had been gathered in among the heaps of coin. Three people were seated round it. On the far side King James, aged nineteen, chestnut hair
and long-nosed Stewart good looks set off by green velvet and blue silk, was talking to a hulking man whose cropped hair and beard showed streaks of grey: Archibald Douglas, fifth earl of Angus. On
this side was a well-found blue-jowled person in furred red silk embroidered with trees of life, a match for the Archbishop save for the lack of a tonsure; plump hands studded with rings were
folded on his knee as he watched the conversation with the open smiling gaze of a statesman.

‘His grace will want the story of the finding of the treasure,’ said Blacader, placing himself expertly to catch Angus’s eye, and his counterpart turned his head sharply, his
silk rustling.

‘Are ye sure of that, Robert?’ he asked. ‘This is gey public. And is this the man that found it?’ He looked closely at Gil with round pale eyes, and then cast a pointed
glance at Maister Dunbar, who stared at the patterned ceiling.

‘Wheesht, William,’ Blacader said, intent on the King, and Gil appreciated that the other man was that chimera of his age, neither cleric nor layman, William Knollys the Treasurer of
Scotland and Commendator of the Knights of St John.

The royal conversation paused, and Blacader inserted a practised word. Gil found himself kneeling again, and then somehow seated on a stool which manifested behind him, giving an account of the
finding of first the head and then the bag of coin. The two men of state watched him as he talked, intent and impassive, and Angus leaned back to whisper to a servant, but the King listened
closely, his mobile face expressing interest, concern, dismay as the narrative proceeded.

‘And what has the inquest found?’ he asked. ‘Did they get a name for the man?’

‘No, sir,’ said Gil. ‘Nobody in the burgh knew him.’

‘No surprise in that, I suppose,’ said the King. ‘He’s likely from wherever the hoard money’s been hid these four years, and not from Glasgow at all. And the barrel
came from Linlithgow, you say?’

‘The barrel was exchanged for ours,’ said Gil with care, ‘somewhere between Linlithgow and Glasgow. Or so I believe, sir.’

‘Aye,’ said James thoughtfully. ‘No saying, is there? But why? And why put the head and the coin both into brine?’

‘I hope to find out,’ said Gil.

‘Tell me when you do. And I hope you find your books, maister,’ said the King, and Gil realized this was the first person to whom he had told the tale who had expressed the wish.
‘Meantime, there’s the matter of a reward for finding the treasure. That’s two thousand merks waiting for us in Glasgow, forbye the jewels – we’re certainly grateful,
man. My lord Treasurer, you’ll see to that the now, will you?’

Thus dismissed, Gil retreated from the card-room, followed immediately by Knollys, who gestured to one of his own servants and bustled Gil back through the sequence of stuffy crowded rooms,
asking affably after his uncle as they went, studying him with those round pale eyes. Gil, recalling Canon Cunningham’s strictures on this man as one of the most litigious in Scotland,
answered as non-committally as he could.

‘And this barrel,’ said Knollys, pausing at a door which led out into a courtyard. The servant began striking light for the torch he carried. Knollys stepped into the yard, and Gil
followed. Windows glowed above them, and overhead the sky was still greenish with the last of the light. ‘Naught else in it?’

‘No, sir,’ said Gil. ‘Just the saddlebag of coin and the head.’

‘Aye,’ said Knollys thoughtfully. He stopped in the centre of the courtyard, tapping his teeth with a fingernail. One of his rings glittered as his hand moved. ‘What made you
so sure it was from the late King’s hoard, then?’ he asked, his tone soft.

‘The only thing that’s certain,’ said Gil with caution, ‘is that along with the coin we found a roll of jewels, including badges of the Queen’s household and the
like. There’s no seal on the purses, but we assumed the coin went with the jewels. The saddlebag isn’t marked, the barrel and the head could have come from anywhere.’

‘Aye,’ said Knollys again, and the ring sparked. ‘What like man is it, the head I mean?’

Gil shrugged. ‘He looks like a Scot,’ he began.

‘I never suggested he wasny,’ said Knollys.

‘Maybe a fighting man, by the haircut. No more than thirty year old, maybe less.’

‘Aye,’ said Knollys a third time, tapping his teeth again. The man in the St Johns livery approached, holding the sputtering torch high. ‘I see what you mean. Could be
anyone.’ Ignoring his servant, he set off towards the far corner of the courtyard. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll keep the Archbishop informed,’ he added as Gil followed
him.

Up two more flights of stairs they reached a tower chamber where, even at this late hour, a clerk was working at a tall desk. The servant stationed himself outside the door, torch in one hand,
the other on his sword.

‘Aye, Richie,’ said Knollys to the clerk. ‘Where are your keys? We’ll have the great kist opened, if you please.’ He produced a bunch of keys on a chain at his own
belt, and he and the clerk went through the careful procedure of opening the great iron-bound box in the corner of the chamber, selecting and counting out twenty merks, placing them in a canvas
purse, closing the box and locking it again.