The Nicholas Feast

PAT McINTOSH
, like Gil Cunningham, is a graduate of Glasgow University. Born and brought up in Lanarkshire, for many years the author lived and worked in Glasgow and is now settled on the West Coast.

Titles in this series

(listed in order)

The Harper’s Quine
The Nicholas Feast

The Merchant’s Mark
St Mungo’s Robin

Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com

First published in the UK by Constable, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2005

This paperback edition published by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2007

First US edition published by Carroll & Graf Publishers 2005, this paperback edition, 2007

Carroll & Graf Publishers
An Imprint of Avalon Publishing Group, Inc.
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New York, NY 10011-5300
www.carrollandgraf.com

Copyright © Pat McIntosh, 2005, 2007

The right of Pat McIntosh to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library.

For Gil’s godmother,

who recognized William’s real crime immediately,

with gratitude.

Nobody could write about the early days of the University of Glasgow without consulting the magisterial
The University of Glasgow 1451–1577
, by John Durkan and James Kirk (University of Glasgow Press, 1977). I have made copious use of it; everything I have got right is from Durkan & Kirk, and everything I have invented or got wrong is of course my own.

A list of people around the University might be useful. Those marked with an asterisk are known to history.

Regents (lecturers) and other members of the staff

*Maister John Doby, the Principal Regent (head of the Faculty of Arts and of the University)

*Maister Patrick Elphinstone, Dean of the Faculty of Arts

*Maister Patrick (Patey) Coventry, the Second Regent

*Maister Thomas Forsyth, a senior regent

Maister Nicholas Kennedy, a junior regent

*Maister David Gray, the Faculty Scribe (a lawyer)

*Maister Archibald Crawford, Faculty and University Promotor (a lawyer)

*John Gray, the University Scribe and Beadle (a lawyer)

*John Shaw, the Faculty Steward

Fr Bernard Stewart, a Dominican friar with responsibility for the University

Andro and Tammas, two of the servitors

Agnes Dickson, the cook

Tam, Adam, Aikie, kitchen grooms

Eppie, a kitchen maid

Jaikie, the University porter

Students

Alan Liddell, a Theology student (postgraduate)

Magistrand (fourth-year student)

John Hucheson, who makes a speech

Senior bachelors (third-year students)

Ninian Boyd (playing Diligence)

Michael Douglas (playing a daughter of Collegia)

Lowrie Livingstone

Nicholas Gray (helping in the kitchen)

Junior bachelors (second-year students)

Ralph Gibson (playing Collegia)

William Irvine

Robert Montgomery

Richie (playing the Scholar)

Henry (playing Frivolity)

Walter and Andrew (playing two of Collegia’s daughters)

Bejants (first-year students)

David Ross

Billy Ross

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Gil Cunningham said later that if he had known he would find a corpse in the coalhouse of Glasgow University, he would never have gone to the Arts Faculty feast.

‘But then,’ said Alys his betrothed, considering this seriously, ‘you would never have met Socrates.’

The day began well enough. In the bright sunshine after early rain Gil, his academic robes in a bundle under his arm, had strolled down the High Street past the University, where several people in gowns and furred hoods were already exchanging formal bows with a lanky red-haired student before the great wooden door. Further down the street, in the rambling stone-built house called the White Castle, he found Alys and her father the French master mason, just breaking their fast with the rest of their household after hearing the first Mass at Greyfriars.

‘Gil!’ said Alys in delight, and sprang up to kiss him in greeting.

‘
Bonjour
, Gilbert,’ said Maistre Pierre cheerfully, his teeth white in his neat black beard. He rose broadshouldered and imposing from his great chair and waved at an empty stool. ‘Have you eaten? What do you this early on a Sunday morning?’

‘The Nicholas Feast,’ Gil reminded him. He smiled at Alys, still standing slender and elegant beside him in the brown linen dress that matched her eyes. Like most unmarried girls in Scotland she went bare-headed, and her honey-coloured hair fell over her shoulders. He savoured the sight for a moment, thinking again how fortunate he was, that this clever, competent, beautiful girl was to be his wife, then tipped her face up with a gentle finger and kissed the high narrow bridge of her nose. ‘I hoped Alys would help me robe,’ he continued. ‘The procession will start from the college, and if I must walk there alone in these ridiculous garments I had rather do it from here, four doors away, than from Rottenrow. At least when we ride up to St Thomas’s I’ll be in company with the whole of the Arts Faculty.’

‘They are not ridiculous garments!’ Alys said indignantly. ‘They are the insignia of your learning! Come and sit down, Gil.’

‘Why is it called the Nicholas Feast?’ asked Maistre Pierre, ladling more porridge into his wooden porringer. ‘St Nicholas’ day is in December. This is May.’

‘The Feast of the Translation of St Nicholas was last Tuesday,’ Gil said. He bowed to Alys’s aged, aristocratic nurse, and nodded to the rest of the household, who were ignoring the French talk at the head of the table. Setting the bundle of his robes on the floor he sat down and accepted a bannock from the platter Alys passed him. ‘When he was translated to Bari, I suppose, though where from I don’t recall. And this is the first Sunday after. The man who founded our feast left exact directions. We’re to ride in procession to hear Mass at eight of the clock in St Thomas Martyr’s, out beyond the Stablegreen Port, and come back down through the town with green branches, and then we have a meeting, and then we have the feast.’

‘He left money for the feast, too, I hope?’ said Maistre Pierre.

Gil nodded, spreading honey on his bannock.

‘There is some, but we are all expected to pay up as well. Eighteen pence it has cost me.’ The mason pulled a face. ‘It would be double that if I had a benefice.’

‘I had hoped,’ said Alys with diffidence, ‘we could write to your mother today. Her letter needs an answer, you must agree.’

‘Oh, aye, I agree,’ Gil said ruefully. ‘But not today. I am committed to the feast. Perhaps tomorrow.’

When grace had been said, the dishes had been carried out and the great board lifted from its trestles, Alys’s nurse Catherine rose stiffly and said to the mason, ‘I leave your daughter in your charge,
maistre.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘And the baby is with Nancy. Go and see to the boy, if you will,
madame.’

She curtsied with arthritic elegance, said,
‘Bonjour, maistre le notaire,’
to Gil as she passed him, and stumped out of the hall among the hurrying maidservants. Alys unfolded Gil’s robes.

‘Your mother’s letter,’ she said again, shaking out the cassock. ‘Is it – is that really what she thinks?’

‘She’ll come round to it,’ Gil said. ‘Remember, my uncle is in favour.’