‘Courage and a bonnie face might make a tocher,’ said Morison diffidently, ‘to the right man.’
‘They don’t bring in rents,’ said Gil. ‘And Kate isn’t one to take bread at a man’s hand either.’
Andy was still haranguing his junior. As Gil watched over Morison’s shoulder the younger man turned away with a self-righteous air; at the same moment Andy swung round and marched back to their master, every line of his small bow-legged frame expressing anger. Billy glanced after him to thumb his nose again, at which the men round him nudged one another and sniggered.
‘Arrogant wee scunner,’ said Andy, rejoining them. ‘By here, that was quick.’ He nodded towards the Provost’s lodging. ‘The assize is coming out.’
The fifteen men of the assize filed down the steps, preceded by the serjeant with the mace, followed by Sir Thomas’s clerk, and were herded into their roped enclosure again. The serjeant went back to conduct Sir Thomas, and then climbing on the mounting-block shouted for silence and got it. Sir Thomas nodded to Gil and his friends, and in a short speech reminded the assize of the penalties for a wilful false verdict and asked them if they had selected someone to speak for them.
‘Aye, maister, we have that,’ said the grey-haired tavern-keeper, ‘and it’s me. Mattha Hog, keeper of the Hog tavern, and we’ve a new barrel of ale — ’
‘That’s enough of that,’ said Sir Thomas sharply. ‘Well, Mattha, what has the assize found in this death? Do ye ken who he was?’
‘No, maister, we do not, except maybe he was a Saracen. Ye said so yerself, that we didny ken him,’ Mattha reminded the Provost.
‘And were you unanimous in that decision?’
Mattha looked alarmed. ‘No,’ he said, ‘no, indeed, it didny take long to decide at all. We were all agreed, you see.’
Sir Thomas exchanged a brief glance with his clerk, who bent his head over his notes again with a smile quirking his mouth.
‘Very well,’ said the Provost. ‘And do ye ken how he died?’
‘No, not that either,’ said Mattha. ‘We wereny agreed on that,’ he admitted, ‘for some of us thought he was heidit, and some of us not, but you tellt us yerself, maister, there’s no knowing now. He’s too long deid, and in that brine and all.’
‘Very good,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘The clerk of the court will write that out, and read it to you, and you will affix the seal of the assize to the record — ’
‘Aye, but sir,’ said Mattha, ‘we’re not finished.’
Sir Thomas stopped to stare at him.
‘You tellt us to decide on who saw to his death,’ continued the tavern-keeper with the air of a man about to set off a culverin. ‘So we did, and we were agreed on it. Well, nearly all of us was agreed on it,’ he modified as someone growled from the back of the group. ‘We reckon there’s one man knows more about the whole matter than he lets on, and we say he should be held and put to the horn for the killing, and that’s Maister Augustine Morison.’
‘What?’ Morison almost shrieked.
Uproar broke out. Several men from the crowd rushed eagerly forward to seize the merchant, who dived hurriedly towards the Provost for protection. Sir Thomas gestured angrily to his own men, who were already advancing towards the fore-stair using their mailed arms and boots, and dragged Morison on to the stair and out of the grasp of those nearest him. Andy, knife drawn, scrambled up the steps beside his master, and Maistre Pierre also stepped into the mêlée. Gil tried to address Sir Thomas, but could not make himself heard above the noise of the onlookers and the serjeant bellowing from his mounting-block for silence and order. Anxiously he worked his way towards the stair.
‘Should we all withdraw, sir?’ he suggested when he was close enough. ‘Debate this in private?’
‘Aye, come up, come up!’ shouted Sir Thomas as his men formed a barrier at the foot of the stair. ‘Let him through, Andro! Serjeant!’ he bellowed.
The serjeant paused in his red-faced appeals for silence.
‘I’m away into the house. I’ll come back out when you’ve silenced them, man.’
One of the constables struggled through the throng, and appeared to be trying to tell Sir Thomas something. The Provost waved him away, waited until he saw that Gil was safely on to the steps, and retreated through his own door. Following him, Gil was aware of the serjeant descended from his mounting-block, laying about him with the burgh mace.
Within, Morison was saying desperately, over the noise from the yard, ‘I didn’t kill him, I don’t even know who he is. I never saw him till we opened the barrel!’
‘Augie,’ said Gil.
Morison stopped to look at him, open-mouthed, and Sir Thomas said into the pause, ‘It’s all a muddle. I’ll have to hold ye, maister, since they’ve brought in that verdict, and I don’t believe a word of it either.’
‘I think it is malice,’ declared the mason from beside the empty hearth.
‘And either I hold a man or I put him to the horn, one or the other, not the both at once. Where’s the point in sounding the horn at the Mercat Cross and calling a search for him if he’s lying in a cell in my castle?’
‘But I never — ’
‘Augie,’ said Gil again, ‘if you’re charged, will you deny it?’
‘Of course I will — ’
‘Then don’t say any more now,’ Gil advised. Walter the clerk gave him an approving look. ‘The plea is twertnay, and that’s all you need to say.’
‘Oh.’ Morison stopped, and repeated the word soundlessly a couple of times.
‘I still think it malice,’ said Maistre Pierre. The noise from the yard had dropped.
‘Aye, you could be right, maister,’ agreed Sir Thomas. ‘A wilful false verdict. I’m not happy about the assize, that’s certain. Walter, you have all their names writ down, have you?’
‘All writ down, Provost,’ agreed the clerk. ‘We can get them back any time we want, provided they’ve not run.’
‘Then I’ll go out and discharge them. Bide here, gentlemen. Walter, I’ll need you.’
He went out, and shortly could be heard haranguing the members of the assize. The four left in the hall looked at one another.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Morison, whose teeth were beginning to chatter. ‘Oh, Christ assoil me, what of my bairns?’
‘Must he be held?’ asked Maistre Pierre.
‘I’m more practised in the canon law than the civil,’ said Gil, ‘but I’d say he must be held. It’s a charge of murder, so he can’t be released on recognition.’
‘But — ’ began Morison, and stopped. ‘Twertnay,’ he said carefully. ‘Gil, will you help me? You found out who killed those other folk — the woman in St Mungo’s yard and the one at the college. Can you find out this for me?’
‘I can try,’ said Gil.
‘I’ll gie ye a hand, Maister Gil,’ said Andy.
‘I’ll need you to see to the yard,’ said his master, sinking on to a stool. ‘The business, the bairns, the household — what’s to come to any of them if I’m chained up here?’
‘I’ll have to hold ye,’ said Sir Thomas in the doorway, ‘since it’s a charge of murder, but I’m not putting ye in chains, maister. If you’ll give me your word not to run, you can bide here in the castle. I’ll find a chamber.’
‘I’ll see to the yard, maister, if that’s what’s wanted,’ said Andy. ‘And the first thing, I’ll give Billy Walker leave to go before I throttle him.’
‘No, Andy,’ said Morison, ‘he told the truth as he saw it.’
‘Aye, and as he hoped it would harm you, maister,’ said Andy bluntly.
‘For how long must he be held?’ asked Maistre Pierre.
Sir Thomas shook his head. ‘I need to send to my lord Archbishop. I wish I’d waited to report the coin, the one man could ha carried both words. Robert Blacader will decide whether to set the matter aside or to pursue it, and in what court. After that, who knows? If Maister Morison’s being held at his expense,’ he added shrewdly, ‘he’ll want to resolve it sooner than later.’ Voices rose in the yard again, and he turned his head to listen. ‘Walter, sort that, would ye, man?’