‘Will you stay in Scotland now?’ he asked.
Maistre Pierre turned his head to meet his eyes. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I wondered,’ said Gil deliberately, ‘if your task was now over.’
The mason considered him for a short time, then grinned without humour.
‘Well, I liked you for Alys because your mind is at least as good as hers, so I should not be surprised. No, my task is not over, Gilbert. That was only a part of it.’
‘So you remain in Scotland.’
‘I do.’
‘Good,’ said Gil lightly.
‘What brought it to your notice? I suppose I have been clumsy.’
‘I’ve been in the church at Brinay. While I was in Paris I had a friend came from near there.’
‘Now that I would never have expected. I have not, as you may have guessed.’
‘I wondered,’ said Gil. ‘My friend took me down to his father’s home for a week’s hunting one spring, and we went over to look at the church.’
‘Ah,’ said Maistre Pierre.
‘It’s a tiny building, with a truly astonishing set of wall-paintings,’ Gil went on, ‘well worth the ride over there, but not a pillar to its name.’
‘So naturally you began to pay attention to such remarks.’
‘The more so as de Brinay himself didn’t correct you.’
The litter swayed on. Behind them, the escort had moved on to drinking songs. Their repertoire seemed to be considerable.
‘I am able to tell you very little,’ said Maistre Pierre at length. ‘The facts are not mine to reveal.’
‘That doesn’t concern me,’ said Gil. ‘You wouldn’t reveal the inmost secrets of the mason’s craft either.’ They looked at each other again. A small smile flickered in the depths of the mason’s untrimmed beard, the first time Gil had ever seen that trait of Alys’s in him. ‘No, what I would like is an assurance that you do not act to the detriment of my country.’
The litter lurched as one of the horses put its foot in a rut. Its passenger exclaimed sharply. Gil put a quick hand to the roof of the structure, but the animal recovered, and the litter swayed on.
‘At present,’ said Maistre Pierre after a little, ‘I am not acting, nor am I asked to act, to the detriment or danger of Scotland. France is an ally of Scotland,’ he pointed out.
‘But you aren’t acting for France,’ said Gil.
‘I am not acting against your country, Gilbert. I will swear it on anything you choose.’
‘Your word will do me.’ Gil studied his friend a moment longer, then reached down, and they shook hands. ‘What does it do to Alys’s status?’
‘Nothing. I was lawfully wedded to her mother, Christ assoil her, and can you doubt that she is my daughter?’
‘No,’ admitted Gil, and grinned again, thinking of the strong resemblance between the two. ‘Not that it would trouble me,’ he added, ‘but there are legal considerations.’ He looked about him. ‘Have we passed Carntyne already? We must be less than two miles from home.’
Kate Cunningham, sitting in the arbour in her uncle’s garden where it seemed to her it had all begun, stared out over the lower town and thought bleakly of her future.
There was really, she thought, very little about it that was positive. Less than three weeks since, on the morning after her failed petition to St Mungo, Alys had said to her, What has changed? and she had said, All my hopes are away. In taking brief charge of Augie Morison’s house and children, she had found first distraction and then, like green shoots in the snow, a new hope. But the buds, it seemed, were frost-bitten and would not flower. What a literary metaphor, she thought bitterly. Worthy of Augie Morison himself. Better with Chaucer: Love hath my name ystrike out of his sclat.
The last good moment she could think of had been when the King’s procession paused outside Morison’s Yard, on its way out of Glasgow on the Sunday morning, the day after Augie — after Maister Morison had been freed. Alerted by a servant in blue velvet, the entire household had been out at the gate, herself and Alys on either side of Morison, the men around them, Nan and Babb with the little girls at the back of the group. The King, glowing in blue satin and black velvet, his chestnut hair combed down over his shoulders, a gold chain with a sapphire jewel gleaming on his chest, had halted his dappled horse as everyone round Kate bent the knee.
‘Maister Morison,’ he had said. ‘I hope you found all in order when you got home.’
‘Y-yes, sir,’ managed Morison, straightening up, and he stepped forward in response to the King’s beckoning hand.
‘You lie, maister, you lie,’ said James in great good humour. ‘You mind, I’ve had a game of caich with Maister Cunningham this morning. I’ve heard about last night’s inbreak, just as you got to your own gates. Two of my lord St Johns’ men,’ he said, audible to all the neighbours, ‘taken in the act of housebreaking by the women of the household. I’ve thanked Maister Cunningham already, and I thank you now, maister, for your help in righting more than one great wrong these last few days.’
Morison bowed and stammered inarticulately. James drew the gold chain with its sapphire over his head and leaned gracefully down from the saddle. He must have practised that, thought Kate, watching.
‘A small token,’ said the King, setting the chain about Morison’s neck. As Augie, extinguished with amazement, backed away, James looked beyond him and called Kate and Alys forward.
Kate could hardly remember what he had said first, except for a teasing remark about Alys’s wisdom which had sent the younger girl’s chin up. There had been an exchange of sorts, and then the King had said seriously, ‘Scotland needs folk wi courage and a love of justice, ladies, and if the women of Scotland have such attributes as well as her men, we’ll breed sturdier sons to defend this realm. I’m proud to have such as you among my subjects.’
Rhetoric, thought Kate, is a royal study.
‘Now, I hope you’ll divide this among the folk of the household,’ he tossed a fat purse to Morison, who caught it at the last moment as his men grinned hopefully, ‘and here’s another wee token for the two of you ladies and all.’
Then there had been a heavy purse of red velvet in her hands, she had bowed her head, Alys was curtsying to the ground with another such purse clasped in the crook of her arm. The King’s voice above her head bade them Good day, his horse wheeled and set off down the High Street, and the procession clattered after it.
There was a hundred merks in the red velvet purse. Apart from the heap of coin which Morison and Maister Mason had counted on the majolica plate across the grass here, it was more money than Kate had seen together since her father’s death. If she had ever had any prospects of marriage, it would make a tocher, she thought. Or maybe she could buy a bit of land with it, rent it out, get some income that way. What point was there? she thought wearily.
‘Are you ready, my doo?’ said Babb now at her elbow.
‘Ready?’
‘We’re to go down the hill. Maister Mason cam home yesternight — ’
‘I know that,’ she said impatiently.
‘And we’re all bidden to his house the day. Maister Gil told you yestreen, for I heard him.’
‘So he did,’ she said. He had also told her, grinning like an ape, that he would be able to set a date for his wedding. She had heard the news from Alys already, and listened to her for three days while he was away thinking aloud about her plans; she had smiled, at both of them, and said the right things.
‘Come on, lassie, Maister David’s waiting,’ said Babb, with rough tenderness. ‘Do you good to get out. Mistress Mason’s company’s no that bad. Come on,’ she coaxed.
‘I saw Mistress Mason yesterday,’ said Kate. But she allowed Babb to hoist her upright, accepted her crutches, and clumped into the stable-yard where her mule waited for her. He turned as he heard her approach, and whuffled at her, nuzzling hopefully at her hand when she stroked his face.