Free The Nicholas Feast by Pat McIntosh Page A

dearest sons.’
    ‘That will sound well in the letter to his family’ Gil looked from face to face. ‘Was he really that able? The impression I had, seeing him today, was of someone a little too clever for his own good.’
    A flicker of something like agreement crossed Maister Doby’s expression, but the Dean said, ‘How can one be too clever?’
    ‘What are the facts, then?’ said Gil. ‘Who was he? Was he an Ayrshire man, as the surname suggests?’
    ‘He was a bastard,’ said David Gray suddenly and ambiguously.
    ‘His mother, it seems, is an Ayrshire lady now married to another,’ said the Dean, ‘and his father is a kinsman of Lord Montgomery.’
    ‘Supported by the Montgomerys? In their favour?’
    ‘Yes,’ said the Dean, as if the word tasted bad. ‘And well supported.’
    ‘A rich bastard,’ qualified Maister Gray. He still seemed dazed, like a man who can hardly believe what fortune has brought to him. Good fortune or bad? Gil wondered.
    ‘Certainly there has been no shortage of drinksilver,’ agreed the Principal.
    ‘What, actual silver?’ said Gil in surprise. ‘Not meal or salt fish like the rest of us?’
    ‘Oh, that as well,’ said the Dean. ‘But he has always seemed to have coin.’
    ‘And more of it lately,’ said Maister Doby in thoughtful tones.
    ‘Was he liked? Who were his friends?’
    There was another of those pauses.
    ‘He had no particular friends, I thought,’ said the Principal with reluctance. ‘When he was a bejant he roomed with his kinsman Robert, and Ralph Gibson, and they were mentored by Lawrence Livingstone and his friends, but I do not think he has –’
    ‘What friends are those?’ Gil asked. ‘Of the boy Livingstone, I mean.’
    ‘Ninian Boyd and Michael Douglas,’ said the Principal. ‘Ninian played Diligence very well, I thought. I wish he knew the meaning of the word in his studies.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Gil. ‘Michael must be my godfather’s youngest. I thought I knew that jaw. A Livingstone, a Boyd, a Douglas – what a conspiracy!’
    ‘Indeed, I do not think that can be right, Gilbert,’ said the Principal seriously.
    ‘William spends – spent time with Robert Montgomery,’ the Dean interposed, ‘and with Ralph Gibson, poor creature. Either of these may tell you more than his teachers.’
    ‘Did he still share a chamber with them?’ Gil asked.
    ‘He did not,’ said Maister Doby, shaking his head. ‘Sooner than share his good fortune with them, whatever its source, he has withdrawn from his friends this year. He has a room here in the Outer Close. John Shaw assures me all is paid for.’
    ‘And yet his legitimate kinsman has a shared chamber in the older part of the building,’ said Gil.
    ‘I told you he was a bastard,’ said David Gray. Gil looked at him, and wondered if he was sober. Certainly his narrow face was flushed, the colour contrasting unbecomingly with the red hood still rolled down about his neck.
    ‘Where did the money come from?’ asked Maistre Pierre.
    ‘From his home, I suppose,’ said the Principal. ‘He had no benefice or prebend as yet. Where else would he get money?’
    ‘Was there money on him?’ asked Maister Crawford. ‘Maybe he was robbed.’
    ‘By a fellow student?’ said the Principal, shocked. ‘Surely not!’
    ‘Don’t be daft, John. One of the servants, maybe, or some passing –’
    ‘It was hardly a passing robber,’ said the Dean, ‘that left him locked in the coalhouse. And I hope our servants are more conscious of the good of the college than –’ He stopped, apparently unwilling to finish the sentence.
    ‘Do you wish to ask us anything else,’ demanded Maister Crawford, ‘or can we get on with our own business?’
    ‘I have two further questions,’ Gil admitted. ‘In the first place, when William rose at the Faculty meeting –’
    ‘I have no idea,’ said the Dean firmly. ‘I know neither what prompted him to speak nor what the matters were of which he