The Green Man (19 page)

To my astonishment the information seemed to disturb him.

‘Nonsense!' he exclaimed sharply. ‘What I mean is,' he amended hurriedly, ‘that the saints have too much else to do, are far too busy, to attend to the likes of us.'

I knew he really meant ‘the likes of you', but was too tender of my feelings to say so. (I've never yet encountered a high-born person of either sex who did not think him- or herself worthy of the special attention of every saint known to man.) But I let it go with a smile and a shrug.

‘Besides,' Albany went on with a nervous laugh, ‘I don't want the saints' intervention on your behalf, at least not yet awhile. I've work for you to do. That's why Murdo and Donald and I have been searching for you.'

‘Work, my lord?'

He snorted. ‘Oh, don't put on that innocent, I-don't-know-what-you-mean face with me, Roger. You were present when Donald brought me the news that my servant and friend, Rab Sinclair, has been arrested and is awaiting trial for the murder of his wife. I've already said that I want you to prove him innocent.'

I sighed. ‘My lord, as I understand it, Master Sinclair was caught literally red-handed, still holding the knife, in the presence of his wife's body. It would need a miracle, a total suspension of belief, for anyone to prove your friend innocent.'

Albany looked mulish. ‘He swears he's innocent. That's good enough for me.'

‘Have you seen him?'

‘Not yet. He's immured in one of the prison cells. But I have permission to visit him. You will accompany me.'

‘So you don't yet know what his story is?'

‘No.'

‘He doesn't deny, I take it, that he did indeed kill his wife?'

‘No, of course not. How could he?'

‘So what is his defence?'

‘I've already told you!' Albany sounded irritated. ‘I haven't yet seen him. I'm waiting for you to accompany me. Now!'

The considerate prince and master had disappeared. In his place was an arrogant man used, even in exile, to having his orders and whims obeyed. It reinforced my belief that, however much one may delude oneself, it is impossible ever to know real friendship between commoner and king. (Or, in this particular case, not quite a king, but one who had not altogether given up hope.)

There was no point in postponing the evil day any longer, so I stood back with a courteous gesture – well, I thought it was courteous, but the duke looked highly suspicious of my sudden politeness – and begged him to lead the way.

The prison cells of Edinburgh castle were as noisome as any other prison cells anywhere, probably, in the world. The smell was, as always, the worst thing; an odour compounded of shit and urine and rotting food mixed with sweat and that peculiarly sour stench of bodily fear. We had no difficulty in passing the guards; a scrawled line from one of Albany's half-uncles opened all doors. My own feeling, which I naturally kept to myself, was that each side of the Council table, Scots and English, were glad to be rid of him on any pretext: he had become an embarrassment to them both. The case of Rab Sinclair had proved a godsend; it was rather like tossing a dog a bone or giving a child a toy to play with while the adults made the important decisions. I didn't suppose for a minute that Albany saw it that way, or that any such suspicion crossed his mind, so intent was he on helping his old servant, even to the extent of neglecting his own affairs. Reluctantly, I was forced to admire him for that.

There was the sound of trickling water somewhere in the cell and the walls were furred with lichen and moss whose seeds must have entered one way or another, though it was impossible to tell exactly where. There was no glimmer of daylight to be seen. The gaoler, a grim man with greasy black hair and a wall eye, had provided me with a lantern whose feeble glow nevertheless gave sufficient illumination to make out the figure of a man hunched up in one corner of a bed – if you could have called it that – his manacled feet fastened by a chain to a rusty ring fixed in the wall. As we approached, the wavering beam illuminated a handsome face not yet grown haggard by incarceration, but showing signs of worry and fatigue.

He glanced up and, with a cry of joy, struggled to his feet.

‘My lord! My dearest lord! You're here! You're actually here, in Edinburgh!' He seized Albany's hand and tried to kiss it, but the duke gently pushed him back on to the bed and sat down beside him. I was left standing, holding the lantern, like the lackey they thought I was. The man went on joyfully, ‘I didn't expect you, not without some fighting. I knew, of course, that the Sassenachs were within sight of the city walls, but like everyone else, I suppose, I imagined that there would be resistance.' He added eagerly, ‘Have the Council already affirmed you as king?'

‘No, not yet.' Albany spoke tersely, but then, as his friend would have spoken again, silenced him by continuing, ‘No more of that for now. Your concerns are more pressing. We need to prove you innocent of this charge against you before you are brought to the humiliation of a trial. And here –' he nodded towards me – ‘is someone who is going to help us.'

I would have demurred, but was interrupted by the prisoner.

‘Who is he? How can he possibly help us?'

The tone was arrogant, dismissive even, making it plain that no low-born commoner could possibly be of use to a Sinclair except in a menial capacity. ‘And why are we talking English? Is he English?' was a question uttered with the utmost suspicion. ‘I thought it was Murdo – he's tall enough – but I see now that it isn't.'

‘No, no! His name is Roger and yes, he's English. He's been my bodyguard, assigned to me by the Duke of Gloucester, ever since we left London.'

Master Sinclair was obviously puzzled, a frown creasing his high, wide forehead.

‘Your bodyguard? But surely Donald and Murdo and the others …'

Albany broke in tetchily, ‘Leave that for now. I'll explain later. As I said, your affairs are more pressing than mine, and Roger, here, has a reputation as a solver of mysteries. A fine reputation,' he insisted as the other man would once again have interrupted with a question. ‘He has solved problems for my Cousin Gloucester himself. Now, what higher recommendation could there be than that?' He eased his buttocks where the edge of the two boards that comprised the bed's base cut into him. ‘So, my dear friend, tell us the story. From what we have heard, there seems no doubt that you were found with Aline's body. Rumour goes that you were discovered with the knife in your hand.'

His companion shuddered. ‘Rumour doesn't lie.'

I decided it was time that I took a part in the conversation. I was tired of being ignored and treated as though I were in truth nothing more than a lantern-bearer.

‘Rumour also goes that you claim to be innocent, Master Sinclair. In the circumstances, how is that possible?'

He glanced at me in surprise as though a cockroach had crawled out of the wall and spoken, then looked a query at the duke.

Albany said impatiently, ‘You must trust Roger, Rab. He's no ordinary serving man.'

‘I'm not even a serving man,' I informed him shortly. ‘I'm a chapman by trade and my own master.'

‘A pedlar?' Master Sinclair visibly reeled.

Albany gripped his friend's wrist and gave it a shake.

‘You have to trust us both, Rab. Now, for the sake of sweet heaven and all its saints, tell us why you are innocent. Did someone else kill Aline, is that it? Did you stumble across her body and pick up the knife?'

Master Sinclair shook his head. ‘No. I killed her.' He drew a deep breath, gave me another leery glance and from then on, addressed himself exclusively to the duke. ‘It was self-defence,' he said. ‘I thought she was going to kill me.'

‘Aline?' Albany was frankly incredulous. ‘Rab, she adored you. You adored one another. And she was one of the gentlest creatures alive.'

Master Sinclair made a wry mouth. ‘That's what everyone thought. It's what I thought myself. Oh, you're right about one thing. I adored her. From the first moment I saw her I thought her the most perfect woman I'd ever met. But there!' he heaved a deep sigh. ‘Better men than I have been deceived by a beautiful face.'

‘But … But why, by all that's holy, should she want you dead?'

The other man grimaced. ‘Surely that's not difficult to fathom, my lord. It might have been greed for my fortune, but it wasn't that …'

‘I should hope not,' Albany interrupted. ‘You were the most generous husband alive. I have never seen another woman so bedecked with tokens of her husband's affection than Aline was. You gave her everything her heart desired.'

Again came that rueful twist of the lips. ‘Not everything, my lord. You forget, I am twelve years older than she is – was – and therefore perhaps not always as virile as she would have wished.'

‘Pooh! What nonsense! Why, I've known you satisfy eight or nine whores in the Golden Horn in a single evening. Come, come, man! In our younger days, you were known as the biggest ram in Edinburgh. You can't have changed that much. I've only been away three years.'

‘Long enough, my lord. Three years can take their toll on even the most virile of us. But no, I must admit I wasn't conscious of neglecting Aline. Not in that way. Not in any way, if it comes to that. If anything, I would have said I was even more attentive since giving up my wilder habits and settling down as a sober married man.'

Albany picked his nose reflectively, then wiped his finger on his purple velvet sleeve.

‘Are you saying,' he asked, but on a note of disbelief, ‘that there was another man? That Aline had taken a lover?' Master Sinclair nodded his head. ‘Then who was he, for heaven's sake?'

‘Now that I'm afraid I do not know.'

I decided it was time to make my voice heard again, so I asked the obvious question before Albany had time to do so.

‘Then how do you know that what you're claiming is the truth?'

‘Besides,' the duke chimed in, suddenly shifting and scratching as something nasty in the bed's scanty straw mattress bit him, ‘if it's the truth, and Aline was indeed cuckolding you with someone else, no jury in the country would convict you. For Christ's sweet sake, Rab, if this is what you really think, you must have some idea of who it was.'

The man beside him gave a sob. ‘That's the trouble, I don't. She never mentioned him by name.'

‘Mentioned him?' Albany was incredulous. ‘Do you mean to say that Aline – Aline of all women – was brazen enough to boast to you that she was bedding with a lover? No, no, my dear friend! I find that very hard to believe.'

Rab Sinclair moved impatiently, jangling the chain that shackled him to the wall.

‘No, of course she didn't! What woman in her right senses would?' He saw Albany's eyebrows lift in hauteur and immediately apologized. ‘Forgive me, my dear lord, for speaking so sharply. A very few days in this place makes a man forget his manners.' The duke nodded understandingly and signed to him to continue, which he did after a moment to draw breath. ‘No, no! Aline gave me no indication by either look or word or deed that she loved me any the less. Looking back, I can acknowledge that it was the most perfect performance. I suspected nothing – nothing, that is, until, quite by chance, I discovered the book.'

‘What book?' Albany and I asked almost in chorus.

‘Some leaves of parchment with a couple of holes skewered through each page and the lot bound together with ribbon. Scarlet ribbon,' Master Sinclair added, as though the colour had some relevance (which I suppose it might have done in his eyes).

‘So? What of this … this book, as you call it?' Albany was growing a trifle impatient as more and more uninvited guests decided to sample the royal blood. I could feel them hopping over my own skin as I tried to shift the little beasts with a vigorous scratch. Master Sinclair seemed indifferent to the creatures' bite.

He went on, ‘The leaves were covered in Aline's writing, which I recognized at once. She had a very small and delicate hand, as though a spider had walked across the page.'

‘And?' I asked with an impatience that outstripped Albany's, as Rab Sinclair seemed inclined to dwell with a lingering fondness on his wife's fine script. My belly was reminding me it must be well past ten o'clock and that it was empty. It was a thought that also seemed to have occurred to the duke as he patted his stomach, belched up some wind and remarked that it was a long time since breakfast at the abbey.

Master Sinclair apologized once more; to Albany, of course, not to me. So I urged again, ‘What had Mistress Sinclair written? Are we permitted to know?'

‘Naturally you're permitted to know! It's the whole point of the story.' I had at last managed to capture his attention and he had actually turned his head and spoken directly to me.

‘Well?'

By this time my legs were aching and, my eyes having become adjusted to the gloom, I noticed a small, three-legged stool in another corner of the cell, so I dragged it forward and sat myself down. It was low for my height and my knees were uncomfortably close to my chin, but at least it removed the weight from my feet. Albany regarded me thoughtfully, but made no remark, silencing his friend, who was goggling at me as though I had taken leave of my senses, with a quick motion of his hand.

‘Roger is privileged,' he murmured in explanation. ‘Pray proceed, Rab. What secrets did this folio of Aline's contain? Are we to understand that it mentioned this lover of hers?'

‘Oh, it mentioned him all right, on every page.' The tone was acid. ‘Their meetings, their kisses, their … their couplings. Yes, you may well look amazed, my lord. You would have said, as I would, that Aline was the most modest woman alive. Do you know that I have never been permitted to see her naked, not once in all the years we were married? Even in bed she insisted on never removing her night rail. And the bedchamber always had to be as dark as pitch.'