Fate and Fortune

by Shirley McKay

  The Hanging Man

  Hew found Richard at the tolbooth, where he broke the news. Richard listened gravely. ‘Damn the burgh council! They have taken all the papers? And your father’s too?’

  ‘Aye, and all the formes and letter. They have closed the press.’

  ‘Then we must use what influence we have to bring the matter to a close.’

  ‘It is good of you,’ Hew answered, gratefully.

  ‘Not at all. Your interests are mine,’ Richard promised.

  They found the council clerk at his office in St Giles. Richard quizzed him for a moment, and then groaned and turned to Hew. ‘The burgh court is still sitting upstairs; it cannot help our case if we burst in. The bad news is it was your old friend Wishart who brought in the manuscript. He is ever over-zealous, and he always goes a step too far. Though the clerk will go to fetch him, he will doubtless make us wait. He will enjoy the little power that he has over us.’ He sighed. ‘I have scant patience with these councillors. And yet I fear we must allow their petty rule, and swallow it. God did not make me well for such humility.’

  ‘This is kind; you need not wait,’ Hew said apologetically.

  ‘Not at all. I will not leave you in their thrall. If we must squirm, then we shall squirm together,’ his friend insisted.

  Wishart made them wait for the best part of an hour before he came to meet them, smiling unctuously. ‘What business do you have, sirs, with the burgh council?’

  ‘Good sir,’ Richard answered smoothly, ‘we are come on behalf of the printer Christian Hall, whose press you have impounded. We beg to ask, upon what charge?’

  ‘There is no charge,’ the bailie said, ‘as yet. The press is under investigation, for illicit printing. If we find evidence of such, and a charge is brought, you will be informed.’

  ‘You have taken, sir, among the matter of her press, a manuscript that belongs to my friend here. Since it is his property, and not that of Christian Hall, I ask that you return it.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I do recall,’ the bailie smiled unpleasantly, ‘that this is your wild prentis lad, the erstwhile vagabond. Rest assured your manuscript is in safe hands. It will be examined by the censor, and when he is assured that it has nothing to offend, it will be returned to you.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Richard said crossly. ‘The work is a legal textbook; it contains nothing untoward. If the court has doubts, then I suggest that you release the manuscript to me, since I am better qualified than any in your council to examine its contents, and assess whether or not there is malice in them.’

  ‘That may well be, sir, but the fact is,’ said the bailie firmly, ‘this is a matter for our jurisdiction, not for yours. These effects will remain here until they are examined, when, if they are harmless, they will be returned to Christian Hall, whence they were removed. If they prove malignant, sir, and you wish to represent her, then, in due course, you will hear from us.’

  ‘But what is it you are looking for?’ asked Hew.

  ‘That I am not at liberty to tell you. You may have no fear, sir, if, in truth, there is nothing to offend there. But we are informed that something foul has issued from the press and we are bound to follow up the information.’

  ‘Your information was malicious, then, and I must doubt its source,’ Hew complained.

  ‘As to that, our source was impeccable,’ Wishart answered loftily.

  ‘And, I doubt, you are not free to divulge it,’ Richard sneered.

  ‘On the contrary. Because it was impeccable, and made most frank and freely, I can see no reason why it should not be disclosed. The complaint was made by the minister of the kirk of St Giles, Walter Balcanquall. So you will understand why we have to take it seriously.’

  ‘The minister! Then we must go to him, Richard, and demand to know what he meant by it,’ Hew exclaimed.

  Richard frowned. ‘Stay,’ he advised, placing a hand on Hew’s arm. ‘This puts a different complexion on things.

  ‘Step aside a moment,’ he said softly. ‘This may be more serious than I thought. Walter Balcanquall is an honest man, who is not fearful of controversy. He would not bring this charge without due cause. We must move more cautiously. Let me speak with him on Sunday, after kirk, and meantime wait to see what transpires. Take a moment to reflect. I know the man, Hew. He would not make an accusation out of malice.’

  ‘Then he has made a mistake,’ Hew answered hotly.

  ‘That is very likely. Nonetheless, these are dangerous waters. Therefore let us be circumspect, and not jump in headlong. It is likely, while we wait, the press will be restored, and we will have no cause to trouble Balcanquall. I must confess I do not like this, Hew.’

  ‘Do not make your noises in our court,’ the bailie interrupted smugly, ‘and we may not have to trouble you in yours. The sooner you are gone, sir, the sooner we may see to Christian Hall.’

  Richard bowed stiffly. ‘I am disappointed, that you do not see fit to return my friend’s possession to him.’

  ‘We shall take good care of it. And if the work is blameless, he shall have it in due course. And if, of course, it isn’t, he shall share the blame,’ the bailie winked, ‘since he has made a claim to it.’

  ‘Let us come away now,’ Richard muttered, ‘for I fear we do more harm than good. ‘Does it not enrage you, Hew?’ he demanded, in a sudden show of temper, from the safety of the street, ‘that he should have such power? That little man sits swaddled in his own smug suit of lard. No sooner had you come within the city than he had you thrown in gaol, and took away your liberty. Now he lays his greasy hands on Matthew’s book. Dearly, I should like to wrench it from him.’

  ‘To speak truth, I care less for the book than for the effect on Christian’s business,’ Hew replied more reasonably.

  ‘Aye, we must secure the press,’ Richard agreed. ‘But since you are my friend, and in some sense my dependant, then my first concern is for you. There was nothing, I suppose, in Matthew’s book to do you harm?’

  ‘Not that I know. Though most of it I have not read,’ admitted Hew. ‘And part of it is damaged still. I cannot think the censor will make much of it.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Then we must wait, and hope that you are right. No, we shall not wait. There must be something more. I will not let that man defeat us. I will speak to the provost, and look to a higher authority,’ he promised.

  It appeared, against all odds, that Richard’s petition to the provost had some influence, for the following day, all Christian’s possessions were returned to her, together with Hew’s manuscript, and her licence to print was restored. ‘But why?’ she asked the bailies, baffled, and was told they had not found what they were looking for. ‘And what was that?’ she asked in vain. The answer came when they went next to kirk, from Walter Balcanquall.

  The kirk was a great leveller, at least upon the surface; though it was a place where paupers mixed with kings, the rich had stools and settles in the choir while the poor had to stand and huddle in the dust, crowded at the back or on the floor. There were sermons daily in the great kirk of St Giles, but the Sunday service was the main attraction, looked forward to by many through the week. The reformers had partitioned off the church, dividing it in sections, and there were several ministers straining to be heard, proclaiming doom from different sides and slants. Among them was the tolbooth kirk, where malefactors were exposed on Sundays; and members of the great kirk often strayed to see them; given choice of sermon, they attended both. Parts of the church had been pressed into secular use, as council rooms and meeting places, with a second thieves’ hole underneath an aisle, closer to the graveyard than to God. In the glory days before the reformation the high altar of the kirk had been the haunt of money changers; now this landmark had been swept away and they conducted business at the regent Moray’s tomb, and the far aisles rang with the chink of passing coins. The cramers, for their part, had continued to expand, and clung like barnacles to all the outer reaches of the walls. It would be hard to conce
ive of a part of human life that was not represented there, the traffic of the world, from birth to death, and if there was no actual copulation in the kirk, it was amply represented in the text. For since the great days of John Knox, now mouldering peaceful in St Giles’ kirkyard, the congregations had enjoyed a blistering succession of attacks. The present incumbent, Walter Balcanquall, could be relied upon to carry on the form. He did not spare the people or their sins the full and scathing censure of a scornful God. Nor did he balk at touching on controversy, or fear the wrath of council or of king. His sermons were looked forward to, with hope and trepidation, as the thrilling climax to a dreary week.

  Hew took his place among the crowd, seated between Richard and the children, on the family settle near the front. The service began with a psalm and a sequence of readings that warmed a restless audience up for the main event. Finally, when all was calm, and the coughs and sneezing done with, Walter Balcanquall appeared. Balcanquall was a man of great authority, and a popular preacher. He had the presence to wait until the audience were entirely still before he deigned to speak, beginning only then in a low and quiet voice, which rose to a crescendo, once they were absorbed. He could lull or stir a crowd of thousands, at the height of his powers. Now, as the chamber hushed, he began to speak.

  ‘Some of you no doubt recall that I spoke to you four months ago of the depravities and evils in our royal court.’ Balcanquall paused for a moment, looking round, as though to ascertain the presence of the king, and Hew strained his neck towards the royal platform, but the box was empty; James was absent at the abbey kirk at Holyrood. The minister gave a sigh, though whether of disappointment or relief was hard to tell. He had his congregation with him, from his mention of the court. A quiver of anticipation flickered round the kirk.

  ‘For which,’ the minister went on, into the heady silence, ‘l was called to answer to the Privy Council. And as you will know, I made good my account, and had the full support there of the kirk assembly, as was right and just. For I was not afeared to speak the truth. I spoke to you of whoredom and adultery, and of the wicked converse of the French at court, that led to that disease so aptly called the French pox, or the morbus gallicus, that is the outward marker of a filthie soul.’

  From the corner of his eye, Hew saw Richard smile to Eleanor, who was glancing somewhat anxiously at Grace. Roger, for his part, was grinning broadly, though he had grumbled roundly as they left the house. Hew could feel the crowd around him, taut with expectation, hushed in the fear that they might miss a word.

  ‘And that disease, I telt ye,’ Balcanquall was thundering, ‘was rife throughout the Canongate, and in the precincts of Holyrood house. Now, I have to tell ye, that pernicious evil creeps upon the high town, and its filth is spread to our own houses. And did I not warn ye, that unless we rid ourselves of this filth, and unless we repent, and make clean the king’s house, then all of us are likely to be damned? And for that cause, I was not afeared to stand up here before ye and decrie the king his evil, for the vanity and licence that pollutes the royal house. And I am not afeared to say to ye again, the wickedness that taints that house continues still. For here, in my hands, I have the proof of it, a set of verses foul enough to make ye blush, yet part of which, I read to you, as a warning of the muck that issues still from that unhappy court. It is a poem called Morbus Gallicus, or otherwise, The French Disease, that begins in wanton pleasure, ending in destruction, of the body and the soul.’

  Balcanquall unfurled his paper, his hands shaking with emotion, and made low his voice again as he began to read:

  ‘The French Monsieur at court

  Is of a waggish sort

  That likes to prank and sport

  And to prick and quibble with his tongue

  That all the girls and boys

  Who care for tinselled toys

  May learn his antic ploys

  While they are young.

  ‘The French Monsieur has lips of gold

  For framing secrets sweet and bold

  Before bright lassies grow too old

  He teaches them their part.

  Yet they won’t care for aught

  His silver tongue has bought

  When the lessons he has taught

  They ken by heart.

  ‘The French Monsieur with all his charm

  That sounds no warning or alarm

  Can surely mean no lasting harm

  To all those shining girls and boys?

  And so I cannot say

  Why at the close of day

  The brave lads leave their play

  And the lasses fall to weeping at the tinsel of their toys.’

  This reading was so rare and provocative a treat that the people took a moment to digest it. They waited patiently in hope of explication. Balcanquall let the silence drift a full two minutes before he began again. ‘Aye, ye are speechless, are you not, in the face of such depravity? Now this has come from that same court, and lest ye did not follow it, I will make it plain to you.’

  At Richard’s side, Hew saw Eleanor send up a silent prayer that he would not.

  ‘Tinsel, as you know, is the utter devastation, of a property, and more than that, in sight of God, it is damnation, or the devastation of the soul. Now I read this as a warning to ye all, where these worldly vanities will take ye, if ye do not keep your houses clean; then set aside your longings and your lusts, your filthy toys and vanities, your cravings for embroidered cloths and costly foreign fripperies, your wasted hours at dice and gaming, cards and other sports, your long nights at the tavern, when ye ought to be at prayer; Or else your own destruction soon awaits ye, here, and hereafter, body and soul.’

  The congregation gave a great, collective sigh, letting out its breath, and proving the sermon a success. This was grand entertainment, for most were barely coloured by this shame that shone its full harsh glare upon their king.

  Richard leant towards Hew. ‘Are we to infer, those verses came from Christian’s shop?’ he murmured.

  Hew nodded dumbly.

  ‘Then let me speak to Balcanquall, and find out what he knows. Have no fear,’ Richard promised, ‘I will be discreet.’

  As he made his way out through the crowd, Hew looked for Christian. He found her in the doorway, looking pale and anxious. She held William by the hand.

  ‘That was Catherine’s poem,’ she whispered.

  ‘I guessed,’ Hew answered grimly. ‘Now we know what they were looking for.’

  ‘Thank God, we left no trace of it.’

  ‘Thanks rather, to your prescience. I’m sorry that I doubted it,’ admitted Hew. ‘What we must know is how this came to Balcanquall. Was it one of Catherine’s copies, or the missing proof?’

  ‘We cannot ask him where he got them, without owning that we knew about the poems,’ Christian answered fearfully.

  ‘Richard has gone to talk to Balcanquall. He will be both subtle and discreet. Do you think it possible that Catherine sent the poems herself? She is perverse enough to do it, don’t you think?’

  Christian shook her head. ‘She would not put herself at such a risk. Besides, I do not think that Catherine would betray us, by giving out our name. For all that she pretends, she has a good and faithful heart.’

  ‘You do not know how glad I am to hear you say that,’ Hew told her earnestly.

  Christian flushed unhappily. ‘We must go home,’ she murmured. ‘William finds the sermons tedious and long.’ The little boy stood straining at her hand, like a terrier on the leash.

  Hew caught up with Richard in the street. He had already despatched his wife and children, and was making his way cautiously down towards the netherbow. ‘I am going to the caichpule,’ he confided. ‘Would you like to come?’

  ‘I promised Meg that I would call in at the west port after kirk, to dine with her and Giles,’ Hew excused himself. ‘Though there is little to be had there in the way of dinner.’

  ‘Well and good – another time. I had a word with Balcan
quall, and asked him how he came by Lady Catherine’s verse. It turns out that her poems were sent to him, unsigned, in a letter that decried the printer, Christian Hall. It was this that he showed to the council, that caused them to shut down the press. He meant no malice to the printer, but he felt it was his duty. He was relieved to hear the council found no proofs.’

  ‘For sure, they did not, for Balcanquall had them,’ Hew replied thoughtfully. ‘Who told you it was Catherine’s poem? I do not think I mentioned it.’

  Richard looked taken aback. ‘Well, I suppose Balcanquall.’

  ‘And yet you said the verses were unsigned.’

  ‘Ah, you have mistaken me. The letter was not signed. Balcanquall does not know who sent it. But the poet and the printer were both named. In truth, the lady Catherine and her predilections are well known to anyone with influence at court.’

  ‘Then Catherine too may be at risk,’ Hew frowned.

  ‘I fear that may be possible. Though Catherine Douglas is a favourite of the king, she has few other friends at court. It is possible that someone there has done this mischief to her.’

  ‘Is that likely,’ Hew objected, ‘when, exposing her, they do more damage to themselves?’

  ‘You are a little animated, Hew.’ Richard looked amused. ‘Do I detect a softness now for Lady Catherine Douglas? Is she another of your conquests? Be warned, she will devour you.’

  ‘Catherine is a friend. The world acquits her badly. And her wild demeanour is a brave defence,’ Hew replied abruptly.