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paused, watching the Prior. His kinsman bent his head so that the shadow of his cowl hid his face.
    ‘Aye, you must. I see that.’
    ‘And yourself, sir.’ Another pause. ‘Perhaps we could begin,’ he pursued carefully, ‘by discussing Pollock himself. How long had he been lodged here? Was he a valued guest? Did he take a part in the life of the community?’
    ‘All our guests are valued,’ Boyd reproved. Gil waited. The Prior seated himself, and said at length, ‘His corrody originated from the late King – from James Third. I suppose it was erected in ’82 or thereby, to a good value.’
    ‘Of which I believe he calculated every penny that was spent on him,’ Gil said.
    ‘Every farthing,’ the Prior corrected, without expression. ‘The man took some part in our daily life, by walking about and talking to the servants at their work, by sitting in his small garden in fine weather, by hearing Mass daily and also some of the Office, but …’ He considered his next words and finally said, ‘I did not feel that he immersed himself in our spiritual observance as a man should do at the end of his life.’
    ‘Was he liked by the community?’ Gil asked. ‘Did the servants like him?’
    ‘I suggest you ask them.’
    ‘Thank you, sir, I will do that. Now, the novice who is confined.’ His kinsman looked directly at him, and then away. What is going on here, Gil wondered. ‘I understand he confessed at Chapter of Faults. When was that?’
    ‘Andrew Rattray.’ The Prior studied his folded hands. ‘A very promising novice, indeed one of the most promising in many years.’ He sighed. ‘On the day after the discovery, when I had already consulted with Bishop Brown and he had written to Archbishop Blacader, we held a Chapter of Faults as is our custom. I had noticed, indeed, that Brother Andrew was in some distress at my lecture the previous afternoon, but in my abstraction did not question him. Therefore it was a shock to me as well as to the rest of our brothers when he knelt before us and asked our forgiveness for causing the vanishing away of our corrodian.’
    ‘In so many words?’
    ‘In so many words. His Latin is excellent. However, when I questioned him, first in Chapter and later in private, he could give me no reasoned narrative of how he had done this deed, but only seemed convinced he was instrumental. I judged it best to confine him for prayer and reflection, to see if he might come to some sensible conclusion, but none has so far emerged, though he remains persuaded of his guilt. I have prayed with him daily myself.’ The Prior contemplated his hands a little longer. ‘I should find it very hard to believe the young man capable of witchcraft,’ he said at last.
    There was a bell ringing, urgently, clanging and clashing, and the dog was barking. He had slept in his shirt. Why had he slept in his shirt? Gil struggled up out of sleep into an unfamiliar place, Alys beside him up on her elbow, Jennet across the room exclaiming in fright. Through the dog’s noise he could hear shouting, a word which spurred him into action.
    ‘Fire,’ he said, flinging back the clothes, groping for his outer garments. ‘There’s fire in the convent. I must go and help.’
    ‘Mercy on us, we’ll be burned in our beds!’ said Jennet. Alys straightened the bedclothes and swung her legs out of bed, feeling for the tinder box on the stool beside her. When she had a light she went to the chamber door and peered out.
    ‘There is nothing to see on this side of the building,’ she reported. ‘The fire is in the convent itself, maybe? Socrates, quiet!’
    ‘What is it, mem?’ Nory’s voice. Gil dragged on the leather jerkin he had ridden in and stepped into his boots.
    ‘Fire somewhere in the convent,’ he called, and bent to buckle the straps. ‘You men rouse yourselves, we can lend a hand.’
    Crossing the outer chamber he ordered the dog to stay and unbarred the guest-hall door. The night was cloudy,