The Wayward Alliance by J R Tomlin

Author:J R Tomlin [Tomlin, J R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Albannach Publishing

Law knew he was too easy to find at his own room or the inn below, so he walked three blocks to the nearest tavern. The air was thick with peat smoke and the smell of stale ale. He tried to convince Cormac that he should return to perform at Cullen’s tavern as usual, but the minstrel gave him a stubborn look, so they settled in at a table. Law pushed back his hood and ran his hand to push the blond, dripping strands of hair out of his eyes. Cormac chattered about Perth and his adventures as a minstrel. Law listened, smiling at the young man’s cheerful tales. Let the lad talk, he thought, because his stories were better than thinking about battles and bloody death. But he could only put off trying to decipher the letter so long, and at last, he pulled it out to bend over the faded lettering. Word by word, he tried to work it out though at least half the words were ones that he had no clue of. But there were some he did know, “sub simulacrum Dominae Nostrae …” he understood to mean under the statue of Our Lady and “ecclesiam Sancti Johannis Baptiste in paradiso…” he was fairly sure meant in the garden of the Kirk of Saint John the Baptist.

His head ached with the effort of remembering his tutoring, and his eyes burned from straining in the smoky air, but it was a clue and the only clue he had, so he tucked the letter back into his doublet. “Under the statue of Our Lady,” he pondered. After a few hours of nursing mugs of yeasty ale, Law ordered two bowls of bean gruel that at least filled their bellies.

“I suppose you ken no Latin, Cormac?” Law said thoughtfully.

Cormac looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “And who would teach a minstrel his Latin?” But the youngster watched Law as he bent over the letter, and Law just shook his head.

When no more sunlight came in through the boards of the shutters, Law pushed back his chair and stood up. “Playing your clàrsach is safer, Cormac.”

“Aye. But following you is more exciting.”

Law huffed. “If you hang with me, it’s your own fault.”

“Where are we going?” Cormac asked, walking beside Law into the street.

Law pulled his cloak around him. There was a smell of snow in the air, and the cold damp air made his bruised jaw ache. “We’re going to the Kirk of St. John.”

“At this hour?”

“Aye. Is it ever too late to pay a visit to the Blessed Virgin?”

Cormac blinked. “I suppose not.”

As they walked, bits of moonlight broke through the clouds to reflect on the icy cobbles. The sharp wind tugged at Law’s cloak. He kept close to the buildings to stay out of sight in the silent street. It only took ten minutes to reach the dark, towering bulk of the Kirk of St. John. He led Cormac past the high, carved front doors

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