Friend & Foe by Shirley McKay Read Free Book Online

fish days, wattir-kaill, thin cabbage soup, with sops. He looked forward through the morning to his share of kitchen – the scraps of meat or cheese sent up to spice the dish – which halfway through the dinner hour was certain to run out.
    ‘It is too much to be hoped for,’ he continued peevishly, ‘that Andrew Melville wad have thought to give a dennar for his guests.’
    ‘Our funds are sorely stretched,’ the professor of Greek testament responded to the slur, which Bartie had spat out, above and beyond the discretion of his handkerchief.
    Hew said, ‘Whisht, he’s here.’
    The master made an entrance through the nether door, and came to take his stand behind a small lettrin, raised up from the floor. His appearance brought a murmur of excitement to the crowd, for people came from far and wide to hear the great man speak. Giles Locke was dismissive: ‘Half of them are spies.’ Yet there could be no doubt he had a faithful following. There was scuffling at his back, where the students vied for space, and he struggled to move forward through their solid flanks. Melville was a small man, with the slight build of the scholar who was sickly as a child, and on this bright May morning he did not look not well; a pallor and a light sweat played upon his lips. Bartie saw it too, for he murmured in Hew’s ear, ‘There goes a man who bears upon his shoulders the sad weight of the world, or has a careful conscience, think you not?’
    The mathematician’s pale blue eyes were keen and penetrating through their watery film; often, there was clear sharp light implicit in the gloom. Bartie Groat was more perceptive than his snuffling countenance implied. ‘Tis very like that some malignant fever wreaks its work in him. Such sickness, so beginning, is quick tospread perniciously. Observe; see how he sweats, his green and sickly air. I should make haste to leave, for fear to spread the pestilence.’
    Hew answered, ‘Aye, perhaps you should.’ He had no time to spare for Bartie’s sly malevolence, scantily dissimiled in a thin cloak of concern.
    Bartie gave a snort. ‘You lawyers are so keen to look for subtle evidence, you do not see the proof before your eyes. That man is sick, or something worse.’
    ‘What worse?’ challenged Hew. But Bartie had no chance to expand upon his gossiping, as Melville took his place behind the lectern at the front, as a man mounts to a scaffold, and began to speak. ‘Welcome to ye, gentlemen, for it is pleasing to the heart to see so many hamely, gude and godly faces gathered in the hall. As ye are aware, I lately have returned from my duties at the General Assembly, and ye may be assured I come among ye from that same Assembly strengthened and reconforted, that ye shall find in me a firmness of resolve and steadiness of purpose in no way weakened or made faint, whosoever shall oppose me, with whatever kind of darts. And he that is against us, let him fear and quake, for God is on our side.’
    This opening struck a curious note, for what purported to have been a sermon on the wedding vows. But Andrew Melville, ay contentious, could strike fire from any stone. Bartie whispered at Hew’s side, ‘The wedding is the hardest band that ony man may tak in hand,’ and winked at him.
    Melville cleared his throat. ‘But of that heavy purpose, I will come to speak to you at a more fitting time. For we are come today, with gladness in our hearts. My nephew James was marrit, at that same Assembly, on the first of May. Wherefore, in his honour, I would say to you . . .’
    He spoke then at some length and in the Latin tongue upon the risks and virtues of the married state, with divers illustrations, glossed in Ancient Greek. Marriage, as they knew, was not a sacrament, buta covenant, to which God was a witness, and a party, therefore sanctified. The text was plain and clear, but somehow lacked for Hew the spirit of true confidence. Andrew seemed distracted, and his tone was flat. He came to