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Authors: Shirley McKay
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at?’
As Giles approached, the students gasped and scattered, adding weight to the suggestion of their guilt. The stallholder called out, ‘Ah, gentlemen, I doubt you must be cats that chase away my gulls.’
‘Then do you gull them, sir?’ Giles quizzed him sternly.
‘I, sir? Not at all. Come, see for yourselves.’
He gestured to his wares, laid out across the surface of his stall, and Hew saw that what had drawn the student customers were rows of playing cards. Some were in their wrappers, tied with threads and overprinted with the manufacturer’s mark, but several packs lay open on the counter in a fan, with queen and knave and king, block printed and hand coloured, stencilled in yellow and red.
‘Card games, sirs,’ the seller caught Giles’ eye. ‘These I have printed myself, and are yours for a very fair price. And for a gentleman like you, sir,’ he said, winking at Hew, ‘something finer, perhaps: a game of tarock? You know it, sir? It is a game of tricks.’ He produced a pack of cards with a flourish and in a sweep of hand displayed them on the counter like a fan, for Hew to see their pictures edged with gilt. ‘ Trionfii , from Italy.’
Giles interrupted, ‘We have no wish for Tarrochi . I see now why the boys have scattered. Gaming is prohibited, of course. Follow, if you will …’ he instructed Hew, and wandered off.
‘A moment, aye,’ Hew answered absently. He picked up a trump card, edged in gold leaf. ‘These are very fine. This is the Traitor, some say the Hanged Man. And here is the Devil himself.’
‘Yes sir, Il Diavolo .’
‘Are you come from Italy?’
‘Not I. I come from Flanders, sir, and bought those on my travels. By trade I am a pressman.’
‘Indeed? You speak perfect Scots.’
‘My mother was a Scot,’ the card seller explained, ‘and I was born at the Scots house at Campvere. As a boy, I was prenticed to a printing house at Antwerp, but when the Spanish came I made my way northwest, to Middelburg. Will you take the cards, sir?’
‘Indeed, I think I shall.’ Hew felt for his purse. ‘Are you a Lutheran, then?’ he asked astutely.
‘A Calvinist, as my mother was before me. My master, a playing card maker, died after the auto-da-fé.’
Hew stared at him. That there were horrors there, beneath the quiet tone, he had no doubt. ‘Then I am sorry for it,’ he said gently. ‘What has brought you here?’
‘As I say, I moved northwards to Middelburg, where I hoped to establish a press. But the costs of such a venture cannot be imagined. I found myself in debt. At length I took up my stock to Campvere, and boarded the first ship that sailed from the harbour; and, as luck would have it, it was coming here.’ The card seller looked around fearfully , dropping his voice.
‘Here, at least, you are free to follow your faith,’ Hew encouraged him. ‘And you need have no fear of the Spanish.’
He had sympathy for the man’s tale, that hid behind the facts a dark sense of desperation and of loss.
‘When the fair is over, what will you do?’
The card seller shrugged. ‘As my wares must show, I’m skilled in printing colours. There’s an art to laying red on black. I will find a press and beg for work. I hope to stay in Scotland, though I may go north or south.’
‘Then I wish you well,’ Hew pocketed his change. ‘And thank you for the cards. What is your name?’
‘Marten. Marten Voet.’
‘Aye? Well thank you, Marten, and good luck.’
‘What have you there?’ Giles had returned with a parcel.
‘A pretty thing. A game of tricks,’ Hew answered thoughtfully.
‘Truly? Then I’ll warrant you’re as bad as all the bairns, whose heads are turned by tricks and toys. I dare not leave you for a moment,’ snorted Giles. ‘Well, now, tis the dinner hour. I have made my purchase, and the students all are fled. Let us walk through the harbour and up the kirk heugh.’
As they came through the seagate, they heard a voice cry,
As Giles approached, the students gasped and scattered, adding weight to the suggestion of their guilt. The stallholder called out, ‘Ah, gentlemen, I doubt you must be cats that chase away my gulls.’
‘Then do you gull them, sir?’ Giles quizzed him sternly.
‘I, sir? Not at all. Come, see for yourselves.’
He gestured to his wares, laid out across the surface of his stall, and Hew saw that what had drawn the student customers were rows of playing cards. Some were in their wrappers, tied with threads and overprinted with the manufacturer’s mark, but several packs lay open on the counter in a fan, with queen and knave and king, block printed and hand coloured, stencilled in yellow and red.
‘Card games, sirs,’ the seller caught Giles’ eye. ‘These I have printed myself, and are yours for a very fair price. And for a gentleman like you, sir,’ he said, winking at Hew, ‘something finer, perhaps: a game of tarock? You know it, sir? It is a game of tricks.’ He produced a pack of cards with a flourish and in a sweep of hand displayed them on the counter like a fan, for Hew to see their pictures edged with gilt. ‘ Trionfii , from Italy.’
Giles interrupted, ‘We have no wish for Tarrochi . I see now why the boys have scattered. Gaming is prohibited, of course. Follow, if you will …’ he instructed Hew, and wandered off.
‘A moment, aye,’ Hew answered absently. He picked up a trump card, edged in gold leaf. ‘These are very fine. This is the Traitor, some say the Hanged Man. And here is the Devil himself.’
‘Yes sir, Il Diavolo .’
‘Are you come from Italy?’
‘Not I. I come from Flanders, sir, and bought those on my travels. By trade I am a pressman.’
‘Indeed? You speak perfect Scots.’
‘My mother was a Scot,’ the card seller explained, ‘and I was born at the Scots house at Campvere. As a boy, I was prenticed to a printing house at Antwerp, but when the Spanish came I made my way northwest, to Middelburg. Will you take the cards, sir?’
‘Indeed, I think I shall.’ Hew felt for his purse. ‘Are you a Lutheran, then?’ he asked astutely.
‘A Calvinist, as my mother was before me. My master, a playing card maker, died after the auto-da-fé.’
Hew stared at him. That there were horrors there, beneath the quiet tone, he had no doubt. ‘Then I am sorry for it,’ he said gently. ‘What has brought you here?’
‘As I say, I moved northwards to Middelburg, where I hoped to establish a press. But the costs of such a venture cannot be imagined. I found myself in debt. At length I took up my stock to Campvere, and boarded the first ship that sailed from the harbour; and, as luck would have it, it was coming here.’ The card seller looked around fearfully , dropping his voice.
‘Here, at least, you are free to follow your faith,’ Hew encouraged him. ‘And you need have no fear of the Spanish.’
He had sympathy for the man’s tale, that hid behind the facts a dark sense of desperation and of loss.
‘When the fair is over, what will you do?’
The card seller shrugged. ‘As my wares must show, I’m skilled in printing colours. There’s an art to laying red on black. I will find a press and beg for work. I hope to stay in Scotland, though I may go north or south.’
‘Then I wish you well,’ Hew pocketed his change. ‘And thank you for the cards. What is your name?’
‘Marten. Marten Voet.’
‘Aye? Well thank you, Marten, and good luck.’
‘What have you there?’ Giles had returned with a parcel.
‘A pretty thing. A game of tricks,’ Hew answered thoughtfully.
‘Truly? Then I’ll warrant you’re as bad as all the bairns, whose heads are turned by tricks and toys. I dare not leave you for a moment,’ snorted Giles. ‘Well, now, tis the dinner hour. I have made my purchase, and the students all are fled. Let us walk through the harbour and up the kirk heugh.’
As they came through the seagate, they heard a voice cry,
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