Dissolution

  ‘Once again, my apologies on behalf of the community.’ There was a mumble of assent along the tables. ‘I only ask you to excuse the man on the grounds that he is mad.’

  ‘Who does he think is the Antichrist, I wonder? Me? No, Lord Cromwell more likely, or perhaps His Majesty the King?’

  ‘No, sir, no.’ There was an anxious murmur along the obedentiaries’ table. Prior Mortimus set his thin lips.

  ‘If I had my way, Jerome would be turned out of doors tomorrow to cry his madness in the streets till he was put in the Tower, or more likely the Bedlam, for that’s where he belongs. The abbot only keeps him because he needs the favour of his cousin Sir Edward. You know of Jerome’s connection with the late queen?’ I nodded. ‘But this is too much. He must go.’

  I raised a hand, shaking my head. ‘I take no official note of a madman’s babble.’ I felt a palpable sense of relief along the table at my words. I lowered my voice again, so only the obedentiaries could hear. ‘I would have Brother Jerome kept here, I may wish to question him. Tell me, did he treat Master Singleton to such discourse as I have had?’

  ‘Yes,’ the prior replied bluntly. ‘When he first arrived Brother Jerome accosted him in the yard and called him perjurer and liar. Commissioner Singleton gave as good as he got, calling him a Roman whoreson.’

  ‘Perjurer and liar. That’s more specific than the general abuse he’s given me. I wonder what he meant?’

  ‘God alone knows what madmen ever mean.’

  Brother Guy leaned forward. ‘He may be mad, Commissioner, but he would never have been capable of killing Commissioner Singleton. I have treated him. His left arm was wrenched out of its socket on the rack, the ligaments shredded. His right leg is scarcely better and his balance is gone, as you saw. He can scarcely carry himself, yet alone wield a weapon to sever a man’s head. I have treated the effects of official torture before, in France,’ he added in quieter tones, ‘but never before in England. I am told it is a new thing.’

  ‘The law permits it in times of extreme threat to the State,’ I replied, stung. I saw Mark’s eyes on me and read disappointment, sadness. ‘Regrettable though it always is,’ I added with a sigh. ‘But to return to poor Singleton. Brother Jerome may have been too infirm to kill, but he could have had an accomplice.’

  ‘No, sir, never, no.’ It was a chorus along the table. I read only fear in the officials’ faces, anxiety not to be associated with murder and treason and their terrible penalties. But men, I reflected, are adept at concealing their true thoughts. Brother Gabriel leaned forward again, his thin face furrowed with anxiety.

  ‘Sir, no one here shares Brother Jerome’s beliefs. He is a blight on us. We wish only to carry on our life of prayer in peace, loyal to the king and in obedience to the forms of worship he dictates.’

  ‘There at least my brother speaks for all,’ the bursar added loudly. ‘I say “Amen” to that.’ A chorus of ‘Amens’ followed along the table.

  I nodded in acknowledgement. ‘But Commissioner Singleton is still dead. So who do you think killed him? Brother Bursar? Brother Prior?’

  ‘It was p-people from the world outside,’ Brother Edwig said. ‘He was on his way to meet someone and he disturbed them. Witches, Devil-worshippers. They broke in to desecrate our church and steal our relic, came across poor Singleton and killed him. The person he was to meet, whoever he was, no doubt took fright at the tumult.’

  ‘Master Shardlake hazarded the killing may have been done with a sword,’ Brother Guy added. ‘And such people would be unlikely to carry weapons lest they be discovered.’

  I turned to Brother Gabriel. He sighed deeply, running his fingers through the straggly locks below his tonsure. ‘The loss of the hand of the Penitent Thief - it is a tragedy, that most holy relic of Our Lord’s Calvary - I shudder to think what abominable uses the thief may be putting it to now.’ His face looked drawn. I remembered the skulls in Lord Cromwell’s room and realized again the power of relics.

  ‘Are there known practitioners of witchcraft hereabouts?’ I asked.

  The prior shook his head. ‘A couple of wise women in the town, but they’re just old crones who mutter incantations over the herbs they peddle.’

  ‘Who knows what evils the Devil works in the sinful world?’ Brother Gabriel said quietly. ‘We are protected from him in this holy life, as well as men can be, but outside—’ He shivered.

  ‘Then there are the servants,’ I added. ‘All sixty of them.’

  ‘Only a dozen living in,’ the prior said. ‘And the premises are well locked at night, patrolled by Master Bugge and his assistant under my supervision.’

  ‘Those who live in are mostly old, loyal servants,’ Brother Gabriel added. ‘Why would one of them kill an important visitor?’

  ‘Why would a monk or a villager? Well, we shall see. Tomorrow I wish to question some of you.’ I looked down a row of discomfited faces.

  The servants came in to remove our plates, replacing them with pudding bowls. There was silence until they left. The bursar took a spoon to the sugary confection in his bowl. ‘Ah, wet suckets,’ he said. ‘Welcome and warming on a cold night.’

  There was a sudden loud crash from the corner of the room. Everyone jumped and turned to where the novice had collapsed in a heap on the floor. Brother Guy rose with an exclamation of disgust, his habit billowing round him as he ran to where Simon Whelplay lay still on the rush matting. I stood up and joined him, as did Brother Gabriel and then, with an angry expression, the prior. The boy was as white as a sheet. As Brother Guy gently lifted his head, he moaned and his eyes flickered open.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Brother Guy said gently. ‘You fainted. Have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘My head. I banged my head. I am sorry—’ Tears glistened suddenly in the corners of his eyes, his thin chest shook and he began to weep most piteously. Prior Mortimus snorted. I was surprised at the anger that appeared then in Brother Guy’s dark eyes.

  ‘No wonder the boy weeps, Master Prior! When was he last properly fed? He is naught but skin and bone.’

  ‘He has had bread and water. You are well aware, Brother Infirmarian, that is a penance sanctioned by St Benedict’s rule . . .’

  Brother Gabriel turned on him furiously. ‘The saint did not intend God’s servants to be starved to death! You have been working Simon like a dog in the stables, then making him stand in the cold for hours on end.’ The novice’s crying turned to a violent fit of coughing, his pale face suddenly puce as he struggled for breath. The infirmarian cocked a sharp ear to the wheezing sounds from his chest.

  ‘His lungs are full of bile. I want him in the infirmary now!’

  The prior snorted again. ‘Is it my fault he’s as weak as water? I gave him work to toughen him up. It’s what he needs—’

  Brother Gabriel’s voice rang round the refectory. ‘Does Brother Guy have your authority to take Simon to the infirmary, or do I go to Abbot Fabian?’

  ‘Take the churl!’ the prior snapped. He strode back to the table. ‘Softness! Softness and weakness. They’ll be the end of us all!’ He glowered defiantly around the refectory as Brother Gabriel and the infirmarian supported the weeping, coughing novice from the room. Brother Edwig cleared his throat.

  ‘Brother Prior, I think we may say g-grace and rise now. It is nearly time for C-Compline.’

  Prior Mortimus said a perfunctory grace, and the monks rose, those at the long table waiting until the obedentiaries had filed out. As we went through the door, Brother Edwig leaned over to me, his voice unctuous.

  ‘Master Shardlake, I am sorry your meal should have been disturbed t-twice. Very r-r-regrettable. I must ask you to forgive us.’

  ‘Not at all, Brother. The more I see of the life of Scarnsea, the more my investigations are illuminated. Speaking of which, I would be grateful if you could make yourself available tomorrow, with all your recent account books. There are some matters arising from Commissioner Singleton’s investigations I would like to ra
ise with you.’ I confess I enjoyed the disconcerted look that came into the bursar’s face. I nodded and passed on to where Mark stood, looking from a window. The snow still fell, covering every surface with white, deadening all sound and blurring sight as hunched, cowled figures began to make their way across the cloister yard to the church, and Compline, the day’s last service. The bells began to toll once more.

  Chapter Nine

  WHEN WE REGAINED our room Mark lay down once more on his cot. But though I was as tired as he, I needed to organize my impressions of all that had happened at the meal. I dashed water from the pitcher over my face, then went to sit by the fire. Very faintly, through the window, I heard the sound of chanting.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘the monks at Compline. Praying to God to watch over their souls at the day’s end. Well, what do you think of this holy community of Scarnsea?’

  He groaned. ‘I am too tired to think.’

  ‘Come on, it’s your first day inside a monastery. What do you make of it?’

  Reluctantly, he heaved himself up on his elbows and his face assumed a thoughtful impression. The first faint lines in his smooth features were emphasized by the shadows the candles cast. One day, I thought, they would deepen into real lines and furrows as they had in mine.

  ‘It appears a world of contradictions. On the one hand their life seems a world apart. Those black habits they wear, all their prayers. Brother Gabriel said they are separate from the sinful world. Yet did you see how he looked at me again, the dog? And they live so well. Warm fires, tapestries, food as good as any I have eaten. Playing cards like men in any tavern.’

  ‘Yes. St Benedict would be as disgusted as Lord Cromwell by their rich living. Abbot Fabian disporting himself like a lord - and he is a lord, of course, he sits in the House like most of the abbots.’

  ‘I think the prior dislikes him.’

  ‘Prior Mortimus paints himself a reformist sympathizer, an opponent of easy living. He certainly believes in giving those under him a hard time. And enjoys it, I would say.’

  ‘He reminds me of one or two of my schoolmasters.’

  ‘Schoolmasters do not drive their charges to collapse. Most parents would have something to say about the treatment he gave that boy. There is no separate novice master, apparently; there are not enough vocations. The novices are wholly under the prior’s power.’

  ‘The infirmarian tried to help. He seems a good man, for all he looks like he’s been toasted on a spit.’

  I nodded. ‘And Brother Gabriel helped too. He threatened the prior with the abbot. I can’t imagine Abbot Fabian being over-concerned with the novices’ welfare, but if the prior’s taste for brutality sometimes goes too far, he would have to keep it in check to avoid scandal. Well, we’ve met them all now; the five who knew why Singleton was here. Abbot Fabian, Prior Mortimus, Brother Gabriel, Brother Guy. And the bursar, of course—’

  ‘B-b-brother Edwig.’ Mark imitated his stutter.

  I smiled. ‘He’s a man of power here for all he trips at his words.’

  ‘He seemed a slimy toad to me.’2

  ‘Yes, I took a dislike to him, I must say. But one must not be deceived by impressions. The greatest fraudster I ever met had the most chivalrous demeanour a man could possess. And the bursar was away the night Singleton was killed.’

  ‘But why would any of them kill Singleton? Surely it gives Lord Cromwell stronger grounds for closure?’

  ‘What if the motive was more personal? What if Singleton had found something out? He had been here several days. What if he was about to expose someone for some serious crime?’

  ‘Dr Goodhaps said he was investigating the accounts books the day he was killed.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s why I want to see them. But I come back to the manner of his death. If someone wanted to silence him, a knife in the ribs would have been so much easier. And why desecrate the church?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘I wonder where the murderer hid the sword, if it was a sword. And the relic. And his clothes, they would have been bloody.’

  ‘There must be a thousand hiding places in this great warren.’ I thought a moment. ‘On the other hand, most of the buildings are in constant use.’

  ‘The outhouses we saw? The stonemason’s and brewery and so on?’

  ‘Them most of all. We must keep our eyes open as we get to know this place, look out for likely spots.’

  Mark sighed. ‘The killer might have buried his clothes and the sword. But we won’t be able to go looking for mounds of fresh earth if this snow lasts.’

  ‘No. Well, I shall start tomorrow by questioning the sacrist and the bursar, those two brotherly foes. And I would like you to talk to the girl Alice.’

  ‘Brother Guy warned me from her.’

  ‘I said talk to her. Do no more than talk, I don’t want trouble with Brother Guy. You’ve a way with the women. She seems intelligent and probably knows as many secrets about this place as anybody.’

  He stirred uneasily. ‘I would not wish her to think I - liked her - if it was only to wring information from her.’

  ‘Getting information is our duty here. There’s no need to give her wrong ideas. If she reveals anything that helps us I’ll see she’s rewarded. She should be found another place. A woman like that shouldn’t be mouldering away among these monks.’

  Mark smiled at me. ‘I think you like her too, sir. Did you note her bright eyes?’

  ‘She is out of the common run of women,’ I said non-committally.

  ‘It still seems a shame to be cozening information from her.’

  ‘You must get used to cozening things from people, Mark, if you are to work in the service of the law or the State.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘It’s just - I would not like to place her in any danger.’

  ‘Nor would I. But we could all be in danger.’

  He was silent a moment. ‘Could the abbot be right about witchcraft? That would fit with the desecration of the church.’

  I shook my head. ‘The more I consider it, the more I think this killing was planned. The desecration may even have been carried out to throw enquirers off the scent. The abbot, of course, would much prefer for it to have been done by an outsider.’

  ‘No Christian would desecrate a church in such a way, papist or reformer.’

  ‘No. The whole thing is an abomination.’ I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling my face sag with tiredness. I could think no more today. I opened them again to find Mark looking at me keenly.

  ‘You said Commissioner Singleton’s body reminded you of Queen Anne Boleyn’s beheading.’

  I nodded. ‘That memory still sickens me.’

  ‘Everyone was surprised how suddenly she fell last year. Though she was much disliked.’

  ‘Yes. The Midnight Crow.’

  ‘They say the head tried to speak after it was cut off.’

  I held up a hand. ‘I can’t talk about it, Mark. I was there as an official of state. Come, you are right. We should sleep.’

  He looked disappointed, but said nothing more, banking up the fire with logs. We clambered into bed. From where I lay I could see through the window that the snow still fell, the flakes outlined against a lit window some way off. Some of the monks were up late, but then the days when the brethren retired before dark in winter, to be up for prayer again at midnight, were long gone.

  Despite my tiredness I tossed and turned, my mind still active. I thought especially of the girl Alice. Everyone was potentially in danger in this place, but a woman alone was always more at risk than most. I liked the spark of character I had seen in her. It reminded me of Kate.

  DESPITE MY WILL to sleep, I found my tired mind going back three years. Kate Wyndham was the daughter of a London cloth merchant accused of false accounting by his partner, in a case brought in the Church court on the basis that a contract was equivalent to an oath before God. In fact his partner was related to an archdeacon who had influence with the judge, a
nd I managed to get the case transferred to King’s Bench, where it was thrown out. The grateful merchant, a widower, invited me to dinner and there I met his only daughter.

  Kate was lucky; her father believed in educating women beyond what they needed for the kitchen accounts, and she had a lively mind. She had a sweet, heart-shaped face, too, and rich brown hair falling round her shoulders. She was the first woman I had ever met with whom I could talk as an equal. She liked nothing better than to discuss the doings of the law, the court, even the Church - for her father’s experience had turned them both into ardent reformers. Those evenings talking with her and her father at their house, and later the afternoons with Kate alone when she accompanied me on long walks into the countryside, were the best times of my life.