Dissolution

  ‘Help me up,’ Brother Septimus howled.

  ‘He’s like a woodlouse on its back! Come, woodlouse, up with you!’

  ‘Give him some snowballs!’ one called. ‘That’ll raise him!’

  The monks began throwing snowballs at the poor creature, who between his weight and infirmity found it impossible to rise. He cried out as snowballs burst all over him, twisting and rolling so that he looked more like a stranded tortoise than ever.

  ‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘Brothers, I pray you, desist!’

  They went on pelting and catcalling. This was no good-natured jest such as I had witnessed the night before. I was considering whether to intervene when a loud voice cut through the noise.

  ‘Brethren! Stop that now!’

  The monks dropped their snowballs as the tall figure of Brother Gabriel strode up, frowning angrily.

  ‘Is this Christian brotherhood? You should be ashamed of yourselves! Help him up!’ Two of the younger monks hastily aided the puffing, gasping Septimus to his feet.

  ‘To the church! All of you! Prime is in ten minutes!’ The sacrist started a little as he noticed me among the watchers. He came over to me as the brothers dispersed.

  ‘I am sorry, Commissioner. Sometimes monks can be like naughty schoolboys.’

  ‘So I see.’ I recalled my conversation with Brother Guy. ‘No Christian brotherhood in that performance.’ I looked at Gabriel anew, realizing he was not a senior official for nothing; he was more than capable of exercising authority and moral force when necessary. Then as I watched the power seemed to drain from his face and it was overcome with sadness.

  ‘It seems a universal rule in this world that people will always look for victims and scapegoats, does it not? Especially at times of difficulty and tension. As I said earlier, sir, even monks are not immune to the Devil’s wiles.’ He gave a brief bow and followed his brethren into the church.

  I resumed my way to the infirmary, passing again through the hall to the inner corridor. I felt hungry and paused at the kitchen to take an apple from the bowl there. As I did so something outside caught my eye. A great splash of scarlet across the white snow. I crossed to the window. Then my legs almost gave way.

  Alice was lying face down in the garden, a broken pot at her side. She lay in a lake of blood that even now spread steaming across the snow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I GROANED ALOUD and pressed a fist into my mouth. Simon Whelplay had died for talking to me; not Alice too. I rushed outside, praying desperately for a miracle - though I scorned miracles - that the evidence of my eyes might be made false.

  She lay sprawled face down, next to the path. There was so much blood over and around her that for a sickening moment I thought her head had been struck off like Singleton’s. I forced myself to look closely; she was whole. I stepped over the shards of the pot and knelt beside her. Hesitantly, I touched the pulse in her neck and cried out in relief when I felt it beating strongly. At my touch she stirred, groaning. Her eyes fluttered open, startlingly blue in her bloodstained face.

  ‘Alice! Oh, praise God, you live. He has wrought a miracle!’ I reached down and hugged her to me, gasping for joy as I felt her living warmth, the beating of her heart even as the ferrous tang of blood filled my nostrils.

  Her arms pushed at my chest. ‘Sir, what is this, no—’ I released her and she sat up groggily.

  ‘Forgive me, Alice,’ I said, covered in confusion. ‘It was relief, I thought you dead. But lie still, you are badly hurt. Where are you injured?’

  She looked down at her vermilion-stained dress, staring in puzzlement for a moment, then put her hand to her head. Her face softened and, to my amazement, she laughed.

  ‘I am not hurt, sir, only stunned. I slipped in the snow and fell.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I was carrying a pitcher of blood. You remember, from the monks’ bleeding. This is not my gore.’

  ‘Oh!’ I leaned against the infirmary wall, almost giddy with relief.

  ‘We were going to pour it over the garden. We have been keeping it warm, but Brother Guy said to wait till the snow is gone. I was taking it to the storehouse.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I see.’ I laughed ruefully. ‘I have made a fool of myself.’ I looked down at my blood-spattered doublet. ‘And ruined my clothes.’

  ‘They will clean, sir.’

  ‘I am sorry I - ah - seized you as I did. I meant no harm.’

  ‘I see that, sir,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I am sorry I frightened you so. I have never slipped before, but these paths through the snow are turning to ice. Thank you for your care.’ She bowed her head. I saw that her body was held compressed in on itself, and realized with a pang of disappointment that my embrace had been unwelcome.

  ‘Come in,’ I said. ‘You should go indoors, lie down a while after your fall. Do you feel giddy?’

  ‘No, I am all right.’ She did not take my proffered arm. ‘I think we should both change.’ She stood up, dripping with bloody snow, and I followed her inside. She went to the kitchen and I returned to my room. I changed into the other set of garments I had brought, leaving my bloodied clothes on the floor. I sat on the bed to await Mark’s return. I could have gone to Alice and asked her to arrange for my clothes to be cleaned, but I felt an embarrassed reluctance.

  I seemed to wait a long time. I heard the dead bell tolling again in the distance; now Simon Whelplay’s funeral was over and he too was being laid in the earth. I cursed myself for not letting Goodhaps make his way to town alone. I wanted to go to the fish pond, and then I had plans for dealing with Brother Edwig.

  I heard voices. I frowned and opened the door. Murmurs from the kitchen, Mark’s and Alice’s tones. I strode down the hallway.

  Alice’s dress lay on a scrubbing board where she had been washing it. She was dressed only in her white undershift, and she and Mark were clasped in each other’s arms. But they were not laughing, her face against his neck was full of sadness and Mark’s too was serious, as though he were comforting rather than embracing her. They saw me and jumped apart, startled. I saw the movement of full, firm breasts under her shift, the hard nipples pressing against the material. I looked away.

  ‘Mark Poer,’ I said sharply, ‘I asked you to hurry. We have work.’

  He blushed. ‘I am sorry, sir - I—’

  ‘And you, Alice, is that what you call modesty?’

  ‘I have only one clean dress, sir.’ Her tone was defiant. ‘This is the only place I can wash it.’

  ‘Then you should have locked the door against intruders. Mark, come.’ I inclined my head and he followed me back up the passage.

  In our room I stood facing him. ‘I told you not to dally there. You have obviously had more converse with her than I thought!’

  ‘We have talked whenever we could these last few days.’ He faced me boldly. ‘I knew you would not approve. I cannot help my heart.’

  ‘Nor could you with the queen’s lady. Is this to have the same end?’

  He reddened. ‘This is clean different,’ he burst out. ‘My feelings for Mistress Fewterer are noble! I feel for her as for no woman before. You can scoff, but it is true. We have done nothing sinful, no more than hold and kiss as you saw. She was upset after falling in the snow.’

  ‘Mistress Fewterer? You forget that Alice is no mistress, she is a servant.’

  ‘That did not stop you embracing her when she fell in the snow. I have seen you looking at her, sir. You admire her too!’ He took a step towards me, his face suddenly angry. ‘You are jealous!’

  ‘God’s death!’ I shouted. ‘I have been too soft with you. I should cast you out now, to take your busy cock back to Lichfield and see if you can find a place as a ploughman!’

  He said nothing. I forced myself to speak calmly.

  ‘So, you think me a poor cripple full of jealousy. Yes, Alice is a fine girl, I won’t deny that. But we have serious business here. What would Lord Cromwell think of you taking time out to dally with t
he servants, eh?’

  ‘There is more to life than Lord Cromwell,’ he muttered.

  ‘Is there? Would you like to tell him that? And that’s not all. What would you do, take Alice back to London? You say you do not want to go back to Augmentations, but is a servant’s status all you seek?’

  ‘No.’ He hesitated, casting his eyes down.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I thought perhaps you might let me be your assistant, sir, your clerk. I have helped you in your work, you have said I am good at it—’

  ‘A clerk?’ I repeated incredulously. ‘A lawyer’s jobbing clerk? Is that the reach of your ambition?’

  ‘It is a bad time to ask, I know,’ he said sulkily.

  ‘God’s blood, any time would be bad for that request! You would shame me before your father and shame yourself too, for lack of honest ambition. No, Mark, I will not have you as a clerk.’

  He spoke with sudden heat. ‘For one who is always talking of the welfare of the poor and building a Christian commonwealth, you have a lean view of common people!’

  ‘There must be degrees in society. Not all are of the same degree and God never ordained otherwise.’

  ‘The abbot would agree with you there. So would Justice Copynger.’

  ‘God’s death, you go too far!’ I shouted. He faced me in silence, retreating behind that infuriating, impassive mask of his. I waved a finger at him.

  ‘Listen to me. I have gained a measure of Brother Guy’s confidence. He told me what happened to Simon Whelplay. Do you think he would have acted similarly if he, rather than I, had come upon a scene like that just now? When that girl is under his protection? Well?’

  Still he did not reply.

  ‘There must be no more dalliance with Alice. Do you understand? No more. And I urge you to think very carefully on your future.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he muttered coldly. I could have struck his expressionless face.

  ‘Get your coat. We are going to investigate that pond. We can look round the chapels on the way back.’

  ‘It is like hunting for a needle in a haystack,’ Mark said sullenly. ‘The things could be buried.’

  ‘It will only take an hour or so. Come on. And you had better prepare your flesh for the touch of cold water,’ I added maliciously. ‘It will be a lot colder than the arms of that girl.’

  WE MADE OUR WAY in silence. I was burning with anger; anger at Mark’s thoughtlessness and insolence, but also at myself, for what he had said about my jealousy was true. To see him holding Alice, when she had shrunk from me, had burned me to the heart. I glanced sideways at him. First with Jerome, now with Alice. How could this obstinate, self-indulgent boy always leave me feeling in the wrong?

  As we passed the church the monks were going in once more in double file. Simon was buried now in the monks’ churchyard, but evidently there was to be a further service for him, though there had been none for Singleton. I reflected bitterly that Simon would have been grateful for a tenth of the attributes and opportunities God had lavished on Mark. The last of the brothers filed in, the door banged shut, and we walked on past the outhouses to the lay cemetery.

  Mark stopped suddenly. ‘Look there,’ he said. ‘That is strange.’ He pointed to Singleton’s grave, its brown earth standing out against the snow. The fresh snowfall had covered everything around with a further dusting, but not the grave.

  We crossed to it and I exclaimed with disgust. The grave was covered with a viscous liquid, glittering in the weak sun. I bent down, touched it carefully and lifted my finger to my nose. Then I snorted angrily.

  ‘Soap! Someone’s coated the grave with soap. To prevent the grass growing. It has melted the snow.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard the story that grass will not grow on the graves of the sinful? There was a woman hanged for infanticide when I was a boy. Her husband’s family would steal out and coat the grave with soap so nothing would grow, like this. It’s a vicious piece of mischief.’

  ‘Who has done it?’

  ‘How should I know?’ I snapped. ‘God’s passion, I’ll have Abbot Fabian bring the lot of them out here to clean it under my supervision - no, under yours, it’ll be a bigger humiliation to do it under you.’ I turned away furiously.

  We trudged on, traversing the graveyard and then the orchard, now almost a foot deep in snow. Watery sunlight was reflected from the stream and the ice-covered circle of the fish pond.

  I pushed my way through the frozen rushes. The ice was thicker now, a light covering of snow round the edges. But by bending down and squinting hard I could still discern something gleaming faintly near the middle of the pond.

  ‘Mark, see that pile of loose stones, under where the wall is patched. Fetch a big one and break the ice.’

  He sighed, but at a stern look from me went off and fetched a great lump of limestone. I stood back as he raised the boulder above his head and flung it into the centre of the pond. There was a tremendous crash, satisfying somehow, though I flinched as a spout of water and shards of ice flew into the air. I left the water to settle, then carefully approached the edge, got down on hands and knees again and peered in. Disturbed fish milled about frantically.

  ‘Now - yes, just there, do you see it? A gleam of yellow?’

  ‘I think so,’ Mark agreed. ‘Yes, there’s something. Shall I try fishing for it? If I take your staff and you hold my other arm, by stretching I might reach it.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I want you to go in for it.’

  His face fell. ‘The water is near frozen.’

  ‘Singleton’s killer may have thrown his bloody clothes in there too. Go on, it can’t be more than two or three feet deep. You’ll live.’

  For a moment I thought he would refuse, but he set his lips and bent to remove his coat, his overshoes and finally his boots. Those expensive leather shoes would be no better for a soaking. He stood a moment shivering on the bank, his solid bare legs and feet nearly as white as the snow. Then he took a deep breath and waded in, shouting aloud at the shock of the cold water.

  I had expected it to reach his thighs, but he had taken no more than a couple of steps before, with a cry, he sank to his chest. Great bubbles of stinking gas belched up around him, smelling so vile I took an involuntary step back. He stood there gasping as the foul air dissipated.

  ‘There’s a foot of mud - ugh—’ he gasped.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Of course. The silt from the stream will fall to the bottom. Can you see anything? Can you reach?’

  He gave me a withering look, then with a groan he bent down, his arm disappearing under the water. He scrabbled about. ‘Yes - something - it’s sharp—’ his arm reappeared. He was holding a great sword, its handle gilded with gold. My heart leaped as he threw it on the bank.

  ‘Well done!’ I breathed. ‘Now - again - is there anything more?’

  He bent again, his whole shoulder disappearing under the surface and sending slow ripples towards the icy rim.

  ‘Jesu, it’s cold. Wait - yes - there is something - it’s soft - cloth I think.’

  ‘The killer’s clothes!’ I breathed.

  He rose, pulling, and then overbalanced with a shout, falling right under the surface as another figure shot up out of the water. I gaped at the sight of a human form, dressed in a sodden robe. Its upper body seemed to hang in the air a moment, hair swirling round its head, then it splashed down into the reeds.

  Mark’s head rose again. He howled with shock and fear, flapping for the shore. Hauling himself onto the bank, he collapsed onto the snow, his yells turning to gasps and his eyes bulging, as mine were, at the sight of the figure in the reeds. A woman’s body, grey and rotten and draped in the rags of a servant’s dress. The eye sockets were empty; a lipless mouth was drawn back over grey clenched teeth. Rats-tails of hair dripped onto its face.

  Mark got shakily to his feet. He crossed himself, over and over, praying. ‘Deus salve nos, deus salve nos, mater Christi salve nos . .
.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said gently, all my anger gone. ‘It’s all right.’ I put a hand on his shoulder; he was shaking like a leaf. ‘She must have been lying under the silt. Gases built up and you disturbed them. You’re safe, the poor creature can do us no harm.’ But my own voice broke as I looked at the terrible thing lying there.

  ‘Come, you’ll catch an ague. Put on your boots.’ He did so, the action seeming to calm him a little.

  I saw that something else had risen to the surface and lay floating there; a large black piece of cloth, bloated with gas. I reached over with my staff, dreading a second body, but it was only an empty monk’s habit. I hauled it in and set it on the bank. I could see dark patches that could have been the marks of congealed blood. I suddenly remembered the fat carp we had eaten on our first night and shuddered.