by C. J. Sansom
‘She could not do otherwise. She was a woman, and what are women on earth for if not to tempt men?’ He took a deep breath. ‘D-did she kill herself?’
‘No. Her neck was broken.’
He shook his head. ‘Sh-she should n-never have been allowed here. Women are the D-Devil’s instruments.’
‘Brother Edwig,’ I said quietly. ‘You may call yourself timid, but I think perhaps you are the hardest man here. And now I will leave you, you will have figuring to do.’
I STOOD OUTSIDE on the landing, collecting my thoughts. I had been certain Gabriel was the murderer and had killed in hot passion. But if the book I had found was the same one Singleton had uncovered then Brother Edwig had a clear motive for my predecessor’s death. Yet Singleton had been killed in a passion, and I could see no passion in the bursar save for figuring and money, though a fraud he almost certainly was. And he had not been at Scarnsea that night.
As I turned to the stairs, a light on the marsh caught my attention. I made out two yellow flickers, far out on the mire they seemed. I remembered reflecting there would be half a chestful of gold in those land sales, and that Brother Edwig had come upon me the day I went out on the marsh. And if one wanted to move gold, who better to turn to than professional smugglers? I caught my breath and hurried back to the infirmary.
ALICE WAS SEATED in the prior’s kitchen, cutting the roots from some herb. She looked at me with sharp hostility for a second, then forced her features into a smile.
‘Preparing one of Brother Guy’s potions?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is Master Mark returned?’
‘In your room, sir.’
The hostility in her aloof courtesy saddened me. Mark, then, had told her what I had said to him.
‘I have been at the counting house. I saw lights out on the marsh from an upper window. I wondered whether the smugglers may be busy again.’
‘I do not know, sir.’
‘You told Master Mark you would show us the trackways.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Her voice was wary.
‘I would be interested to see them. I wonder if you would take me tomorrow.’
She hesitated. ‘I have duties for Brother Guy, sir.’
‘If I were to speak to him?’
‘As you instruct.’
‘And - there are one or two matters I would like to talk to you about, Alice. I would be your friend, you know.’
She looked away. ‘If Brother Guy says I should accompany you, then of course I will.’
‘Then I will ask him,’ I replied in a tone as cold as hers. I felt hurt and angry as I went along the corridor to our room, where Mark stood looking gloomily out of the window.
‘I have asked Alice to show me the paths through the marsh,’ I said without preliminary. ‘I saw lights there just now. I see from her manner you have told her what I said about leaving her alone.’
‘I have told her you think it unseemly that we associate.’
I took off my coat and flung myself into the chair. ‘So it is,’ I said. ‘Have you given the abbot my orders?’
‘Commissioner Singleton’s grave will be cleaned tomorrow and then the pond drained.’
‘I would like you there. I will go out on the marsh with Alice alone. And before you say something you might regret, I have asked her to do this because I think those smugglers may matter to our enquiry after all. And then I am going to the town, to see Copynger.’ I told him what I had found in Brother Edwig’s office.
‘I wish I were among ordinary people again,’ he said, avoiding my eye. ‘Everywhere you turn here you seem to find a rogue or a thief.’
‘Have you thought any more on what we said, about what you will do when we return to London?’
‘No, sir.’ He shrugged. ‘There are rogues and thieves aplenty there too.’
‘Then perhaps you should live in the trees, among the birds, so that you are not soiled by contact with the world,’ I said curtly. ‘And now I will take some more of Brother Guy’s good potion and sleep till dinner. This has been as long and hard a day as any I have known.’
Chapter Twenty-three
SUPPER IN THE REFECTORY that night was a subdued affair. The abbot called on everyone to observe silence during the meal, enjoining them to pray for the soul of what he called the unknown person whose body had been found in the pond. The monks wore strained, worried expressions and I caught many fearful, anxious looks cast at me. It was as though the sense of dissolution the abbot had mentioned was already starting to pervade the entire monastery.
Mark and I walked back to the infirmary in silence; we were both exhausted, but also I sensed once again the distance that had come on Mark since I forbade him to court Alice. When we regained our room I threw myself down on my cushioned chair, while Mark put some more logs on the fire. I had told him of my encounter with Brother Edwig. My head was still abuzz with it.
‘If I set Copynger about his enquiries tomorrow morning we should have an answer the day after. If even one of those land sales is confirmed, we have Edwig for fraud. And it gives him a clear motive for murder.’
Mark sat down on a pile of cushions opposite, his face alive with interest. Whatever our quarrels, he was as eager as I to catch our murderer. I wanted to test my thoughts against his wits, and also it was cheering to hear him talk enthusiastically again.
‘We always come back, sir, to the fact he was away. Away when Singleton found the book and away when, the same night, he was murdered.’
‘I know. Only Athelstan knew and he said he told no one else.’
‘Could Athelstan be the killer?’
‘Him strike off a man’s head, a commissioner? No. Remember how frightened he was when he approached me to offer himself as an informer. He hasn’t the courage to defy a mouse.’
‘Is that not an emotional reaction to his personality?’ There was a note of sarcasm in Mark’s voice.
‘All right. Perhaps I was carried away with the logical edifice I had built when I accused Gabriel. Yet it all seemed to fit so well. But yes, of course we must take our judgement of men’s characters into account and Athelstan’s is palpably weak.’
‘And why should he care if Brother Edwig goes to the gallows, or even if the monastery goes down? He is hardly devout.’
‘And how could he have come by that sword? I wish I could trace its history; in London I could probably discover the maker through his mark. The swordsmiths’ guild would know. But we’re trapped down here by this snow.’
‘Sir, what if Singleton told someone else what he had found in the counting house and they decided to kill him? The abbot, perhaps. His seal would be on those deeds.’
‘Yes. A seal he leaves lying on his desk, where anybody could use it while he was away.’
‘Prior Mortimus, then? He’s brutal enough for murder, surely? And isn’t it said that he and Brother Edwig run the place?’
‘Those two in a fraud together? I wonder. I must get that answer from Copynger.’ I sighed. ‘How long is it since we set out from London? A week? It seems a lifetime.’
‘Just six days.’
‘I wish I had time to go back. But even sending a message would take days in this snow. Pox on it, is it going to go on for ever?’
‘It seems so.’
SHORTLY AFTER Mark got into his little wheeled cot and pulled it back under my bed. I sat on, staring into the banked-up fire. Through windows already frosting again with ice I heard the bells ring out for Compline. Whatever happened, whatever nightmares unfolded, the services still went on.
I thought of Lord Cromwell, waiting in London for my reply. I must try to send a message soon, even if it were only to say I had no answers and two more murders to solve. I could imagine his angry face, his oaths, his wondering again about my loyalty. But if Copynger confirmed the land sales I could have Brother Edwig arrested for fraud. I had a vision of myself interrogating him in Scarnsea gaol, manacled in some dark hole, and found the thought gave me plea
sure. That disturbed me and I reflected how dislike of a man and the prospect of power over him led the mind into unpleasant paths. Guilt stole over me and I began thinking once more about Mark and Alice. How pure were my motives there? All I had said to Mark about the difference in their degree, and his obligation to his family to succeed, was true. Yet I knew the worm of jealousy stirred in me. The sight of them embracing in the kitchen came back to me and I clenched my eyes shut as another vision stirred in the corner of my mind’s eye, of Alice embracing me instead of him. All the time I could hear Mark’s breathing, which had deepened into sleep.
I prayed that God might lead my actions into a true and just path; a path such as Christ might have followed. Then I must have slept for the next thing I knew I had started awake and was staring at a dead fire. Hours must have passed; my back ached and I was chilled to the bone. I rose painfully from the chair, undressed and climbed wearily into bed.
I FELL AT ONCE into a deep sleep and woke next morning more rested than for a week past. Brother Guy’s prescription was doing me good. After breakfast I wrote a letter to Justice Copynger and gave it to Mark.
‘Take this into Scarnsea now. Ask Copynger if he can get a reply to me by tomorrow.’
‘I thought you wished to see him yourself.’
‘I want to go out on the marsh while the weather holds.’ I looked up at the sky, which was dark with clouds again. ‘Tell the abbot the cleaning of Singleton’s grave can be done when you return. Are arrangements in place to drain the pond?’
‘They have a sump they can drain the stream into. Apparently they clear out the silt every ten years or so.’
‘When was it last done?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘So that body would have lain undisturbed for many years yet. And yet not for ever.’
‘Maybe the murderer needed to get rid of it quickly.’
‘Yes. And then it would be hard to get out again.’
‘No need to go to the church now.’
‘No, let’s get the pond drained first. You will have a busy day,’ I added in an effort at cheerfulness. But that very effort seemed to make him close in on himself again. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said quietly and left the room.
I read more routine correspondence which the abbot’s servant brought, then went in search of Alice. I felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement, like a boy, at the thought of seeing her. Brother Guy told me she was hanging herbs in the drying house and would be free shortly, so I went into the courtyard to see how the weather was faring. The clouds were high and I hoped we might escape more snow. I shivered at the endless cold.
My attention was drawn by raised voices. By the gatehouse I saw two figures struggling, one dressed in black and the other in white. I hurried over. Jerome was in the grasp of Prior Mortimus, who had him in a firm grip. He was trying to seize a paper Jerome held tightly in one hand. Despite his disabilities, the Carthusian was putting up a fierce struggle. Nearby Bugge was holding a squirming small boy by the collar.
‘Give me that, ye whoreson!’ the prior growled. Jerome tried to stuff the paper in his mouth, but the prior hooked a foot beneath his good leg and he toppled over, landing on his back in the snow. Prior Mortimus reached down, tore the paper from his hand and stood breathing heavily.
‘What is this tumult?’ I demanded.
Before the prior could answer, Jerome hauled himself up on his elbow and spat at him, a gobbet of spittle landing on his habit. He exclaimed in disgust and launched a sudden kick at the Carthusian’s ribs. The old man fell back with a yell to lie shrieking in the churned-up snow. Prior Mortimus held up a letter.
‘See, Commissioner, I caught him trying to smuggle this out!’
I took it and read the superscription. ‘It’s addressed to Sir Thomas Seymour!’
‘Is he not one of the king’s council?’
‘He is, and the late queen’s brother.’ With a glance at Jerome, who lay glaring up at us like a wild beast, I tore it open. A chill ran down my spine as I read. It addressed Seymour as cousin, referred to his imprisonment in a corrupt house where a king’s commissioner had been murdered, and said there was a story he should know, of ill deeds by Lord Cromwell. He then went on to repeat the story of his encounter in prison with Mark Smeaton, and the musician’s torture by Cromwell.
I am now confined here by another of Cromwell’s commissioners, a grim-faced hunchback. I tell you this story now in the hope you may use it against Cromwell, that tool of the Antichrist. The people hate him and will hate him more when this is known.
I crumpled the paper in my hand. ‘How did he get out?’
‘He disappeared after Prime and I came looking for him. Meanwhile our good Bugge was visited by this boy from the poorhouse, saying he had come to fetch a message from one of the monks. Bugge was suspicious and wouldn’t let him in.’ The gatekeeper nodded in satisfaction, grinding his knuckles into the urchin’s collar. He had ceased his struggles and was staring in astonished terror at Jerome lying on the snow.
‘Who sent you here?’ I asked him.
‘A servant brought a note, sir,’ he answered tremulously, ‘asking me to take a letter for the London post.’
‘I found this on him,’ Bugge said. He opened his free hand, which held a gold ring.
‘Yours?’ I asked Jerome. He turned his head away.
‘Which servant, boy? Answer, you are in serious trouble.’
‘Mister Grindstaff, sir, from the kitchen. The ring was to pay me and the post coach.’
‘Grindstaff!’ the prior snorted. ‘He takes Jerome his food, he’s always been against the changes. I’ll put him out on the road tonight - unless you’d take harsher measures, Commissioner?’
I shook my head. ‘Make sure Jerome is kept locked in his cell all the time. You should not have let him out for services - see what has come of it!’ I turned to Bugge. ‘Let the boy go.’
Bugge hauled the urchin to the gate and shoved him out on the road with a cuff.
‘Get up, you,’ Prior Mortimus snapped at Jerome.
He tried to struggle up, but fell back. ‘I can’t, you unchristian churl.’
‘Help him,’ I ordered Bugge. ‘Lock him in his cell.’ The gatekeeper hauled Jerome to his feet and led him roughly away.
‘Cromwell has many enemies!’ Jerome shouted at me over his shoulder. ‘His just end will come!’
I turned to the prior. ‘Have you an office we can go to?’
He led me through the inner cloister to a room with a warm fire. A jug of wine stood on a paper-strewn desk and he poured us each a cup.
‘Is this the first time Jerome has disappeared after a service?’
‘Yes. He is always watched.’
‘Is there any chance he could have sent another letter out before today?’
‘Not since he was confined, the day you came. But before - yes.’
I nodded, biting a fingernail. ‘He must be guarded closely from now on. This letter is a serious matter. It should be reported to Lord Cromwell at once.’
He gave me a calculating look. ‘Would ye perhaps tell Lord Cromwell that a monk loyal to the king stopped the letter going?’
‘We’ll see.’ I looked at him coldly. ‘There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you. Orphan Stonegarden.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Aye, I’d heard questions were being asked.’
‘Well? Your name has been mentioned.’
He shrugged. ‘Even old celibates get lusty. She was a fine-looking girl. I tried to get her to romp with me, I’ll not deny it.’
‘You who are charged with keeping discipline in this house, and told me yesterday that discipline is all that keeps the world from chaos?’
He stirred uneasily in his chair. ‘A tumble with a warm girl’s a different matter from unnatural passions that rot the relations monks should have with each other,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m not perfect, nobody is except the saints and not all of them.’
‘Some would say, Prior
Mortimus, those words make you a hypocrite.’
‘Oh come, Commissioner, aren’t all men hypocrites? I wished the girl no harm. She rejected me quickly enough, and that old pederast Alexander reported me to the abbot. I felt sorry for her afterwards,’ he added in a quieter voice, ‘drifting about the place like a wraith. I never talked to her again, though.’
‘Did anyone take her by force, that you know of? Goodwife Stumpe believes someone did.’
‘No.’ His face darkened. ‘I wouldn’t have stood for that.’ He let out a long breath. ‘It was bad, seeing her yesterday. I knew her at once.’