Dissolution (Matthew Shardlake Mysteries)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘The one in the pond?’

  ‘It had a maker’s mark. Swords like that are made to order. If I can find the maker, I should be able to find whom he made it for. And it’s the only lead I have now.’

  ‘Except to question Brother Edwig when we have evidence about the land sales.’

  ‘Yes. You know, I cannot see Brother Edwig working with an accomplice. He seems too self-contained.’

  Mark hesitated. ‘Brother Guy could have killed Singleton. He’s stringy, but looks fit enough, and he’s tall.’

  ‘He could, but why him particularly?’

  ‘The hidden passage, sir. He could so easily have slipped away that night and gained access to the kitchen. He wouldn’t have needed a key.’

  I kneaded my brow again. ‘Any of them could have done it. The evidence all points in different ways. I need more; I pray I find it in London. But I need a presence here; I want you to move into the abbot’s house. Check the letters, keep an eye on what’s happening.’

  He gave me a sharp look. ‘You want me away from Alice.’

  ‘I want you safe away from the precincts, like old Dr Goodhaps. You can take his room, it’s a finely appointed place for someone of your age to sit in state.’ I sighed. ‘And yes, I would prefer you away from Alice. I have spoken to her, I have told her that involvement with you could damage your prospects.’

  ‘You had no right, sir,’ he said with sudden vehemence. ‘I have the right to decide my own path.’

  ‘No, Mark, you do not. You have obligations, to your family and to your own future. I order you to move to the abbot’s house.’

  I saw ice in the wide blue eyes that had captivated poor Gabriel. ‘I have seen you look lustfully after her yourself,’ he said, and there was contempt in his voice.

  ‘I control myself.’

  He looked me up and down. ‘You have no choice.’

  I set my teeth. ‘I should kick your arse out on the road for that. I wish I did not need you here while I am away, but I do. Well, are you going to do as I say?’

  ‘I shall do all I can to help you catch the man who has killed these people. He should be hanged. But I make no promise for what I do afterwards, though you disown me utterly.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I am minded to ask Alice Fewterer for her hand.’

  ‘Then I may have to disown you,’ I replied quietly. ‘By God’s flesh I would not, but I cannot ask Lord Cromwell to take back a man married to a servant girl. That would be impossible.’

  He did not answer. I knew in my heart that if it came to the worst, even after what he had said, I would take him as a clerk; find him and Alice a room in London. But I would not make it easy for him. I met his gaze with a look as steely as his own.

  ‘Pack a bag for me,’ I ordered curtly. ‘And saddle Chancery. I think the road is clear enough to ride to town. I will see the prior now, then leave for London.’ I walked away; I would have wished for his company in tackling Prior Mortimus, but after what had passed we were better apart.

  THE OBEDENTIARIES were still in Gabriel’s office, as dejected a group as I had ever seen. It struck me how disconnected they were from each other; the abbot in his increasingly fragile haughtiness, Guy’s lonely austerity, the prior and the bursar the ones who kept the place functioning and yet, I sensed again, not friends. So much for spiritual brotherhood.

  ‘You should know, Brothers, I am going to London. I need to report to Lord Cromwell. I will be back in about five days and Mark Poer is to deputize till I return.’

  ‘How can ye get there and back in five days?’ Prior Mortimus asked. ‘They say these snows reach to Bristol.’

  ‘I am taking a boat.’

  ‘What have you to discuss with Lord Cromwell?’ Abbot Fabian asked nervously.

  ‘Private matters. Now, I have let it be known how Brother Gabriel died. And I have decided Orphan Stonegarden’s body should be delivered to Goodwife Stumpe for burial. Please arrange it.’

  ‘But then the town will know she died here.’ The abbot frowned, as though he was finding it hard to puzzle things out.

  ‘Yes. Matters have gone too far now for secrecy about that.’

  He raised his head and looked at me with a touch of his old haughty manner.

  ‘I must protest, Master Shardlake. Surely such a matter, affecting everybody here, should have been discussed with me first, as abbot.’

  ‘Those days are done, my lord,’ I said shortly. ‘Now you may all go, except Prior Mortimus.’

  They passed out, the abbot giving me a vacant, puzzled look as he went. I folded my arms and faced the prior. I dragged reserves of mental energy from somewhere, I know not where.

  ‘I have been considering, Brother, who knew I was coming to the church. You were there, by the pond, when I told my assistant.’

  He laughed incredulously. ‘I had left you.’

  I studied him, but could see only angry puzzlement. ‘Yes, you had. Then the person who pushed the stone was not lying in wait for me at all, but had another purpose. Who could have had reason to go up there?’

  ‘Nobody, not till the works are agreed upon.’

  ‘I would like you to accompany me back to the walkway to take another look.’ I had remembered the missing relic, the gold that must be concealed somewhere if I was right about the land sales. Could they be hidden somewhere up there, was that why the killer had been on the walkway?

  ‘As ye like, Commissioner.’

  I led the way to the stairs and mounted again. My heart pounded as we came out on the walkway. Down below the servants were still cleaning, squeezing reddened mops into pails of water. This is what a man comes to. I was overcome with sudden nausea and clutched at the rail.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Prior Mortimus stood a couple of paces off. It suddenly occurred to me that if he should choose to seize me, he was stronger than I: I should have brought Mark.

  I waved him away. ‘Yes. Let us proceed.’

  I looked at the little heap of tools where the blocks of stone had been, the workmen’s basket suspended from its cradle of ropes.

  ‘How long is it since any work was done here?’

  ‘The ropes and basket went up two months ago, so the workmen could get to the statue, which was in a perilous state, remove it and examine the crack. That basket suspended from the wall and the tower by moveable ropes is an ingenious arrangement; the mason devised it. They’d hardly begun when Brother Edwig ordered the work stopped; he was right, Gabriel shouldn’t have started before the programme was approved. Then he dragged his heels to show Gabriel who was in charge.’

  I looked at the mesh of ropes. ‘A dangerous task.’

  He shrugged. ‘Scaffolding would be safer, but can you imagine the bursar approving the cost?’

  ‘You do not like Brother Edwig,’ I ventured casually.

  ‘He’s like a fat wee ferret, hunting out pennies wherever he can.’

  ‘Does he consult you much about the monastery finances?’ I watched him carefully, but his shrug was casual.

  ‘He consults no one but my lord Abbot, though he wastes my time and everyone else’s making them account for every last farthing.’

  ‘I see.’ I turned away and looked up at the bell tower. ‘How do you reach the bells?’

  ‘There’s another staircase leading up from the ground floor. I can take ye up if ye wish. I doubt the works will be continued now. Gabriel’s lost that one by getting himself killed.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Prior Mortimus, how is it that you were moved by the death of a servant girl, yet show no sorrow for the death of a brother you must have worked with many years?’

  ‘I said before, a monk’s obligations in this life are clear different from a mere woman’s.’ He gave me a steely look. ‘One of those obligations is not to be a pervert.’

  ‘I am glad you are not a judge in King’s Bench, Brother Prior.’

  HE TOOK ME BACK down the stairs to the nave and through another door, to where a long spiral staircase led up t
o roof level. It was a long climb and I was breathless by the time we came out on a narrow wooden passageway leading to another door. An unglazed window gave a dizzying view out over the precinct and beyond, white fields and the forest in one direction and the grey sea in the other. It must have been the highest point for miles. A freezing wind whined mournfully, ruffling our hair.

  ‘It’s through here.’ The prior led me through the door into a bare, wood-floored chamber where thick bell ropes hung to the floor. Looking up, I could see the dim outlines of the huge bells above. In the centre of the room, railed off, was a large circular hole. I looked over the rails and had another view of the church floor; we were so high now the men below seemed like ants. I could see the basket hanging twenty feet underneath, the outlines of tools and buckets visible inside it under a large cloth. The ropes led up through the hole into the room, where they were secured to more enormous rivets driven into the walls.

  ‘But for the hole the sound of the bells would deafen those working the bell ropes,’ the prior observed. ‘They have to plug their ears as it is.’

  ‘I can imagine; they almost deafen one at ground level.’ I noticed a flight of wooden steps. ‘Do those lead to the bell tower itself?’

  ‘Yes, they’re used by the servants who go up to clean and maintain them.’

  ‘Let us go up. After you.’

  The stairs led to another room, where a rail surrounded the bells themselves. They were indeed enormous, each larger than a man and fixed to the roof with huge rings. Nothing was hidden up here either. I went over to the bells, taking care not to go too close to the edge, for the railing was low. The nearest bell was covered with ornate metalwork and had a large plaque fixed to it, inscribed in a strange language.

  ‘Arrancado de la barriga del infiel, año 1059,’ I read aloud.

  ‘Taken from the belly of the infidel,’ Prior Mortimus said. I started; I had not realized he was so close.

  ‘Commissioner,’ he said, ‘I would ask you something. You saw the abbot earlier?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s a broken man. He’s not fit for the office any more. When it comes to a replacement, Lord Cromwell will want a hard man who’ll be loyal to him. I know he’s been promoting supporters in the monasteries.’ He looked at me meaningfully.

  I shook my head in surprise. ‘Prior Mortimus, do you really think this house will be allowed to continue? After what has happened here?’

  He looked taken back. ‘But surely - our life here - it can’t really end. There’s no law to make us surrender. I know people say the monasteries will come down, but that can’t be allowed, surely.’ He shook his head. ‘Surely not.’ He took another step closer, pressing me back against the railing, his foul body odour rancid in my nostrils. My heart began thumping wildly.

  ‘Prior Mortimus,’ I said. ‘Please stand away.’

  He stared at me and then stepped back.

  ‘Commissioner,’ he said intently, ‘I could save this house.’

  ‘The future of the monastery is something I must discuss only with Lord Cromwell.’ My mouth was dry, for a terrible moment I had thought he was about to push me over. ‘I have seen all I need. There is nothing hidden here. Let us go down now.’

  We descended in silence. I was never so glad to stand on firm ground again.

  ‘Will ye be leaving now?’ the prior asked.

  ‘Yes. But Mark Poer carries my authority while I am away.’

  ‘When ye talk to Lord Cromwell, will ye mention what I said, sir? Please. I could be his man.’

  ‘I have many things to tell him,’ I said shortly. ‘And now, I must go.’

  I turned and walked quickly away to the infirmary. The shock of Gabriel’s death had suddenly caught up with me; my head spun and my legs threatened to give way as I walked though the infirmary hall to our room. Mark was not there, but a pannier had been made up containing my papers, some food and a change of shirt. I pushed it aside and sat on the bed, letting myself give way to a trembling that shook me from head to toe. I found myself suddenly weeping uncontrollably, and I gave way to it. I wept for Gabriel, for Orphan, for Simon, even for Singleton. And for my own terror.

  I was feeling calmer, washing my face in the water bowl, when there was a knock at the door. I hoped it might be Mark come to say farewell, but it was Alice, looking curiously at my flushed face.

  ‘Sir, the servant has brought your horse round. It is time to leave for town if you are to catch your boat.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I took my pannier and rose to my feet. She stood before me.

  ‘Sir, I wish you would not go.’

  ‘Alice, I must. In London I may find some answers that can end this horror.’

  ‘The sword?’

  ‘Yes, the sword.’ I took a deep breath. ‘While I am away, don’t go out if you can help it, stay here.’

  She did not reply. I hurried past her, for fear that if I hesitated a moment longer I might say something I would regret. Her look as I passed was unfathomable. At the front door the stable boy stood with Chancery, who waved his white tail and whinnied as he saw me. I stroked his flank, glad for at least one being that greeted me with affection. I mounted with my usual difficulty and headed for the gate, which Bugge held open. I stopped and looked back over the white courtyard for a long moment, I know not for what. Then I turned, nodded to Bugge and led Chancery out onto the Scarnsea road.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  THE JOURNEY TO LONDON was uneventful. There was a favourable wind and the little cargo boat, a two-masted crayer, followed a strong tide up the Channel. It was even colder out at sea and we travelled over leaden waves under a grey sky. I kept to the little cabin, only venturing out when the tang of hops became too strong. The boatman was a sullen creature of few words, aided by a scrawny youth; both rebuffed my attempts to draw them into conversation about life in Scarnsea. I suspected the boatman was a papist because once when I came on deck I found him mumbling over a rosary, which he quickly pocketed when he saw me.

  We were two nights at sea and I slept well, wrapped in blankets and my coat. Brother Guy’s potion had made a real difference, but also away from the monastery I realized how oppressive that life of constant fear and turmoil had been. I reflected how in that atmosphere it was no wonder Mark and I had quarrelled; perhaps we could yet repair things when all this was over. I thought of Mark, no doubt establishing himself now in the abbot’s house. I was sure he would ignore my instructions about Alice; his words had implied as much. I guessed she would tell him that I had revealed my own feelings for her, out on the marsh, and felt a hot flush of embarrassment. I worried for their safety, too, but told myself that if Mark kept to the abbot’s house, no doubt with visits to the infirmary, and if Alice went quietly about her duties, surely nobody would have any motive to harm them.

  WE ARRIVED AT Billingsgate in the afternoon of the third day, after a short wait at the mouth of the Thames for the tide to turn. The banks of the estuary were covered with snow, though I fancied not so thickly as at Scarnsea. Standing on the deck, I made out a slushy growth of ice on the far bank. Following my glance the boatman addressed me almost for the first time on our journey.

  ‘I fancy the Thames may freeze again, like last winter.’

  ‘You may be right.’

  ‘I remember last year, sir, when the king and the court rode across the frozen Thames. Did you see it?’

  ‘No, I was in court. I am a lawyer.’

  I remembered Mark’s description of it, though. He had been working in Augmentations when word came that the king was to ride across the ice from Whitehall to the Christmas celebrations at Greenwich Palace, with all the court, and he wanted the Westminster clerks to follow too. It was all political, of course; a truce had been called with the northern rebels and their leader, Robert Aske, was in London to parley with the king under a safe conduct. The king wanted to provide a spectacle to show Londoners that rebellion would not interfere with his celebrations. Mark never tired
of telling how all the clerks were sent out with their papers to the riverside, forcing their reluctant horses onto the ice.

  His own horse nearly threw him as the king himself rode past, a massive figure on a huge warhorse, Queen Jane on her palfrey tiny at his side, and behind them all the ladies and gentlemen of the court, then the household servants. Finally Mark and the other clerks and officials joined the end of the great train that went hallooing and shouting across the ice, horses and carts slipping and slithering, watched from their windows by half London. The clerks were there only to contribute to the spectacle; they were sent back across London Bridge again that night, clutching their papers and ledgers. I remember discussing it with Mark months later, after Aske’s arrest for treason.