Dissolution

'He is sinking,' he said quietly. 'It seems I must lose another.'

'It is his time.' We all looked round as the blind monk spoke. 'Poor Francis, he has watched nearly a hundred years as the world falls down to its end. He has seen the coming of the Antichrist, as was foretold. Luther, and his agent Cromwell.'

I realized he had no idea I was there. Brother Guy stepped hastily towards him, but I laid a restraining hand on his arm.

'No, Brother, let us hear.'

'Is that a visitor?' the blind monk asked, turning his milky eyes towards me. 'Did you know Brother Francis, sir?'

'No, Brother. I am a – visitor.'

'When he was professed it was still the time of the wars between Lancaster and York. Think of that. He told me there was an old monk at Scarnsea then, as old as Francis is now, who had known monks who were here at the time of the Great Pestilence.' He smiled softly. 'Those must have been great days. Over a hundred brothers here, a clamour of young men seeking the habit. This old man told Brother Fabian that when the Pestilence came half the monks died in a week. They partitioned the refectory, for the survivors could not bear the sight of the empty tables. The whole world was stricken then as it fell a further step towards its close.' He shook his head. 'Now all is vanity and corruption as the end nears. Soon Christ will come and judge all.'

'Quiet, Brother,' Brother Guy murmured anxiously, 'quiet.' I looked across at Alice; she dropped her eyes. I studied the ancient monk; he lay quite unconscious, his wrinkled face calm.

'Come, Mark,' I said quietly. 'Let us go.'

* * *

We muffled ourselves up and went out. The freezing night was still, moonlight glinting on the snow as we crunched along to the church. A subdued glow of candlelight was visible from the windows.

At night the church had quite a different aspect. It seemed like a great cavern, the roof lost in echoing darkness. Pinpoints of light came from candles lit before favoured images round the walls, and there were two larger oases of light, one beyond the rood screen in the choir, the other in a side chapel. I led Mark there, guessing Singleton would have the less exalted setting.

The open coffin stood on a table. Posted round it were nine or ten monks, each holding a large candle. They made a strange sight, those cowled figures in the dark, their sombre faces lit from below. As we approached I saw Brother Athelstan there; he quickly lowered his head. Brother Jude and Brother Hugh shuffled aside to give us room.

Singleton's head had been set upon his neck and a block of wood laid between the head and the coffin's back to hold it in place. His eyes and mouth had been closed and but for the red line round the neck he could have been lying in the repose of natural death. I looked down, then lifted my head hastily at the smell that rose from the body, cutting through the monks' fusty odour. Singleton had been dead over a week and out of the vault he was decomposing fast. I nodded gravely to the monks and withdrew a few paces.

'I am going to bed,' I said to Mark. 'You may stay if you wish.'

He shook his head. 'I will come with you. It is a doleful sight.'

'I would pay my respects to Simon Whelplay. But as laymen I doubt we would be welcome.'

Mark nodded and we turned away. The sound of a Latin psalm came from behind the rood screen where the novice lay. I recognized Psalm 94.

'O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth: O God, to whom vengeance belongeth, shew thyself.'

* * *

Exhausted though I was, I slept badly again. My back pained me and I only dozed in fits and starts. Mark too was restless, grunting and mumbling in his dreams. Just as the sky lightened I fell at last into a deep sleep, only to be woken by Mark an hour later. He was already up and dressed.

'Jesu's mercy,' I groaned. 'Is it full day?'

'Aye, sir.' There was still something withdrawn about his tone. A shaft of pain ran through my hump as I heaved myself up; I could not go on like this.

'No more noises this morning?' I asked. I had not intended to bait him, but it was coming to annoy me the way my words seemed to slide from him like water from a duck.

'As a matter of fact, I did think I heard something a few minutes ago,' he said coldly. 'It's gone now.'

'I have been thinking on what Jerome said yesterday. You know he is mad. It is possible he himself believes the stories he told us, and that that made them sound – credible.'

Mark met my gaze. 'I am not sure he is mad at all, sir. Only in great agony of soul.'

I had hoped Mark would accept my explanation; though I did not realize it then, I needed reassurance.

'Well, one way or the other,' I said sharply, 'what he says had no bearing on Singleton's death. It may even have been smoke to hide something he does know. And now we must press on.'

'Yes, sir.'

By the time I was shaved and dressed Mark had gone down the hall to breakfast. As I approached the kitchen, I heard his voice and Alice's.

'He should not make you labour so,' Mark was saying.

'It makes me strong,' Alice replied in a voice lighter than any I had heard her use. 'I will have arms thick and strong as yours one day.'

'That would be meet for no lady.'

Feeling a pang of jealousy, I coughed and went in. Mark was at table, smiling at Alice as she manoeuvred stone urns into a row. They did indeed look heavy.

'Good morning. Mark, would you take those letters to the abbot's house? Tell him I will keep the deeds for now.'

'Of course.' He left me with Alice, who set bread and cheese on the table. She seemed in better spirits this morning and made no reference to our conversation the night before, asking me only if I fared well that morning. I was a little disappointed at the formality of the question, for her words the evening before had gladdened my heart, although I was glad I had withdrawn my hand; there were enough complications here.

Brother Guy came in. 'Old Brother August needs his pan, Alice.'

'At once.' She curtsied and went out. Outside, the bells began tolling loudly. They seemed to echo round my skull.

'Commissioner Singleton's funeral will be in half an hour.'

'Brother Guy,' I said, suddenly awkward, 'may I consult with you, professionally?'

'Of course. Any assistance I can give.'

'I am having trouble with my back. Since the long ride here it pains me where – where it protrudes.'

'Would you like me to look?'

I took a long, deep breath. I hated the thought of a stranger seeing my deformity, but I had been suffering ever since the journey from London and was starting to become anxious some lasting damage might have been done. 'Very well,' I said, and began to remove my doublet.

Brother Guy went behind me and I felt cool fingers on my back, probing the knotted muscles. He grunted.

'Well?' I asked anxiously.

'Your muscles have gone into a spasm. They are very knotted. But I can see no damage to your spine. With time and rest your back should ease.' He stepped round and studied my face with a cool professional gaze as I dressed again.

'Does your back often give you much pain?'

'Sometimes,' I said shortly. 'But there is little to be done about it.'

'You are under much strain. That never helps.'

I grunted. 'I have not slept well since coming here. But who is to wonder at that?'

His large brown eyes studied my face. 'Were you well before?'

'My dominant humour is melancholy. These last few months I have felt it growing, I fear the balance of my humours is becoming undermined.'

He nodded. 'I think you have an overheated mind, not surprising after what you have witnessed here.'

I was silent a moment. 'I cannot help feeling responsible for that boy's death.' I had not meant to confide in him so, but Brother Guy had a way of drawing one out despite oneself.

'If anyone is responsible it is I. He was poisoned while under my care.'