Dissolution

'Yes, yes. But, Mark, make as much haste as you can. We have things to do when you return.'

He helped the old man to his feet. 'Goodbye, Commissioner,' Goodhaps said. 'I hope you keep safe in this pestiferous place.' And with that cheerful valediction, he left us. I returned to my room, secreting the book under the bedclothes. I felt pleased. This was progress. I wanted to investigate the church and the pond next, and wondered how long it would take Mark to get to Scarnsea and back; on his own, little over an hour, but with the old man – I chid myself for a soft noddle, but I had not liked to think of Goodhaps stumbling through the drifts with his bags.

I decided to visit the horses; they had not been out for several days. I went back outside and made my way over to the stables. There a stable boy, sweeping up, assured me the animals were in good condition. Indeed both Chancery and Mark's Redshanks looked well, and were pleased to see me after so long inside. I stroked Chancery's long white head.

'Would you be out, old horse?' I said softly. 'Better to be bored in here than adrift in that place outside. There are worse things than standing in a stall.'

The stable boy passed, giving me an odd look.

'Do you not talk to your horses?' I asked him. He muttered something unintelligible and returned to his sweeping.

I said goodbye to the animals and walked slowly back to the infirmary. In the courtyard I saw that a space had been cleared in the snow. Squares of different sizes had been chalked on the exposed ground and half a dozen monks were playing a game that involved making intricate steps on the throw of a dice. Bugge stood watching, leaning on his spade. At the sight of me the monks paused and made to step aside, but I waved them to continue. I recognized the game from Lichfield, an elaborate combination of hopscotch and dice that was played in all the Benedictine houses.

As I stood watching, Brother Septimus, the fat foolish monk whom Brother Guy had chid for over-eating, limped by, puffing and blowing as he waddled through the snow.

'Come and join us, Septimus,' one of the monks called. The others laughed.

'Oh no – no I couldn't, I would fall.'

'Come, we're playing the easy version. No trouble even for a noddle like you to follow.'

'Oh no-no.'

One of the monks grasped his arm and led him protesting into the middle of the cleared area, the monk already there moving aside. They were all grinning, even Bugge. Almost at once, though, Septimus slipped on a patch of ice and went over, landing on his back with a howl. The other monks roared with laughter.

'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 19

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.