‘Rediscover it again in Gloucester. Trust me. It will turn out to be the least troublesome city we have visited.’
Abbot Serlo stared down at the naked body of Brother Nicholas with a mixture of sadness and anger. In life, the monk had been a plump man of middle height with an abnormally large head.
Death seemed to have shrunk him. It was as if the knife that had slit his throat had let out half of his substance. The blood had been washed away and the wound covered but there was still an expression of horror on Nicholas’s face. Herbs were scattered on the mortuary floor to sweeten the atmosphere, but the stench of death rose powerfully to the nostrils. Serlo gave a nod and Brother Frewine drew the shroud back over the corpse.
The two men left the mortuary and went out into the fresh air.
‘This is an outrage,’ said Serlo quietly.
‘The whole abbey is in a state of shock.’
‘One of our holy brothers. Murdered on consecrated ground.’
‘It is shameful, Father Abbot.’
‘It is abominable, Frewine. A heinous crime. I have schooled myself not to be vengeful, but I do look for justice. Swift and unrelenting justice. I have impressed that upon the sheriff.’
‘Who could wish to kill Brother Nicholas?’ said the Precentor, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘And for what possible reason?’
‘That will emerge in the fullness of time. Meanwhile, we must mourn his death with all due solemnity and assist the sheriff in every way that we can.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘It will mean that the abbey is invaded by Durand and his men but that cannot be helped. Vital clues may lie here. They must be sought.’
A small, elderly, ascetic man with silver hair encircling his bald pate, Serlo had an extraordinary dignity. He looked around him with proprietary affection. A moribund abbey had been brought back to life by his arrival. It had been testing work and there had been many setbacks along the way, but the abbot had persisted, imposing discipline, raising morale, increasing the number of monks, enlarging the range of their duties and spreading the influence of the abbey throughout the whole county. Within a period of fourteen long years, Serlo had transformed Gloucester Abbey into a highly effective and respected institution, and what pleased him most was the sense of common purpose he had instilled in his monks. But one of them had now been brutally murdered, leaving an ugly stain on the purity of his vision for the abbey. It was a severe personal blow.
Brother Frewine hovered, shoulders hunched, owlish features puckered with concern. He knew better than to interrupt the meditative silences into which the abbot was accustomed to drop, particularly as he knew what thoughts must be racing through the other’s mind at this moment. The Precentor had his own grief to nurse, tempered as it was by the very faintest sense of relief that, if any monk had had to be killed, it had been the unpopular Brother Nicholas rather than someone encompassed by the unconditional love he gave to the other monks.
Abbot Serlo understood exactly what he was thinking.
‘This loss could not be more grievous,’ he said in a chiding tone. ‘Thrust aside any bad memories of Brother Nicholas. They have no place here. When one monk dies — whoever he is — a little piece of all of us perishes with him. Nicholas was a conscientious man. Pray earnestly for the salvation of his soul.’
‘I will, Father Abbot.’
‘Remember what I said during Chapter.’
‘The words are engraved on my heart.’
‘Consult them often.’
‘Yes,’ said Frewine, bowing his head in humility. ‘There is one matter still to be discussed,’ he added, looking up again. ‘The two novices, Kenelm and Elaf. Their punishment has not been determined.’
‘Punishment?’
‘Brother Paul thinks that they should be flogged.’
‘And what do you think, Frewine?’
‘It is not my decision, Father Abbot. I am not the Master of the Novices. Only you and Brother Paul can pronounce sentence.’
‘I would still like to take your counsel.’
‘So be it.’
‘What punishment should we mete out to these boys?’
Brother Frewine took a deep breath before he plunged in. ‘I think that they have had punishment enough already,’ he said.
‘It was wrong of them to leave the dormitory at night and even more wrong of them to take food from the kitchens. I do not excuse them and feel that they should be given the sternest reprimand. But they are both very young, Father Abbot, still trying to fit their minds to the notion of obedience.’
‘Go on.’
‘The experience of finding Brother Nicholas has put the fear of God into them. It is something that will live with them for the rest of their days and will, in my view, serve to shape them into true members of the Order. They are in pain, they are in distress.
Kenelm and Elaf are covered in contrition.’ The black-rimmed eyes widened hopefully. ‘I know that Brother Paul feels that the birch rod is called for but they have already been lacerated by the events of last night. Spare them, Father Abbot. Show the mercy for which you are justly admired.’
Serlo ran a contemplative finger across his lower lip.
‘Sound advice,’ he said at length. ‘I will speak with Brother Paul.’ He sensed the Precentor’s fear. ‘Do not worry, Frewine. I will not tell him that I am acting at your behest. My decision is my own. I had already taken the same path as yourself. I merely needed confirmation that I was going in the right direction.
Flogging two novices may give Brother Paul’s arm some practice but it will not bring back a murder victim.’
‘I could not agree more, Father Abbot.’
‘Good. That contents me.’ He set off in the direction of his lodgings with Frewine beside him. ‘This is a poor advertisement for the abbey.’
‘Advertisement?’
‘I take such pride in this community. It is a joy to be part of it.
But pride and joy have both fled now. I was ready to welcome his visit but now I face it with some trepidation.’
‘We have a visitor, Father Abbot?’
‘Two, in fact. Members of a royal commission, returning to the city to deal with unfinished business. I am well acquainted with one of them, Canon Hubert of Winchester, a learned man brought to God, like me, in our native Normandy.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I had thought to show him the beauty of the Benedictine Order here in Gloucester. Instead of that, he will be walking straight into a murder scene.’
‘Murder!’ exclaimed Canon Hubert, his fat cheeks whitening and his body trembling. ‘Murder inside the abbey church?’
‘Alas, yes,’ said Durand.
‘Can this be true, my lord sheriff?’
‘Unhappily, it is. The body was discovered last night.’
‘How? Where?’ gibbered Hubert. ‘Has any arrest been made?’
‘Not as yet.’
‘But we are due to stay at the abbey, Brother Simon and I.’
‘That is why I thought it a kindness to warn you.’
‘There is no kindness in these tidings, my lord sheriff. They are the unkindest words you could have uttered. I am shaken to the core.’
On their arrival at the castle, Durand the Sheriff had been waiting for them. Ralph Delchard performed the introductions and was pleased with the courteous way in which Golde was immediately conducted to their apartment by a servant. He was also impressed when his men were led off to stable the horses before going to their lodging. They were expected. Preparations had been made. The sheriff himself, a big, brawny, smiling man with a rough handsomeness, was in the bailey to give them a warm greeting after their ride. He was evidently pleased to see them.
Left alone with the commissioners, however, Durand became a different person. The smile was replaced by a scowl, the pleasant manner by a preoccupied air. Instead of actually wanting them there, he was plainly exasperated by their presence. The sheriff’s mind was on something else. When he told them what it was, he elicited a variety of reactions. Brother Simon fell to his knees in alarm and began to pray for deliverance. Ralph listened grimly then flung Gervase a look of sharp reproof. After answering it with a shrug of apology, Gervase made a mental note of all the details of the crime. Canon Hubert, quivering all over, needed everything repeated at least three times before he could accept it.Durand the Sheriff forced himself to sound hospitable.