For a moment I thought he would refuse, but he set his lips and bent to remove his coat, his overshoes and finally his boots. Those expensive leather shoes would be no better for a soaking. He stood a moment shivering on the bank, his solid bare legs and feet nearly as white as the snow. Then he took a deep breath and waded in, shouting aloud at the shock of the cold water.
I had expected it to reach his thighs, but he had taken no more than a couple of steps before, with a cry, he sank to his chest. Great bubbles of stinking gas belched up around him, smelling so vile I took an involuntary step back. He stood there gasping as the foul air dissipated.
‘There’s a foot of mud – ugh—’ he gasped.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Of course. The silt from the stream will fall to the bottom. Can you see anything? Can you reach?’
He gave me a withering look, then with a groan he bent down, his arm disappearing under the water. He scrabbled about. ‘Yes – something – it’s sharp—’ his arm reappeared. He was holding a great sword, its handle gilded with gold. My heart leaped as he threw it on the bank.
‘Well done!’ I breathed. ‘Now – again – is there anything more?’
He bent again, his whole shoulder disappearing under the surface and sending slow ripples towards the icy rim.
‘Jesu, it’s cold. Wait – yes – there is something – it’s soft – cloth I think.’
‘The killer’s clothes!’ I breathed.
He rose, pulling, and then overbalanced with a shout, falling right under the surface as another figure shot up out of the water. I gaped at the sight of a human form, dressed in a sodden robe. Its upper body seemed to hang in the air a moment, hair swirling round its head, then it splashed down into the reeds.
Mark’s head rose again. He howled with shock and fear, flapping for the shore. Hauling himself onto the bank, he collapsed onto the snow, his yells turning to gasps and his eyes bulging, as mine were, at the sight of the figure in the reeds. A woman’s body, grey and rotten and draped in the rags of a servant’s dress. The eye sockets were empty; a lipless mouth was drawn back over grey clenched teeth. Rats-tails of hair dripped onto its face.
Mark got shakily to his feet. He crossed himself, over and over, praying. ‘Deus salve nos, deus salve nos, mater Christi salve nos . . .’
‘It’s all right,’ I said gently, all my anger gone. ‘It’s all right.’ I put a hand on his shoulder; he was shaking like a leaf. ‘She must have been lying under the silt. Gases built up and you disturbed them. You’re safe, the poor creature can do us no harm.’ But my own voice broke as I looked at the terrible thing lying there.
‘Come, you’ll catch an ague. Put on your boots.’ He did so, the action seeming to calm him a little.
I saw that something else had risen to the surface and lay floating there; a large black piece of cloth, bloated with gas. I reached over with my staff, dreading a second body, but it was only an empty monk’s habit. I hauled it in and set it on the bank. I could see dark patches that could have been the marks of congealed blood. I suddenly remembered the fat carp we had eaten on our first night and shuddered.
Mark was still staring at the body in horror. ‘Who is it?’ he stuttered.
I took a deep breath. ‘My guess is those are the remains of Orphan Stonegarden.’ I looked at the dreadful head, grey skin stretched over a skull. ‘ “A sweet gentle face,” Goodwife Stumpe said. “One of the prettiest I have ever seen.” So this is what Simon Whelplay meant about warning a woman of danger. He knew.’
‘So now we have three deaths.’
‘I pray God it’s the last.’ I forced myself to pick up the monk’s robe. I turned it over and paused at the sight of a little harp sewn into the fabric. I had seen it before; it was the sacrist’s badge of office. My mouth fell open with amazement.
‘It’s Brother Gabriel’s,’ I gasped.
Chapter Twenty
I TOLD MARK TO RUN and fetch the abbot, as fast as he could to warm his blood. I watched him plough away through the snow, then turned back to the pond. Bubbles were still rising from the silt, churning the surface. I wondered if the relic was down there, and perhaps the chalices the poor girl was supposed to have stolen.
I made myself approach the cadaver. There was a thin silver chain round its neck and after a moment’s hesitation I bent and took it, snapping the links easily between my fingers. There was a tiny medallion on the end, with the crude figure of a man bearing a load on his back. I pocketed it and took up the sword. It was an expensive weapon, a gentleman’s sword. A maker’s mark was stamped into the blade: JS.1507, above the effigy of a square building with four pointed towers.
I went and sat down on the pile of rubble by the wall. I was stiff with shock as I sat staring at the bundle among the reeds. Between that and the cold my fingers and toes soon became numb and I got up, waving my arms and stamping my feet to restore the circulation.
I walked up and down, the snow creaking under my boots, pondering what these discoveries meant. I began to see a pattern, facts slotted into place in my head. After a while I heard voices from the orchard, and saw Mark hurrying back, accompanied by two black-habited figures, the abbot and the prior. Prior Mortimus carried a large blanket. Abbot Fabian’s face was aghast as he came to a halt and stared at the thing on the bank. He crossed himself and muttered a prayer. The prior went over to the body, his face contorted with disgust. His eyes went to the sword, which I had placed on the bank.
‘Was the woman killed with that?’ he breathed.
‘I do not think so. The body was preserved under the silt; I think it had been there a long time. But I believe this is the sword that killed Singleton. This pond has been used as a hiding place more than once.’
‘Whose corpse is it?’ There was a note of panic in the abbot’s voice.
I gave him a level stare. ‘I have been told a former assistant of the infirmarian disappeared two years ago. A girl called Orphan Stonegarden.’
The prior looked at the body again. ‘No,’ I heard him mutter. There was anger in his voice and sorrow too, disbelief. ‘But – she ran away,’ he said. ‘She was a thief . . .’
We looked round at the sound of more people approaching. Four servants, carrying a stretcher between them. The abbot nodded to Prior Mortimus, and he threw the blanket over the body. The abbot leaned towards me.
‘There is a great hue and cry at the monastery. People saw Master Poer come running to my house; he told me you had found a body and I asked the servants to bring a stretcher to carry it back. But – please – may we keep it covered, just say someone drowned in the pond for now, not that it is a woman—’
‘For the present,’ I agreed. I hid the sword in the soaked habit as the servants approached. They hung back, crossing themselves. ‘Mark, help them,’ I said. I noticed that under his coat he had exchanged his wet clothes for a blue servant’s shirt. He helped them lay the blanket-covered form on the stretcher and lifted it; it seemed light as paper.
‘Take the stretcher to the infirmary,’ I said. We formed a procession behind the servants. I glanced at Prior Mortimus once or twice and he looked away. Discoloured water dripped from the body, staining the snow.
A CROWD HAD GATHERED, monks and servants buzzing around in the orchard like a swarm of bees. The prior called to them angrily to go about their business and they dissipated with many backward glances at the blanket-covered stretcher. Brother Guy approached us.
‘Who is it? They say someone drowned in the pond.’
I turned to the bearers. ‘Take the corpse to the infirmary for Brother Guy to examine. Mark, go with him. And take this, put it in our room.’ I handed him the soaked habit. ‘Careful of the sword,’ I murmured. ‘It is sharp.’
‘I should tell the brethren something,’ the prior said.
‘Only that a body has been found in the pond. Now, my lord Abbot, I would talk with you.’ I nodded towards his house.
AGAIN HE FACED me across his desk, still covered with papers and with the abbey seal re
sting on its lump of red wax. His face seemed to have aged a decade in a few days, the confident glow in his cheeks replaced by grey, exhausted fear.
I laid the sword on his desk. He looked at it with distaste. I placed the little silver chain beside it, and pointed at it. ‘Do you recognize that, my lord?’
He bent and looked at it. ‘No, I have never seen it. Was it on – on—’
‘The body. Yes. And the sword?’
He shook his head. ‘We have no swords here.’
‘I won’t ask if you recognize that body as Orphan Stonegarden, it is beyond recognizing. I will have to see if Goodwife Stumpe recognizes the pendant.’
He looked at me with horror. ‘The poorhouse overseer? Does she have to be involved? She has no love for us.’
I shrugged. ‘And she will have less if it transpires her ward was murdered and thrown in your fish pond. She told me the girl was unhappy working here. What can you tell me about that?’
For answer he buried his head in his hands. I thought he would begin sobbing, but after a moment he lifted his face.
‘It is not good to have young girls working in monastic houses. There I agree with Lord Cromwell. But Brother Alexander was infirmarian then, he was getting old and needed help. The girl was sent and he wanted to take her on.’
‘Perhaps he liked her looks. I hear she was comely.’
He coughed. ‘Not Brother Alexander. In fact I thought it safer than having a boy to assist him. That was in the days before the visitation, when – er—’
‘I see. When a boy might have to watch his arse. But Brother Guy was infirmarian by the time she disappeared?’
‘Yes. Brother Alexander was named in the bishop’s visitation. It broke him, he died of a seizure soon after. Then Brother Guy came.’
‘So who was it that bothered the girl? I believe somebody did.’
He shook his head. ‘Commissioner, it is a temptation to have a pretty girl around the cloister. Women tempt men, as Adam tempted Eve. Monks are only human—’
‘From what I have heard she did no tempting, but was harried and pestered. I ask again, what do you know?’
His shoulders sagged. ‘There were complaints from Brother Alexander. A young monk called Brother Luke, who works in the laundry, was said to have – molested her.’
‘You mean he took her forcibly?’
‘No, no, no. It did not go so far. I spoke to Brother Luke, forbade him her presence. He troubled her again and I told him if he did not stop I would make him leave.’
‘And others? Obedentiaries, perhaps?’
He looked at me with scared eyes. ‘There were complaints against Brother Edwig and Prior Mortimus. They had – had made lewd suggestions, Brother Edwig persistently. Again I – I warned them.’
‘Brother Edwig?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your warnings had effect?’
‘I am the abbot, sir,’ he said with a touch of his old pomposity. He hesitated. ‘Could it not be the girl drowned herself, if she was – in despair?’
‘The story was she stole two gold chalices and fled.’
‘So we thought when they vanished from the church at the time she went. But – could she not have repented of what she had done, thrown them in the pond and drowned herself?’
‘I want the pond drained, but even if those chalices are found it proves nothing. Her killer could have taken them and tossed them in after her, to throw enquiry off the scent. This matter must be fully investigated, my lord. It may need the involvement of the civil authority. Justice Copynger.’
He bowed his head and sat in silence for some moments.
‘It’s all over, isn’t it?’ he said suddenly, his voice muffled.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Our life here. The monastic life in England. I have been deluding myself, haven’t I? Legalities will not save us. Even if Commissioner Singleton’s killer should turn out to be from the town.’
I did not answer him.
He took a paper from his desk, his hand trembling slightly. ‘Earlier I looked again at the draft Instrument of Surrender Commissioner Singleton gave me.’ He quoted: ‘ “We do profoundly consider that the manner and trade of living which we and others of our pretensed religion have practised and used many days, doth most principally consist in dumb ceremonies and in certain constitutions of Roman and other foreign potentates.” I thought at first Lord Cromwell wanted our lands and wealth, that passage was merely a bonus for the reformers.’ He looked up at me. ‘But after what I have heard from Lewes – it’s a standard clause, isn’t it? All the houses are to come down. And after this Scarnsea is finished.’
‘Three people have died most horribly,’ I said, ‘yet you seem concerned only with your own survival.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Three? No, sir, only two. One, if the girl killed herself—’
‘Brother Guy believes Simon Whelplay was poisoned.’ He frowned. ‘Then he should have told me. As abbot.’ ‘I asked him to keep it to himself for the time being.’ He stared at me. When he spoke again it was almost a whisper.
‘You should have seen this house just five years ago, before the king’s divorce. Everything ordered and secure. Prayer and devotion, the summer timetable then the winter, unchanging, centuries old. The Benedictines have given me such a life as I could never have had in the world; a ship’s chandler’s son raised to abbot.’ He gave a sad flicker of a smile. ‘It’s not just myself I mourn for, Commissioner; it’s the tradition, the life. Already these last two years order has started to break down. We all used to have the same beliefs, think the same way, but already the reforms have brought discord, disagreement. And now murder. Dissolution,’ he whispered. ‘Dissolution.’ I saw two great tears take form in the corners of his eyes. ‘I will sign the Instrument of Surrender,’ he said quietly. ‘I have no alternative, have I?’
I shook my head slowly.
‘I will get the pension Commissioner Singleton promised?’
‘Yes, my lord, you will get your pension. I wondered when we would come to that.’
‘First, though, I will have to obtain the formal agreement of the brethren. I hold everything in trust for them, you see.’
‘Do not do so quite yet. But when I give the word, tell them.’
He nodded dumbly, lowering his head again to hide his tears. I looked at him. The prize Singleton had sought so earnestly had fallen into my lap, the murders had broken the abbot. And now I thought I knew who the murderer was, who had killed them all.
I FOUND BROTHER GUY in his dispensary. Mark sat on a stool beside him, still in his servant’s clothes. The infirmarian was cleaning knives in a bowl of water, stained brownish-green. The cadaver lay on the table, covered with the blanket, for which I was grateful. Mark’s face was pale, and even the infirmarian’s dark features had an underlying pallor, as though there were ashes under his skin.
‘I have been examining the body,’ he said quietly. ‘I cannot be sure, but from her height and build I think it is the girl Orphan. And the hair was fair. But I can tell you how she died. Her neck was broken.’ He lowered the blanket, exposing that dreadful head. He rotated it slowly; it swung loose, the vertebrae dislocated. I fought down nausea.
‘Murdered then.’
‘She couldn’t have done that going into the pond. Master Poer says the bottom is thick silt.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you, Brother. Mark, those other things we found, are they in our room? We have a call to make. Have you a change of clothes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go and put them on. You shouldn’t be going around dressed as a servant.’
Mark left us and I took his stool. The infirmarian bowed his head.
‘First Simon Whelplay poisoned under my nose, and now it seems this poor girl who used to be my assistant murdered too. And I thought her a thief.’
‘How long was she with you?’
‘Not long, a few months. She was hard-working enough, but I found her withdrawn, a l
ittle surly. I believe she trusted Brother Alexander, but no one else. I was preoccupied with putting the infirmary in order; he had left it in a poor state. I took less notice of her than I should.’
‘Did she say anything about unwanted attentions from the monks?’
He frowned. ‘No. But one day I came in and found her struggling with one of the brethren, in the corridor outside her door. She had the room Alice occupies now, at the end of the corridor. He was trying to embrace her, making lewd remarks.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Brother Luke, the launderer’s assistant. I sent him away and complained to the abbot, though Orphan did not want trouble made. Abbot Fabian said he would speak to Luke. He told me it was not the first time. After that Orphan seemed more friendly, though she still spoke little. Then, not long after, she vanished.’
‘No one else troubled her that you know of?’
‘Not that I saw. But, as I say, she did not confide in me.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I don’t think she ever became used to my strange colouring. Not surprising, I suppose, for a girl from a small town.’
‘And afterwards Alice came.’
‘Yes, and I resolved to win her trust from the beginning. That, at least, I believe I have done.’
‘You are treating Brother Jerome. What would you say is the state of his mind?’
He looked at me carefully. ‘As well as a man can be who, for good or ill, devoted his life to demanding ideals and a harsh way of life, and then was tortured into a betrayal of them. His mind is sore troubled, but he is not mad, if that is what you mean.’
‘Well, it seems madness to me further to weaken a wasted body by wearing a hair shirt. Tell me, does he ever talk of his time in the Tower?’
‘No. Never. But he was grievously racked. That I can swear to.’
‘He told me about that. More too, but I think it was just tales to vex me.’ Brother Guy did not respond. I stood up and as I did so a spasm ran through my back. I winced, grasping the table.
‘What is the matter?’
I took deep breaths. ‘I twisted something as I rose. I will suffer for days now.’ I gave him a bitter smile. ‘You and I both know what it is like to have people stare at us as oddities, eh, Brother? But at least your appearance is a natural phenomenon, it does not cause you pain. And there is a land where it is normal.’