Dissolution

We reached the cloister just as the monks were leaving the church in procession. The sight made an impression that comes clearly to mind all these years later: almost thirty black-robed Benedictines walking in double file across the old stone cloister, cowls raised and arms folded in their wide sleeves to give protection against the snow, which fell in a silent curtain, coating them as they walked, the whole scene illuminated from the church windows. It was a beautiful scene and despite myself I was moved.

***

Brother Guy took us back to our room, promising to collect us shortly and take us to the refectory. We shook the snow from our coats, then Mark wheeled out his little bed and lowered himself onto it.

'How do you think a swordsman could have killed Singleton, sir? Waited for him and struck him from behind?'

I began unpacking my pannier, sorting papers and books. 'Possibly. But what was Singleton doing in the kitchen at four in the morning?'

'Perhaps he had arranged to meet the monk there, the one he told the gatekeeper about?'

'Yes, that is the most likely explanation. Someone arranged to meet Singleton in the kitchen, perhaps with a promise of information, and killed him. Executed him, more like. The whole thing has the flavour of an execution. Surely it would have been far easier just to knife him in the back.'

'He looked a hard man,' Mark said. 'Though it was difficult to tell, his head stuck on the floor of that tomb.' He laughed, a touch shrilly, and I realized he too had been affected by the sight.

'Robin Singleton was a type of lawyer I detest. He had little law and that ill-digested. He made his way by bullying and bluff, supplemented with gold slipped into the right hand at the right time. But he did not deserve to be killed in that terrible way.'

'I had forgotten you were at the execution of Queen Anne Boleyn last year, sir,' Mark said.

'I wish I could.'

'At least it served to give you some ideas.'

I nodded sadly, then gave him a wry smile. 'I remember a teacher we had when I first went to the Inns of Court, Serjeant Hampton. He taught us evidence. He had a saying. 'In any investigation, what are the most relevant circumstances? None' he would bark in reply. 'All the circumstances are relevant, everything must be examined from every angle!''

'Don't say that, sir. We could be here for ever.' He stretched himself out with a groan. 'I could sleep for twelve hours, even on this old board.'

'Well, we can't sleep, not yet. I want to meet the community at supper. If we're to get anywhere, we must know these people. Come, there's no rest for those called to Lord Cromwell's service.' I kicked at the wheeled extension, sending him sliding back under my bed with a yell.

***

Brother Guy led us to the refectory, along dark corridors and up a staircase. It was an impressive chamber, a high ceiling supported by thick pillars with wide vaulting arches. Despite its size, it was lent a comfortable air by the tapestries lining the walls and the thick rattan matting on the floor. A large, beautifully carved lectern stood in one corner. Sconces filled with fat candles cast a warm glow over two tables set with fine plate and cutlery. One, with half a dozen places, stood before the fire and the other, much longer, table was further off. Kitchen servants bustled about, setting out jugs of wine and silver tureens, rich odours escaping from under their lids. I studied the cutlery at the table nearest the fire.

'Silver,' I remarked to Brother Guy. 'And the plates too.'

'That is the obedentiaries' table, where the monastery office holders sit. The ordinary monks have pewter.'

'The common people have wood,' I observed, as Abbot Fabian came bustling in. The servants stopped their work to bow, receiving benevolent nods in return. 'And the abbot dines off gold plate, no doubt,' I muttered to Mark.

The abbot came over to us, smiling tightly.

'I had not been told you wished to dine in the refectory. I have had roast beef prepared in my kitchens.'

'Thank you, but we will take supper here.'

'As you wish.' The abbot sighed. 'I suggested Dr Goodhaps might join you, but he adamantly refuses to leave my house.'

'Did Brother Guy tell you I have given authority for Commissioner Singleton to be buried?'

'He did. I will make the announcement before dinner. It is my turn to give the reading. In English, in accordance with the injunctions,' he added solemnly.

'Good.'

There was a bustle at the door, and the monks began filing in. The two officials we had seen earlier, the fair- haired sacrist Brother Gabriel and Edwig, the dark-haired bursar, walked side by side to the obedentiaries' table, not speaking. They made an odd pair; one tall and fair, his head slightly bowed, the other striding confidently along. They were joined by the prior, the two officials I had met at the chapter house and Brother Guy. The other monks stood at the long table. I noticed the old Carthusian among them; he gave me a venomous look. The abbot leaned across.

'I hear Brother Jerome caused offence earlier. I apologize. But his vows mean he takes his meals in silence.'

'I understand he is lodged here at the request of a member of the Seymour family.'

'Our neighbour, Sir Edward Wentworth. But the request originally came from Lord Cromwell's office.' He gave me a sidelong look. 'He wanted Jerome kept somewhere quiet, out of the way. As a distant relative of Queen Jane he was something of an embarrassment.'

I nodded. 'How long has he been here?'

The abbot looked at Jerome's frowning face. 'Eighteen long months.'

I cast my eye over the assembled monks, who gave me uneasy glances as though I were a strange beast set among them. I noticed they were mainly middle-aged or elderly, few young faces and only three in novices' habits. One old monk, his head trembling with palsy, crossed himself quickly as he studied me.

My eye was drawn to a figure standing uncertainly by the door. I recognized the novice who had taken our horses earlier; he stood shifting uneasily from foot to foot, holding something behind his back. Prior Mortimus looked up from his table.

'Simon Whelplay!' he snapped. 'Your penance is not over, you will have no dinner tonight. Take your place in that corner.'

The boy bowed his head and crossed to a corner of the room, furthest from the fire. He brought his hands round and I saw he held a fool's pointed cap, with the letter 'M' stencilled on it. Reddening, he put it on. The other monks barely glanced at him.

'M?' I asked.

'For maleficium,' the abbot said. 'He has broken the rules, I am afraid. Please, sit.'

Mark and I took places beside Brother Guy, while the abbot went to the lectern. I saw a bible was placed there and was pleased to see it was the English Bible, not the Latin Vulgate with its mistranslations and invented gospels.

'Brethren,' Abbot Fabian announced sonorously, 'we have all been greatly shocked by recent events. I am pleased to welcome the vicar general's representative, Commissioner Shardlake, who has come to investigate the matter. He will be speaking to many of you, and you are to afford him all the help Lord Cromwell's representative deserves.' I eyed him sharply; those words carried a double meaning.

'Master Shardlake has given authority for Master Singleton to be buried, and the funeral service will take place after Matins, the day after tomorrow.' There was a relieved murmur along the tables. 'And now, our reading is from Revelation, Chapter 7: 'And after those things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth…''