I was surprised he chose Revelation, for it was a text favoured much by reformists of the hot gospeller sort, keen to tell the world they had fathomed its mysteries and violent symbols. The passage dealt with the Lord's roll- call of the saved at the Day of Judgement. It seemed like a challenge to me, identifying the community with the righteous.
''And he said unto me, these are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'
'Amen,' he concluded sonorously, then closed the bible and walked solemnly out of the refectory; doubtless his roast beef was waiting in his dining room. It was the signal for a babble of chatter to break out as half a dozen servants entered and began serving soup. It was a thick vegetable broth, richly spiced and delicious. I had not eaten since breakfast and concentrated on my bowl for a minute before glancing over at Whelplay, still as a statue in the shadows. Through the window beside him I saw the snow still tumbling down. I turned to the prior, who was sitting opposite me.
'The novice is not to have any of this fine soup?'
'Not for another four days. He's to stand there through the meal as part of his penance. He must learn. D'ye think me too severe, sir?'
'How old is he? He does not look eighteen.'
'He's nearly twenty, though you wouldn't think it from his scrawny looks. His novitiate was extended, he had problems mastering the Latin, though he has musical skills. He assists Brother Gabriel. Simon Whelplay needs to learn obedience. He is being punished, among other things, for avoiding the services in English. When I set people a penance I give them a good lesson that'll stick in their minds and those of others.'
'Quite r-right, Brother Prior.' The bursar spoke up, nodding vigorously. He smiled at me; a cold smile, making a brief slash across his chubby face. 'I am Brother Edwig, Commissioner, the bursar.' He set his silver spoon down in his plate, which he had quickly emptied.
'So you have responsibility for distributing the monastery's funds?'
'And c-c-collecting them in, and ensuring expenditure does not outstrip revenue,' he added. His stammer could not occlude the self-satisfaction in his voice.
'I believe I passed you in the yard earlier, discussing some – building works, was it? – with one of your brethren.' I glanced at the tall, fair-haired monk who had cast that lascivious look at Mark earlier. He sat almost opposite him now, and had been giving him covert glances whilst avoiding his eye. He caught mine, though, and leaned over to introduce himself.
'Gabriel of Ashford, Commissioner. I am the sacrist, and also the precentor; I have charge of the church and library as well as the music. We have to combine the offices, our numbers are not what they were.'
'No. A hundred years ago you would have had, what, twice as many monks? And the church is in need of repair?'
'Indeed it is, sir.' Brother Gabriel leaned eagerly towards me, nearly causing Brother Guy to spill his soup. 'Have you seen our church?'
'Not yet. I plan to visit it tomorrow.'
'We have the finest Norman church on the south coast. Over four hundred years old. It compares to the best Benedictine houses in Normandy. But there is a bad crack running down from the roof. We need repairs, and they should be done with Caen stone again, to match the interior…'
'Brother Gabriel,' the prior interjected sharply, 'Master Shardlake has more serious things to do than admire the architecture. It may be too rich for his taste,' he added meaningfully.
'But surely the New Learning does not frown on architectural beauty?'
'Only when the congregation is encouraged to worship the building rather than God,' I said. 'For that would be idolatry.'
'I meant nothing of that sort,' the sacrist replied earnestly. 'Only that in any great building the eye should be led to rest on exact proportions, unity of line…'
Brother Edwig gave a sarcastic grimace. 'What my brother means is that to satisfy his aesthetic notions the monastery should b-bankrupt itself importing great blocks of limestone from France. I would be interested to know how he p-p-plans to ferry them across the marsh.'
'Does the monastery not have ample reserves?' I asked. 'I read the revenues from its lands run to ?800 a year. And rents are rising all the time now, as the poor know to their cost.'
As I spoke the servants returned, setting out plates on which big carp lay steaming, and tureens of vegetables. I noticed a woman among them, a hook-nosed old crone, and reflected that Alice must be lonely if she had only such as this for female company. I turned back to the bursar. He gave a quick frown.
'Land has had to be sold recently, f-f-for various reasons. And the amount Brother Gabriel asks for is more than the whole repairs budget for five years. Take one of these fine carp, sir. Caught in our own stewpond this morning.'
'But surely money could be borrowed against the annual surpluses you must have?'
'Thank you, sir. Precisely my argument,' Brother Gabriel said. The bursar's frown deepened. He put down his spoon, waving his chubby little hands.
'P-prudent accounting does not allow for a great hole in the revenues for years to come, sir, interest p- payments eating away at them like m-mice. The abbot's policy is a b-balanced b-b-b-' His face reddened as, in his excitement, he lost control of his stutter.
'Budget,' the prior concluded for him with a sour grin. He passed me a carp and plunged his knife into his own fish, slicing into it with enthusiasm. Brother Gabriel gave him a glare and took a sip of the good white wine.
I shrugged. 'It is a matter between you, of course.'
Brother Edwig set down his cup. 'I ap-pologize if I became heated. It is an old argument between the sacrist and me.' He gave his slash of a smile again, showing even white teeth. I nodded gravely in acknowledgement, then turned my gaze to the window, where the snow still whirled down. It was settling thickly now. There was a draught from the window and, although my front was warm where it faced the fire, my back was cold. Next to the window the novice gave a cough. His bowed head under its cap was in shadow, but I noticed his legs trembling under his habit.
The silence was broken by a sudden harsh voice.
'Fools! There will be no new building. Do you not know that the world has at last rolled down to its end? The Antichrist is here!' The Carthusian had half-risen from his bench. 'A thousand years of devotion to God, in all these houses of prayer, is ended. Soon there will be nothing, empty buildings and silence, silence for the Devil to fill with his roaring!' His voice rose to a shout as he fixed everyone in turn with bitter looks. The monks averted their eyes. Turning in his place, Brother Jerome lost his balance and fell sprawling across the bench, his face contorted with pain.
Prior Mortimus rose, slamming his hand on the table. 'God's death! Brother Jerome, you will leave this table and keep to your cell till the abbot decides what is to be done with you. Take him out!'
His neighbours lifted the Carthusian under the arms, hauled him quickly to his feet and hustled him from the refectory. As the door closed behind them, an exhalation of held breaths sounded across the room. Prior Mortimus turned to me.
'Once again, my apologies on behalf of the community.' There was a mumble of assent along the tables. 'I only ask you to excuse the man on the grounds that he is mad.'
'Who does he think is the Antichrist, I wonder? Me? No, Lord Cromwell more likely, or perhaps His Majesty the King?'
'No, sir, no.' There was an anxious murmur along the obedentiaries' table. Prior Mortimus set his thin lips.
'If I had my way, Jerome would be turned out of doors tomorrow to cry his madness in the streets till he was put in the Tower, or more likely the Bedlam, for that's where he belongs. The abbot only keeps him because he needs the favour of his cousin Sir Edward. You know of Jerome's connection with the late queen?' I nodded. 'But this is too much. He must go.'
I raised a hand, shaking my head. 'I take no official note of a madman's babble.' I felt a palpable sense of relief along the table at my words. I lowered my voice again, so only the obedentiaries could hear. 'I would have Brother Jerome kept here, I may wish to question him. Tell me, did he treat Master Singleton to such discourse as I have had?'
'Yes,' the prior replied bluntly. 'When he first arrived Brother Jerome accosted him in the yard and called him
