'No, it does not matter, for I say the whole thing is a tissue of lies.'
He only shrugged.
'Very well. You have led me away from Robin Singleton again. Why did you call him perjurer and traitor?'
Again he gave that strange, savage smile. 'Because he is. He is a tool of that monster Cromwell, as you are. You all perjure yourselves and betray your due allegiance to the pope.'
I took a deep breath. 'Jerome of London, I can think of only one man who could have hated the commissioner, or rather his office, enough to devise a mad plot to kill him, and that is you. Your infirmity would prevent you from doing the deed yourself, but you are a man who would cozen another to do it. I put it to you that you are responsible for his death.'
The Carthusian reached for his crutch again and stood up painfully. He placed his right hand over his heart; it trembled slightly. He looked me in the eye, still smiling, a secret smile that made me shiver.
'Commissioner Singleton was a heretic and a cruel man and I am glad he is dead. May it vex Lord Cromwell. But I swear on my soul, before God and of my own free will, that I had no part in the killing of Robin Singleton, and I also swear I know of no man in this house of weaklings and fools who would have the fierce stomach to do it. There, I have replied to your accusation. And now I am tired, I would sleep.' He lay back on the bed and stretched himself out.
'Very well, Jerome of London. But we shall speak again.' I motioned Mark to the door. Outside, I locked it and we passed back down the corridor, watched from their open doors by the monks, who had now returned from Sext. As we reached the door to the cloister yard it was thrown open and Brother Athelstan hurried in out of the snow that still tumbled down, his habit white. He pulled up short at the sight of me.
'So, Brother. I have found the reason you are in bad odour with Brother Edwig. You left his private room unguarded.'
He shuffled from foot to foot, his straggly beard dripping melted snow onto the rush matting. 'Yes, sir.'
'That information would have been more use than your tales of mutterings in chapter. What happened?'
He looked at me, his eyes afraid. 'I did not think it important, sir. I came in to do some work and found Commissioner Singleton upstairs in Brother Edwig's room, looking at a book. I pleaded with him not to take it, or at least to let me take a record, for I knew Brother Edwig would be angry with me. When he returned and I told him, he said I should have kept an eye on what Commissioner Singleton was doing.'
'So he was angry.'
'Very, sir.' He hung his head.
'Did you know what was in the book he had?'
'No, sir, I only deal with the ledgers in the office. I do not know what books Brother Edwig has upstairs.'
'Why did you not tell me about this?'
He shifted from foot to foot. 'I was afraid, sir. Afraid that if you asked Brother Edwig about it he would know I had spoken. He is a hard man, sir.'
'And you are a fool. Let me advise you, Brother. A good informer must be prepared to give information even at risk to himself. Otherwise he will be mistrusted. Now begone from my sight.'
He vanished down the corridor at a run. Mark and I hunched ourselves into our coats and stepped out into the blizzard. I looked around the white cloister.
'God's nails, was there ever such weather? I wanted to go round to that fish pond, but we can't in this. Come on, back to the infirmary.'
As we trudged back to our room, I noticed Mark's face was thoughtful and sombre. We found Alice in the infirmary kitchen, boiling herbs.
'You look cold, sirs. Can I bring you some warm wine?'
'Thank you, Alice,' I said. 'The warmer the better.'
Back in our room Mark took a cushion and sat before the fire. I lowered myself onto the bed.
'Jerome knows something,' I said quietly. 'He wasn't involved in the killing, or he wouldn't have given his oath, but he knows something. It was in that smile of his.'
'He's so mazed after being tortured I don't think he knows what he means.'
'No. He's consumed with anger and shame, but his wits are there.'
Mark stared into the fire. 'Is it true then, what he said about Mark Smeaton? That Lord Cromwell tortured him into making a false confession?'
'No.' I bit my lip. 'I don't believe it.'
'You would not wish to,' Mark said quietly.
'No! I don't believe Lord Cromwell was there when Jerome was tortured either. That was a lie. I saw him in the days before Anne Boleyn's execution. He was constantly attending the king, he wouldn't have had time to go to the Tower. And he wouldn't have behaved like that; he wouldn't. Jerome invented it.' I realized my fists were clenched tight.
Mark looked at me. 'Sir, was it not obvious to you from his manner that everything Jerome said was true?'
I hesitated. There had been a terrible sincerity about the way the Carthusian spoke. He had been tortured, of course, that was plain to see. But made to swear a false oath by Lord Cromwell himself? I could not believe that of my master, nor the story of his involvement with Mark Smeaton and his torture – alleged torture, I told myself. I ran my hands through my hair.
'There are some men who are skilled in making false words seem true. I remember there was a man I prosecuted once, who pretended to be a licensed goldsmith, he fooled the guild-'
'It's hardly the same, sir-'
'I cannot believe Lord Cromwell would have prepared false evidence against Anne Boleyn. You forget I have known him for years, Mark; he rose to power in the first place because of her reformist sympathies. She was his patron. Why would he help kill her?'
'Because the king wanted it, and Lord Cromwell would do anything to keep his position? That is what they whisper at Augmentations.'
'No,' I said again decisively. 'He is hard, he has to be with the enemies he faces, but no Christian could do such a thing to an innocent man, and believe me, Lord Cromwell is a Christian. You forget how many years I have known him. Were it not for him there would have been no Reform. That cankered monk told us a seditious tale. One you had better not repeat outside this room.'
He gave me a keen, hard look. For the first time, I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Alice came in with steaming mugs of wine. She passed me one with a smile, then exchanged a look with Mark that seemed to carry a different level of meaning. I felt a stab of jealousy.
'Thank you, Alice,' I said. 'That is very welcome. We have been talking with Brother Jerome and could do with some sustenance.'
'Have you, sir?' She did not seem much interested. 'I have only seen him a few times, limping about. They say he is mad.' She curtsied and left. I turned back to Mark, who sat staring into the fire.
'Sir,' he said hesitantly, 'there is something I wish to tell you.'
'Yes? Go on.'
'When we return to London – if we ever get out of this place – I do not wish to return to Augmentations. I have decided. I cannot bear it.'
'Bear what? What do you mean?'
'The corruption, the greed. All the time we are pestered by people wanting to know which monasteries will be down next. They write pleading letters, they turn up at the door claiming acquaintance with Lord Rich, they promise if they are granted lands they will do loyal service to Rich or Cromwell.'
'
'And the high officials talk of nothing but which courtier may go to the block next, who will have their posts. I hate it, sir.'
'What has brought this about? Is it what Jerome said? Do you fear ending up somehow like Mark Smeaton?'
He looked at me directly. 'No, sir. I have tried to tell you before how I feel about Augmentations.'
'Mark, hear me. I do not like some of the things that are happening now any more than you. But – it is all to an end. Our goal is a new and purer realm.' I got up and stood above him, spreading my arms wide. 'The monastic lands, for example. You have seen what this place is like, these fat monks steeped in every heresy the pope ever
