Dissolution

'Yes, sir. He's up at the abbot's house.' He looked at me keenly, his eyes glinting in the torchlight. 'But there's others been on the move.'

'What d'you mean? Don't speak in riddles, man.'

'Brother Jerome. He got out of his room yesterday. He's disappeared.'

'You mean he's run off?'

Bugge laughed maliciously. 'That one couldn't run far, and he's not been through my gate. No, he's hiding in the precinct somewhere. The prior'll soon root him out.'

'God's death, he was to be kept safe!' I gritted my teeth. Now I could not question him about Mark Smeaton's visitor; everything depended on the messenger.

'I know, sir, but nothing's being done properly any more. The servant in charge of him forgot to lock his door. You see, sir, everyone's frightened, Brother Gabriel being killed was the last straw. And there's talk the place is to be shut down.'

'Is there?'

'Well, it follows, sir, doesn't it? With these killings, and the talk of more monasteries being taken by the king? What do you say, sir?'

'God's flesh, Bugge, do you think I'm going to discuss matters of policy with you?'

He looked chastened. 'I'm sorry, sir. I meant no impertinence. But-' He paused.

'Well?'

'The talk is that if the monasteries go down the monks will get pensions but the servants will be put out on the road. Only I'm nearly sixty, sir, I've no family and no trade but this. And there's no work in Scarnsea.'

'I can't help what gossip-mongers say, Bugge,' I replied more gently. 'Now, is your assistant here?'

'David, sir? Yes.'

'Then get him to stable Chancery for me, would you? I am going to the abbot's house.'

I watched as the boy led Chancery across the yard, stepping carefully through the slush. I remembered my talk with Cromwell. Bugge and all the others would be out, cast on the parish if there was no work. I remembered the day I had gone to the poorhouse, the licensed beggars clearing the snow. Little as I liked Bugge it was not pleasant to think of him at such work, his beloved scraps of authority gone. It would kill him in six months.

I started round at a movement and clutched John Smeaton's sword. A figure was just visible through the mist, standing against the wall.

'Who's there?' I called sharply.

Brother Guy stepped forward, his hood raised over his dark face. 'Master Shardlake,' he said in his lisping accent. 'So you are back?'

'What are you doing, Brother, standing there in the dark?'

'I wanted some air. I have spent the day with old Brother Paul. He died an hour ago.' He crossed himself.

'I am sorry.'

'His time had come. At the end he seemed back in his childhood. He spoke of your civil wars last century, York and Lancaster. He saw old King Henry VI led drooling through the streets of London at his restoration.'

'We have a strong king now.'

'No one could doubt that.'

'I hear Jerome has escaped.'

'Yes, his keeper left his door unlocked. But they will find him, even in a place so large as this. He's in no condition to hide out. Poor man, he is weaker than he seems, a night out will do him no good.'

'He is mad. He could be dangerous.'

'The servants have no mind on their duties now. The brothers too, they're all worrying what will become of them.'

'Is Alice safe?'

'Yes, quite safe. She and I have been working hard. Now the weather is breaking everyone is coming down with fevers. It is those foul misty humours from the marsh.'

'Tell me, Brother, were you ever in Toledo?'

He shrugged. 'When I was little our family moved from town to town. We did not reach safety in France till I was twelve. Yes, I remember we were in Toledo for a while. I remember a great castle, the sound of iron being beaten in what seemed a thousand workshops.'

'Did you ever meet an Englishman there?'

'An Englishman? I don't remember. Not that it would have been unusual in those days, there were many Englishmen in Spain then. There are none now, of course.'

'No, Spain has become our enemy.' I stepped closer and looked deep into his brown eyes, but they were unfathomable. I hitched up my coat. 'I must leave you now, Brother.'

'Will you want your room at the infirmary?'

'We shall see. But have it warmed. Goodnight.'

I left him and walked off towards the abbot's house. Passing the outbuildings I cast nervous glances into the shadows, looking for the white glimmer of a Carthusian robe. What, now, did Jerome mean to do?

***

The old servant answered my knock. He told me Abbot Fabian was at home, in conference with the prior, and Master Mark was in his room. He led me upstairs to Goodhaps's old chamber, empty now of bottles and the smell of the unwashed old man. Mark was working at the table, where a pile of letters lay spread out. I noticed his hair was growing long; he would have to visit the barber in London if he was to be fashionable again.

His greeting was brief, his eyes cold and watchful. I had little doubt he had probably spent as much as he could of the last few days with Alice.

'Looking over the abbot's correspondence?'