Dissolution

I sighed. 'He was never capable of dealing with this. Brother Edwig took his seal and used it on the deeds when he sold those lands. He swore the buyers to secrecy and they must have assumed the abbot knew.' I heaved myself up. 'Brother Guy, you must help me. I need to go to the back of the monastery. I need to see whether Alice and Mark could have got away.'

He doubted I was fit for such a journey, but I insisted and he helped me to my feet. I took my staff and we went outside. The monastery lay under a cloudy sky, the air mild and muggy. Its appearance had changed utterly. Everywhere in the courtyard lay little pools of water and piles of dirty slush that only yesterday had been mounds of snow.

People going to and fro stopped and stared as I limped by. Prior Mortimus hurried over. 'Commissioner! We thought ye dead like Singleton. Where is your assistant?'

Again I told the story as a shocked audience of monks and servants surrounded us. I ordered Prior Mortimus to send for Copynger; if Edwig had escaped, the country must be roused to find him.

I do not know how I made it through the orchard. I would not have done without Brother Guy's support for my back was an agony after that night in the cupboard and I felt faint. At last, though, we reached the rear wall. I unlocked the gate and passed through.

I found myself staring at a lake half a mile wide. The whole marsh was covered in water, the river distinguishable only as a ribbon of rapidly flowing current in the centre of an expanse that reached almost to our feet. It was shallow, no more than a foot covering the mud for everywhere reeds poked through, waving in the light breeze, but the soft ground beneath must have been saturated.

'Look!' Brother Guy pointed down at two pairs of footprints, a larger and a slightly smaller one, imprinted in the mud by the gate. They led down the bank, into the water.

'By Jesu,' he said. 'They went in there.'

'They can't have gone a hundred yards,' I breathed. 'In that mist, in the dark, in all that water.'

'What is that? Over there?' Brother Guy pointed to something floating, some way out.

'It's a lamp! One of those little candleholders from the infirmary. They must have been carrying it. Oh God.' I grabbed at the infirmarian for support, for my senses failed at the thought of Mark and Alice losing their footing and falling, lying now somewhere under that flooded morass. Brother Guy lowered me to the bank and I sat taking deep breaths until my senses cleared. I looked up again to see the infirmarian praying quietly in Latin, hands clasped in front of him, his eyes fixed on the lamp drifting gently over the face of the waters.

***

Brother Guy helped me back to the infirmary. There he insisted I rest and eat, sitting me down in his kitchen and serving me himself. Food and drink revived my body, though my heart lay dead within me like a stone. I kept seeing pictures of Mark in my head; laughingly exchanging jests on the road; arguing with me in our room; holding Alice in the kitchen. At the end it was him I mourned most.

'There were only two sets of footprints going out through that gate,' Brother Guy said at length. 'It does not seem Edwig went that way.'

'Not him,' I answered bitterly. 'He'd have been out through the gate when Bugge's back was turned.' I clenched my fists. 'But I'll hunt him down if it takes me the rest of my days.'

There was a knock at the door and Prior Mortimus appeared, his face grim.

'Have you sent to Copynger?' I asked.

'Yes, he should be here soon. But Commissioner, we've found-'

'Edwig?'

'No. Jerome. He's in the church. You should come and see.'

'You're not able,' Brother Guy said, but I shook off his hand and grabbed my staff. I followed the prior to the church, where a crowd had gathered outside. The pittancer stood guard on the door, keeping them out. The prior shouldered through the crowd and we went inside.

Water was dripping somewhere; the only other sound was a faint weeping, a keening. I followed Prior Mortimus down the great empty nave with its candlelit niches, our footsteps echoing, until we came to the niche where the Thief's hand had stood. The heap of crutches and braces that had lain at the base of the plinth were scattered across the floor. I saw now that the block was hollow, there was a space underneath large enough to hold a man. Inside, sitting crouched over and holding something, was Jerome. His white habit was torn and filthy and a great stink rose from him as he sat, weeping piteously.

'I found him half an hour ago,' the prior said. 'He'd crawled under there and pulled the crutches back in front to hide himself. I was looking round the church and I remembered that space under there.'

'What has he got? Is it-?'

The prior nodded. 'The relic. The hand of the Penitent Thief.'

I knelt before Jerome, wincing as pain shot through my joints. I could see he held a big square box, encrusted with jewels that sparkled in the candlelight. A dark shape was dimly visible inside.