Dissolution

The old man stared a moment, then opened the door, admitting us to a bedroom. It was well appointed, with a curtained four-poster bed, fat cushions on the floor and a window overlooking the busy courtyard. A pile of books lay on the floor, a tray containing a pitcher of wine and pewter cups balanced on top. A log fire burned in the grate and Mark and I made for it at once, for we were both chilled to the bone. I turned to the prior, who stood in the doorway, eyeing us watchfully.

'Thank you, Brother. Perhaps you could inform me when the abbot returns.' He bowed and closed the door behind him.

'Lock the door, in Our Saviour's name,' the old man squeaked, wringing his hands. He made a sorry sight with his white hair disarrayed and his black cleric's robe creased and stained. From his breath I gathered that he had already sampled the wine.

'The letter arrived? Thank the Lord! I feared it would be intercepted. How many of you are there?'

'Only we two. May I sit?' I asked, lowering myself carefully onto the cushions. As they took my weight the relief to my back was wonderful. Master Goodhaps noticed my disability for the first time, then looked at Mark, who was unbuckling his heavy sword.

'The boy, he's a swordsman? He can protect

us?'

'If need be. Are we likely to need protecting?'

'In this place, sir, after what happened – we are surrounded by enemies, Master Shardlake-'

I saw he was terrified, and smiled reassuringly. A nervous witness, like a nervous horse, needs to be soothed along.

'Calm yourself, sir. Now, we are tired and would be grateful for a little of that wine while you tell us exactly what has happened here.'

'Oh sir, by Our Lady, the blood…'

I raised my hand. 'Start at the beginning, from your arrival.'

He poured us wine and sat down on the bed, running his fingers through his shock of white hair.

'I did not want to come here,' he sighed. 'I have laboured hard in the vineyard at Cambridge, working for Reform since the start, and I am too old for assignments like this. But Robin Singleton was my student once, and he asked me to help him try for the surrender of this pestiferous house. He needed a canon lawyer, you see. I could not refuse a summons from the vicar general,' he added resentfully.

'That is difficult,' I agreed. 'So you arrived here what, a week ago?'

'Yes. It was a hard ride.'

'How did the negotiations proceed?'

'Badly, sir, as I knew they would. Singleton went blustering in, saying this was a decayed and sinful house and they would be well advised to take the pensions he offered and surrender. But Abbot Fabian wasn't interested; he loves his life here too much. Playing the country squire, lording it over the stewards and reeves. He's only the local ship chandler's son, you know.' Goodhaps drained his cup and poured himself another. I could not blame the helpless old noddle, all alone here, for seeking succour in his pitcher.

'He's clever, Abbot Fabian. He knew there would be no more forced closures, not after the northern rebellion. The commissioner told me to find something in my legal books to threaten him with. I told him he was wasting his time, but Robin Singleton was never any good as a scholar; he made his way by bluster. God rest him,' he added, though as a good reformer he did not cross himself.

'What you say is true enough,' I agreed, 'unless one can find other breaches of the law. Sodomy was spoken of, I hear, and theft. Capital offences both.'

Goodhaps sighed. 'For once Lord Cromwell has the wrong notion. The local Justice is a good reformer but his reports of land sales at undervalue don't hold water. There is no evidence of anything improper in the accounts.'

'And the talk of vice?'

'Nothing. The abbot insists they have all reformed since the visitation. The last prior encouraged those vile practices, but he was removed together with a couple of the worst offenders, and that Scots brute put in.'

I emptied my cup, but forbore to ask for more. I was bone-tired, and the wine and the warmth from the fire made me want to lie down and sleep, but I needed a clear head for some hours yet.

'How do you find the brothers?'

He shrugged. 'Like them all. Lazy and content. They play cards and hunt – you'll have seen the place is crawling with dogs – and skimp the services, but they observe the injunctions, have sermons in English, and don't have bawdy women walking around the place. That red-faced prior's a disciplinarian. He makes himself out a supporter of Lord Cromwell's injunctions, but I trust none of them. The senior monks are a smooth, clever lot but under the surface they're all full of the old heresies. They keep that to themselves, though. Except that Carthusian cripple, of course, and he's not part of the community.'

'Ah yes, Brother Jerome. We encountered him.'

'Do you not know who he is?'

'No.'