Dissolution

'They came a roundabout way. The cathedral was destroyed in an Arab raid eight hundred years ago and the bells taken as a trophy. They were found at Salamanca in Spain when that city was reconquered for Christ, and donated to Scarnsea when the monastery was founded.'

'I still think you would be better served with smaller bells.'

'We have become used to them.'

'I doubt I will.'

He smiled, a quick sad flicker. 'You must blame my Arab ancestors.'

We reached the cloister just as the monks were leaving the church in procession. The sight made an impression that comes clearly to mind all these years later: almost thirty black-robed Benedictines walking in double file across the old stone cloister, cowls raised and arms folded in their wide sleeves to give protection against the snow, which fell in a silent curtain, coating them as they walked, the whole scene illuminated from the church windows. It was a beautiful scene and despite myself I was moved.

***

Brother Guy took us back to our room, promising to collect us shortly and take us to the refectory. We shook the snow from our coats, then Mark wheeled out his little bed and lowered himself onto it.

'How do you think a swordsman could have killed Singleton, sir? Waited for him and struck him from behind?'

I began unpacking my pannier, sorting papers and books. 'Possibly. But what was Singleton doing in the kitchen at four in the morning?'

'Perhaps he had arranged to meet the monk there, the one he told the gatekeeper about?'

'Yes, that is the most likely explanation. Someone arranged to meet Singleton in the kitchen, perhaps with a promise of information, and killed him. Executed him, more like. The whole thing has the flavour of an execution. Surely it would have been far easier just to knife him in the back.'

'He looked a hard man,' Mark said. 'Though it was difficult to tell, his head stuck on the floor of that tomb.' He laughed, a touch shrilly, and I realized he too had been affected by the sight.

'Robin Singleton was a type of lawyer I detest. He had little law and that ill-digested. He made his way by bullying and bluff, supplemented with gold slipped into the right hand at the right time. But he did not deserve to be killed in that terrible way.'

'I had forgotten you were at the execution of Queen Anne Boleyn last year, sir,' Mark said.

'I wish I could.'

'At least it served to give you some ideas.'

I nodded sadly, then gave him a wry smile. 'I remember a teacher we had when I first went to the Inns of Court, Serjeant Hampton. He taught us evidence. He had a saying. "In any investigation, what are the most relevant circumstances? None" he would bark in reply. "All the circumstances are relevant, everything must be examined from every angle!"'

'Don't say that, sir. We could be here for ever.' He stretched himself out with a groan. 'I could sleep for twelve hours, even on this old board.'

'Well, we can't sleep, not yet. I want to meet the community at supper. If we're to get anywhere, we must know these people. Come, there's no rest for those called to Lord Cromwell's service.' I kicked at the wheeled extension, sending him sliding back under my bed with a yell.

***

Brother Guy led us to the refectory, along dark corridors and up a staircase. It was an impressive chamber, a high ceiling supported by thick pillars with wide vaulting arches. Despite its size, it was lent a comfortable air by the tapestries lining the walls and the thick rattan matting on the floor. A large, beautifully carved lectern stood in one corner. Sconces filled with fat candles cast a warm glow over two tables set with fine plate and cutlery. One, with half a dozen places, stood before the fire and the other, much longer, table was further off. Kitchen servants bustled about, setting out jugs of wine and silver tureens, rich odours escaping from under their lids. I studied the cutlery at the table nearest the fire.

'Silver,' I remarked to Brother Guy. 'And the plates too.'

'That is the obedentiaries' table, where the monastery office holders sit. The ordinary monks have pewter.'

'The common people have wood,' I observed, as Abbot Fabian came bustling in. The servants stopped their work to bow, receiving benevolent nods in return. 'And the abbot dines off gold plate, no doubt,' I muttered to Mark.

The abbot came over to us, smiling tightly.

'I had not been told you wished to dine in the refectory. I have had roast beef prepared in my kitchens.'

'Thank you, but we will take supper here.'

'As you wish.' The abbot sighed. 'I suggested Dr Goodhaps might join you, but he adamantly refuses to leave my house.'

'Did Brother Guy tell you I have given authority for Commissioner Singleton to be buried?'

'He did. I will make the announcement before dinner. It is my turn to give the reading. In English, in accordance with the injunctions,' he added solemnly.

'Good.'