C.J. Sansom - Revelation

Benson gave a throaty chuckle. 'I have laboured in God's English vineyard for many years. Nothing disturbs me now. Except that hammering,' he added with a frown. 'They are taking for ever to pull the frater down.'

Part of the house you ran for several years, I thought. I watched to see whether his detached expression would change as Harsnet briefly told the story of the murders and the prophecies in Revelation, but it did not, though Benson began toying with a gold ring on his plump hand, twisting it round and round.

'And you think the man may be a former monk?' Benson shook his head. 'I do not think that can be. Most of the brethren accepted the Dissolution quite happily. Six have become prebendaries here, under me.'

'How many monks were there at the Dissolution;' I asked.

'Twenty-four. Not all the older brethren were happy with what happened. But they were realists, mostly. All signed the surrender happily, except old Brother Elfryd who made it a condition that he should be buried in the old procession way when he died. His wish was granted,' he added with a little smile. 'He died soon after he left, and lies there now. Half a dozen of the brethren died soon after they left the monastery.'

'What of the infirmarian, Lancelot Goddard;' Harsnet asked. 'And his assistants? There were two listed at Augmentations.'

'And do you know if Dr Goddard used dwale;' I added.

'Used what?' I thought he answered a little too quickly, something sparked for a moment in his sleepy eyes. I explained what the drug was. 'This is very disturbing,' he said quietly. He sat thinking, busily working his ring. At length he raised his eyes to meet our faces.

'I do not know whether Dr Goddard used this dwale. I left the infirmary to him. He was very competent, I recall no complaints.' He paused. 'I will give you what help I can, gentlemen. But I think you are wrong. Whoever this — abomination is, I do not believe he is from here.'

'How well did you know Dr Goddard;' I asked.

'Not well.' He allowed himself a cynical smile. 'It is no secret I was appointed abbot with orders to bring Westminster to a peaceful dissolution. Which I did. The monks I noticed most were those who needed persuading, or pressing. Dr Goddard was not one of those. He was responsible for the monks' infirmary — looking after everyday illnesses, and caring for the old monks — and he also attended to those from the locality who came to the small infirmary we ran.'

'With his helpers?'

'Yes. Charles Cantrell in the monks' infirmary. Francis Lockley in the lay infirmary, for poor men of Westminster.'

'Was either qualified;' I asked.

'No. Cantrell was a monk, Lockley a lay brother who worked for us and lived here. Goddard trained them both.'

'What was Goddard like;'

Benson inclined his head. 'Not a companionable man. People thought him cold. He came from a well-off background and tended to look down on those of inferior origin. He accepted the Dissolution quietly, like the others. He spoke little in chapter.'

'He has disappeared from his lodgings,' Harsnet told him. 'Have you any idea where he might have gone;'

Benson shook his head. 'I am afraid not. He had been here a long time, I do not remember who his family were. And most of our records were destroyed.'

'Yes.' I knew that was true, most of the monastic records had been burned along with their illustrated books during the Dissolution.

'Anything you might know, sir . . .'

'He was infirmarian when I came. I remember hearing he became a novice when he was very young. He was around forty when the monastery closed.'

'He was a snob,' I said thoughtfully. 'They said that at his old lodgings. So he never really abandoned the standards of the outside world.'

Benson laughed. 'That was hardly uncommon among the monks. Their worldliness was one reason the monasteries had to go.'

'Do you know where he trained as a doctor?' I asked.

'He didn't. He would have learned on the job under the old infirmarian, as most did. I am afraid "Doctor" was a courtesy title. But he would have had a good training, lasting many years. Know- ledge passed down through generations of iniirmarians.'

'Like the dwale.'

Dean Benson inclined his head. 'Perhaps.'

'Was there a herb garden?'

'Yes. It is gone to waste now.'

'I wonder if he grew poppies.'

Benson spread his hands. His silk robe rustled. 'I do not know, sir. He may have done.'

'What sort of man was Dr Goddard to deal with?'

'Not difficult. Correct, self-contained.' He smiled. 'He had a disfigurement, a very large mole on the side of his nose. I think he was conscious of it, knew it detracted from his dignity. He would seem angry if people looked at it. Perhaps that warped his character. Some said he had no warmth towards the sick. But perhaps a doctor has to be detached.'

As you are, I thought. But yours is a politician's detachment. He hadn't cared about any of the monks, they were pawns in the game of Dissolution. Benson was hiding something, I felt sure.

He gave his thin smile again. 'I remember his assistant in the lay infirmary, Brother Lockley, used to mock Goddard, imitate his cold precise speech. Lockley often got into trouble for levity, though he performed his duties in the lay infirmary well enough.'

'And the other assistant?' I asked. 'Cantrell.'

'Ah, yes, young Brother Cantrell. Goddard trained him up, but he never seemed satisfied with him, I recall.'

'Goddard's old neighbours said that he had come into an inhere itance,' Harsnet said.

Benson pursed his lips. 'I have an idea his family had money, and lived near London. Somewhere to the north I think. You may be able to find out somehow.'

I doubted it. They said there were sixty thousand souls in and around London now. 'Are there no records at all left?' I asked.

'All gone,' Benson said, shaking his head. 'When the abbey closed, the Augmentations men told us to burn all our papers, our records and songsheets, even our books. Lord Cromwell wanted monasticism utterly exterminated, sir.'

'And you lost touch with your charges?'

'All except those who work under me now.'

'Those three men?' I asked. 'How were they built, how strong were they? Our man is strong, and clever too.'

The dean laughed. 'Then I think you may discount both the assistants. Neither showed any great brains and muscle still less. Lockley is a small round man in his fifties with a taste for the bottle. Young Cantrell was a tall and stringy fellow. I recall he had a huge Adam's apple in his thin neck, it was hard not to look at it. He had trouble with his eyes, I remember. He took to dropping things in the infirmary. Goddard found he was short-sighted and got him some glasses so he could do his work.' He raised a finger. 'I remember now, Cantrell lives in the precinct outside here, his father was a carpenter. I saw him some time ago in the street, with his thick glasses, and remember thinking he would have trouble carrying on his father's trade. Cut his fingers off likely as not.' He laughed. And you said the doctor was cold, I thought.

Harsnet looked at me. 'We should see those two men, Master Shardlake. Barak has the addresses?'

'He does.'

'Good. Then we will leave you, dean. But we may call on you again.'

'Of course,' Benson shook his head, gave a puzzled smile. 'You believe this man will commit seven murders? To fulfil the prophecy of the seven vials in Revelation?'

'Yes, sir,' I answered seriously. 'He has only reached the third vial. I fear the fourth must come soon.'

Benson shook his head again, then rose. 'Then I pray you soon catch him.'

WE COLLECTED Barak and went outside. The hammering was louder. I turned to Harsnet.

'He was hiding something,' I said.

The coroner nodded. 'That was my thought too. But what?'