C. Sansom - Dissolution

'She – she was a woman, sir. The very sight of her was temptation! Her image filled my mind, I was always thinking of her. Satan placed her in my path to tempt me, but I have confessed. I have made confession!'

'I don't give a rush for your confession. You pestered her even after the abbot warned you off, didn't you? Brother Guy had to complain a second time!'

'But I did nothing after that! The abbot said he'd make me leave! By Jesu's blood, I left her alone after that! By his holy blood!'

'The abbot didn't place the matter in the hands of the prior?'

'No, the prior-'

'Well? Well, boy, what?'

'He – he had been guilty of the same thing, and the bursar too.'

'Yes. Any others? Who was it made the girl's life such a misery towards the end?'

'I don't know, sir. I swear, I swear, I never went near the infirmary after the abbot's warning. By Our Lady-'

'Our Lady!' I snorted. 'I doubt even she would be safe from the likes of you were she to return to earth. Get out, begone!'

I glared after him as he scrambled up and fled back into the laundry.

'You scared him to the marrow,' Mark said with a sardonic grin.

'It's easy with cowardly churls like that. The prior and the bursar, eh? Look, there's a door, we can get out that way and avoid those dogs.'

We stepped back into the courtyard. The confrontation with the dogs came back to my mind. I felt drained and it was my turn to lean against the wall for a moment. A babble of noise made me look round.

'God's death, what's going on now?'

People had stopped to watch a procession that was making its way towards the gates. Two monks held up a statue of St Donatus in his Roman robes, hands folded in front of him and wearing a pious expression. The tall thin figure of Brother Jude the pittancer followed, carrying a leathern bag. Finally came Bursar Edwig himself, a winter coat over his habit and gloves on his hands. They approached the space under the gatehouse, where Bugge stood ready to open the gates.

'The dole day,' Mark said.

By the time we reached the gate, Bugge had opened it. A crowd outside stood looking at the statue, which the two servants had elevated to their shoulders. Brother Jude raised his bag and called to them.

'Behold! The image of our patron, most holy and sainted Donatus, martyr to the heathen! In the name of his great goodness this charity is given. Pray to him for remittance of your sins!'

We shouldered our way through the onlookers. There were forty or fifty adults crowded round in the snow, old widows and beggars and cripples, some wearing little more than rags and blue-faced with cold. A separate group of whey-faced children was gathered round the plump figure of Mistress Stumpe. The smell from the crowd, even on this cold day, was dreadful. The sea of wretches, who had trudged the mile from the town, bowed and crossed themselves at the monk's words. He stopped abruptly as I appeared at his side.

'What are you doing?' I snapped.

'Just – just distributing the doles, sir-'

'You are asking those poor souls to worship that piece of wood.'

Brother Edwig scuttled forward. 'Only in r-remembrance of the saint's g-goodness, Commissioner.'

'He called on them to pray to the statue! I heard him! Take it away, now!'

The monks lowered the statue and hastily bore it off. Brother Jude, thoroughly shaken, signalled for the baskets to be brought forward. Some of the townspeople were grinning openly.

The almoner called out again in a flustered voice. 'Come forward for your dole and meats.'

'No shoving now,' Bugge shouted as, one by one, the destitute approached. Each was given a tiny silver farthing, the smallest coin of the realm, and something from the baskets. There were apples, loaves of bread, thinly sliced bacon.

Brother Edwig was at my side. 'We m-meant no harm with the s-saint, sir. It is an old ceremony, we forgot its implications. We will am-mend it.'

'You had better.'

'W-we give charity every month. It's in our f-founding charter. The m-meat, these p-people wouldn't see any otherwise.'

'With all your income I would have thought you could spare more funds than this.'

Brother Edwig's face darkened with sudden anger. 'And Lord Cromwell would have all our money, for his cronies! Is that charity?' He bit off the words without a trace of a stutter, then turned and walked quickly away. The crowd looked at me curiously as the monks went on handing out scraps, and the pittancer's bag chinked, slowly emptying.

I sighed. My anger at the spectacle had got the better of me, now everyone would know there was a king's commissioner here. I felt utterly exhausted after my outburst, but crossed over to where Mistress Stumpe stood by the roadside with the children, waiting for the adults to finish. She curtsied.

'Good morning, sir.'

'A moment, Mistress, if you would. Over here.'

We walked a little way from the children. She eyed me curiously.

'I want you to look at this, tell me if you recognize it.' My back to the crowd, I produced the silver chain I had taken from the corpse's neck. She grabbed at it with an exclamation.

'The St Christopher! I gave it to Orphan when she came here! Sir, have you found her-?' She broke off at my expression.

'I am sorry, Mistress,' I said gently. 'It was found on a body pulled from the fish pond this morning.'

I had expected tears, but the old woman only clenched her hands into fists.

'How did she die?'

'Her neck was broken. I am sorry.'

'Have you found who did it? Who was it?' Her voice broke, became a thin screech. The children looked round anxiously.

'Not here, madam. Please. This is not to be told abroad yet. I will find who did it, I swear to you.'

'Revenge her, in God's name revenge her.' Goodwife Stumpe's voice faltered, and then she did begin to cry, softly. I took her gently by the shoulder.

'Say nothing yet. I will send word by Justice Copynger. Look, the adults are finished. Try to compose yourself.'

The last of the adult doles had been given, and a line of people was already heading back along the road to town, ragged black figures like crows against the stark white snow. Goodwife Stumpe nodded to me quickly, took a deep breath and led the children over. I went back through the gate to where Mark stood waiting. I feared she might break down again, but the overseer's voice was steady as she encouraged the children to step forward. Brother Edwig had disappeared.

I entered the dark church quietly, closing the big door carefully behind me. Beyond the rood screen candles were flickering, and I could hear the monks' voices chanting a psalm. The evening service of Vespers was in progress.

After leaving Mistress Stumpe I had told Mark to go to the abbot and order him to ensure Brother Gabriel did not leave, and to arrange for the cleaning of Singleton's grave. I wanted the pond, too, drained on the morrow. Mark had been reluctant to give orders to Abbot Fabian, but I told him if he was to make his way in the world he would have to get used to dealing with those of high station. He went off without further comment, his manner stiff-backed again.

I had stayed in our room; I needed time alone to think. I sat before the fire as darkness began falling outside. Exhausted as I was, it was hard not to fall asleep before the warmth of the crackling logs. I stood up and splashed water over my face.

The launderer's confirmation that Gabriel's robe had been stolen was a grievous disappointment, for I had thought to have our man. I was still certain he was holding something back. Mark's words came back to mind and surely they were true: Gabriel had nothing about him of the brutal savage our murderer must be. Savage, I thought; where had I had heard that term before? I remembered; it was how Goodwife Stumpe had described Prior Mortimus.