К Сэнсом - Dissolution

‘A sword?’

‘Yes. I believe the one that killed Commissioner Singleton. It had a maker’s mark that should make it possible to trace, but I would need to go to London to follow that up.’

‘Don’t go, sir, please,’ she said with sudden feeling. ‘Don’t leave us. Sir, I beg forgiveness if I have been impertinent with you, but please do not go. It is only your presence here that ensures my protection.’

‘I think you exaggerate my powers,’ I said gloomily. ‘I could not save Simon Whelplay. But I do not see how I could get there in this snow without taking a week upon the road, and I do not have that amount of time.’

Her face filled with relief. I ventured to lean over and pat her arm. ‘It touches me that you have such faith in me.’

She withdrew her arm, but smiled. ‘Perhaps you have too little faith in yourself, sir. Perhaps in other circumstances, without Mark –’ She left the sentence unfinished, lowering her head demurely. I confess my heart was thudding. We stood on the knoll in silence for a moment.

‘I think we should go back now,’ I said, ‘rather than try to reach the river. I am expecting a message from the Justice. And, Alice, I will do something for you, I promise. And – thank you for your words.’

‘And you for your help.’ She smiled quickly, then turned and led the way back down to the bog. The return journey was easier; we had only to step in the footprints made earlier. Following behind her, I gazed at the back of her neck, and once I nearly reached out and touched it. I reflected that it was not just monks who made fools of themselves and could easily turn into hypocrites.

An awkwardness had descended on me, and we said little on the way back. But at least it felt a warmer silence than on the way out. At the infirmary hall Alice left me, saying she had duties to attend to. Brother Guy was dressing the fat monk’s leg. He looked up.

‘You have returned? You look cold.’

‘I am. Alice was very helpful, I am grateful for her assistance.’

‘How is your sleep?’

‘Much improved, thanks to your good potion. Have you seen Mark?’

‘I passed him a few moments ago. He went into your room. Take the potion a few more days,’ he called after me as I left the hall, trying to decide whether to tell Mark of my talk with Alice. I reached our room and opened the door.

‘Mark, I have been out –’ I broke off, staring round. The room was empty. And then came a voice, from the empty air it seemed.

‘Sir! Help me!’

‘HELP!’

There was an edge of panic in Mark’s muffled voice, which to my confused mind seemed to issue from empty space. Then I saw the cupboard had been pulled out a little. Peering behind, I saw a door in the panelled wall. With difficulty, I dragged the cupboard out.

‘Mark! Are you in there?’

‘I’m shut in! Open it, sir! Quick, he may come back!’

I twisted the handle, which was old and rusty. There was a click and the door opened, letting out a draught of dank air. Mark shot from the darkness, dusty and dishevelled. I stared into the blackness a moment, then back at him.

‘God’s flesh, what has happened? Who may come back?’

He took deep whooping breaths. ‘I closed the door behind me when I went in, then found it couldn’t be opened from inside. I was trapped. There’s a spyhole there; someone was spying on us earlier. I saw you come through it and called out.’

‘Tell me what happened, from the beginning.’ At least, I thought, he had been shocked out of his sulk. He sat down on the bed.

‘After you left, I spoke to Prior Mortimus about clearing the pond. They are draining it now.’

‘Yes, I saw that.’

‘I came back here to fetch my overshoes. While I was putting them on I heard sounds again.’ He looked at me boldly. ‘I knew I was right.’

‘Your ears are sharper than your wits to shut yourself up like that. Go on.’

‘It always seemed to come from the cupboard. I thought to pull it out to see what lay behind and found that door. I went inside with a candle. There is a passageway and I was going to find where it led. I closed the door lest someone come in, but as I pulled it shut the draught blew out the candle and left me in darkness. I put my shoulder to the door, but it wouldn’t budge.’ He reddened. ‘It unmanned me. I hadn’t my sword. But without the candle I could see a pinpoint of light – there’s a spyhole there, cut in the panelling.’ He pointed to a tiny hole in the wall. I stood up and inspected it: from the inner side it looked like a nail hole.

‘How long were you shut up?’

‘Not long. By God’s mercy you were only a few minutes. Did you go on the marsh?’

‘Yes. There have been smugglers out there – we found a fire. I had a talk with Alice, we will speak of it later.’ I lit two candles from the fire and passed him one. ‘Well, shall we try this passage again?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Yes, sir.’

I locked the door of our room against intruders, then we squeezed behind the cupboard and opened the door. Within lay a dark, narrow corridor.

‘Brother Guy said there was a connecting passage from the infirmary to the kitchen,’ I said, remembering. ‘Closed off at the time of the Great Pestilence.’

‘This has been used much more recently.’

‘Yes.’ Within I could see a pinpoint of light where the spyhole had been cut through the wooden panelling. ‘This gives a clear view of the room. It looks recently cut.’

‘Brother Guy chose our room for us.’

‘Yes. Where anyone could spy on us, overhear us.’ I turned to the door. It had the type of latch that can be opened from the outside only. ‘Let us make safe this time.’ I pushed it almost shut, but inserted my handkerchief into the gap to prevent it closing on us.

We made our way up the passage. It was narrow, running parallel with the wall of the infirmary building. One side was formed by the wood panelling of the infirmary rooms, the other by the stone of the claustral buildings. The remnants of rusty torch brackets lined the damp walls. It was evidently long disused – it stank of damp and strange bulbous mushrooms grew in corners. After a short distance the passage took a right angle, then opened into a chamber. We stepped in and cast our light around.

We were in a prison cell, square and windowless. Ancient leg-irons were fastened to the wall, and a heap of mouldy cloth and wood in one corner indicated the remains of a bed. I cast my light over the walls. Words were scratched all over the stone. I read one deeply indented row of letters. Frater Petrus tristissimus. Anno 1339. ‘Brother Peter the most sad. I wonder what he did.’

‘There’s a way out,’ Mark said, crossing to a heavy wooden door. I bent to the keyhole. There was no light from the other side. I put my ear to the door, but could hear nothing.

Slowly I turned the handle. The door opened quietly inwards and I saw the hinges had been greased. We came out behind another cupboard, which had been pushed just far enough from the wall to let a man squeeze through. We went out and found ourselves in a stone-flagged corridor. A little way off was a door, half-open. I heard a murmur of voices, plates clinking.

‘It’s the kitchen passage,’ I breathed. ‘Back inside, quick, before someone sees us.’

I squeezed in again after Mark, and bent to close the door, coughing a little in the damp air. Suddenly a hand was clamped over my mouth, and I froze as another pressed on my hump. The candles were extinguished. Then Mark whispered in my ear.

‘Quiet, sir. Someone’s coming!’

I nodded, and he lowered his hands. I could hear nothing; he had indeed the ears of a bat. A moment later the glow of a candle appeared round the corner and a figure followed; robed and cowled, staring into the prison room from a gaunt, dark face. Brother Guy’s candle picked out our figures in the corner and he started.