CHAPTER 20
I told Mark to run and fetch the abbot, as fast as he could to warm his blood. I watched him plough away through the snow, then turned back to the pond. Bubbles were still rising from the silt, churning the surface. I wondered if the relic was down there, and perhaps the chalices the poor girl was supposed to have stolen.
I made myself approach the cadaver. There was a thin silver chain round its neck and after a moment's hesitation I bent and took it, snapping the links easily between my fingers. There was a tiny medallion on the end, with the crude figure of a man bearing a load on his back. I pocketed it and took up the sword. It was an expensive weapon, a gentleman's sword. A maker's mark was stamped into the blade: JS. 1507, above the effigy of a square building with four pointed towers.
I went and sat down on the pile of rubble by the wall. I was stiff with shock as I sat staring at the bundle among the reeds. Between that and the cold my fingers and toes soon became numb and I got up, waving my arms and stamping my feet to restore the circulation.
I walked up and down, the snow creaking under my boots, pondering what these discoveries meant. I began to see a pattern, facts slotted into place in my head. After a while I heard voices from the orchard, and saw Mark hurrying back, accompanied by two black-habited figures, the abbot and the prior. Prior Mortimus carried a large blanket. Abbot Fabian's face was aghast as he came to a halt and stared at the thing on the bank. He crossed himself and muttered a prayer. The prior went over to the body, his face contorted with disgust. His eyes went to the sword, which I had placed on the bank.
'Was the woman killed with that?' he breathed.
'I do not think so. The body was preserved under the silt; I think it had been there a long time. But I believe this is the sword that killed Singleton. This pond has been used as a hiding place more than once.'
'Whose corpse is it?' There was a note of panic in the abbot's voice.
I gave him a level stare. 'I have been told a former assistant of the infirmarian disappeared two years ago. A girl called Orphan Stonegarden.'
The prior looked at the body again. 'No,' I heard him mutter. There was anger in his voice and sorrow too, disbelief. 'But — she ran away,' he said. 'She was a thief…'
We looked round at the sound of more people approaching. Four servants, carrying a stretcher between them. The abbot nodded to Prior Mortimus, and he threw the blanket over the body. The abbot leaned towards me.
'There is a great hue and cry at the monastery. People saw Master Poer come running to my house; he told me you had found a body and I asked the servants to bring a stretcher to carry it back. But — please — may we keep it covered, just say someone drowned in the pond for now, not that it is a woman—'
'For the present,' I agreed. I hid the sword in the soaked habit as the servants approached. They hung back, crossing themselves. 'Mark, help them,' I said. I noticed that under his coat he had exchanged his wet clothes for a blue servant's shirt. He helped them lay the blanket-covered form on the stretcher and lifted it; it seemed light as paper.
'Take the stretcher to the infirmary,' I said. We formed a procession behind the servants. I glanced at Prior Mortimus once or twice and he looked away. Discoloured water dripped from the body, staining the snow.
===OO=OOO=OO===
A crowd had gathered, monks and servants buzzing around in the orchard like a swarm of bees. The prior called to them angrily to go about their business and they dissipated with many backward glances at the blanket-covered stretcher. Brother Guy approached us.
'Who is it? They say someone drowned in the pond.'
I turned to the bearers. 'Take the corpse to the infirmary for Brother Guy to examine. Mark, go with him. And take this, put it in our room.' I handed him the soaked habit. 'Careful of the sword,' I murmured. 'It is sharp.'