'I am tired of this,' he muttered. He shrugged off my arm and took his seat. My cheeks flushed at his open rudeness. Abbot Fabian shuffled his notes and then, a new glow in his rubicund cheeks, told the brethren the rumours that all the monasteries were to come down were wrong. Lord Cromwell himself had said there were no plans to seek Scarnsea's surrender at present, despite the cruel murders, which were still under investigation. He added that no one was to leave the precincts.
Reactions among the monks varied. Some, especially the older ones, sighed and smiled with relief. Others looked more doubtful. I glanced along the obedentiaries' table. The junior obedentiaries, Brother Jude and Brother Hugh, looked relieved and I saw hope in Prior Mortimus's face. Brother Guy, though, shook his head slightly and Brother Edwig only frowned.
The servants brought in our dinners: thick vegetable soup, followed by mutton stew with herbs. I watched carefully to see that I was served from the common bowl and no one could interfere with the dishes as they were passed down the table. As we began eating, Prior Mortimus, who had already helped himself to two glasses of wine, turned to the abbot.
'Now we are safe, my lord, we should get on with the appointment of the new sacrist.'
'Fie, Mortimus, poor Gabriel was only buried three days ago.'
'But we must proceed. Someone will need to negotiate with the bursar over the church repairs, eh, Brother Edwig?' He tipped his silver cup at the bursar, who still wore a frowning look.
'S-so long as someone more reasonable than G-Gabriel is appointed, who understands we can't afford a big p-programme.'
Prior Mortimus turned to me. 'When it comes to money our bursar is the closest man in England. Though I never understood why you were so against scaffolding being used for the repairs, Edwig. Ye can't carry out a proper programme using ropes and pulleys.'
The bursar reddened at being made the centre of attention.
'All r-r-right. I accept you'll have to have scaffolding up there to do the w-works.'
The abbot laughed. 'Why, Brother, you argued that point with Gabriel for months. Even when he said men could get killed you would not move. What has come over you?'
'It was a m-m-matter of negotiation.' The bursar looked down, scowling into his plate. The prior took another glass of the strong wine and turned a flushed face to me.
'Ye'll not have heard the story of Edwig and the blood sausages, Commissioner.' He spoke loudly, and there were titters from the monks at the long table. The bursar's downcast face went puce.
'Come now, Mortimus,' the abbot said indulgently. 'Charity between brethren.'
'But this is a story of charity! Two years ago, the dole day came round and we'd no meat to give the poor at the gate. We'd have had to slaughter a pig to get some, and Brother Edwig wouldn't have it. Brother Guy had just come then. He'd bled some monks and started keeping the blood to manure his garden. The tale is Edwig there suggested we take some and mix it with flour to make blood puddings to give at the dole; the poor would never know it wasn't pig's blood. All to save the cost of a pig!' He laughed uproariously.
'That tale is untrue,' Brother Guy said. 'I have told people so many times.'
I looked at Brother Edwig. He had stopped eating and sat hunched over his plate, gripping his spoon tight. Suddenly he threw it down with a clatter and rose to his feet, dark eyes ablaze in his red face.
'Fools!' he shouted. 'Blasphemous fools! The only blood that should matter to you is the blood of Our Saviour, Jesus Christ, which we drink at every Mass when the wine is transformed! That blood which is all that holds the world together!' He clenched his plump fists, his face working with emotion, the stammer gone.
'Fools, there will be no more Masses. Why do you clutch at straws? How can you believe these lies about Scarnsea remaining safe when you hear what is happening all over the land? Fools! Fools! The king will destroy you all!' He banged his fists on the table, then turned and marched out of the refectory. He slammed the door, leaving a dead silence.
I took a deep breath. 'Prior Mortimus, I call that treason. Please take some servants and have Brother Edwig placed in custody.'
The prior looked aghast. 'But sir, he said nothing against the king's supremacy.'
Mark leaned across urgently. 'Surely, sir, those words weren't treason?'
'Do as I command.' I stared at Abbot Fabian.