'A Carthusian, unless I'm mistaken,' I said.
'I thought the Carthusian houses were all closed, with half the monks executed for treason.'
'They were. What's he doing here?'
There was a cough at my elbow. The gatekeeper had returned with a stocky monk of around forty. The fringe round his tonsure was brown streaked with grey and he had a hard, strong-featured, ruddy face, whose lines were softened with the sags and pouches of good living. A badge of office showing a key was sewn onto the breast of his habit. Behind him stood a nervous-looking red-haired boy in a novice's grey robe.
'All right, Bugge,' the newcomer said in the harsh clear accent of the Scots, 'back to your duties.' The gatekeeper reluctantly turned away.
'I am the prior, Brother Mortimus of Kelso.'
'Where is the abbot?'
'I fear he is out just now. I am his second in command, responsible for the daily administration of St Donatus.' He gave us a keen stare. 'You have come in response to Dr Goodhaps's message? We have had no messenger to tell us you were coming, I fear there are no rooms ready.' I took a step back, for a ripe odour came from him. I knew from my own education by the monks how rigidly they clung to the old notion that washing was unhealthy, bathing only half a dozen times a year.
'Lord Cromwell sent us at once. I am Master Matthew Shardlake, appointed commissioner to investigate the events reported in Dr Goodhaps's letter.'
He bowed. 'I welcome ye to St Donatus Monastery. I apologize for our gatekeeper's manners, but the injunctions require us to keep as separate as possible from the world.'
'Our business is urgent, sir,' I said sharply. 'Kindly tell us, is Robin Singleton truly dead?'
The prior's face set and he crossed himself. 'He is. Struck down most foully by an unknown assailant. A terrible thing.'
'Then we must see the abbot at once.'
'I will take ye to his house. He should be back shortly. I pray ye may cast light on what has happened here. Bloodshed on consecrated ground, and worse.' He shook his head and then, with a complete change of manner, turned and snapped at the boy, who was staring at us with wide eyes. 'Whelplay, the horses! Stable them!'
He seemed scarcely more than a child, thin and frail-looking, looking more like sixteen than the eighteen necessary to qualify for the novitiate. I removed the pannier containing my papers, handing it to Mark, and the boy led the animals away. After a few paces he turned and looked back at us, and in so doing he slipped in a mess of dog turds and went over backwards, landing on the earth with a crash. The horses stirred anxiously and there was a ripple of laughter round the courtyard. Prior Mortimus's face reddened with anger. He crossed to the boy, who was pulling himself to his feet, and pushed him over to land again in the dog mess, bringing more laughter.
'God's wounds, Whelplay, you are an oaf,' the prior shouted. 'Would ye have the king's commissioner's horses running loose in the courtyard?'
'No, Master Prior,' the boy replied in a trembling voice. 'I beg pardon.'
I stepped forward, taking Chancery's reins with one hand and offering my other arm to help the boy up, avoiding the dog shit on his robe.
'The horses will panic with all this disturbance,' I said mildly. 'Do not distress yourself, lad; such accidents happen to everyone.' I handed him the reins and with a glance at the prior's face, which had gone red with anger, he led the animals away. I turned back to the prior. 'Now, sir, if you would lead the way.'
The Scotsman glared at me. His face was puce now. 'With respect, sir, I am responsible for discipline in this house. The king has ordered many changes in our life here, and our younger brethren especially need to be taught obedience.'
'You have problems in getting the brethren to obey Lord Cromwell's new injunctions?'
'No, sir, I do not. So long as I am allowed to use discipline.'
'For slipping in a dog's mess?' I said mildly. 'Would it not be better to discipline those dogs, keep them out of the yard?'