'So you have responsibility for distributing the monastery's funds?'
'And c-c-collecting them in, and ensuring expenditure does not outstrip revenue,' he added. His stammer could not occlude the self-satisfaction in his voice.
'I believe I passed you in the yard earlier, discussing some — building works, was it? — with one of your brethren.' I glanced at the tall, fair-haired monk who had cast that lascivious look at Mark earlier. He sat almost opposite him now, and had been giving him covert glances whilst avoiding his eye. He caught mine, though, and leaned over to introduce himself.
'Gabriel of Ashford, Commissioner. I am the sacrist, and also the precentor; I have charge of the church and library as well as the music. We have to combine the offices, our numbers are not what they were.'
'No. A hundred years ago you would have had, what, twice as many monks? And the church is in need of repair?'
'Indeed it is, sir.' Brother Gabriel leaned eagerly towards me, nearly causing Brother Guy to spill his soup. 'Have you seen our church?'
'Not yet. I plan to visit it tomorrow.'
'We have the finest Norman church on the south coast. Over four hundred years old. It compares to the best Benedictine houses in Normandy. But there is a bad crack running down from the roof. We need repairs, and they should be done with Caen stone again, to match the interior…'
'Brother Gabriel,' the prior interjected sharply, 'Master Shardlake has more serious things to do than admire the architecture. It may be too rich for his taste,' he added meaningfully.
'But surely the New Learning does not frown on architectural beauty?'
'Only when the congregation is encouraged to worship the building rather than God,' I said. 'For that would be idolatry.'
'I meant nothing of that sort,' the sacrist replied earnestly. 'Only that in any great building the eye should be led to rest on exact proportions, unity of line…'
Brother Edwig gave a sarcastic grimace. 'What my brother means is that to satisfy his aesthetic notions the monastery should b-bankrupt itself importing great blocks of limestone from France. I would be interested to know how he p-p-plans to ferry them across the marsh.'
'Does the monastery not have ample reserves?' I asked. 'I read the revenues from its lands run to £800 a year. And rents are rising all the time now, as the poor know to their cost.'
As I spoke the servants returned, setting out plates on which big carp lay steaming, and tureens of vegetables. I noticed a woman among them, a hook-nosed old crone, and reflected that Alice must be lonely if she had only such as this for female company. I turned back to the bursar. He gave a quick frown.
'Land has had to be sold recently, f-f-for various reasons. And the amount Brother Gabriel asks for is more than the whole repairs budget for five years. Take one of these fine carp, sir. Caught in our own stewpond this morning.'
'But surely money could be borrowed against the annual surpluses you must have?'
'Thank you, sir. Precisely my argument,' Brother Gabriel said. The bursar's frown deepened. He put down his spoon, waving his chubby little hands.
'P-prudent accounting does not allow for a great hole in the revenues for years to come, sir, interest p-payments eating away at them like m-mice. The abbot's policy is a b-balanced b-b-b—' His face reddened as, in his excitement, he lost control of his stutter.
'Budget,' the prior concluded for him with a sour grin. He passed me a carp and plunged his knife into his own fish, slicing into it with enthusiasm. Brother Gabriel gave him a glare and took a sip of the good white wine.