'The law permits it in times of extreme threat to the State,' I replied, stung. I saw Mark's eyes on me and read disappointment, sadness. 'Regrettable though it always is,' I added with a sigh. 'But to return to poor Singleton. Brother Jerome may have been too infirm to kill, but he could have had an accomplice.'
'No, sir, never, no.' It was a chorus along the table. I read only fear in the officials' faces, anxiety not to be associated with murder and treason and their terrible penalties. But men, I reflected, are adept at concealing their true thoughts. Brother Gabriel leaned forward again, his thin face furrowed with anxiety.
'Sir, no one here shares Brother Jerome's beliefs. He is a blight on us. We wish only to carry on our life of prayer in peace, loyal to the king and in obedience to the forms of worship he dictates.'
'There at least my brother speaks for all,' the bursar added loudly. 'I say "Amen" to that.' A chorus of 'Amens' followed along the table.
I nodded in acknowledgement. 'But Commissioner Singleton is still dead. So who do you think killed him? Brother Bursar? Brother Prior?'
'It was p-people from the world outside,' Brother Edwig said. 'He was on his way to meet someone and he disturbed them. Witches, Devil-worshippers. They broke in to desecrate our church and steal our relic, came across poor Singleton and killed him. The person he was to meet, whoever he was, no doubt took fright at the tumult.'
'Master Shardlake hazarded the killing may have been done with a sword,' Brother Guy added. 'And such people would be unlikely to carry weapons lest they be discovered.'
I turned to Brother Gabriel. He sighed deeply, running his fingers through the straggly locks below his tonsure. 'The loss of the hand of the Penitent Thief — it is a tragedy, that most holy relic of Our Lord's Calvary — I shudder to think what abominable uses the thief may be putting it to now.' His face looked drawn. I remembered the skulls in Lord Cromwell's room and realized again the power of relics.
'Are there known practitioners of witchcraft hereabouts?' I asked.
The prior shook his head. 'A couple of wise women in the town, but they're just old crones who mutter incantations over the herbs they peddle.'
'Who knows what evils the Devil works in the sinful world?' Brother Gabriel said quietly. 'We are protected from him in this holy life, as well as men can be, but outside—' He shivered.
'Then there are the servants,' I added. 'All sixty of them.'
'Only a dozen living in,' the prior said. 'And the premises are well locked at night, patrolled by Master Bugge and his assistant under my supervision.'
'Those who live in are mostly old, loyal servants,' Brother Gabriel added. 'Why would one of them kill an important visitor?'
'Why would a monk or a villager? Well, we shall see. Tomorrow I wish to question some of you.' I looked down a row of discomfited faces.
The servants came in to remove our plates, replacing them with pudding bowls. There was silence until they left. The bursar took a spoon to the sugary confection in his bowl. 'Ah, wet suckets,' he said. 'Welcome and warming on a cold night.'
There was a sudden loud crash from the corner of the room. Everyone jumped and turned to where the novice had collapsed in a heap on the floor. Brother Guy rose with an exclamation of disgust, his habit billowing round him as he ran to where Simon Whelplay lay still on the rush matting. I stood up and joined him, as did Brother Gabriel and then, with an angry expression, the prior. The boy was as white as a sheet. As Brother Guy gently lifted his head, he moaned and his eyes flickered open.
'It's all right,' Brother Guy said gently. 'You fainted. Have you hurt yourself?'
'My head. I banged my head. I am sorry—' Tears glistened suddenly in the corners of his eyes, his thin chest shook and he began to weep most piteously. Prior Mortimus snorted. I was surprised at the anger that appeared then in Brother Guy's dark eyes.
'No wonder the boy weeps, Master Prior! When was he last properly fed? He is naught but skin and bone.'