'He has had bread and water. You are well aware, Brother Infirmarian, that is a penance sanctioned by St Benedict's rule…'
Brother Gabriel turned on him furiously. 'The saint did not intend God's servants to be starved to death! You have been working Simon like a dog in the stables, then making him stand in the cold for hours on end.' The novice's crying turned to a violent fit of coughing, his pale face suddenly puce as he struggled for breath. The infirmarian cocked a sharp ear to the wheezing sounds from his chest.
'His lungs are full of bile. I want him in the infirmary now!'
The prior snorted again. 'Is it my fault he's as weak as water? I gave him work to toughen him up. It's what he needs—'
Brother Gabriel's voice rang round the refectory. 'Does Brother Guy have your authority to take Simon to the infirmary, or do I go to Abbot Fabian?'
'Take the churl!' the prior snapped. He strode back to the table. 'Softness! Softness and weakness. They'll be the end of us all!' He glowered defiantly around the refectory as Brother Gabriel and the infirmarian supported the weeping, coughing novice from the room. Brother Edwig cleared his throat.
'Brother Prior, I think we may say g-grace and rise now. It is nearly time for C-Compline.'
Prior Mortimus said a perfunctory grace, and the monks rose, those at the long table waiting until the obedentiaries had filed out. As we went through the door, Brother Edwig leaned over to me, his voice unctuous.
'Master Shardlake, I am sorry your meal should have been disturbed t-twice. Very r-r-regrettable. I must ask you to forgive us.'
'Not at all, Brother. The more I see of the life of Scarnsea, the more my investigations are illuminated. Speaking of which, I would be grateful if you could make yourself available tomorrow, with all your recent account books. There are some matters arising from Commissioner Singleton's investigations I would like to raise with you.' I confess I enjoyed the disconcerted look that came into the bursar's face. I nodded and passed on to where Mark stood, looking from a window. The snow still fell, covering every surface with white, deadening all sound and blurring sight as hunched, cowled figures began to make their way across the cloister yard to the church, and Compline, the day's last service. The bells began to toll once more.
CHAPTER 9
When we regained our room Mark lay down once more on his cot. But though I was as tired as he, I needed to organize my impressions of all that had happened at the meal. I dashed water from the pitcher over my face, then went to sit by the fire. Very faintly, through the window, I heard the sound of chanting.
'Listen,' I said, 'the monks at Compline. Praying to God to watch over their souls at the day's end. Well, what do you think of this holy community of Scarnsea?'
He groaned. 'I am too tired to think.'
'Come on, it's your first day inside a monastery. What do you make of it?'
Reluctantly, he heaved himself up on his elbows and his face assumed a thoughtful impression. The first faint lines in his smooth features were emphasized by the shadows the candles cast. One day, I thought, they would deepen into real lines and furrows as they had in mine.
'It appears a world of contradictions. On the one hand their life seems a world apart. Those black habits they wear, all their prayers. Brother Gabriel said they are separate from the sinful world. Yet did you see how he looked at me again, the dog? And they live so well. Warm fires, tapestries, food as good as any I have eaten. Playing cards like men in any tavern.'
'Yes. St Benedict would be as disgusted as Lord Cromwell by their rich living. Abbot Fabian disporting himself like a lord — and he is a lord, of course, he sits in the House like most of the abbots.'
'I think the prior dislikes him.'
'Prior Mortimus paints himself a reformist sympathizer, an opponent of easy living. He certainly believes in giving those under him a hard time. And enjoys it, I would say.'