'I was professed at nineteen. I have known no other life. Nor would I wish to.'
He paused before a large niche containing an empty stone pedestal, on which a black cloth had been laid. Against it was heaped an enormous pile of sticks, crutches and other supports used by cripples; I saw a heavy neck-brace such as crookback children wear to try and straighten them; I had worn one myself, though it did no good.
Brother Gabriel sighed. 'This is where the hand of the Penitent Thief stood. It is a terrible loss; it has cured many unfortunate people.' He gave the inevitable glance at my back as he spoke, then looked away and gestured at the pile.
'All those things were left by people cured by the Penitent Thief's intervention over the years. They no longer needed them and left them behind in gratitude.'
'How long had the relic been here?'
'It came from France with the monks who founded St Donatus's in 1087. It had been in France for centuries, and at Rome for centuries before that.'
'The casket was valuable, I believe. Gold set with emeralds.'
'People used to be glad to pay to touch it, you know. They were disappointed when the injunctions forbade relics to be shown for lucre.'
'It is quite large, I imagine?'
He nodded. 'There is an illustration in the library, if you would care to see.'
'I would. Thank you. Tell me, who found the relic missing?'
'I did. I found the desecrated altar too.'
'Pray tell me what happened.' I sat down on a projecting buttress. My back was much better, but I did not wish to stand around for too long.
'I rose towards five as usual, and came to prepare the church for Nocturns. There are only a few candles lit before the statues at night, so when first I came into the church with my assistant, Brother Andrew, we noticed nothing amiss. We went into the choir; Andrew lit the candles at the stalls and I set the books open at that morning's prayers. As he was lighting the candles Brother Andrew saw a trail of blood on the floor, and called out. The trail led—' he gave a shuddering sigh '—into the presbytery. There, on the table before the high altar, was a black cock, its throat cut. God have mercy on us, black bloodstained feathers lying on the very altar, a candle lit on either side in satanic mockery.' He crossed himself again.
'Would you show me the place, Brother?'
He hesitated. 'The church has been reconsecrated, but I do not believe it is fitting to relive those events before the altar itself.'
'Nevertheless, I must ask—'
With reluctant steps he led me through a door in the rood screen, into the choir stalls. I remembered Goodhaps's remark that the monks seemed more upset by the desecration than by Singleton's death.
The choir held two rows of wooden pews, black with age and richly carved, facing each other across a tiled space. Brother Gabriel pointed to the floor. 'That's where the blood was. The trail led in here.' I followed him through to the presbytery, where the high altar stood, covered with a white cloth, before a beautifully carved altar screen decorated with gold leaf. The air was full of incense. He pointed to two ornate silver candlesticks flanking the centre of the altar table, where the paten and chalice would be laid for Mass.