'He is sinking,' he said quietly. 'It seems I must lose another.'
'It is his time.' We all looked round as the blind monk spoke. 'Poor Francis, he has watched nearly a hundred years as the world falls down to its end. He has seen the coming of the Antichrist, as was foretold. Luther, and his agent Cromwell.'
I realized he had no idea I was there. Brother Guy stepped hastily towards him, but I laid a restraining hand on his arm.
'No, Brother, let us hear.'
'Is that a visitor?' the blind monk asked, turning his milky eyes towards me. 'Did you know Brother Francis, sir?'
'No, Brother. I am a — visitor.'
'When he was professed it was still the time of the wars between Lancaster and York. Think of that. He told me there was an old monk at Scarnsea then, as old as Francis is now, who had known monks who were here at the time of the Great Pestilence.' He smiled softly. 'Those must have been great days. Over a hundred brothers here, a clamour of young men seeking the habit. This old man told Brother Fabian that when the Pestilence came half the monks died in a week. They partitioned the refectory, for the survivors could not bear the sight of the empty tables. The whole world was stricken then as it fell a further step towards its close.' He shook his head. 'Now all is vanity and corruption as the end nears. Soon Christ will come and judge all.'
'Quiet, Brother,' Brother Guy murmured anxiously, 'quiet.' I looked across at Alice; she dropped her eyes. I studied the ancient monk; he lay quite unconscious, his wrinkled face calm.
'Come, Mark,' I said quietly. 'Let us go.'
===OO=OOO=OO===
We muffled ourselves up and went out. The freezing night was still, moonlight glinting on the snow as we crunched along to the church. A subdued glow of candlelight was visible from the windows.
At night the church had quite a different aspect. It seemed like a great cavern, the roof lost in echoing darkness. Pinpoints of light came from candles lit before favoured images round the walls, and there were two larger oases of light, one beyond the rood screen in the choir, the other in a side chapel. I led Mark there, guessing Singleton would have the less exalted setting.
The open coffin stood on a table. Posted round it were nine or ten monks, each holding a large candle. They made a strange sight, those cowled figures in the dark, their sombre faces lit from below. As we approached I saw Brother Athelstan there; he quickly lowered his head. Brother Jude and Brother Hugh shuffled aside to give us room.
Singleton's head had been set upon his neck and a block of wood laid between the head and the coffin's back to hold it in place. His eyes and mouth had been closed and but for the red line round the neck he could have been lying in the repose of natural death. I looked down, then lifted my head hastily at the smell that rose from the body, cutting through the monks' fusty odour. Singleton had been dead over a week and out of the vault he was decomposing fast. I nodded gravely to the monks and withdrew a few paces.
'I am going to bed,' I said to Mark. 'You may stay if you wish.'
He shook his head. 'I will come with you. It is a doleful sight.'
'I would pay my respects to Simon Whelplay. But as laymen I doubt we would be welcome.'
Mark nodded and we turned away. The sound of a Latin psalm came from behind the rood screen where the novice lay. I recognized Psalm 94.
'O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth: O God, to whom vengeance belongeth, shew thyself.'
===OO=OOO=OO===
Exhausted though I was, I slept badly again. My back pained me and I only dozed in fits and starts. Mark too was restless, grunting and mumbling in his dreams. Just as the sky lightened I fell at last into a deep sleep, only to be woken by Mark an hour later. He was already up and dressed.
'Jesu's mercy,' I groaned. 'Is it full day?'