inspect.’
The fat young monk stepped forward hesitantly. ‘Forgive me slipping, good sire. My leg pains me, I have an ulcer.’ He gave us a woebegone look. Brother Guy put a hand on his shoulder.
‘If you would follow my diet, Septimus, your poor legs would not have to bear such weight. No wonder they protest.’
‘I am weak flesh, Brother, I need my meat.’
‘Sometimes I think it a pity the Lateran Council ever lifted the prohibition on meat. Now excuse us, Septimus, we are on our way to the crypt. You will be pleased to hear Commissioner Singleton may be laid to rest soon.’
‘Thanks be to God. I am afraid to go near the cemetery. An unburied body, an unshriven man—’
‘Yes, yes. Go now, it is almost time for Vespers.’ Brother Guy gently moved him aside and led us through another door, out into the night again. An expanse of flat ground lay ahead, dotted with headstones. Ghostly white shapes stood out here and there, which I recognized as family crypts. Brother Guy raised the hood of his habit against the snow, which was coming down thickly now.
‘You must forgive Brother Septimus,’ he said. ‘He is a poor silly creature.’
‘No wonder his leg gives trouble,’ Mark observed. ‘Carrying all that weight.’
‘The monks stand for hours at a time in a cold church every day, Master Mark, a good covering of fat is not unhealthy. But the standing brings on varicose ulcers. It is not so easy a life. And poor Septimus has not the wit to cease from gorging.’
I shivered. ‘This is not the weather to stand talking.’
Holding his lamp high, Brother Guy led us between the headstones. I asked him whether, when he came to the kitchen that morning, the door had been locked.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I went in through the door from the cloister yard, which is always locked at night, then up the short passage leading to the kitchen. The kitchen itself is not locked because the only way is via the passage. I opened the door and at once I slipped in something and almost went over. I put my lamp down, then saw that headless body.’
‘Dr Goodhaps said he slipped too. So the blood was liquid?’
The infirmarian considered. ‘Yes, it had not started to congeal.’
‘So the deed had not been done long?’
‘No, it cannot have been.’
‘And you saw no one on your way to the kitchen?’
‘No.’
I was pleased to find my brain working again, my mind racing along. ‘Whoever killed Singleton would himself have been covered in blood. He would have had bloody clothes, left bloody footsteps.’
‘I saw none. But I confess it was not in my mind to look, I was shocked. Later, of course, when the house was roused, there were bloody footprints everywhere from those who had entered the kitchen.’
I thought a moment. ‘And the killer may then have gone to the church, desecrated the altar and stolen the relic. Did you, did anyone, notice any traces of blood on the way across the cloister to the church, or inside the church?’
Brother Guy gave me a sombre look. ‘There was blood spilt about the church. We assumed it came from that sacrificed cock. As for the cloister, it started to rain before dawn and went on all day. It would have washed away any traces.’
‘And after you found the body, what did you do?’
‘I went straight to the abbot, of course. Now, here we are.’
He had led us to the largest of the crypts, a one-storey building in the ubiquitous yellow limestone, set on a little rise. It had a stout wooden door, wide enough for a coffin to be carried in.
I blinked a snowflake from my eyelashes. ‘Well, let us get this over with.’ He produced a key and I took a deep breath, breathing a silent prayer that God might strengthen my weak stomach.
WE HAD TO STOOP to enter the low, whitewashed chamber. The ossuary was bitterly cold, the wind slicing in through a small barred
The fat young monk stepped forward hesitantly. ‘Forgive me slipping, good sire. My leg pains me, I have an ulcer.’ He gave us a woebegone look. Brother Guy put a hand on his shoulder.
‘If you would follow my diet, Septimus, your poor legs would not have to bear such weight. No wonder they protest.’
‘I am weak flesh, Brother, I need my meat.’
‘Sometimes I think it a pity the Lateran Council ever lifted the prohibition on meat. Now excuse us, Septimus, we are on our way to the crypt. You will be pleased to hear Commissioner Singleton may be laid to rest soon.’
‘Thanks be to God. I am afraid to go near the cemetery. An unburied body, an unshriven man—’
‘Yes, yes. Go now, it is almost time for Vespers.’ Brother Guy gently moved him aside and led us through another door, out into the night again. An expanse of flat ground lay ahead, dotted with headstones. Ghostly white shapes stood out here and there, which I recognized as family crypts. Brother Guy raised the hood of his habit against the snow, which was coming down thickly now.
‘You must forgive Brother Septimus,’ he said. ‘He is a poor silly creature.’
‘No wonder his leg gives trouble,’ Mark observed. ‘Carrying all that weight.’
‘The monks stand for hours at a time in a cold church every day, Master Mark, a good covering of fat is not unhealthy. But the standing brings on varicose ulcers. It is not so easy a life. And poor Septimus has not the wit to cease from gorging.’
I shivered. ‘This is not the weather to stand talking.’
Holding his lamp high, Brother Guy led us between the headstones. I asked him whether, when he came to the kitchen that morning, the door had been locked.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I went in through the door from the cloister yard, which is always locked at night, then up the short passage leading to the kitchen. The kitchen itself is not locked because the only way is via the passage. I opened the door and at once I slipped in something and almost went over. I put my lamp down, then saw that headless body.’
‘Dr Goodhaps said he slipped too. So the blood was liquid?’
The infirmarian considered. ‘Yes, it had not started to congeal.’
‘So the deed had not been done long?’
‘No, it cannot have been.’
‘And you saw no one on your way to the kitchen?’
‘No.’
I was pleased to find my brain working again, my mind racing along. ‘Whoever killed Singleton would himself have been covered in blood. He would have had bloody clothes, left bloody footsteps.’
‘I saw none. But I confess it was not in my mind to look, I was shocked. Later, of course, when the house was roused, there were bloody footprints everywhere from those who had entered the kitchen.’
I thought a moment. ‘And the killer may then have gone to the church, desecrated the altar and stolen the relic. Did you, did anyone, notice any traces of blood on the way across the cloister to the church, or inside the church?’
Brother Guy gave me a sombre look. ‘There was blood spilt about the church. We assumed it came from that sacrificed cock. As for the cloister, it started to rain before dawn and went on all day. It would have washed away any traces.’
‘And after you found the body, what did you do?’
‘I went straight to the abbot, of course. Now, here we are.’
He had led us to the largest of the crypts, a one-storey building in the ubiquitous yellow limestone, set on a little rise. It had a stout wooden door, wide enough for a coffin to be carried in.
I blinked a snowflake from my eyelashes. ‘Well, let us get this over with.’ He produced a key and I took a deep breath, breathing a silent prayer that God might strengthen my weak stomach.
WE HAD TO STOOP to enter the low, whitewashed chamber. The ossuary was bitterly cold, the wind slicing in through a small barred
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