Benedict had put aside his monk’s habit and was now dressed in a richly embroidered doublet and a dark coloured hose which showed off his well-honed figure to perfection. He wore soft leather shoes, and, had it not been for his monk’s tonsure, almost hidden by his thick curly dark hair, he could have passed as one of the King’s courtiers. Nicholas glanced at the Prior and saw that he was enthralled. His heart sank. One thing was for sure; they would have to hide Brother Benedict when Cromwell’s Commissioners made their inspection. He was sure the Prior led a chaste life – there had been no rumours to the contrary – but Benedict would tempt the Archangel Gabriel himself.
Jane sang first, Benedict accompanying her with his lute. She sang a simple song about spring and joy in God’s creation. Her sweet, soprano voice had a bell-like quality and as she sang a satisfied smile spread over Brother Oswald’s face, and when the song finished he applauded more enthusiastically than anyone else.
‘I wrote that,’ he said, turning to Nicholas.
‘Beautifully composed, and beautifully sung. But as you are Precentor of the Priory, I would have expected nothing less. Have you composed many songs like the one we’ve just heard?’
‘Volumes of them,’ roared the Prior. ‘He keeps all the brethren up to scratch by making them copy out his manuscripts. You should take a look at our library; it’s bulging with all his compositions.’
‘All to the glory of God, my Lord,’ said Brother Oswald with a smug smile of satisfaction. ‘And I thank Him for giving me the talent.’
‘And we thank Him for sending you into our midst. But come now, another song. Let Benedict hand the lute over, Mistress Warrener. Let’s hear one of the chansons of the divine Josquin. He’s a Flemish composer,’ the Prior said pedantically to Nicholas. ‘Benedict brought some of his songs over with him.’
Jane picked up the lute, and nodded to Benedict when she was ready. He sang a beautiful song about the Virgin Mary, ‘Ave maris stella’, and his honey-sweet tenor voice flowed seductively over them and brought tears of pure joy to the Prior’s eyes. He was indeed a charmer, thought Nicholas; and wouldn’t be out of place at the Court of King Henry.
After the applause, Jane picked up the shawm. Nicholas, who knew it was a difficult instrument to play, felt nervous on her behalf. But he needn’t have worried. From the first plaintive note which echoed round the great hall, she proved herself an accomplished performer. The instrument had an eerie quality to it, and Benedict sang a song about war and death and the futility of human conflict. It made Nicholas think of the horrors he’d seen in the streets of London, as the plague took its toll of the citizens. He remembered the scenes at Tyburn where traitors were butchered and put on public display, and then, as the song went on about the sadness of losing a loved one, his mind turned to his beloved wife and the child who’d only lived for a few hours. When the song came to an end, and Jane put down the shawm, the group was silent, everyone lost in his own thoughts.
But not for long. The next song was a duet, and they sang about happier things, the love of a man for a maid, comparing the joys of human love with the bliss of divine love. The couple were indeed perfectly matched, and Jane’s pure soprano blended with Benedict’s mellifluous tenor, creating a glorious harmony. Nicholas could have stayed there all night listening to the pair, but the end came abruptly. There was a sound of footsteps coming up the stone stairs to the hall, the door flew open and Brother Michael stood there, his lean face stern with disapproval.
‘What is it, Brother Michael?’ said the Prior impatiently. ‘I told you not to interrupt us. We have been in the company of the angels and your long face is the only discordant note we’ve had this evening.’
‘My Lord, the brethren are waiting for your blessing. Compline’s finished and they are ready for sleep.’
‘Tell them I’ll join them for Matins. Father Hubert can bless them tonight.’
‘But you always…’
‘Well, just for once, I can’t come. Be off with you, man, can’t you see we’re busy?’
‘I can see that you’re enjoying yourselves. And what’s Brother Benedict doing here? In secular dress too, I see. This is outrageous. Brother Benedict is a monk, my Lord, a holy man of God. He should never put aside his habit. St Benedict…’
‘Don’t you dare lecture me about St Benedict,’ shouted the Prior, hauling himself to his feet. ‘Just for one night our guest has put aside his habit to put on clothes more appropriate to the occasion. There’s no harm in that.’
‘Not yet. But evil, my Lord, is insidious. It could quite turn the head of a young monk to sing in the company of a woman and receive the adulation of his superiors. What looks harmless at first sight, could be the beginning of our own damnation.’
‘Oh, be off with you, you sanctimonious old misery. Get back to your bleak dormitory and pray for forgiveness. Remember, Brother Michael, that once you took a vow of obedience.’
Scowling his disapproval, Michael retreated. The spell was broken. Jane said she should go back to her father, and Nicholas said he would escort her to the Prior’s carriage. He thanked the Prior for his hospitality, and went over to Benedict.
‘You sing most beautifully, young man. The King, I’m sure, would love to hear you.’
‘He’s not likely to, my Lord. I haven’t got permission to leave the Priory.’
‘Then maybe you will come and sing to me? I’m sure Prior Thomas would release you for a couple of hours.’
‘That would give me great pleasure,’ said Benedict in his soft voice with its pronounced French accent.
Nicholas shook his hand, and left the hall with Jane. Once outside, she stopped and suddenly became serious.
‘Nicholas. I’ve found out something that might be relevant to your murder investigation. Landstock’s not made an arrest yet, has he?’
Nicholas, who could think of nothing else but the beauty of the music he’d just enjoyed, gave a guilty start.
‘Jane, I’m sorry. We’ve all experienced a glimpse of heaven and now you talk about murder.’
She looked at him impatiently. ‘Of course. You’ve got to get your priorities right, Lord Nicholas. You’ve got a murder investigation on your hands. Don’t say you’ve forgotten all about it?’
‘There’s nothing we can do at the moment, Jane. Don’t be so censorious. It isn’t becoming in a woman. But out with it, what have you found out?’
‘It seems to me, my Lord, that women have a better idea of what’s important and what isn’t. Anyway, I’ve learnt that Giles Yelman has been a frequent visitor to Mortimer’s place. But he wasn’t courting Bess Knowles; or anyone else for that matter.’
‘Then what the hell was my under-steward doing at Roger Mortimer’s house?’
‘That’s for you to find out. I can’t start asking those sorts of questions. It’s not becoming in a woman. I’d be sent packing in no time.’
‘Then I must get over there first thing tomorrow morning. But now let me talk about pleasanter things. You sing divinely, Jane. Perhaps one day you’ll come and sing for me at my house.’
She turned and smiled at him demurely. ‘I’d love to, but my father would never let me come.’