They’d reached the solarium where the lay Brothers were handing round tankards of beer and platefuls of cakes baked in the Priory’s ovens. Alfred Hobbes, divested of his elegant cope and back in his scruffy cassock, came over to join them.
‘The Prior does us proud,’ said Nicholas conversationally.
‘And so he should. His house is big enough to house an army, whilst I’ve only got a miserable room over the entrance porch.’
‘The Prior needs a big house. After all, he’s expected to offer hospitality to all and sundry.’
‘And don’t I have to look after the souls of all these parishioners? No one bothers to think about building me a house to live in.’
‘Then you’re in the wrong job,’ said Landstock jovially. ‘You should have been a monk; better food, better accommodation, a quieter life.’
‘Not for much longer, though. They’ve got it coming to them.’
‘And about time, too,’ said a deep voice behind them. Nicholas groaned. It was Guy Warrener. ‘Parasites the lot of them,’ he said, as he took a gulp of the beer which the lay brother had just given him. ‘Kick them out and let them earn their keep. But I can’t see Brother Oswald behind a plough or building barns.’
‘Come, come, Warrener,’ said Nicholas impatiently. ‘We’ve been down that track over and over again. Don’t keep talking about when the monks leave. There’s legislation to be passed. It might not get through.’
‘Of course it will,’ said Warrener belligerently. ‘What Harry Tudor wants, he gets. And you’ll see to it that he does get it. So here’s to him,’ he said, raising his tankard. ‘Long live the King; and the devil take his enemies.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Landstock taking a gulp of beer. ‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ he said to Prior Thomas, who’d sauntered over to join them. ‘Mind you, it would be greatly improved if you’d added a few hops. Then you’d get a really excellent brew.’
‘I’ve heard that you serve a fine beer, Sheriff,’ said the Prior. ‘I’d like to try some.’
‘It’s good enough for me and Lord Nicholas. But I’ll send you over a barrel or two, if you like.’
‘And don’t forget me,’ said Hobbes querulously. ‘Why should Prior Thomas get all the perks?’
‘Oh stop moaning, Vicar. You do very well. Look how you help yourself to my vegetables.’
‘It’s my right. The Bishop says so,’ said Hobbes, hopping up and down with annoyance.
‘You made enough fuss about it. You shouldn’t have taken it to the Archdeacon’s Court. It made me look a right fool. You know you can help yourself to as many vegetables as you like. Personally I can’t stand the damn things.’
‘That’s not what Brother Cyril says. He threatened me, Prior, said I was stealing the brothers’ cabbages and I should go to gaol. Called me a common thief. Me, Vicar of the parish church of Dean Peverell, called a thief. Now I’m reduced to grubbing around in your vegetable garden to find a few cabbage leaves that you lot haven’t eaten. It’s not right and it’s not fair. Of course I took it to the Archdeacon.’
Hobbes had raised his fists and was hopping from one leg to the other like a lightweight boxer in the ring. His face was flushed with anger and he would have punched the Prior had Nicholas not restrained him.
‘Calm down, Vicar. We shouldn’t quarrel on a day like this. My steward’s just been laid to rest, the sun’s shining and we have all this food and drink to enjoy which you have so generously provided, my Lord Prior. Don’t keep raking over dead ashes, Vicar. You look very well on whatever you eat, and no doubt the parishioners look after you very well.’
‘I get by,’ said Hobbes, controlling himself. ‘Nothing to spare, though. Not like the brethren here. Still, I know my place; baptise, marry ’em, bury ’em. The monks only pray for ’em. And do you know, Lord Nicholas, I’m going to be here long after this lot’ve all been turned out. One day I’ll come into my own.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ shouted the Prior, his thick eyebrows knitting together into a scowl. ‘Surely you’re not turning into one of these reformers I hear about. You don’t want to change the system, surely? You’d be out of a job.’
Nicholas turned away impatiently. He was sick and tired of the bickering and squabbling that went on between the Vicar and the Prior. If they couldn’t live together peacefully side by side, then who could?
Jane was walking across the grass towards him. His spirits lifted and he went to meet her.
‘What’s up, Jane? You look anxious.’
‘I’ve just heard that Giles has disappeared. Nicholas, I’m worried. Did you notice that the Mortimers didn’t come to the funeral? They should’ve been here because they knew Matthew. And Bess couldn’t make it. She’s ill, Nicholas, and I think it’s serious. I know her health’s not good and she’s grieving for Matthew, but she gets weaker and weaker by the hour. I’m worried about her. She was very close to Matthew. They shared things.’
‘You still think Mortimer’s got something to do with Matthew’s death.’
‘I’m sure of it. And I think Giles was paid to let the murderers in to your house.’
‘These are wild accusations, Jane. There simply isn’t any proof. We can’t ask Landstock to arrest Mortimer without proper evidence except the suspicions of his wife’s maid and her friend. Let’s get on with finding Giles and hope he’ll tell us more.’
‘And meanwhile Bess is going to be the next victim.’
Nicholas was conscious that Guy Warrener was watching him closely. Damn the man, was he going to be his daughter’s gaoler? Suddenly, he saw one of his servants running across the grass towards them.
‘What is it, William? What’s happened?’ he said, going to meet him.
‘A messenger’s arrived up at the house. From the King, my Lord. You’re wanted at Hampton Court immediately.’
‘Tell him to wait and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘He says you’re to come at once. That’s what he said, my Lord. I told him you were at a funeral but he said it was urgent.’
‘Then tell Geoffrey to pack my bag, and get Harry ready.’
‘The King keeps you at his beck and call,’ said Jane, who’d followed him.
‘Yes, damn him. I can’t think what’s so urgent that he wants me to leave immediately.’
‘Then tell him to wait; at least until Giles is found.’
‘Tell him to wait, Jane? Are you out of your mind? I want to keep this head on my shoulders, you know.’
‘But you can’t go now. What with Bess ill and Giles still at large.’
‘I can do nothing about Bess, Jane. I’m not a doctor. And Landstock will see to Giles. I can’t keep the King waiting.’
‘Then you don’t care what happens to us…’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to you. Landstock will look after things, and you must keep your ears and eyes open whilst I’m away and report to me when I return. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘It’ll be too late. I know something terrible’s going to happen,’ said Jane bitterly.
‘Leaving us so soon, my Lord?’ said Warrener, coming up to join them. ‘I’m glad someone’s doing something about this lot of parasites. Now get the legislation through Parliament. I can’t wait to see them go. But let’s drink up their beer and finish up the cakes before you leave. Make hay whilst the sun shines, I say.’
‘I hope to God, man, that the monks will be here long after you and I are dead.’
‘Times are changing, my Lord. New ideas, new men at Court. I’m all for it. It’s about time there was an end to all this superstitious nonsense. No more prayers for the dead, no more services in Latin – what’s wrong with English, I say? I’m all for this man Martin Luther. He might be German but he’s got the right ideas. Down with the Pope. Let’s have an English Church with an English King at its head.’
He stopped as a fit of coughing racked his body. Jane came up and took him by the arm. ‘Come home, father. Lord Nicholas has better things to do than to listen to your ranting. The King calls, and he must fly to his side.’
‘Jane, that’s unfair. You know that I’ve got to go.’