'No,' I said again decisively. 'He is hard, he has to be with the enemies he faces, but no Christian could do such a thing to an innocent man, and believe me, Lord Cromwell is a Christian. You forget how many years I have known him. Were it not for him there would have been no Reform. That cankered monk told us a seditious tale. One you had better not repeat outside this room.'

He gave me a keen, hard look. For the first time, I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Alice came in with steaming mugs of wine. She passed me one with a smile, then exchanged a look with Mark that seemed to carry a different level of meaning. I felt a stab of jealousy.

'Thank you, Alice,' I said. 'That is very welcome. We have been talking with Brother Jerome and could do with some sustenance.'

'Have you, sir?' She did not seem much interested. 'I have only seen him a few times, limping about. They say he is mad.' She curtsied and left. I turned back to Mark, who sat staring into the fire.

'Sir,' he said hesitantly, 'there is something I wish to tell you.'

'Yes? Go on.'

'When we return to London – if we ever get out of this place – I do not wish to return to Augmentations. I have decided. I cannot bear it.'

'Bear what? What do you mean?'

'The corruption, the greed. All the time we are pestered by people wanting to know which monasteries will be down next. They write pleading letters, they turn up at the door claiming acquaintance with Lord Rich, they promise if they are granted lands they will do loyal service to Rich or Cromwell.'

'Lord Cromwell, Mark-'

'And the high officials talk of nothing but which courtier may go to the block next, who will have their posts. I hate it, sir.'

'What has brought this about? Is it what Jerome said? Do you fear ending up somehow like Mark Smeaton?'

He looked at me directly. 'No, sir. I have tried to tell you before how I feel about Augmentations.'

'Mark, hear me. I do not like some of the things that are happening now any more than you. But – it is all to an end. Our goal is a new and purer realm.' I got up and stood above him, spreading my arms wide. 'The monastic lands, for example. You have seen what this place is like, these fat monks steeped in every heresy the pope ever devised, living on the backs of the town, becking and scraping to their images when, given the chance, they would play the filthy person with each other, or young Alice, or you. It's all coming to an end, and so it should. It's a disgrace.'

'Some of them are not bad people. Brother Guy-'

'The institution is rotten. Listen: if Lord Cromwell can get these lands into the king's hands then, yes, some will be given to his supporters. That is the nature of patronage, it is how society works, it is inevitable. But the sums are vast; they will give the king enough money to make him independent of Parliament. Listen, you feel for the plight of the poor, do you not?'

'Yes, sir. It is a disgrace. People like Alice thrown off their lands everywhere, masterless men begging in the streets-'

'Yes. It is a disgrace. Lord Cromwell tried to put a Bill through Parliament last year that would truly succour the poor, set up almshouses for those who could not work and provide great public works for those without labour, building roads and canals. Parliament turned the Bill down because the gentry did not want to pay a tax on income to fund it. But with the wealth of the monasteries in the king's coffers, he won't need Parliament. He can build schools. He can pay to provide an English bible in every church. Imagine it, work for everyone, all the people reading God's word. And that is why Augmentations is vital!'

He smiled sadly. 'You do not think, like Master Copynger, that only householders should be allowed to read the Bible? I have heard Lord Rich believes the same. My father is not a householder, they would not allow him the Bible. Nor am I.'

'You will be one day. But no, I do not agree with Copynger. And Rich is a rogue. Cromwell needs him now, but he will ensure he rises no further. Things will settle down.'

'Will they, sir?'

'They must. They must. You need to think, Mark, you need to pray. I cannot – I cannot cope with doubts, not now. There is too much at stake.'

He turned back to the fire. 'I am sorry to vex you, sir.'

'Then believe what I say.'

My back ached. For a long time we were silent as dusk fell outside and the room slowly darkened. It was not a comfortable quietude. I was glad I had spoken so vigorously to Mark and I believed all I had said about the future I thought we were building. Yet as I sat there Jerome's words came back to me, and his face, and my lawyer's instinct told me that he had not been lying. But if everything he had said was true, then Reform was being built on an edifice of lies and monstrous brutality. And I was part of it all. Lying there, I was horrified. Then a thought came to comfort me. If Jerome was mad he might have come truly to believe in something that was only a fantasy in his head. I had known such things before. I told myself that must be the answer; what was more, I should cease from agonizing over this; I needed rest and a clear head for the morrow. In such ways do men of conscience comfort themselves against their doubts.

All at once Mark was shaking me awake; I must have fallen asleep lying there.

'Sir, Brother Guy is here.'

The infirmarian stood looking down at me; hastily I got to my feet.

'I have a message, Commissioner. The abbot has the land deeds you requested and some correspondence he wishes to send out. He is on his way.'

'Thank you, Brother.' He looked at me intently, fingering the rope at the waist of his habit with long brown fingers.

'I will shortly be going to the night service for Simon Whelplay. Commissioner, I feel I should tell what I suspect about his poisoning to the abbot.'

I shook my head. 'Not yet. His killer does not know murder is suspected and that may give me an advantage.'

'But how am I to say he died? The abbot will ask.'

'Say you are unsure.'

He passed a hand across his tonsure. When he spoke again his voice was agitated.

'But, sir, knowledge of how he died should guide our prayers. We should be asking the Lord to receive the soul of a slain man, not a sick one. He died without shrift or housel, that alone is a danger to his soul.'

'God sees all. The boy will be admitted to heaven or no as He wills.'

The infirmarian looked set to argue further, but just then the abbot entered. His old servant followed behind, carrying a big leather satchel. Abbot Fabian looked grey and worn, peering at us through tired eyes. Brother Guy bowed to his superior and left us.

'Commissioner, I have brought the deeds of the four land sales made this last year. Also some correspondence – business letters and some personal letters from the monks. You asked to see correspondence before it went out.'

'Thank you. Put the satchel on the table.'

He hesitated, rubbing his hands together nervously. 'May I ask how things went in the town today? Did you make progress? The smugglers-'

'Some progress. My lines of enquiry seem to multiply, my lord Abbot. I also saw Jerome this afternoon.'

'I trust he was not – not-'

'Oh, he insulted me again, naturally. I think he should remain in his cell for the present.'

The abbot coughed. 'I have had a letter myself,' he said hesitantly. 'I have put it with those others; it is from an old friend, a monk at Bisham. He has friends at Lewes Priory. They say terms of surrender are being negotiated with the vicar general.'

I smiled wryly. 'The monks of England have their own communication networks, it was ever so. Well, my lord, I think I may say Scarnsea is not the only house with a mischievous history that Lord Cromwell thinks would be better closed.'