Murder most holy

understand?’
    The young lay brother nodded. Athelstan rubbed his hands. ‘Good!’ He looked at his companions. ‘I am sure Brother Norbert can keep a still tongue in his head. Now, come. The others in the chapel must be fretting with impatience.’ Athelstan was right. The rest of the Inner Chapter were sitting in the stalls of the sanctuary grumbling quietly amongst themselves whilst, behind the high altar, a sweating, red-faced lay brother was prising loose the flagstones over the burial vault. Norbert joined in whilst Father Prior made desultory conversation until a sweat-soaked lay brother called out: ‘Father Prior, all is ready!’
    Athelstan, Cranston and the rest went round the high altar. Roger’s coffin had been moved to the side; the red carpet was rolled up and the flagstones lifted as well as the supporting oak beams beneath so the vault now lay open. Brother Norbert and his companions now took a pair of ladders and gingerly went down into the vault. Father Prior passed a lighted candle. Cranston looked down and shivered. He could glimpse coffins and realised that the vault was a vast mausoleum. Ropes snaked down.
    ‘We have found Bruno’s coffin!’ Norbert’s voice sounded hollow, ghostly, as if speaking from an abyss.
    They heard a sliding noise, a slight crash and muffled oaths. Norbert and a lay brother re-emerged, throwing up the rope before they climbed back into the sanctuary.
    ‘Brother Bruno’s coffin now lies directly beneath us.’ Norbert gasped. ‘But we need help. It is very heavy!’
    At the prior’s command everyone, Cranston and Athelstan included, began to pull at the ropes. It proved an onerous task for the pinewood coffin weighed like lead.
    ‘Of course,’ Father Prior gasped, ‘to lower a coffin is easy.’ He smiled thinly. ‘But who’d think we would ever have to raise one?’
    All of them pulled at the ropes but the task proved too much and Father Prior reluctantly conceded more help was needed. They paused for a while, letting the ropes down again, and Norbert was despatched to seek further assistance.
    ‘We might as well.’ Father Prior shrugged. ‘The rest of the community will get to know anyway.’
    Norbert returned. Father Prior told the new helpers to keep a still tongue in their heads. This time others went down the ladder into the vault and eventually the great pinewood coffin was raised out of the vault and placed on one side of the sanctuary. Father Prior thanked everyone and dismissed the lay brothers, except for Brother Norbert. Athelstan’s arms and shoulders now ached whilst Cranston ’s face was red as a plum, his face and neck soaked in sweat.
    ‘I could murder a cup of sack,’ he muttered. ‘Hell’s teeth, Athelstan! Brother Bruno seemed more reluctant to leave the grave than to go into it!’
    ‘There’s a reason for that, Sir John.’
    Athelstan, not waiting for Father Prior, went across to the coffin and, having borrowed Cranston ’s long stabbing dagger, began to prise the lid loose. A putrid smell of decay began to seep through the sanctuary even as the rest began to grumble at what he did. Father Prior opened his mouth to object but Athelstan defiantly continued, aided and helped by Cranston , who wrapped his cloak round his neck to cover his mouth and nose against the growing stench of decomposition. The chorus of disapproval grew so Cranston , pulling the cloak down, bellowed at them angrily: ‘If you can’t stand the stench, light some bloody incense!’
    The prior agreed. Thuribles, charcoal and incense were brought. The charcoal was lit and incense scattered around the red hot coals. At last the coffin lid was loose. Athelstan shoved it away, even as he turned to gag at the dreadful smell which seeped through the incense-filled sanctuary like dirt in clear water. ‘Oh, my God!’ Cranston murmured.
    Athelstan, pinching his nostrils, went back and looked over the lid of the coffin.
    ‘I have seen some terrible sights,’ Cranston declared, ‘but in God’s name...’
    The decomposing body of Brother Bruno lay in a thin gauze sheet but, face down on top, was the gas-filled, rapidly decaying corpse of Brother Alcuin. Despite the stench and the apparent marks of decomposition, Athelstan stretched out his hand and touched the murdered man gently on the back of his head.
    ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, Mary’s son, have pity on you and may God forgive you all your sins!’
    Athelstan stared down at this man he had once known,