It was clear from his face that Dextus was tempted to release the Castigatori and let them do their favourite thing – to Wat. He controlled himself with some effort.
'The works of Briston we have found here are all pretty harmless. Not very good, but harmless. Where are the rest of them?'
'The rest?' Wat sounded as if butterflies could nest in his soft and innocent words.
'Yes, the rest.' Dextus pulled the wings off the butterflies before eating them, 'You know exactly what I mean. The personal works. The sort of thing you do.'
'Ah, commissions,' Wat said with realisation. 'I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps he didn't have any on at the moment. We don't make these things up you know,' Wat explained and excused himself. 'People ask us for them. Nobles, bishops, priests even. Ordinary men. They tell us what they want.'
'And you do it,' Dextus said, as if this were sufficient accusation. 'And I don't think the ordinary man can afford your prices.'
There was no reply Wat could give so he just smiled a bit.
Dextus sighed his sigh again. He beckoned the loitering castigator with one finger and the man stepped smartly to his master. The master whispered in an ear and the man obeyed. Ignoring Wat and Hermitage, this monster monk grabbed Cwen by the throat and lifted her from the ground with one arm. She tried to cry out but her voice wouldn't work.
'Stop,' Wat called as he stepped forward, only to bump into another huge castigator who stepped in his way.
'What are you doing?' Hermitage called in outrage.
Eadric and Firman stepped back.
'This one says she's a weaver's apprentice,' Dextus observed, as if he was chatting round the camp fire instead of a dangling girl. 'Nonsense, of course, but she probably knows where the other works are. I'm sure my Brother here will wring the details out if he squeezes hard enough.'
'They're in the hovel,' Wat blurted, looking with alarm at Cwen's reddening face.
Dextus shook his head and nodded to the wreckage of Briston's tent. 'We looked.'
'Not that. The hovel, over there.' Wat pointed anxiously to Lolby's hovel.
Dextus nodded and Cwen was dropped. Wat immediately ran over to her and put a comforting arm across her shoulder while she coughed and choked the air back into her meagre frame.
'Your actions are intolerable,' Hermitage bridled. If he'd been twice his own size, he would have castigated Dextus there and then.
Dextus ignored him and indicated that the Castigatori could investigate the hovel.
Lolby, who had been loitering outside his dwelling watching the goings on with some enjoyment saw large monks coming his way. He left home and hearth at a fast run. The Castigatori turned questioning heads to Dextus who indicated they did not need to follow.
Two of the largest monks Hermitage had ever seen entered the hovel. Two of the largest people he'd ever seen at all, really.
The hovel of Lolby was not built to contain such bulk, and as the figures inside moved around searching, the walls of the place bulged and stretched. Chunks of mud fell from the sides and the goat-skin door fell off.
'Ah!' An exclamation of discovery burst from the inside of the hovel as the head of a castigator popped up through the roof.
The man tried to move forward, seemingly ignorant of the fact that he was now wearing a hovel. The building did actually move a couple of feet before the man's ponderous mind realised that ducking down would be more effective. He did so, and there was a groan from inside as he had clearly ducked on to his fellow Brother. There was more struggling as two large monks tried to exit a small hovel at the same time. The small hovel wasn't up to this and simply collapsed back to the pile of mud and twigs of its natural state. Lolby's rude cot and pot were all that remained standing of a once disgusting home.
The monks returned across the field, one of them carrying the box of Briston on his shoulder.
'Happy?' Wat asked from where he was still tending a recovering Cwen.
'Not usually,' Dextus replied.
'Well, perhaps you'll be on your way now you've got what you want,' the weaver invited.
'I don't know that I have got what I want yet,' Dextus replied. 'I need to examine the box. And, as I say, my bishop would like a word with you. When I do go on my way, you’ll be on it as well.'
'Wat is with me,' Hermitage piped up. He was nervous and apprehensive. This was not something he had done before so he had no idea how it was going to turn out.
Dextus appraised him with a look of unworried surprise. 'You can come if you like,' he said, 'not that I'd advise it.'
'I mean,' Hermitage stumbled slightly over his words and drew breath, 'Wat is with me, on my official business.' He still couldn't bring himself to utter the words, even though he knew they were essential.
'Official business?' Dextus was disbelieving. 'You should be in your monastery, little monk. What official business are you on?'
Hermitage tried to draw his shoulders back and look commanding; he suspected he just looked odd.
'I am the King’s Investigator,' he announced.
Dextus just kept looking.
'The King’s Investigator,' Hermitage repeated.
'I heard,' Dextus said. There was a bit more steel in his voice now.
'So,' Hermitage hadn't thought beyond this, he imagined that would be enough. 'I am on the king's business and Mister Wat is on that business with me.'
'Which king?' Dextus asked, narrowing his eyes.
'Both of them,' Hermitage answered immediately, warming to his task. 'King Harold appointed me some months ago and King William repeated the honour. Yesterday,' he felt this added weight to his position, 'at Castle Grosmal, in fact.' Hermitage's first experience of pulling rank was proving exhilarating. 'It's just round the corner. He might still be there. Perhaps you'd like to come and check? Lord Grosmal was there, William's personal guard, everyone.'
There was a snort from Wat as Dextus stared hard at Hermitage. The priest seemed very unsure.
'You don't strike me as the type who could make something like that up.'
'Thank you,' Hermitage said with gratitude.
Wat snorted again.
'So what's the King’s Investigator doing here?'
At least the fellow seemed to know what an investigator was.
'We're looking into the death of Briston.' Hermitage felt very bad saying this. Of course, it wasn't strictly true that Hermitage was looking into the death of Briston as King’s Investigator. He was doing so as Wat's friend. He just happened to be King’s Investigator while he was doing it. He didn't feel that this was outright lying, but it wasn't outright truth either.
'Are you?' Dextus asked with a curious tone.
He walked over to the still bound corpse, which now rested in the open air. He squatted at its side and looked it up and down. He then stood and looked at the wreckage of the tent. His brow furrowed and he looked back at Briston. He then stepped back and appraised the corpse from a distance. He tipped his head over to one side slightly. Then he approached again and paced out the length of the body. He put his hands on his hips and looked at Wat. 'This thing?' he asked and gave the dear departed a hearty kick.
'Oy,' Wat called out.
Cwen had recovered enough of her strength to jump from the floor and glare at the priest with clenched fists.
'A little respect please,' Wat insisted. ‘That's the body of my friend.' He sounded genuinely upset.
'No it isn't,' Dextus said.
'Yes it is.' Wat clearly couldn't understand why he was being contradicted.
'No it isn't.'
Wat shook his head rapidly, 'Why are you saying it isn’t?'
'Why are you saying it is?'
'Because it is.' Wat reacted as if he'd just been told the grass was made from slices of sky painted green by pixies. He was clearly dealing with the priestly equivalent of the village idiot. 'He's tied up in the Tapestry of Death, his hair is sticking out the top, and his feet are sticking out the bottom.'
'No
they aren't,' Dextus said.
Wat had rapidly reached the end of his tether. He stamped his feet on the spot in frustration and pointed at the end of the bundle. 'Look,' he shouted, as if getting louder would make the presence of the clearly visible sticking-out feet more obvious.
'Ah,' Hermitage said in some recognition.
'What?' Wat shouted, 'Ah, what what?'
'Go on, King’s Investigator,' Dextus challenged.
'Briston's boots are sticking out the bottom of the binding, not his feet.'
'Exactly,' Dextus said, impressed.
'Arrgh,' Wat screamed and tore at some of his hair. 'What difference does that make?'
'How do we know his feet are in them?' Hermitage asked in his intelligent way.
Wat was dumbstruck for a moment. 'Where else would he keep them?' he cried in exasperation.
'Well, on the end of his legs obviously,' Hermitage answered, rather puzzled himself now.
'You're all mad,' Wat concluded, getting a little calmer.
'If his feet aren't in his boots, but his legs are still joined on…' Hermitage left the question for Wat.
'Eh?' Wat was having a lot of trouble with this.
'Exactly,' Dextus commented.
Wat's head transported his eyes back and forth between these two idiots.
'It's the sort of question we had in the investigations of Brother Ambrosius and Henri de Turold, you know? The what if?'
'What if what?'
Hermitage caught Wat's wandering glance and held it. 'Wat.'
'Yes?'
'What if Briston's feet are not in his boots but are still attached to him?'
'Erm.'
'Think about it.'
Wat thought. He looked over the bound body once more and reached his conclusion. 'The bastards have cut off his legs!' he wailed
'No, no, no. I realise the man is your friend but think hard.'
Cwen had come up to Wat's side and was peering around him at the bundle of tapestry on the floor.
'If his feet aren't in there,' she speculated.
Hermitage nodded encouragement.
'And his legs aren't there either, perhaps the rest of him isn't there as well. Erm, either. Neither.'
'Precisely.'
'The bastard,' Cwen hissed.
'But the hair?' Wat clung on to his version of events.
'Easy enough to cut off some of your hair and stick it in the tapestry,' Hermitage explained. He was glad his friend seemed to be getting this now.
'Are you saying this is not Briston's body?'
'Well done,' Dextus said in a very patronising tone. He applauded slowly. Even his hands were patronising.
'But…' Wat's face still contorted with the ideas being bandied about.
'How tall was Briston?' Dextus asked him plainly.
'Oh,' Wat said, thrown rather by the question. 'Erm, about five three, I suppose. Quite tall.'
'So why is his corpse four foot two at best? Did he shrink when they tied him up?' Dextus now added sarcasm.
Wat simply stared at the Tapestry of Death, which he now seemed to accept did not contain the body of his friend. He had the fact, but he didn’t have the understanding. 'But…' he whimpered slightly. His “but” wandered off on the breeze.
'You bastard!' Cwen's voice was in full flow, as were her feet as she stepped forward and gave the erstwhile corpse a solid kick. 'Ow, bloody hell,' she cried as she grasped her toe.
'You didn't know about this then?' Hermitage asked her.
'No of course not,' she snapped back. 'He was always going on about the Tapestry of Death, what it was, what it looked like, and how one day he'd be caught by the guild and they'd do it to him.'
'Ah.'
'Yes, bloody ah. He was obviously using me for just this moment. If he isn't actually dead, I'll kill him myself.'
'As you please, young lady,' Dextus offered. 'The Castigatori would like a few words with him first though.'
'As you please,' Cwen said with a horrid gleam in her eye.
'Well,' Wat recovered his composure very quickly, 'I can see that Briston may not be dead after all so there's really nothing to investigate. I imagine you've probably got a lot on. Hermitage and I can pop off back to King William and erm, await his bidding.'
He rubbed his hands and made to move off.
Eadric and Firman had been watching all this with ever widening eyes and retreating steps; they made to leave as well.
'Oh no,' Dextus said, and his Castigatori turned their heads like a flight of buzzards spotting rabbits. Baby rabbits. Baby rabbits with bad legs. Baby rabbits with bad legs and poor memories who couldn't remember the way back to the burrow..
'My business here is not finished. In fact, it's only just started. You're not going anywhere.'
There was movement on the outskirts of the field as more people arrived.
'Oh, what now?' Dextus said in exasperation. 'Does the whole country want to come and join in?'
'Have you got Briston?' a voice boomed across the space, a voice full of intent. A deep voice that must have originated from something very large.
'Great. Just what we need,' Dextus said. His day was clearly getting worse and worse. 'Virgil.'
Caput XI
The Giant
'Where is he?' the mammoth figure of Virgil demanded, each syllable clear and weighty.
'That's what we'd like to know,' Dextus answered in some irritation.
'We wouldn't,' Eadric put in, trying to look disinterested and disconnected from events.
'Never even heard of him.' Firman nodded agreement.
Hermitage was feeling positively tiny. He wasn't small himself, about average height. He could hold his own against most other monks. Well, in a tallest monk competition, at least. Yet, he had been dwarfed by Dextus and his Castigatori and now they in turn were dwarfed by Virgil. It wasn't just that the man was tall, he was too tall. His legs were too long, his arms and hands were too big, and his head was simply monstrous. It was only the fact a voice came out of his mouth that made Hermitage believe the shape before him was human at all. He was more like something out of the Old Testament. He probably did a lot of smiting. He knew human measurements typically didn't go this far, but he thought Virgil must be seven feet tall. Wat was right, the man was a giant. He just hoped his companion wasn't quite so accurate about the violent and lunatic bits.
Virgil had a contingent with him, much as Dextus had his Castigatori. At least Virgil's band weren't a patch on their master; the three men who accompanied him looked clean, intelligent, and normal size. They were looking carefully at everyone in the field as if taking notes. Occasionally they huddled together and whispered. One of them approached Virgil and tugged at his sleeve. The giant bent a giant ear down the level of the normal man. The normal man whispered in the giant ear. The giant head turned towards Wat.
'Well, if it isn't little Wat,' Virgil boomed with pleasure,
Hermitage was rather taken aback to hear this Virgil character talk in a well rounded and clear voice. It spoke of learning and even erudition. He really should not judge a book by its cover, even if the cover was absolutely massive.
'Virgil,' Wat called with apparent glee. 'How are you?'
'Oh, the usual,' Virgil replied, rather resigned to his lot. 'Angry, disappointed, you know.'
'Oh dear.'
'Quite. Still, I have you now. That'll cheer me up.' Virgil beamed and reached out to slap Wat heartily on the back. Wat ducked as if he'd practised.
'Ha ha,' the weaver laughed lightly but with little pleasure as Virgil's attention moved on to the crowd.
Wat sidled over to Hermitage. 'Don't tell him we're on king's business whatever you do,' he whispered.
'Really?'
'Yes. He hates kings. They make him very cross.'
'Not good, I imagine,' Hermitage speculated, looking at the giant figure.
'Not good at all,' Wat said with real sincerity. 'If he'd joined Harold at Hastings as he was asked,
we probably wouldn't have a King William now,' Wat shrugged.
'And Dextus,' Virgil went on, holding his arms wide as if waiting to embrace the priest. Or crush him. 'You and your band of nasty habits. Still doing the Lord's work without being asked?'
The Castigatori looked as one at Virgil. Their physical presence wasn't a patch on his, but their absence of intelligent thought probably meant they would dive in anyway.
Hermitage noticed Dextus shake his head very slightly and the Castigatori relaxed.
'I hope you're not going to disturb church business, Virgil,' Dextus said quite seriously. He seemed completely unbowed by the size of Virgil.
'I can't imagine the church wanting anything to do with the likes of Briston,' Virgil replied, in apparent surprise. 'Surely men of piety wouldn't dabble in his awful trade. It's bad enough that the rest of us have to engage in it, but then we're really only performing a public service.'
'Our business with Briston is ours. Once we've concluded that, you can do what you like with him.'
'So that's not him then?' Virgil nodded towards the bound shape on the floor.
'We thought it was,' Wat grinned. 'We wondered whether you'd done it to him.'
'The Tapestry of Death? Oh, good Lord no,' Virgil was contemptuous. 'Complete waste of good thread. Plus, killing a man tends to make him less profitable.'
'I suppose so,' Wat said in some quiet and apparently unpleasant reminiscence.
Virgil nodded his great head to one of his men, who advanced towards the tapestry bundle with a knife. This man, who seemed to sneak across the ground, even though there was no need for sneaking, stopped at the bundle and appraised it. He looked to the boots and moved to that end. He bent and grasped the sole of the left foot and heaved. The top of the boot was caught up in the tight binding of the Tapestry of Death and did not want to move. Instead, the whole body shifted towards him.
Hermitage, Wat, and Cwen grimaced slightly, still thinking that this was the body of Briston, even though the evidence was now against it.
Virgil's man straightened, planted his own left foot against the right foot of the corpse and heaved again on the left. This time it shifted and the man staggered back, holding an empty left boot in his hand.
The Tapestry of Death Page 10