'No really. You see, this great big Norman, you know, the one upstairs with the great big sword? He sort of looks after us now. Lord Gilbert, I did mention him, didn't I? Well, Lord Gilbert sent young Ricard with us to make sure no harm befell us. After we'd done our little favour for him.' Wat shrugged, 'What can I say?'
Dextus was dismissive. 'I think my bishop takes your knight,' he said simply. 'After all, he's a Norman bishop now. Probably sends knights to hell every day of the week.'
Wat was still polite and explanatory. 'Yet, your bishop is so far away and our knight is right upstairs. With his sword. I did cover the sword, didn't I?'
'Oh, I'm sure the Castigatori can discuss the matter with your knight. He may be big but he's still not a patch on Virgil, is he?'
Hermitage was looking backwards and forwards, unable to comprehend how these people had their priorities so wrong.
'There has been a murder,' he spoke up, unnecessarily pointing out Virgil's dead body. 'Murder! Someone has been killed. Done to death!'
All these horrible phrases seemed to have no impact on his audience. They were all quite pleased the murder had been committed. Awful. He considered his duty, physical and spiritual. He thought about what was expected of him, as a devout monk and as… ah, yes, he remembered what he was.
'I am the King’s Investigator,' he announced, 'and I think that beats a bishop and a knight. This act of evil must be resolved.'
The group in the cellar looked at him as if humouring a rambling loon.
'No, really,' Hermitage tried to sound serious. 'Whatever did this might still be out there, ready to do it again.’ No reaction. 'To one of you?' This did provoke a bit of a reaction, but still not much.
'I insist we remain here to determine who the killer was and bring them to justice.' He did the most serious, insistent voice he could.
No one took any notice.
'It's all right, sir monk,' a new voice boomed from the hole in the wall at the back of the cellar. 'I did it.'
Caput XXVIII
Aha!
'I say!' Firman was the first to speak as the new arrival strode into the cellar. 'Who are you? Clear off. This is a private murder.'
Firman strode towards the man, trying to shoo him out of the hole in the wall he'd come through.
'It's alright,' the man held up placatory hands. 'It needs to be made clear.'
He came close to Firman and clapped him on both shoulders.
'I,' Hermitage started. 'What?' he continued after a pause for thought. He looked back to the cellar steps and to the man. This did not fit his expectations and he was unable to function while he waited for his mind to catch up with reality. It was a familiar feeling.
'It's alright, Brother,' the man nodded. 'I saw you and friend Wat arrive with Briston. When I overheard Father Dextus's plans, I thought it only reasonable to make myself known.' He nodded a greeting to the others in the room, most of whom looked from him to Hermitage for some sort of explanation.
'I appreciate your concern for the unbearable Virgil here and you are right. The mystery of his murder must be resolved.'
Hermitage was grateful for this support.
'But your colleagues are right as well. He was an evil man who would have come to his end by foul means at some time or other.'
'But why?' Hermitage asked, now that he could speak again.
'Would you mind telling me just who the hell this is?' Dextus demanded of Hermitage in a most unpriestly way.
Hermitage looked to the man, who nodded assent.
He then looked all around the room to check no one could overhear. Apart from the six people with him. He gathered them into a huddle.
'This,' he announced, 'is Hamard.'
The huddle broke up.
'Who?' Dextus was unimpressed.
'Hamard Godwin,' Hermitage concluded.
Everyone in the room gasped and took a step back, except Firman who was still standing with Hamard.
'It's alright,' Hamard held out calming hands. 'I know the family has a bit of a reputation. Harold's fault really, but we're not all like that.'
'The Godwins,' Dextus confirmed. 'And the Godwinsons!' His face was rather pale. 'Not the same Godwins who put King Edward on the throne and Harold there after him? The Harold who fought off the Danes? Not all completely ruthless killers then,' he swallowed his words quickly and clamped a hand over his mouth to stop any more coming out.
'Really,' Hamard was calm and polite. 'I assure you there's no need to worry about me. Is there, Firman?'
'Absolutely not,' Firman confirmed.
'Firman?' Eadric enquired, hesitating and nervous, 'Firman Godwin?'
'Godwinson actually. Cousin on my mother's side.'
'God preserve us.' Eadric crossed himself vigorously. 'So you weren't just travelling to Lincoln?'
'Oh, I was, that's all true. Family business, exactly as I said. The business being to try and keep the remaining members of the family alive. And I have to travel alone as people don't want to be seen with Godwinsons these days.'
'And you can take care of yourself anyway.'
'There is that,' Firman acknowledged
'But Mister Hamard is a scholar,' Hermitage argued. 'He's not a Godwin like the others. He studies the workings of the body.'
'And probably how to break them,' Dextus added.
'Firman and I have gone our own way. Why do you think we're not lying on Hastings field at the moment? Or rather six feet underneath it? The main family wouldn't have anything to do with us anymore. Gone soft, they said.' Hamard and Firman exchanged smiles.
'But…' Hermitage started. This time his thoughts had run so far ahead of his mouth that the words weren't in the right order to make sense. Also a common experience.
'Why did I kill Virgil?'
'Erm, yes.' Hermitage was grateful.
'I would have to say that I didn't do it all by myself.'
'Firman,' said Eadric.
Firman acknowledged his role with a gentlemanly bow.
'Even though the Godwins are brought up for this sort of thing, Virgil was a big fellow. One of us would have done the job eventually but two was quicker. The Godwins always work well as a team.'
'Not ruthless killers at all then,' Dextus mumbled.
'But he was enormous,' Cwen breathed. 'And you're not exactly, erm, you know.'
'Not built like Ricard the Norman upstairs?' Hamard gave Cwen a friendly smile.
'Well, yes.'
'But we are Godwins.' Hamard exchanged a knowing look with his cousin, knowing and poignantly reluctant. 'It's the sort of thing we were brought up with. The family trade, if you will. Strike first, strike fast, and strike until they stop moving. As my old mother used to say, “A man will more readily give you what you want if he's unconscious.” I would have to say Virgil did take quite a lot of our attention. Most impressive. But he succumbed in the end. They all do.'
'So you came in through the hole in the wall, attacked and killed Virgil and then left again to run around all night banging on the walls, scaring the life out of us?' asked Cwen
'We had to stop those monk fellows as well,' Hamard observed as if the Castigatori were a spot of light weeding.
'You would have killed us all,' Cwen shrieked slightly at the realisation. 'Cover your tracks and get away clear.'
'Only out of necessity, I assure you,' Hamard excused himself. 'It was nothing personal.'
'That makes me feel a lot better.'
'But then I saw Briston and Mister Wat come back with our friend Brother Hermitage.’
'You're welcome,' Hermitage said, although he didn't know why, as it made no sense.
'The young monk is an erudite fellow and a like mind. I couldn't possibly kill any friends of his.'
'Very kind, I'm sure,' Wat spoke up.
'Why would you want to kill anyone?' Hermitage asked, thoroughly unable to make sense of any of this. His reasoning was flapping around like a fresh trout in a frying pan. He had lots of facts bu
t couldn't get them into any recognisable shape.
'I won't take all the credit. Mister Briston gave me the idea.'
'Me?' Briston stopped his sneaky sidle towards the staircase. 'Nothing to do with me, I assure you. I didn't even know he was a Godwin. I only left a message with him, for goodness’ sake.'
'Ah, but it was a very interesting message. About your Tapestry of Death.'
'Ha! Trust Briston to blab his mouth off.'
'I didn't say anything,' Briston pleaded.
'Just enough, I'm afraid. The idea that you had made a tapestry that could scare off your enemies was fascinating.'
'It's rubbish,' Wat explained. 'There's no such thing as the Tapestry of Death.'
'Briston believed there was and so I had to look. As you can imagine, we have a lot of enemies in the country at the moment. Brother Hermitage was kind enough to suggest I keep my surname to myself to avoid the attention of the Normans. It was a charming thing to say.'
'How lovely,' Dextus sneered.
'It saved your life, priest,' Hamard said. His tone of voice, his manner, everything about him changed in those five short words: from harmless to a Godwin of the blood. Hamard took a short breath, tamed the animal and smiled. 'When I had the tapestry itself, I saw how it worked.'
They breathed again as the friendly Hamard was back.
'See,' Briston gloated. 'It does work.'
'Right.' Wat did not see.
'Let me show you,' Hamard said, pulling the thing from a pack across his back.
They stepped back as the familiar sight of Lady Stott spread across the table.
'Oh, my goodness me,' Hermitage stepped back and averted his eyes. 'Is that really necessary? I mean, is any of it really necessary? At all? I mean,' he sneaked a look back, 'I can see why poor Master Stott was so upset. That is the most appalling thing. I've seen some of Briston's other work, but this really is the most revolting object. Demeaning, insulting and just plain foul. How could you?' He turned his gaze to Briston. He felt the power of his glare return.
'She made it!' Briston pointed defensively at Cwen.
'Cwen?' Hermitage was shocked, horrified, and appalled all at once.
'He made me,' Cwen muttered, pointing back at Briston.
'I don't really care who did what. The whole thing is just, well, it's… Words fail me.'
'It's brilliant,' Wat breathed.
Hermitage looked in even more appalled shock to see his friend examining the piece closely.
'Told you,' Briston gloated again.
'Oh, Briston,' Wat was all admiration. 'I see what you've done here. It's marvellous.'
'It is, isn't it? I got the idea from old Screpton down Grantham way?'
'The one who liked the nuns and the antlers?'
'That's him, wanted me to keep everything quiet.'
'They usually do. Ah,' recognition came to Wat, 'I see.'
'Of course,' Briston nodded. He and Wat clearly understood one another. Everyone else in the room looked around, hoping they weren't the only one who wanted to ask what the hell was going on.
Briston held his arm out to encompass his mighty work. 'You see this fellow at the front?' he asked, as if he was conducting a guided tour of the Roman ruins in Lincoln.
The group leaned forward and examined the man who was next in line to engage with lady Stott. Very closely engaged with her by the manner in which he was preparing himself. Even Hermitage stole a glance. He had to admit the character was most lifelike – if he ignored the bits of life no one should talk about really, let alone see.
The man was large, he was facing the viewer, and every line and mark on his face was clear. He was old, about fifty probably, far too old to be getting up to anything like that. His head was bald save for wisps of grey hair. A close trimmed grey beard adorned his chin.
Briston explained. 'The Bishop of Dorchester,' he said.
Hermitage looked around to see if the bishop had entered the room.
'No, Hermitage,' Wat pointed at the tapestry. 'That's the Bishop of Dorchester. Even anatomically correct, if what I hear is true.'
'Spot on,' Briston confirmed.
Hermitage had never met the Bishop of Dorchester and so wouldn't recognise him anyway. He was positive he wouldn't recognise him naked and doing what he appeared to be doing.
'Look, ' Wat enthused, ‘he's even got a little bishop's mitre in his hand.’
'Just to make sure people get the message,' Briston commented.
'But,' Hermitage said. It was the only word he could get out at that moment. He had lots of words for questions constantly running round his head, ready for action at any moment. The problem was none of them had been trained to ask about naked bishops in tapestries.
'Why is the Bishop of Dorchester in the tapestry?' he eventually got out.
'Very good customer, the bishop,' Wat explained. 'Very particular interests. Peculiar as well.' he frowned as some thoughts about the bishop forced their way into his head. 'But discreet, of course, can't let the common folk know the sorts of things the bishop likes. They might drag him from his pulpit and hang him.'
Hermitage looked at the tapestry and wondered if that might not actually be for the best. He chided himself for thinking ill of anyone, let alone a bishop.
'And don't forget the Normans,' Wat prompted.
'What about them?' Hermitage asked, looking round again to see if any Normans had come along.
'We know their views on this sort of thing,' Wat explained. 'Gilbert had Briston run out of town. At least we now know why he chose this moment to vanish. Very funny bunch the Normans, not like the Godwins before them.' He nodded to Firman and Hamard, who acknowledged with a smile. And not a guilty smile, either. 'Very broad minded, the Godwins,' Wat said with a rather lewd tone to his voice. 'Not so broad minded, the Normans. If they found out their bishop was a customer for this sort of thing, well, they'd probably... what do you think they'd do, Dextus?' Wat directed the question at the priest. Dextus glared back and refused to answer.
'That's right,' Wat said. 'They'd kill him. Horribly and slowly. And then they'd have a jolly good purge of the church. They like a purge, the Normans. No wonder Dextus and his Castigatori got sent to find the tapestry. Briston blabbing again. Didn't think the very subjects of your work would have a go at removing it from the world, along with its maker?'
Briston shrugged, 'Calculated risk.'
'So,' Hermitage paused for a spot of reasoning. 'Whoever had the tapestry could hold the bishop to ransom. Hamard will be able to say “Leave me alone or I'll show my tapestry to the Normans”.'
'Who will kill you,' Briston concluded. 'See, Tapestry of Death. Ta da!'
Hermitage wasn't satisfied this was enough, ‘But that's only the Bishop of Dorchester. I'm not sure why Hamard would be worried about him anyway.’
'Always good to have friends in high places,' Hamard noted. 'Even better if you hold their life in your hands. They're so much more cooperative.'
'Look at the rest of the tapestry, Hermitage,' Wat encouraged.
'I'd rather not. I thought the thing was revolting in the first place. Now I see it has a whole new layer of sin beneath its surface.'
Wat ignored him. 'You see the men queuing up for the lady?'
'I can hardly ignore a long line of naked men.'
'And neither would anyone else.' Wat bent to examine the scene. He picked out individual figures. 'That's the Earl of Leicester, here's Robert de Beaumont. My goodness, is that Le Pedvin, William's man?'
'Yup!' Briston was smug. 'Only been in the country a few months and already falling into bad habits.'
'Good God. Imagine if the King found out.'
'I have,' Briston grinned.
Wat peered very closely and stuck a finger on one small naked man towards the back of the queue. 'That's not?' he said.
'It is,' Briston grinned. 'I told you. Would you believe me? Oh no. Stupid Briston. Tapestry of Death? What nonsense. Now who's laughing?'
Wat
shook his head in admiration.
'Who is it?' Hermitage peered in.
'Master of the weavers’ guild,' Wat snorted. 'I never knew he was that way inclined.'
'One of the country’s leading authorities, apparently,' Briston commented.
Those in the know looked at Eadric, who had the decency to examine the floor quite closely.
'I think the Normans would be particularly keen to get hold of him after seeing this,' Wat said as he examined the picture. ‘I mean, they're very fond of horses, but not in that way.'
The analysis of the tapestry died down to a few mumbles and close examination.
'Well,' Hamard said. 'I'm glad this has been so very educational. You can see now why the tapestry is so valuable and why I have to take it away.'
Dextus took half a step forward.
'I wouldn't,' Hamard said, laughing slightly at the priest's intentions. 'Really, I wouldn't.'
Dextus looked at Firman and Hamard and thought better of it.
'Well, it's been lovely,' Hamard said, as he rolled up the tapestry and made for the hole in the wall with Firman behind him. 'Don't hesitate to drop by if you're passing. And do mention the tapestry to your friends. The more who know about it the better.'
With that, they were gone.
'Well,' Hermitage said, as if the whole experience had been very exciting.
'Well, well, well,' Wat said, marvelling at the revelations that had come thick and fast.
'Well?' Cwen asked, wanting to know what they did next.
There was a clatter at the top of the stairs and three bleary eyed Castigatori stumbled into the cellar.
'You're a bit late,' Dextus chastised.
Wat and Briston sniggered.
Dextus turned his eye on them. 'Take these two to the bishop,' he instructed.
Caput XXIX
No Cunning, No Plan
Hermitage was lost for words as the Castigatori scuttled into the room and took Briston and Wat by the arms. Words never stayed away from Hermitage for long.
'What are you doing?' he demanded.
Cwen tried pushing the nearest castigator away, but all she succeeded in doing was bouncing off the man.
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