Eadric stood off to one side, fascinated by some of the barrels Stott had, and by the stone work of the cellar walls, and the beams of the ceiling.
Dextus looked very puzzled. 'I'm taking them to the bishop, of course,' he said, clearly wondering why Hermitage couldn't grasp this simple fact.
'You can't,' Hermitage insisted.
Dextus looked around the room, 'Erm, Yes. I can.' He gestured his men to the steps.
'Ha ha,' Hermitage announced as he skipped around in front of them to stop their passage.
'Ha ha, what?' Dextus sighed.
'What about the tapestry?' Hermitage folded his arms in some small triumph, 'Briston made the Tapestry of Death.'
'What tapestry's that then?' Dextus asked.
'The tapestry. The Tapestry of Death. The Tapestry of Death Hamard took.' Hermitage couldn't follow Dextus.
The priest looked to the ceiling, apparently deep in thought, 'No,' he said eventually. 'Doesn't mean anything to me.'
'You were just here,' Hermitage squeaked. It really was infuriating when people behaved like this.
'We don't have the tapestry, Hermitage,' Wat said gently.
'But it exists.'
'Who knows? If we say don't take us to the bishop or we'll tell everyone about the Tapestry of Death, who'd believe us? We can't produce it. We vanish into the bishop's cellar and no one's any the wiser.'
'That's dishonest.'
'Surprised?' Wat asked.
'No,' Hermitage's shoulders fell, 'probably not. Not after what I've seen and heard already.' he turned his attention to Dextus. 'And you a priest,' he scolded.
'I know. Awful, isn't it? Not for long though.' Dextus rubbed his hands as he scoured about the room. Eventually he found some old rope under a barrel of beer. He extracted it and gave it to the Castigatori to tie up Wat and Briston.
'What do you mean, not for long?' Hermitage had always had his suspicions about this man. Now it turned out he was only a temporary priest. 'You're either a priest or you're not. You can't change your mind.'
'I mean, I shall be a bishop soon,' Dextus replied.
Hermitage was mightily offended. 'I hardly think so with conduct like this.'
'You think I should conduct myself more like the Bishop of Dorchester?'
'Yes. I mean, no,' Hermitage corrected himself, having the seen the tapestry of how the Bishop of Dorchester conducted himself. 'What I mean is, it's hardly up to you to decide whether you're going to be a bishop or not.' Hermitage folded his arms.
'I always thought he was too good for the Castigatori,' Wat observed as his arms were pulled behind his back and his wrists were bound together. 'Just serving time, eh, Dextus? Got to be a priest for a few weeks before they give you the bishop's mitre you've paid for.'
Hermitage was lost again. 'You don't pay for bishop's mitres,' he corrected Wat. 'Well, I mean obviously you do because you have to buy them. What I mean is, you don't pay to be a bishop.'
'Poor Hermitage,' Wat sighed. 'The world just keeps letting you down, doesn't it?'
Hermitage looked from Wat to Dextus and back again several times. They both shrugged amicably.
'Oh, this is disgraceful.' Poor Hermitage really did feel poor at the moment, and let down. And now Wat was going to be taken away. Well, he wouldn't stand for it. Thoughts about what he could actually do about this were not exactly tumbling through his head to get to the front though.
If he were a bigger fellow and there weren't three Castigatori, he might try something physical. No, he thought. He wasn't the physical type.
What if he and Cwen ganged up? He looked at Cwen who was smaller and lighter than he was. No, that wouldn’t work either.
Eadric was a good fighter, but he seemed to be wandering off towards the hole in the wall, nodding with interest at old bits of wood.
Stott and Parsimon? Hardly.
Once Dextus got up to the main hall, there'd be no stopping the abduction. Apart from Ricard, of course. Who was probably still there, standing like a tombstone with his massive sword.
'Right,' Hermitage said in a huff. 'Have it your own way. It's your eternal soul.'
'I think he's probably sold that already,' Wat observed.
'Well, I'm not going to any bishops,' Briston spoke up. 'They give me the runs.'
'That's alright,' Dextus said. 'The bishop'll probably take your trousers off before he gets started.'
The Castigatori emitted their low grunting laughs.
'Look Dextus,' Briston wheedled, 'Father Dextus. No, Bishop Dextus, of course. You see the thing is, I can put my hands on a rather substantial amount of gold. You know, squirreled away for a rainy day? Well, as far as I'm concerned, it is now pouring down. I'd be willing to share this with you in a proportion of say.' Briston appraised Dextus whose face was a picture.
Hermitage saw a picture of something dark, miserable, and unwholesome.
Briston was attempting to negotiate with the picture. 'A proportion of, what shall we say? All of it for you? How does that sound?'
'I suspect,' Dextus said, apparently mulling the offer over, 'that long before the bishop's finished with you, you'll be telling us where the gold is anyway.' He smiled and beckoned that the Castigatori should take them up the stairs.
Hermitage skipped on ahead as the two men were dragged and pulled up the cellar steps. As suspected, Ricard was standing exactly as he'd been left. Parsimon and Stott were now dozing by the fire. Hermitage beckoned fiercely to Ricard before the others could get to the hall.
'Ricard,' he hissed. 'Come here. Quickly!'
The big Norman looked over at Hermitage and frowned. He seemed to recognise the monk and strode across the room in two languorous steps. His sword was in his hand being a lot less languorous.
'We need to rescue Wat and Briston,' Hermitage whispered, as the noise from the cellar grew. 'The two men who were with Lord Gilbert?' He confirmed this with a nod as the expression on Ricard's face changed not one jot. 'Good.' Hermitage said. He hoped it was good. Ricard didn't seem terribly engaged somehow.
Dextus and the Castigatori emerged from the cellar with Wat and Briston between them. Cwen bought up the rear, pounding pointlessly on the priest's posterior.
'Stop that,' Dextus snapped and cuffed her round the ear.
Eadric was nowhere to be seen.
'Not so fast,' Hermitage said with confidence as he stood by the huge shape of Ricard.
'Oh, what now?' Dextus was clearly impatient to be off.
‘Ricard here is going to stop you.’
Dextus did at least pause to look at Ricard who stood still, sword resting on the ground again.
'Is he?' the priest asked. He didn't seem to believe it.
'Where big man?' Ricard asked in a very heavy Norman accent.
'Pardon?' Hermitage asked, disappointed that Ricard had not immediately leapt into battle, or something.
'Where big man?' Ricard repeated.
'Ah,' Hermitage nodded. 'The big man is gone.' His words were clear and slightly louder than normal so that Ricard would understand them. 'The big man we talked about was dead when we got here. We don't need you to put your sword in him now.'
Ricard coughed once, sheathed his sword and turned to go.
'Where are you going?' Hermitage asked in a panic.
'No big man, no sword? Ricard go.'
'No, no, don't go. You can stick your sword in one of these men,' Hermitage offered the Castigatori and Dextus, although he did feel bad about doing so.
'Priest? Monk?' Ricard seemed horrified.
'Well, erm, sort of,' Hermitage had to admit.
'No,' Ricard said in finality and took his massive body and massive sword out through the gap previously filled by the door.
'Bad luck,' Dextus commiserated when the Norman had gone. 'Good idea though.'
That was it then. There wasn't anything else Hermitage could do. Obviously he would accompany Wat on his journey. He would plead with the bishop. Try to use his position as King�
�s Investigator again. Other than that he was out of ideas.
Of course, there was one other possibility, but he couldn't possibly use that. Could he? It had worked on the Lady Aveline but Hermitage had been appalled at the idea when Wat mentioned it. But then Hermitage seemed to have spent most of the last few days being appalled in one way or another.
Wouldn't it be lowering himself to the standards of those around him? All of which were extremely low. Wouldn't it be a sin? Well, of course it would, but what had Dextus said himself? We should rejoice when the bad start killing one another? Something like that. Surely that could apply in this situation. Do bad unto the bad. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. Hermitage thought of as many justifications for his plan of action as he could. They were all rather weak and he knew he would suffer later. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. This really was new territory for Hermitage.
'You'd better tell him Wat,' he said, trying to sound serious and thoughtful as Dextus led the Castigatori towards the door.
Wat looked at Hermitage. 'Do you think so?' the weaver asked, clearly not having a clue what Hermitage was talking about. At least he was playing along.
'I do. I imagine you were keeping it for your meeting with the bishop.'
'Ah,' Wat said. 'The bishop. Yes, that's what I'd been thinking.' Seeing that Dextus's attention was on Hermitage, Wat's face turned into a very effective “what the hell is going on” mask, eyes wide and demanding.
Briston and Cwen were no better informed and they looked backwards and forwards at the nonsense being exchanged. Hermitage nodded back, hoping that his face said “it'll all be clear in a moment”. He just hoped it would.
'Dextus is behaving in the most atrocious manner, I admit,' Hermitage went on. 'But he did save Cwen and the others from the night attack of the Godwins. It might be a little unfair to have him in front of the bishop before you reveal your hand.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Wat replied, without any indication that he knew what his hand actually was.
'What's this then?' Dextus said. 'Some desperately hopeless idea to get yourselves out of this? Let's have it. Get it out of the way.' He folded his arms and waited.
'Go on then,' Hermitage prompted Wat.
'I will,' Wat hissed, silently demanding that Hermitage tell him what it was he supposed to know all about.
'I know you said you wouldn't,' Hermitage said slowly and clearly. 'Not after Lady Aveline, but I think you have to.'
'Lady Aveline?' Wat let a hint of question drip into his voice as his eyes darted from side to side.
'After all, it wasn't really fair to use information like that on a lady,' Hermitage put hints on his hints, 'But Father Dextus is a different sort of drawing all together.'
'When you're ready?' Dextus encouraged.
'Ah,' Wat's eyes and voice lit up. 'Yes, lady Aveline, of course.' He transferred his gaze to Dextus. 'You see,' he explained to the priest in simple tones, 'we know the tapestry has gone.'
'Indeed it has. Gone to keep the last surviving Godwins safe, but little help to you, I'm afraid.'
'But that's not all, of course.'
'I'm waiting.'
'The sketches,' Wat said, as if everyone would know what this meant. Briston clearly did as his shoulders went back and the tide of a broad grin washed down his face.
'Sketches?'
'Of course,' Wat nodded. 'The tapestry is only the end result. It's not made up out of your head. There's a whole collection of sketches and drawings the weaver works from.'
'Is there?' Dextus's tone had darkened. He was beginning to get some ideas of his own.
'Oh yes, every character, every position, all the gory details. Have to be drawn out. Otherwise the whole thing would look a mess.'
Dextus said nothing.
'Naturally, if anyone wanted another copy of the tapestry, or the original got damaged in some way, the weaver could go back to the drawings and make another one. Exactly the same,' Wat smiled. 'Exactly.'
'And you have these drawings?' Dextus turned to Briston.
'Oh yes,' Briston joined in with some glee. 'Dozens of ‘em. Got lots of the bishop, him being such a big man, if you take my drift.'
Dextus folded his arms. 'Let me guess. If I don't release you, these drawings will find their way into the hands of the Normans, who will then come down on the bishop's head like a ton of Normans.'
'Now that's a thought,' Briston said with considerable enthusiasm.
'But if I have you locked in the bishop's deepest dungeon, or God forbid,' he crossed himself, 'actually, say, dead? Then the drawings won't know to appear, will they?'
'Of course that would be true, if only…' Wat laid it on heavily.
'If only what?'
'If only we hadn't left them with Lord Gilbert. The Norman? With the nice daughter and the big chap with the sword? You left them with Gilbert?' Dextus clearly didn't believe this. Or rather he didn't know whether to believe it or not.
'Not that he knows what they are of course. We left Briston's pack and said we'd be back for it. If we don't get back, we told him he could have it. Imagine his shock when he finds all those naughty drawings. I bet he'll go straight to the king. And then what? Straight to a sword or an axe, do you think?''
Hermitage was horrified at this blatant lie, but he saw it was a good one.
'Perhaps I could just go to this Lord Gilbert and get them back,' Dextus proposed.
'Yes, of course you could,' Wat encouraged. 'But after Hermitage here had found his daughter for him, he was only too keen to give us as much help as he could. And when we told him all about our troubles, Virgil, you, the Castigatori, he said if there was anything he could ever do…'
'Did he?'
'Oh yes, lend us Ricard, that sort of thing.'
Dextus said nothing but his thoughts were clearly burrowing away inside his head.
'And he really seems to hate Saxons,' Wat added, 'and priests. You know the sort: rough soldier, sort of man you'd want right by your side during a battle, and as far away as possible during peace?'
'I have a mind not to believe any of this,' Dextus said, but it wasn't said with any real conviction.
'Entirely up to you, of course.' Wat was bright and encouraging.
'And, of course, Hamard Godwin now seems to be a good friend of Brother Hermitage here.' Briston spoke up now. His tone was intelligent and scheming. 'If you do cart us off to the bishop, which of course you are perfectly entitled to do, Brother Hermitage might seek refuge with the Godwins, and perhaps ask them a favour or two. Very, what can you say? Lively? Very lively, the Godwins, when they put their mind to it.'
All eyes turned to Hermitage. Of course he might go to Hamard if Wat was taken away. He might do any one of a number of things. He wondered if what was going on was some negotiation. He'd heard all about it, and been told on several occasions that he was no good at it. He'd been lambasted by several priors in his time for going to market and coming back with less than was asked for and giving everything left over to the poor. Apparently that wasn't the sort of thing a monk was supposed to do. It was nice to see some professionals at work. Something seemed to be expected of him, so he simply nodded very slightly. So slightly that he might be able to deny it had been a nod at all if he was asked later.
'The bishop will not be happy.'
Hermitage noticed that word, will. Did this mean that Dextus had given up on his plans for Wat and Briston?
'Ah well,' Wat explained. 'When the Normans intervene, what's a humble priest to do?'
Wat seemed to be offering an explanation to Dextus, which the priest could then use with the bishop. Hermitage watched the interplay. This really was fascinating.
Dextus simply frowned.
'I mean,' Wat went on. 'The poor Castigatori incapacitated by Virgil. The Godwins turning up. The Norman Lord Gilbert. The sort of situation when you'd probably need to take the bishop's advice. Who's to know what that great man's own plans are? Particularly where the Normans are concerned.'
Hermitage had a thought. He was quite proud of it as it seemed both relevant and helpful. An unusual combination for him. He put his hand up.
'Yes, Hermitage?' Wat asked while Dextus frowned on.
'And the King’s Investigator,' Hermitage offered.
'Ah yes,' Wat latched on. 'The King’s Investigator. King William's own personal investigator. Sent here by the king. On king's business. You weren't to know he would turn up. What can you do when the king's very own men are on the scene? Nothing, I expect. I'm sure the bishop wouldn't want you upsetting King William over a couple of silly weavers. Much less talking about such an explicit tapestry in front of a king's man.'
'Alright!' Dextus couldn't take any more and held his hands up in surrender.
In response to a nod of the priest's head, the Castigatori untied the weavers, showing not the slightest concern that the people they'd spent all this time unconscious for were being let go.
'But I'm warning you,' Dextus now pointed the finger of defeat. 'Mend your ways, weavers.'
'Hear hear,' Hermitage muttered under his breath.
'I do not want to hear from either of you again. If there is any hint, even the slightest whiff of a rumour of a suggestion that these drawings are available, or that the tapestry even exists, let alone is being remade, well, only the King of Heaven will save your wretched skin.'
'Absolutely!' Wat and Briston nodded smiling agreement.
'And just to be on the safe side, just to make sure we understand one another, we'll take these with us.' Dextus pointed his Castigatori to Briston's box, which was still on the floor. 'You never know when the bishop might take it into his head to share the contents with the Normans. And we know how funny they are about this sort of thing. I bet they get positively furious with the people who make them.'
Wat nodded acknowledgement.
As Dextus and the Castigatori left with the box between them, the priest turned to point one more warning finger at Wat and Briston.
Caput XXX
Back to Business
'Right, Briston,' Wat called for the attention of his old colleague.
The Tapestry of Death Page 27