'I'll catch you up,' he waved to Hermitage, who was disappointed to see him go. This weaver didn't wince whenever Hermitage opened his mouth and on occasion seemed positively interested. That was a very rare experience. Wat also had knowledge which Hermitage craved. He craved knowledge about everything, but if it was a new area for him he got positively frisky.
Hermitage reluctantly turned away to see Simon rapping firmly on the gate of the monastery.
'Admit the King's Investigator,' the man boomed as if the fabric of the wood would give way before his eminence.
The young and the old monk waited a reasonable time to allow someone to reach the door from his distant cell, but it remained closed.
Simon looked unhappy at this and scanned about for a solution.
‘You there,’ he called to Hermitage, waving a hand in his direction.
Hermitage looked around and confirmed the call was aimed at him. He wondered why Simon had not used his name.
‘Find a piece of wood or something to knock on the door.’
Hermitage was too busy considering the rather rude manner in which he was being addressed to hunt for timber.
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ Simon huffed in frustration and looked around. Finding a fallen tree limb some few steps away, the investigator made an attempt to lift it but gave up after one desultory heave. Moving down the scale he eventually lighted upon a stout stick which he could manage. It was still fairly substantial and should make an impact on the door. He made his way to the gate, staggering slightly under the modest weight of his door knocker. Steadying himself on spread legs he hoisted the wood to shoulder height then swung it forward to strike a mighty and noisy blow against the timber.
Just as he did so, the doorman, having limped to his post following Athan's recent review of his poor door opening performance, finally got the gate open. He was greeted by the rapidly advancing end of a piece of tree.
Given his dysfunctional legs, moving out of the way was never going to be an option. The poor man received Simon's knock on the door full in the temple and dropped to the ground like a pigeon under a peasant's pile driver.
'Oh, Lord,' said Hermitage and ran forward to help the fallen man.
'Idiot,' said Simon, and it wasn't quite clear who he was talking to. In any event it didn't matter as the King's Investigator simply threw his log away, stepped over the prone man and entered the monastery of De'Ath's Dingle. He looked around for someone of a suitable rank to receive him.
The only person who could be wandering the enclosure with anything like liberty was Athan. Sure enough, a few moments later he imposed himself upon the situation.
'What?’ he barked at the sight of a well battered and prostrate doorkeeper being tended by the idiot Hermitage.
'Ah,' a voice called to his right and he turned to see the weed-like figure of Simon looking around.
'I am the King's Investigator,' the newly arrived authority announced. He had his nose in the air, but seemed to be watching Athan rather warily.
Athan was not accustomed to people speaking to him in that manner. He frowned at the title.
'I am Brother Athan. The Prior,' he said bluntly.
'Excellent,' said Simon, trying to hide a slight intake of breath at the mention of the name, 'take me to your Abbot.’
'Really?’ Athan enquired in genuine surprise.
'Of course. I am on the Bishop's business.’
Recognition crossed Athan's face. He muttered a curse under his breath.
The fallen gatekeeper was being helped back to his feet by Hermitage although he was bleeding profusely and staggering in a daze. His unfocused eyes latched on to the figure of Simon and he took a deep, if stuttering breath.
He addressed the King's Investigator with what dignity he had left. 'You stupid bastard,' he said, before he collapsed again into Hermitage's arms.
Simon shook his head in puzzlement at this man's strange behaviour, but his unconscious form was of no interest. He turned back to Athan.
'Your Abbot, Brother?’ he asked pointedly.
'Indeed, Brother,' Athan said in his wheedling tone, which didn't wheedle much. 'I imagine you are here to consider the matter of Brother Ambrosius?’
'I think that is a matter for my determination.’
'Of course, of course, I have received word from Lincoln to expect a senior figure for just this purpose. Do I have the honour of addressing him?’ Athan even bowed his head slightly which made Hermitage gape. The man was unrecognisable. And what did he mean he'd received word? Hermitage was bringing the word. He'd come straight back this time as well.
Simon's questing nose rose even higher.
'You do,' he said with a rising tone of majesty, which sounded as if he was about sneeze.
'Then I am charged to give all assistance necessary. Our Abbot is, erm, in retreat at present. He is of a reclusive persuasion and so perhaps we will meet him at a later stage. In any event I am his authority in this place and so I am at your disposal.’ Athan gave the overwhelming impression this was very hard work. He would probably take it out on someone later.
'If I could show you to the Bishop's quarters?’ Athan offered with an obsequious gesture.
Simon condescended magnificently.
'Oh, and Hermitage,' Athan called out to the young man who was staunching the gatekeeper's bleeding with the hem of his nice new habit, 'I want to see you.’
The nervous feeling which lived in Hermitage's stomach whenever he was near Athan, but which had been entirely dissipated by the necessity of action, now returned with a vengeance and headed straight for his bowels.
…
In many monasteries the accommodations of the Bishop's quarters were places of luxury. Enormous luxury when compared to the accommodations of many monasteries. In the case of De'Ath's Dingle, of course, all was not as other monasteries. In fact, pretty much nothing about it was as other monasteries.
The only reason the Bishop's quarters were so named was you could probably only get a quarter of a Bishop into them. Simon was clearly disappointed at the appointments, but as he was the physical antithesis of a Bishop, being three stone underweight rather than ten over, at least he could get in the room.
'I will leave you here to make yourself comfortable, Brother,' the word soured in Athan's mouth, 'while I attend to Brother Hermitage. I shall return momentarily.’ He left before Simon could ask for anything.
Outside the room Brother Hermitage was properly waiting. He knew that keeping his head down and hoping Athan would go away was as pointless as putting wheels on a chicken, as brother Yewo always said. Not that it stopped him trying. Better to get it over with straight away, whatever 'it' might be. He still had some fresh blood on the bottom of his habit and was feeling nervous and expectant. Athan looked at him as if he might be infectious.
'I've made Thomas as comfortable as possible although I do think he needs to rest,' the young monk said.
'Who?’
'Brother Thomas? The gatekeeper?’
'Oh him,' Athan shook his head in puzzlement at why they were talking about the gatekeeper. He stepped forward, put an arm around Hermitage's shoulder and steered him away from the door to Simon's chamber.
Hermitage prepared himself for the punch on the head for which arm holding was the usual precursor, but it didn't come. This made him even more nervous.
'You took your time getting to Lincoln, Brother,' Athan said as he escorted Hermitage through the pointlessly winding corridors of the monastery.
'Yes, I, er, had some difficulty locating the right road.’ He didn't want to mention the attack even though Wat thought it significant. He also wanted to keep the existence of Wat a secret from Athan. He couldn't think why, it just seemed prudent. Perhaps being late was the only reason for whatever punishment was on its way, in which case why make things worse by confusing Athan with information or facts. They always made him cross.
'But you made it eventually.’
This was strangely idle
conversation for Athan, he must be brewing up to something.
'And you passed the message to the Bishop?’ Athan was as amiable as he could be. Which wasn't very amiable at all.
'Well,' Hermitage feared that this was the point for some physical interaction with the elder brother, 'to the Bishop's man actually, Nicodemus, he seemed most insistent. He reported that the Bishop had instructed him directly to take the information which I was...’
'Yes, yes, I'm sure.’ Athan seemed entirely disinterested in this point. Which was odd considering it was he who sent the message with Hermitage in the first place.
'And you brought back the King's – what did he say?’ Athan asked.
'Investigator.’
'Yes. Investigator, an important position,' Athan commented although it was clear he was unfamiliar with the term.
It didn't do to correct or inform Athan. Not unless invited and only then from a distance.
'I imagine so, although I must confess I didn't know the King had one.’ Hermitage was genuinely interested. He wanted to know more about this investigation business. It sounded just the sort of thing for him.
'Oh, yes,' said Athan as if this were common knowledge among more senior members of the church.
Hermitage was puzzled again. If Athan didn't know what the word was, how did he know whether it was a real position or not? He chastised himself for this thinking. Quibbling like this was what kept getting him into trouble.
By this time they were in the lower parts of the monastery, passing along corridors seldom trod. Hermitage examined the walls, noticing they appeared older than the main buildings. Most unusually the stones were tightly laid with neat and even mortar. Perhaps the monastery had been put on top of some proper building.
He pondered this, only coming back to himself when he realised they had stopped walking and Athan had stopped talking. They were standing outside a lone and unused cell which still had its solid oak door in place. The Abbot had all cell doors removed as they were encouragements to privacy. Everyone knew what went on when there was privacy.
'Well, Hermitage,' said Athan with some finality.
'Brother?’ Hermitage asked, not knowing what was expected of him.
He had no more clue after Athan had pushed him hard in the back and sent him sprawling into the dark and dank cell, ventilated only by a small outlet high in the wall.
Nor did enlightenment come as Athan slammed the door closed as he left.
'Brother?’ Hermitage's plaintive tones muffled their way out.
In the top of the oak a small opening appeared and Athan's face poked into the gloom. Hermitage rose to face it.
'What?’ Athan snapped.
'What's happening?’
'What's happening?’
'Yes, what's happening?’ Hermitage couldn't have missed something so obvious that would lead to him being locked in an unused cell surely. He knew he could be pretty oblivious to normal human behaviour a lot of the time, but this seemed extreme.
'Oh, I see the problem,' said Athan, as if some realisation had suddenly come upon him.
'You do?’
'Yes, of course,' Athan replied, 'I can see where you've gone wrong.’ The tone was so friendly that for a moment Hermitage believed that this was all going to be explained away in a trice.
'Really?’
'Absolutely,' Athan said in a friendly tone. 'You're an idiot.’
Hermitage's heart sank back to where it had come from. 'So you tell me, Brother.’
'I tell you because it's true. You had your chance to escape yet you came back. I've helped you as much as I can Hermitage, but now that the King's Unvestingbator is here I can do no more.’
So Athan really didn't know what an Investigator was.
'I don't understand,' Hermitage said, not understanding.
'Of course you don't. You wouldn't understand a rock. How you managed to murder Ambrosius is beyond me.’
To say Hermitage was shocked at this would be inadequate in every conceivable way. All thoughts that had been in his head rapidly left for somewhere safer. His stomach leapt up his windpipe and tried to get out through his nose. Meanwhile his legs simply refused to hold him up. From the ground where he now lay he discovered that his voice had also taken flight to some place where it could hide until things got better.
'I killed Ambrosius?’ he croaked.
'Save your confession for the King's thingy,' Athan said, slammed the little opening shut, locked the door and walked noisily away although his voice drifted back.
'Once we've got that out of the way, we can have the execution and get things back to normal.’
Hermitage's stomach did now find its exit and his expensive Habit began its long journey back to normal.
….
Outside the monastery, a furtive figure poked tentatively at the gate, which swung gently open before him. The figure was dressed for furtive. Dark cloak and leggings, dark boots and even a monk-like cowl shielding most of his face. A real monk's cowl would have been far cheaper and more tatty than this piece of bespoke head wear.
The figure looked backwards over both his shoulders and then leaned cautiously into the monastery proper. If he was trying to look furtive, he was having a very good day.
'Oh, what do you want?’ the gatekeeper wailed at an unwelcome visitor.
The figure looked with surprise at the gatekeeper who was lying on the ground outside his hovel of a gatehouse. He looked about a few more times and scampered over to the man. He squatted and whispered into the bandaged head.
'Really?’ the gatekeeper responded. 'Help yourself.’
Maintaining his style, the figure slipped over the ground until he was standing against the wall of the main monastery block. From here he seemed to sidle his way along, all the while looking about to make sure he wasn't followed.
'Idiot,' the gatekeeper commented.
…
The figure continued his passage round the building. As he came to the first open space he stopped at the edge of it, looking carefully about once more. This time he seemed to be taking in his surroundings. He examined the buildings and the spaces. He looked to the north, south, east and west. Once satisfied with his examination he moved on. This process was repeated for each building and space in the place. He was probably one of the only people to take any interest in the Monastery of De'Ath's Dingle since it had been built. Considerably more interest than those who had done the building, for sure.
It took quite a time, but eventually he returned to the gatekeeper, giving the man a simple nod before slipping out of the gate again.
'Bloody idiot.’
Caput VIII
Day Four After Compline
At the Bishop's House in Lincoln, the latest arrival was not being made to wait in the hall. So welcome was this fellow, Nicodemus himself opened the door. He led his visitor straight through the inner sanctum and on into the Bishop's own chamber, where he poured wine into the largest goblet before the guest had even sat down. Coats and baggage had been dumped on the servant without a word, and humble Nicodemus stood waiting, so that he was not the first to sit.
'Bollocking awful journey,' the visitor said. He was a very large man and had squeezed himself into the Bishop's favourite chair despite several cracking noises. He belched as he took the wine without acknowledgement. 'What you're doing in this Godforsaken hole is beyond me.’ The man sneezed into his hand and carefully examined the resulting mess before wiping it nonchalantly on the fine wool of the chair. Nicodemus winced.
'The new Church is our motivation, my Lord,' Nicodemus said.
'Of course, of course,' the fat man said, patently not listening.
'And the distance from other centres does have its advantages.’ Nicodemus left the comment hanging in the air.
The Lord raised an eyebrow. 'Indeed it does, ha ha.’ He quaffed the wine and held the goblet out with the simple expectation that it would be refilled. It was.
'Still a bloody awful journey
. Do you know the road stops at Newark?’ The man was surprised that the road had not been laid out before him.
'Some repairs are in order,' Nicodemus admitted.
'Repairs?’ the man boomed into the room, 'it's beyond repair, man. The whole bloody country needs taking in by at least fifty miles. Bring everywhere closer together.’ Travel was clearly a travail.
'If the journey to get here is a trial, then the journey to return is as difficult,' Nicodemus said, heavy with meaning.
'There is that, I suppose.’ The large man seemed to ponder this point. He took a deep sigh as if his next statement would expand upon it.
It didn't. 'When do we eat?’
'Any time of your choosing, my Lord, unless you wish to dispense with business beforehand?’ Nicodemus was hopeful.
'Never think well when I'm hungry,' the man said patting his enormous stomach as if it were a dog. For one fleeting moment Nicodemus wondered if he did in fact have a dog in there. There was certainly room for quite a large one.
The Bishop's humble servant had intelligence on the new Earl of Northumbria, which for God's sake wasn't that far away. The man hadn't come from somewhere truly at the other end of the world, like Cornwall. He knew the Earl's eating habits were regular – he ate all the time – and so a huge feast had been prepared. He had been told that once the Earl sat down, he didn't move. For anything. The food would have to be brought to him, along with everything else he required. A lot of stuff would have to be taken away as well.
Special staff had been hired in for this visit. Staff with a single, very special property: a complete lack of pride.
One very relevant piece of information about the Earl was very hard to believe, looking at the lump which brolloped before him. The idea that this revolting heap could have fathered quite so many children was, quite frankly, revolting. Obviously the Earl had not been in this condition all his life, but he must have been working his way towards it for some considerable time. You didn't end up like that overnight: it took years of dedication. What must the mothers of those children have been thinking? Presumably something along the lines of 'If I want to be still alive in the morning, I had better get on with this.’
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 9