The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1)

by Howard of Warwick

  Wat made calming gestures with his hands and then a couple of other gestures which Hermitage didn't recognise, but which he thought looked rather crude. He hoped Wat wasn't being aggressive with a monk of De'Ath's Dingle. Eventually the Brother threw his hands in the air and stomped off. The weaver returned to Hermitage with an even larger grin.

  'Well?’ Hermitage wanted to know what was going on.

  'He was last seen in, erm, conversation with a Brother Segnar.’

  'Brother Segnar?’

  'You sound surprised.’

  'Brother Segnar is a very strange fellow. Always flitting about in the middle of the night and never available for any chores in the day time. I think he may be touched as well.’ Hermitage frowned as he tried to conceive what business Genly and Segnar would have together.

  'I think you may be right,' Wat replied simply.

  'What is it about you monks and names?’ Wat hastily changed the subject, as they walked across the grounds to Segnar's cell. 'Some of you seem to have perfectly normal ones, some seem to be religious and yours doesn't make any sense at all.’

  'Ah well, it's part of the order you see.’ Hermitage forgot all about the conversations concerning Father Genly and Wat's unaccounted amusement. Here was an intellectual subject, much more to his liking,

  'When you take orders you can choose a new name, a name which reflects the approach you will take to your enclosed life. Are you going to be poor or caring, look after the sick or preach the word of God and so forth? Depending what you're going to do you take an appropriate name. Of course you don't have to; you can keep your own name. Most older monks do that, as they're already known in the community. Suddenly changing name from Mark to Brother Paul could cause confusion.’

  'And Hermitage? I don't recall seeing that in the Bible.’

  'Ah no, well I was slightly different. You see I did want to take a new name when I joined the order. I thought about Brother John, rather like John the Baptist, you know, a humble follower.’

  'So what happened?’

  'Well the Abbot of my first monastery thought the best thing I could become for the sake of my brothers was a hermit.’

  'Really?’

  'Yes. Apparently my power of prayer was so strong that I would do an enormous service to the entire order if I were to go off into a cave somewhere and pray on my own for the rest of my life.’ Hermitage tried not to sound boastful, but he felt the glow of pride on his cheeks.

  'I see.’ Wat disguised his smirking laugh as a cough.

  'They would send up food and make sure that I was still alive, but other than that they would leave me alone. After that the Abbot took to calling me Hermitage and the name seemed to sort of stick. I've got used to it now.’ Hermitage drifted off in thought for a moment. 'And there are times when I wish I was a hermit, you know,' he said rather plaintively.

  'I can imagine there are.’ Wat said this with feeling, and he had witnessed only a small selection of the events which made up the life of Brother Hermitage. 'So what's your real name?’

  'Oh, I don't have one. That life is gone and the name with it. I shall never speak it again.’

  'Fair enough.’ Wat accepted this with a nod.

  All young men considered the monastic life at one time or another. It offered a way out of constantly fending for yourself all the time. Plenty of women and drink if that was your taste, and a bed of straw to sleep on. Thoughts of retreat were quickly dismissed if you achieved some success in the world. For instance by selling a very risqué tapestry for a huge amount of money.

  During this conversation Hermitage had led them a roundabout route, which brought them back to the cells they had started from. Wat was getting used to the place as he showed very little confusion.

  Leading through an archway into another block of door-less chambers, Hermitage wandered along looking carefully at each entrance.

  'They all look the same,' Wat said with some irritation, as Hermitage looked at each one as if they had doors with names on them.

  'Oh, not at all. With no doors we have to make some indication of which is our cell. It's a very confusing place sometimes and you can find yourself in entirely the wrong building, let alone the wrong cell. There'll be an indication of Brother Segnar's presence somewhere, a little symbol of some sort – we all have them.’

  'What are we looking for then?’

  'If I recall correctly, Brother Segnar's badge is a Lamb of God sitting on a cross.’

  'Pretty complicated picture.’

  'Oh, it's very crude,’ said Hermitage in all innocence.

  'And what's your symbol?’

  'Well you won't believe it, but when I asked if anyone else was using a plain, ordinary cross, no one was.’

  'Really?’

  'I know, what good fortune. I expect a departed Brother had been using it and it had become vacant just at that moment.’

  'Yes, I expect that was it. Is this the one we're looking for?’ Wat pointed at a carving on the wall outside one entrance that put the word crude firmly in its place. Whatever this was an image of, it certainly wasn't the Lamb of God atop a cross. It was an animal of some sort and it was sitting on something, but there the similarity ended. Hermitage examined the image closely.

  'Ah yes,' he said looking carefully, ‘that's it. I don't recall it being that way up though.’

  Hermitage entered the cell first and Wat followed. He walked straight into the back of the stationary monk who seemed to have become a solid piece of stone, firmly joined to the floor.

  'What is it?’ Wat asked trying to crane around Hermitage who was blocking the door. ‘Is Father Genly there?’

  'Oh, he's definitely here,' Hermitage paused. 'But I don't think he's going to be much help.’ He stepped aside and let Wat see the room.

  'Oh, bloody hell,' the weaver said as he gazed upon the scene before him.

  For some reason Hermitage felt protective of his companion. As he thought about it though, he couldn't see why. Wat was more familiar with the world than he was. It was to be hoped that even he hadn't seen anything like this before.

  Father Genly was naked. He was somehow even more naked than the day he was born. There were bits of him on display that any reasonable person should not be expected to see. He was lying on the straw pallet, if face down with your backside in the air can be called lying, and he wasn't moving.

  Hermitage knew from his own experience that under the habit, monks were very pale. Faces and hands got scoured by the wind and weather, but the protected parts remained unblemished. The problem was that not all of Genly was unblemished. The cheeks of his backside, proudly presented to anyone entering the room, showed clear marks of chastisement.

  'There's a turn up,' Wat added, quite matter of fact. 'I assume this is Father Genly we're looking at?’

  Hermitage moved into the room and bent down to get a clear look at the face.

  'Oh, yes,' he said, 'but what's happened? Why isn't he dressed?’

  Wat's head sank to his chest in deep thought as he considered his reply.

  'Brother Hermitage,' he said, with a heavy and weary tone.

  'Yes?’ came the bright reply.

  'Perhaps this is the time.’ Wat sounded like Hermitage's father, when he had told a horrified child all about the birds and the bees. And the animals. And the people. And sometimes the animals and the people.

  'Time for what?’ he asked in some trepidation.

  'I have spent many years wandering the length and breadth of the nation, and I have seen many things.’

  'I'm sure.’ Hermitage really wasn't getting anything out of this.

  'Some of those things, I must confess, I have put into my works. They are works of which I am not particularly proud, but they are very lucrative.’

  Wat paused, but Hermitage didn't know what was going on so he kept quiet.

  'They are works which are commissioned by individuals who have very particular interests,' Wat hinted.

  'Like Ambrosius
and the wilderness?’ Hermitage remained resolutely unhinted.

  'No. Not like Ambrosius and the wilderness. Like Father Genly and his sleeping habits. My clientele, I'm afraid to say, are interested in the more physical aspects of human interaction.’

  'You don't think?’ Hermitage started and let the awful truth hang unspoken in the dismal cell.

  Wat nodded encouragement to Hermitage to take the next step,

  'You don't think he's been... robbed?’ Hermitage found this hard to credit. This was a monastery after all.

  Wat's exasperation snapped out, 'No I don't think he's been robbed, Hermitage. Look, his habit is on the floor.’

  'So it is,' said Hermitage in wonder. 'He surely wouldn't sleep that way, he'd freeze to death.’

  'The carnal,' Wat said, very deliberately.

  Now that didn't fit the discussion at all. Hermitage was starting to wonder if Wat was talking about something completely different.

  'You mean?’ said Hermitage, although he wasn't sure what Wat meant.

  'That's right,' said the weaver in some relief, grateful that Hermitage had got it.

  Except Hermitage hadn't got it, of course. He stared at Wat for a while. And then stared at Genly.

  'Perhaps he wasn't alone?’ Wat suggested.

  'It's possible, I suppose,' Hermitage admitted, thinking hard.

  'Possible?’ said Wat, in disbelief. 'In that position, with that look on his face, it's inevitable.’

  'There is a woman who comes in to bring the donations from the poor sometimes, but she's an old crone.’

  'God spare us,' said Wat. Hermitage frowned.

  'So, Brother Hermitage, use your learning. If he wasn't alone and it wasn't a woman, who else could it be?’ Wat asked in as innocent a voice as he could manage.

  Hermitage's incisive mind took the necessary steps and there was a look of guilt in Wat's eyes as Hermitage drew the only possible conclusion.

  When a person realises something to the good, it is often said that their eyes light up. The opposite is clearly not that their eyes go out, but whatever the opposite is, that is what happened to Hermitage. The light that was his innocent awe at the world and all of God's works, spluttered in the face of a gusty blow as he realised what the alternative was.

  'You mean?’ was all he could say, but it was clear that was exactly what Wat did mean. 'Oh my goodness,' he said.

  Just like in stories, Hermitage really did put his hand to his open mouth and sat down on a nearby stool.

  'But he's a priest,' Hermitage said. The two ideas in his head were as contradictory as immovable objects and irresistible forces.

  'Was a priest,' Wat corrected.

  'I didn't, I mean I never, I mean he…' and Hermitage stumbled over thoughts and images that were as unwelcome as they were new. 'Oh Lord,' he came out with as he sat with his head shaking slightly, hoping that the movement would make these evil impressions fall out of his ears.

  Wat shrugged. 'These things happen.’

  But Hermitage was sure that they shouldn't.

  'But only in the Bible,' Hermitage pleaded, 'and only in the Old Testament at that. What are we going to do?’

  'That's better,' said Wat. 'An hour ago you would have been down on your knees praying for the soul of the departed. We probably straighten him up. It's not very dignified, is it?’ He gestured at the prone priest.

  'No,' Hermitage was actually cross, 'Not Genly. What are we going to do about another death? That's two. We were coming here to see if Father Genly could shed any light on the death of Ambrosius. Now we have to try and shed some light on the death of Father Genly.’

  'Well, at least this one seems to have a fairly obvious cause,' Wat performed a most inappropriate little dance in front of the body on the bed. 'Exhaustion.’

  'Mr Wat! We have to fetch the investigator, this could all be connected.’

  This time Wat was horrified. 'Hermitage, that is exactly what we don't have to do. You've seen the Investigator at work, he's useless. What did the Abbot say it meant?’

  'What?’

  'Investigate?’

  'Oh, to track.’

  'Well, this investigator couldn't track a track across a field with one track and a sign saying 'track this way'. Show him another body and after he's finished throwing up he'll order you hung there and then. Look what happened the last time you were found with a dead body. It's starting to look like a habit, pardon the pun. What we do is just return Father Genly to a more normal position, dress him as best we can and then leave. Someone else can find out about this one.’

  'But there must be erm … someone out there.’ Hermitage really couldn't bring himself to think that it might be another monk. 'Someone out there who was here at the time. Someone who knows that Father Genly is dead and has chosen not to tell anyone.’

  'We don't know that. Whoever was here might be on their way to tell the Abbot or Athan right now.’

  'I hardly think so. It looks like the Father has been in this state for some time. I'm sure we'd have heard by now.’

  'So what do you suggest? We go and find Brother Simon and you say, excuse me Brother, but I've found another dead body. I know I was there when the last one was discovered and everyone thinks that I'm a killer, they want to hang me and everything, but I thought I'd better just mention it. And while I'm at it I think one of the Brothers is a sodomite so we'd better ask them?’

  'Erm.’ Hermitage was having too much for one day.

  'What size noose do you take, Hermitage?’

  'But he wouldn't.’

  'Oh, come off it, of course he would. The man's an imbecile.’

  This still didn't sit happily with Hermitage. How could important people with titles be imbeciles? 'What can we do then?’

  'Just what I said.’

  'But it's – it's dishonest.’

  'So is what Father Genly was doing. I think he's going to have more explaining to do when he meets the Lord than you are. I really don't think you can rely on the integrity of either Simon or Athan to take the reasonable view of this, can you?’

  Hermitage gave a great sigh. 'Probably not.’

  'Far better then, that you and I look into things further. We think Ambrosius died of natural causes. Genly here died of unnatural causes, but at least they're explicable, but it's all just too much of a coincidence.’

  'What, two deaths?’

  'And more. The arrival outside of a bunch of builders who have come to tear the place to pieces when no one inside seems to be expecting them.’

  'I don't see any connection. Ambrosius and Genly weren't even residents. They were only here as opponents in the Conclave.’

  'Not much of a welcome, eh?’ Wat's eyebrows rose as another thought occurred which he let straight out. 'And, of course, that's two of the people connected to the debate dead.’

  'What?’ Hermitage couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice. A tremor that could have brought down a fair share of masonry all on its own.

  'Ambrosius and Genly, the main protagonists, both gone,' Wat said.

  'What are you suggesting?’ Hermitage really wanted to know.

  'Nothing really, it's just another coincidence.’ But Wat didn't sound like it was nothing.

  'So if Brother Francis or Brother James or even I become coincidentally dead?’ Hermitage asked.

  'It's definitely something to do with the debate,' Wat said, brightly.

  The two men looked at each other and then once more at the semi-recumbent Father Genly before their unspoken agreement was signed. They moved to the bed to give the man what dignity they could.

  'I think we need to find Brother Francis or James as a matter of urgency,' Wat said. Hermitage could see this was the priority. And with his new-found knowledge of some his Brothers, he considered that getting the person who last saw Father Genly alive to come forward voluntarily, might be a bit of a problem.

  Caput XIII

  Day Five Magna Missa

  The Earl of Northumbria
was not a man to hurry. Neither was he a man to up his pace or get a bit of a move on. He would not speed things up or crack on, jump to it or leap into action. He was a man for whom a lifetime of unimaginable power over others had inculcated the conviction that the world moved at his pace, not vice versa.

  The Earl’s wealth brought him time. Most of it belonging to other people. He didn't have to do any of the boring chores that normal people did simply to survive, and so all of that time was his to play with. He didn't have to find food or build a house. He didn't have to maintain his dwelling or go out to work for someone else in order to get the necessities of life. He simply got up in the morning and went to bed at night. The period in between was full of stuff, but there were always people to deal with all of that. God knew why they wanted to, but they seemed willing enough.

  He knew other people didn't live the way he did. He had servants and staff all around him, and it was obvious that they didn't have the same choices about their days that he did. But then they didn't matter.

  Thus, as the Earl of Northumbria had decided that he needed to see the monastery as a matter of the utmost urgency, it was some half a day later they were nearly ready to set off.

  Nicodemus observed the preparations from a distance, as his retinue was tiny compared to the Earl's. He could be ready to move in an hour or so. It had taken that long for the Earl's head man to take the register to make sure that none of his servants had run off.

  Toksvar was as organised as Nicodemus, only in a far more alarming manner. He did have a large number of servants, but they had practiced every move required to get their master ready for travel. They packed to the sound of whistles while Toksvar paced up and down in front of them, slapping one around the ear and kicking another one on the shin when some tiny step went awry. When it wasn't done right, he made them unpack and do it again. At the end of each attempt they would line up and stand bolt upright, hands by their sides, to await the inspection. If there was a problem, they would all get into small huddles to discuss how to improve performance, but if it was favourable they would slap one another on their backs and sing some hearty song. It was unbearable.