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

by Howard of Warwick

  Nicodemus's party would lead the way, as they knew where they were going, and Toksvar would bring up the rear – an ideal position for ensuring that the Earl's rabble didn't simply run off with all his goods and chattels.

  Toksvar and Nicodemus had assumed that the short journey would be completed in one day. They had reckoned without an Earl. Northumbria declared before the outset that it was his intention to take in some of the more interesting sights on their journey. Nicodemus had assured Toksvar this wouldn't be an impediment, because there weren't any. It hadn't occurred to him that the Earl would want to visit the Roman fortress, which was only two hundred yards from where they started.

  When the august noble instructed his hopeless staff to make camp when they had only walked across a cobbled courtyard, Toksvar stepped in. He told them that if any of them so much as unpacked a sock, he would hang them all from the Roman Fortress's historic and highest tower as an entertainment for the Earl, whom they all knew liked that sort of thing.

  The Earl expressed his disappointment by swearing, once again, that if his eldest son Vignar were to die, he would rather leave his entire estates to the bastard son of a Danish horn polisher than see one iota of grass on the arse of one of his lambs pass to Toksvar. His son responded that Vignar's death could be easily arranged, followed closely by the Earl's, and that he would rather suck the grass from a lamb's arse than accept the off-cuts of the Earl's small toenail. And so the small talk continued. At least they didn't stop to look at the fortress.

  For a short while, the journey continued in relative peace. All that happened from Nicodemus's point of view was that there was some muttering and laughter from the Earl's portion of the line. Whenever he turned around to see what was going on, some piece of discarded food would drop from the Earl's carriage. Or a servant would wander off into the undergrowth for some undisclosed purpose.

  The whole of the Earl's retinue wasn't so much travelling as meandering, with no connection between any of the people who were moving along. It was procession by coincidence rather than design. It was even hard to tell which direction they were going in, as the people involved could be seen all over the place.

  …

  As the party wandered on, a figure drew up to the carriage of the Earl. The figure made sure it was unseen as it threw aside a curtain and stepped into the slowly moving vehicle.

  'Master,' it said as it approached the recumbent figure of the Earl, who was dozing on a large number of expensive cushions.

  'Eh, what?’ The Earl woke with a start and clipped the nearest servant round the ear. ‘Oh, it's you,' he said as the new arrival removed a very smart cowl from his head.

  'It is, Master.’ The figure bowed low from his kneeling position, presenting the top of his expertly shaven head to the Earl.

  'What are you doing here, you idiot?’ the Earl spat as he gained some of his senses.

  'I was not seen, Master. I am never seen.’

  'Oh, for goodness sake. And stop calling me Master; it draws attention and you should know that's not wanted.’

  The figure simply nodded.

  'Well?’

  'I bring news, Mas– er, my Lord.’

  'I should think you bloody well do. Can't have you creeping about into people's carriages without news. What is it?’

  The figure glanced at the two servants who were perched on either side of the Earl. With a simple, two-elbow nudge the Earl deposited them both on the roadside.

  'Go on.’

  'The path continues,' the figure said.

  'Is that it? You better have some more news than that for waking me up. I know the path continues. I'm on it.’

  'Your men make their moves.’

  'Which ones?’

  'The men of,' the figure paused for emphasis, 'the Craft.’

  'Oh, the builders.’

  The figure grimaced slightly at this crudity.

  'Sire.’

  'And Master Nicodemus?’

  'Continues on the...’

  'Don't say he's on the path as well, tell me what he's up to.’

  'He commissions the work as planned.’

  'And he has no idea.’

  'None.’

  'Excellent. Now this death I've heard about. Some debate or other. How does this affect us?’

  'Deaths, Master. Two.’

  'Really? A dangerous place this monastery.’

  'Oh no, Master, nothing like that. As you know we do have a man there who is our ears and eyes. Unfortunately he will be unable to report further.’

  'For what reason?’

  'Er, his death…'

  'Oh, he's one of them? That's not good. Are we discovered?’

  'A coincidence, Master. No connection at all. The man was in a vulnerable state. It seems he just chose the wrong moment to reach the end of his vulnerability.’

  'I don't like coincidences. Don't believe in them. And the other one?’

  'Another natural event.’

  'That is going too far.’

  'It is a goodly sized community. I imagine death is a regular visitor.’

  'I'm not convinced.’

  'It could be most helpful.’

  'How?’

  'Should keep the monastery authorities occupied. Nicodemus has sent a Brother Simon to deal with that side of events.’

  'Do we know him?’

  'We know of him, he has a reputation.’

  'Really?’ This gave the Earl some concern.

  'An appalling one,' the figure comforted his master.

  'Ha ha, marvellous. Muddy the waters completely while we crack on, eh?’

  'Such is the intention.’

  'Right. You go and keep an eye on things, make sure no one makes any progress. You're good at that.’

  'Master.’ The figure took the compliment.

  'I'll keep Nicodemus on the straight and narrow until the time is right to dispense with him all together.’

  The figure raised his cowl once more and made for the back of the carriage.

  'And if, on the journey I manage to run over my son with a cart, so much the better.’

  The Earl laughed heartily, but the figure was gone.

  …

  One of the servants only recently discarded on to the road from the Earl's carriage stepped quickly up the road towards Toksvar.

  The contrast between the Earl and Toksvar's line was startling, if not slightly disturbing. All of his people were marching in step and it looked like some of the horses were as well. Nicodemus was rather grateful that he had to lead the party. Being at the front meant that he didn't have to talk to either leading member of the Northumbria family. His relaxation was short lived though as, with a clop of hooves, Toksvar approached and drew up alongside.

  'Well, we are on our way at last,' he said with a loud and cheerful voice.

  Oh well, thought Nicodemus, better the young madman than the old stinkpot.

  'Indeed, sire, and it will not be a long journey if we go direct.’

  'Oh I can't guarantee that, I'm afraid. The ghastly lump of flesh that calls itself my father seldom does anything with much purpose any more. I shall use my best tactic, though, to keep him moving.’

  'And what is that?’

  'I shall go and talk to him, that'll reinvigorate his purpose.’

  'Ah.’ Nicodemus didn't know what to say.

  'I can see you don't know what to say.’ Toksvar read his mind. 'Few people do. Anyone not familiar with our family intimacies, and that usually means anyone South of York, would be staggered by what goes on. It's always thus and always will be. My older brother Vignar will, of course, inherit everything.’

  'Of course,' Nicodemus said, although he wondered why this topic had been brought up. Vignar was the eldest son: what was there to discuss?

  'And I must take me to his service as is right and proper. I will probably be given some minor estate out of the way and if I keep my head down I can lead a long and comfortable life.’

  It soun
ded ideal to Nicodemus.

  'Except, of course, I've been brought up in an Earl's house and I want to be an Earl. In order to achieve this I can't have any brothers older than me and I need to have a dead father.’

  Nicodemus looked shocked.

  'You look shocked.’ Perceptive chap, this.

  Nicodemus wasn't shocked at the idea; that was perfectly reasonable. He was though, shocked at being told all about it.

  'It's all part of the selection process really. If I can get rid of my brother before my father dies, and then have that happen fairly quickly afterwards, it obviously shows that I'm cut out to be an Earl. I have all the necessary qualities, you see. Obviously if my father were to pop off now it would leave my brother as Earl and that would make things a lot more complicated. He would have all the power, the authority, the land and the men with pikes. Be much harder to get at.’

  'But surely your father…?’ Nicodemus's suspicion that familial affection might be buried beneath a surface of open hostility was being firmly put in its place.

  'It would obviously be better for my brother that there were no younger sibling around either, but my father can't have that. We live in dangerous times and it's quite possible that my brother could meet with death by a myriad of different paths. He is terribly military, likes marching around shouting at people and hitting them. Loves nothing more than a trip to the coast with the King so that he can slaughter some Danes. That's where he is now, as a matter of fact. Risky business, though, and who would become the next Earl if my brother got caught on the wrong end of a long boat?

  ‘So you see my father has a real dilemma. He wants me dead so that I'll stop bothering my brother, but he can't have me completely dead as I'm required as a standby Earl. There is an entirely sensible way out which would give the old gasser the arrangement he wants. He could do the decent thing and die. That way Vignar becomes Earl as he wants. Trouble is the selfish bastard won't do even that for his family. I ask you, it's just me, me, me with him.’

  'But surely if he were to die?’ Nicodemus was puzzled. The argument was sound, but Toksvar's actions didn't match. 'As you say, that would make things difficult for you, why does it appear that you, erm ...’ He didn't quite know how to say it so he made a little mime with his hands, of a cart with an Earl in it being pushed into a river.

  'Oh, I see,’ said Toksvar, 'why would I try to kill my father when it would leave me in a worse position?’

  'Exactly.’

  'He's handy.’ Toksvar shrugged as if he'd just decided to have the pork instead of the lamb and beamed in a most unusual manner. Nicodemus wondered who would be next in line if there wasn't a member of the young man's own direct family nearby ready to be slaughtered. Was Toksvar's younger brother really off in the diplomatic service or had some accident already befallen that young man? Apart from having been born into this ghastly family in the first place, of course.

  'So Father's latest wheeze is to have me take holy orders, for God's sake. Me, I ask you? Do I strike you as the religious type?’ Toksvar's question seemed genuine.

  Nicodemus had made his mind up that he wasn't going to let this man strike him as anything. He shrugged in what he hoped was a noncommittal sort of way.

  A servant, far too scruffy to be one of Toksvar's, approached the side of the man's horse and whispered into his ear.

  'And this monastery of yours appears to be the answer.’ Toksvar took whatever the message was and continued the conversation. 'Very comfortable, but what else? Big high walls and guard dogs?’

  'Oh no, sire, nothing like that – quite the opposite in fact.’

  Toksvar raised his eyebrows.

  'But I hear you've had some trouble there yourself?’ The man said this in such a knowing and devious tone that it was clear he knew something from somewhere.

  'A minor altercation. It'll all be sorted out by the time we get there.’

  'A dead monk, I hear tell.’

  'Nothing out of the ordinary. A harsh life, that of a monk.’

  'But in the middle of the Conclave?’

  'A routine event, I assure you. I've already dispatched a fellow to attend to all the necessary formalities.’

  'I'm not sure I fancy a monastery where the death of the inmates, sorry Brothers, is a matter of routine.’

  'This was an elderly fellow who had reached the end of his allotted span, no cause for concern.’

  'Yes, but what about the other one?’

  'What other one?’ Nicodemus gulped before he could stop himself.

  …

  'Where else could Francis and James be?’

  Wat was getting frustrated. The search for Genly had been overly complicated, but the next two targets were nowhere.

  'I don't understand it. I mean, we've looked everywhere; it's almost as if they're moving around ahead of us, keeping out of our way.’

  'It is, isn't it?’ said Wat, with some interest.

  'I suppose it will do no harm to go to the main entrance. Ask the gatekeeper if they've gone out somewhere?’

  'Should they do that?’ Wat asked, surprised.

  'Oh, absolutely not. But we've been everywhere else.’

  'Lead on.’

  When they arrived at the gate there was a bit of a scene. The gatekeeper, a large linen bandage around his wound, stained red with the contents of his head, was holding quite a large log and waving it around as he sought to keep the King's Investigator at bay. Simon had his bag packed and was trying to leave the monastery as directly as he could. Whenever he made a beeline for the open gate, the keeper would hobble into his way and brandish his timber.

  'Let's see how you like it,' the man said in a very calm but rather scary voice.

  Handicapped by several private discussions with Athan, capped off by the sort of blow to the head that could have taken out one of the monastery's more robust towers, the man was not capable of co-ordinated physical action at all, let alone an attack on a moving target.

  He repeatedly swung wildly from side to side more in hope than expectation. Such was the vigour and devotion to his task that if he had struck home he would have taken the King's Investigator's head clean off – at least that seemed to be the general idea.

  Taking the situation in quickly, Hermitage and Wat moved forward to bring things to a halt. Simon reacted as if two more were coming to join in. He couldn't retreat now. His only way out was the small inner gate that stood open, the beauty of the outside world beckoning like a homely lantern.

  Not wanting to be on the receiving end of the tree, Hermitage and Wat were cautious as they approached. They circled around, looking for an opening. Neither of them was inclined to risk their own limbs against the gatekeepers.

  Simon was getting the measure of his damaged opponent. He feinted one way, waited until the hobbled gateman dragged himself in that direction and then sprang away, as if to enter the shack. For an oldish man he seemed remarkably adept at avoiding trouble. At the last moment he skipped away with the agility of one who had spent a lot of time skipping away from incoming blows and was two steps from escape.

  The gatekeeper, seeing the move, used his momentum to spin himself around and despite the agony this caused his battered body, raised his weapon for a merciless blow on the retreating Brother Simon.

  The blow flew, the blow struck and the blow destroyed. Simon, with an instinctive avoidance of violence, ducked at just the right moment and let the wood strike the building behind him.

  Thus the blow destroyed the humble shack of the gatekeeper in a single moment. The dumbstruck man could only stand and watch as first the walls, and then the roof of his home collapsed into a pile of shattered wood until it looked like nothing more than a bonfire.

  'Nooo…,' he screamed and collapsed to his knees, 'you bastard, you absolute...’ The stream of obscene invective which sprang from the monk’s mouth would have shamed the famous Swearing Man of Grimsby – famous for having driven Vikings from the coast at Hull simply by telling them they cou
ldn't leave their boats on the beach.

  Seeing his moment to escape, Simon stepped up to the small door to leave. He bumped straight into, and bounced off, a huge tree of a man who was coming in the other direction. Fearing another attack, the King's Investigator scrambled quickly to his feet. He was assisted by two massive hands which lifted him bodily, brushed him down while his feet were still two inches off the ground and then planted him like sapling.

  All present gaped at the huge shape that now blotted out the gate altogether. It raised its right hand, which held a large staff, decorated with strange and mysterious markings.

  'I've come to measure up,' said Chirk the builder, proudly displaying his ruler for everyone to see.

  Caput XIV

  Day Five Before Vespers

  Brother Athan was a man with a mission. It wasn't a very nice mission, in fact it was positively sinful, but it gave him a purpose in life. Monks abroad within the precincts, who would have scuttled out of the way to avoid the man's gaze, let alone his blows, found that they were ignored. Athan was searching for something. They were all enormously grateful that it wasn’t them.

  Early in his expedition he asked one or two if they had seen Simon, the King's Investigator, and they answered that no, they hadn't. Everyone knew never to tell Athan that you didn't know what he was talking about. Here was Brother Snod. He was a nosy so and so, always prying into other people's business, and usually getting a punch in the eye for his trouble. He was bound to know.

  'Alright, Snod, hold it there.’

  Brother Snod sniggered, but stopped very quickly.

  'I want to know if you've seen someone,' Athan glared with eyes and voice.

  'Oh yes,' said Snod, brightly, 'I've seen...’

  'And I warn you,' Athan continued, 'that I am not in a good mood. So, if you give me any of your so-called wit, I shall wrap it round my fist and use it to rip your ears off.’

  'Right,' said Snod in a suddenly sombre mood, 'Who might I have seen?’