Secondly, he could let Toksvar's blacksmith have a go at setting the bone. Something he'd never done, but always wanted to try. After that he would still be left behind, but there was a chance he might be able to walk again. Eventually. Sort of.
Finally Toksvar was willing, on this occasion, to do the decent thing and put the man out of his misery straight away. After all, he was a very good swordsman and it probably wouldn't hurt much at all.
It was the Duke's men who came to the rescue on this occasion. Fussing Toksvar's legions out of the way, they lifted the injured man on to one of their carts where he was given something to drink. Next he was dosed with a special herb the Duke always carried, and which, within the space of ten minutes, had the injured man singing at the top of his voice and repeatedly declaring that the trees were really, really green. When one of the Duke's men had then set the leg with the minimum of effort, the injured man had simply giggled, before throwing up and passing out.
Despite these interruptions Toksvar's relentless pace meant it was only mid-afternoon when they arrived at De'Ath's Dingle.
The Duke took one look at the place and decided to make camp outside the walls. He set his staff to attend to this in their haphazard manner while Toksvar's method had his tents erected in about ten minutes.
Leaving them to their various organisational styles, Nicodemus approached the gate of the monastery. His steps, confidently carrying the authority of the Bishop faltered as the smell of burning wood drifted in the breeze. It was not the familiar, comforting smell of the fire in a grate welcoming you in from the cold. This was more like the disturbing odour of a whole house going up. He ran the last few steps. God forbid that the place should burn down.
Knocking on the closed door he heard the crackle and pop of a fire not far away and saw smoke and sparks emerging from behind the entrance. The sparks floated away and away on the wind, happy to escape De'Ath's Dingle. Even if it did mean going up in flames.
'Ha ha.’ A cackle now joined the crackle, so he knocked harder and the door swung open – revealing a combination of several horrible things. Nicodemus despised the lunatic fringes of the religious world, he had a real problem with nudity, even his own, and there was something about uncontrolled fire which sent shivers down his legs and brought sweat to his brow. The gatekeeper of De'Ath's Dingle was sitting, as naked as a body could get, in front of the burning wreckage of his hovel, throwing dust over himself and alternately mumbling and laughing.
'For God's sake, man, put some clothes on,' Nicodemus scolded, 'and tell me where I can find Brother Athan.’
…
Brother Athan, unaware that he had a visitor, was engaged in a personal and difficult discussion with his leader and was just finishing a pertinent and personal anecdote.
'…how was I to know the naked monk was the youngest son of a cousin of the Earl of Wessex and the woman was his sister?’
'What? His own sister?’
'No,' Athan was shocked, 'the sister of the cousin.’
'Ah, his aunt,' said the Abbot. That was all right then.
'Yes,' grumbled Athan. That didn't make it all right at all.
'There was all hell to pay,' he went on. 'There was an official complaint and a demand for punishment. Not for them fornicating in public, but for me finding them out.’ The outrage was still fresh and rampant in Athan. 'Several of my colleagues said things like this happened all the time and the punishment would be something nominal. They wouldn't want it to be public that the Earl's family were doing it to one another.’
'I can understand that,' the Abbot commented, 'I have come across similar situations in my travels.’
Athan had gone beyond listening. 'Then it turns out that the complaint is being handled by some incompetent, ineffective, sycophantic, petty-minded dolt of a monk.’
'Brother Simon?’
'Yes,' Athan barked and paused. The Abbot had reached that conclusion remarkably quickly.
'I can tell you my experiences of the Brother are of a very similar nature to your own.’
Athan had always felt an affinity with the Abbot. The mindless rages, the uncalled-for violence and the contempt for everyone and everything had always struck a chord. Now he felt positive companionship.
'And now,' he fumed, 'the stupendous, self-serving, arrogant fart bag is here, parading around as the King's Investigator when he's incapable of bending over without a map.’
'I think we are agreed on that,' the Abbot said, 'so why do you come to tell me this now? Why at this particular time?’
Athan sighed heavily. 'Because I have come to a decision about my future life and my place in the monastery. Even in the church as a whole.’
'Really?’ the Abbot asked, genuinely puzzled.
'Yes,' Athan said, calm once more. 'I have decided, and your opinion has only confirmed my resolve, that I am going to have to leave the religious life. This is because I am going to kill Brother Simon. Probably the next time I see him, but almost certainly today.’
'Athan,' the Abbot said, standing on his one leg and moving so close to Athan his aura was tangible. Athan's reaction was to step back from the most tangible bits of it, but he controlled himself. The Abbot went on.
'You are a violent man. Vindictive, spiteful, aggressive and unpleasant. You bear grudges and ill will such as I have not seen for a long time, and you have no friends at all to speak of. The other Brothers look on you with fear and loathing. They tremble in your presence and create the most imaginative fates for you in your absence. You have achieved the fine balance of being hated, while cowing all those around you such that none of them are prepared to do anything about it.’
'Thank you, Father,' Athan's chest swelled with pride.
'You are just the sort of person the modern Church needs. Who do you think is going to take the place of the likes of me when I am gone? The young men of the church today are mamby pamby soft heads, like that idiot Hermitage. He couldn't run a monastery. He couldn’t run water. He'd have the monks engaged in conversations, producing manuscripts or some such wasteful nonsense.’
'You are too kind, Father.’ Athan felt quite touched, he never knew the Abbot thought of him so highly
'And if not you or I, and if not Hermitage, then it will be the likes of Simon who steps in. Imagine anything run by him.’ The Abbot left the awful thought to hang in the air, but Athan was resolute.
'I am grateful for your support, Father. It means a lot and I wholly agree with your assessment of the Church. I don't know what else I can do, though. I now realise Brother Simon has festered in my guts for all these years, and once he is gone I can rest easy. If I leave him be, I shall not be able to function normally. He will gnaw away at my soul until it is gone. Better to do it now, I think. I shall confess to the crime immediately, of course, and pray that the Church will find it in its heart to offer me mercy. Or at least a hanging instead of some ordeal or other.’
'Athan, Athan,' said the Abbot, coming even closer and putting his arm around Athan's shoulders, which wasn't very nice at all. 'I appreciate your feelings towards Brother Simon, believe me I do, but there is a different way to approach this.’
'There is?’
'Of course there is,' the Abbot looked around the room as if expecting someone else to be there listening to their conversation. 'Don't simply walk up to him and kill him.’
'No?’
'No. Wait until it's dark and then come up behind him. That way no one need know.’
'Father!' Athan was shocked and looked at his Abbot's face in genuine surprise and dismay. That such a figure could make such a suggestion. The look he got back was one of plain honesty and openness. Not a familiar one coming from the Abbot.
Athan turned and pondered the sinful suggestion in his mind. Not for long. It grew on him. What a marvellous idea it was. Athan grinned and the Abbot grinned back. That wasn't very nice either.
Caput XVII
Day Five Before Compline
On the road from the
North. From Stamford Bridge to be precise, a unit even better drilled than Toksvar's was making their way to the South. Passing through Lincolnshire, they had made a brief stop by the side of the Ermine Road while advance scouts moved ahead to find the night’s camp ground.
One very impressive tent, guarded by some very impressive large men with lots of weapons, occupied an area of clear ground. Cleared specifically for the tent and the person inside it.
Galloping up the road at great speed, on a very nice horse, was a scout with a very interesting discovery.
…
'What do you mean “Serpent”?’ Wat asked with some incredulity as James and Francis told their tale. Hermitage was engrossed as well, as the two monks were interrogated round the back of the refectory.
Hermitage had recommended they return there as it was a place seldom visited by others. It also scared the wits out of most people and so might loosen tongues. Wat was impressed with his thinking. Brother Simon loitered towards the edge of the building, saying he had heard all of this before. If their attention was distracted for long enough, Hermitage suspected the man might run away.
'We heard it,' James insisted. It was clear to Hermitage that the man was sincere. He didn't seem the sort to be able to make up a tale like this, and then keep a straight face while repeating it.
'But how do you know it was The Serpent?’ Hermitage thought it very unlikely the biblical Serpent had turned up without some sort of announcement.
'It was hissing,' said James
'Hissing,' said Francis, and they all looked at him in surprise.
'Hissing doesn't kill people,' Hermitage responded. 'Now, if the Serpent had appeared and bitten him, that would be something. Or had reared up and caused him to fall? That I could believe.’ He came to himself and realised what he was saying. 'Just a minute, I was there and I never heard any Serpent.’
'Yeah,' said James in disdain. 'But then you was listening to Ambrosius, wasn't you?’
'Of course I was.’ Hermitage was puzzled. If James and Francis had been there, surely they'd been listening as well.
'So you wouldn't have heard the Serpent 'cos he was hissing quietly,' James explained quietly. As if the Serpent could still hear them.
'This is ridiculous,' said Wat. 'How does some quiet hissing kill a man?’
James looked at him in some shock that his gruesome tale was being dismissed so lightly. 'I don't know, do I?’ he said in irritation, 'I'm not a scholar. I'd have thought if the Serpent is hissing in your ear, you'd better watch out. We're not talking about a wasp or a frog, we're talking about the Serpent. It could have had the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge with it for all I know.’
'A frog?’ Wat shook the idea of a hissing frog from his head. ‘And the apple would have made the hissing more deadly would it? Fruit-assisted hissing?’ Wat shrugged hopelessly at Hermitage.
'You wouldn't understand, you're not a monk. What are you doing here anyway?’ James suddenly realised who was questioning them.
'How did Ambrosius die though?’ Hermitage wanted to know. 'If, as you say, the Serpent was hissing, what was it that actually happened to Ambrosius? Did you see that?’
'’Course we did,' James said. Francis nodded vigorously.
'Well?’
James paused and looked around the space as if adding effect to what was going to be a momentous statement. 'He sat down,' he said with a flourish.
'Oh, brilliant,' said Wat, 'the quiet hissing of an unseen snake with an apple causes an aged monk to sit down. Well, it's obvious isn't it? Deadly combination, a clear case of the most evil and violent murder I ever came across. Quick, arrest all the snakes in the vicinity and question them without mercy. If you find one with fresh fruit, kill it. Oh, and remove all the chairs in case anyone else sits down.’ He seemed to be getting a bit hysterical.
'I'm still not clear, though,' said Hermitage. Wat gazed at him, marvelling at his patience in asking any more questions of these brainless cretins.
'Just sitting down wouldn't kill him. Some hissing on its own wouldn't kill him. There must have been something else?’
'’Course there must have been,' said James.
'Ha,' said Wat throwing his hands to the air and stalking over to stare at Simon for a while. The Investigator had crept suspiciously close to the edge of the building. He took a smiling step back towards the conversation.
'We know there was something else, but we couldn't hear, could we?’
'Couldn't you?’
'No, of course we couldn't. If the Serpent was talking to Ambrosius we didn't want to hang around to join in the conversation.’
'What do you mean talking?’ Hermitage said with interest. 'You said it was just hissing.’
'Well yes, obviously it was just hissing to us,' James said in a tone that made it quite clear Hermitage was some sort of fool. 'We was too far away to hear, but the Serpent was obviously talking to Ambrosius.’
'What was it saying?’ Hermitage asked, unable to believe that he had just asked that question.
'Didn't I just say we was too far away to hear?’ James rolled his eyes in despair at Hermitage’s stupidity. 'Whatever it was, Ambrosius didn't like it.’
'How do you know?’ Hermitage asked.
'’Cos he was getting crosser and crosser.’
'Was he?’ said Wat, with a very knowing slowness to his words.
'Yeah. I mean he was an excitable old boy at the best of times, but whatever the Serpent was hissing at him was getting him really annoyed.’
'And then he sat down?’ Hermitage asked. He couldn't see the significance of Ambrosius getting cross. He rather thought he would get cross if he was trying to deliver an argument and kept getting hissed at. By a Serpent or anyone else.
'Well, yes,' said James, 'as I say, the Serpent was hissing. Ambrosius was talking. Then he was shouting and getting redder and redder and eventually he just shouts out loud and sits down. Dead. That's when I thought it was time to go. Didn't want to move before that in case the Serpent spotted me.’
'Is that what you recall, Hermitage?’ Wat asked.
'Wel,. yes, I suppose it is really. Apart from the hissing Serpent, of course. I know that Ambrosius was getting very animated towards the conclusion of his case, but then I considered that to be only natural. Once he made his final declamation I heard him sit heavily in his chair. I didn't for one moment think that he was dead. I thought he was just exhausted. He was very old and had been shouting quite loud towards the end.’
'There we are, Mister Investigator,' said Wat, bringing Simon back into the conversation before he slipped around the edge of the building and away.
'There we are what?’ said Simon, sulkily, patronisingly and snappily, all at the same time. 'I've heard all this Serpent nonsense already, and can't see what it has to do with anything.’
'Witnesses who say that Ambrosius simply sat down dead after being hissed at for a bit?’ Hermitage was incredulous that this solid reasoning was having no effect.
'So?’
'So, they say that Hermitage didn't do it,' Wat insisted. 'Don't you?’ he added looking at James.
'Well, I suppose not,' James shrugged. 'Can't see how boring Hermitage could have been hissing and listening at the same time.’
'This proves nothing,' said Simon with his best air of superiority.
'What?’ Wat said in utter disbelief.
'It doesn't prove that this man didn't have some hand in all of this. Who summoned the Serpent in the first place I'd like to know?’ He was now very smug indeed.
Wat's mouth went up and down, but no words came out for quite a while.
'Right,' he said eventually, 'come on.’ He physically manhandled James and Francis towards the builders’ entrance to the back of the refectory.
'We ain't going in there again,' James fought back.
'Oh yes, we are. We're going to visit the scene of the so-called crime, then we can show this, this,' he was lost for a suitable word to describe Simon, 't
his Investigator,' the word was spat with such venom that it might have come from the mouth of the Serpent itself, 'that most events in the world have explanations that are all too simple. Like him.’
He pushed and prodded James and Francis until they moved, and then ushered Hermitage and Simon towards the door. The King's Investigator went with a look on his face that was so condescending it would have killed Wat on the spot if it had fallen on him.
'Get in there,' Wat said, and just resisted smacking the King's Investigator on the back of the head.
…
'Oy, you!' Athan yelled at some innocuous monk who was passing on the other side of one quad. The monk looked up quickly before considering whether to run off or not. When he saw who it was, he realised that running away was futile. Bracing himself, he walked over to Athan.
'Where's the King's Investigator?’ Athan spat as if the man was deliberately hiding the information.
'I don't know' was never a very sensible answer to give Athan, even when you didn't. It tended to have repercussions. Percussive repercussions.
'Erm,' said the monk. It was the standard holding ploy. Sometimes it prompted more information from Athan about what he was actually asking you. Sometimes it drew an exasperated sigh and a light blow to the head before Athan marched off. Only rarely did it generate a beating for the sin of hesitation.
'The King's Investigator!' Athan seemed to think that saying it louder would render it comprehensible. 'Weaselly-faced ferret of a man, always creeping about and causing trouble.’
The monk stared up into the sky, doing his best to look as if he was on the verge of recovering the very piece of information Athan wanted. It was in his mind somewhere, but would most definitely not be brought out of his head by it being hit in any way. The next moment he snapped his head down and stared at Athan with wide eyes.
'What?’ said Athan, thinking that the man had gone mad.
'I've seen him,' the monk said in a delirious moment of joy as he realised that actually possessed a piece of information Athan wanted, when he wanted it. He was going to avoid a beating.
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 21