'And?’
'Yes, yes, I've seen him.’ The joy was in the possession of the knowledge rather than the knowledge itself, and so the monk was sailing close to the fate he sought to avoid.
Athan stepped closer, and this brought the man back to earth with a bump.
'Yes, yes,' he babbled, 'weaselly fellow. Ferret. Trouble.’
'That's the one,' said Athan, with enough menace in his voice to alert a flock of lambs that spring was over.
'He was going round the back of the refectory with Hermitage and James and Francis and some stranger.’
At this news Athan stepped back as if he had been struck, and the monk was puzzled at the movement. His puzzlement was resolved as he realised Athan's step back had given him room. The blow which landed at least had the quality of being decisive, so there was no need for a follow up. When the monk woke up, he would wonder what he had said. There was no pleasing that man. Don't tell him what he wanted and he hit you. Tell him what he wanted and he hit you.
Athan strode with some pace towards the refectory. Matters now needed to be taken in hand with some speed. As he rounded one corner a figure stood in his way and, as was his normal manner, he attempted to walk straight through it. It would certainly be no one of any consequence, and it surprised him momentarily that the figure did not immediately leap out of his way. The Brothers knew the consequences of allowing themselves to be bumped into by Athan.
'Ah, there you are,' said the figure, in an incredibly impudent manner which, despite his current distractions, Athan was prepared to deal with in his usual direct way. As he took half a step backwards and adjusted his balance for his favourites right-footed low blow to the shins, he actually bothered to look at who it was he was about to kick.
'What the hell are you doing here?’
…
Toksvar was genuinely shocked. 'What do you mean he's on his way here? What the bloody hell is that bastard doing coming to this God-forsaken hole?’ His liveried servant had brought word from the outer guards of the camp of an impending arrival. He had received word, from advanced scouts, of another group moving down Ermine Street from the North.
'I know not, my Lord,' said the man, 'the scout I met simply said that they were travelling with haste to the South.’
'Ah well, not so bad then. If they're on their way to Canterbury down Ermine Street they might pass us by completely.’
'Erm.’
'What?’ said Toksvar with a very weary tone in his voice, as there was obviously more bad news to come.
'It appears that one of the Earl's men was out scouting as well.’
'Don't be ridiculous, they couldn't scout a three day old corpse.’
'A couple of them had heard of a brewery not far away and were out looking for it.’
'Typical. And they bumped into the scout, I suppose. And told the scout who they were, where they were camping and so a decision was made to break the journey here instead of carrying on to somewhere more sensible like Stamford.’
'Almost exactly, sir,' the man said, impressed.
'Bloody hell.’ Toksvar rubbed his chin in thought for a few moments.
'And does my father know?’
'He will do in a few moments, sir. I got back before the Earl's men who were making a leisurely pace.’
Toksvar sighed deeply. 'Oh well, could be worse. At least I'll have the two of them together in the same place for once. The presence of the rest of the ghastly crowd will make changes to the inheritance impossible. I presume we're all prepared?’
'As ever, sir.’
'Good. Then I think at least we can sit back and enjoy the spectacle of my father's camp receiving the news. You may go.’
The man left Toksvar’s tent and ran to spread word to the rest of his fellows. Benches were gathered and seating places with good views reserved. The staff of the immaculately ordered camp of Toksvar sat down to watch what happened when the complete shambles that was the Earl's encampment received the news that the King was about to arrive.
The effect was as entertaining as anticipated. Two of the Earl's staff wandered into the camp and, after pausing for a drink from the main water butt, popped into the Earl's outer tent. The Earl was a relaxed man: he was a pleasure to work for as he really didn't care what you got up to as long as his bath was hot and his food chain endless. When he did rouse himself to action, though, he could be a complete pig. If there was one thing guaranteed to rouse him to action, it was anything to do with the King.
The roar that came from the Earl's tent, which must have been the moment he received the news, drew appreciative nods from the Toksvarian audience and the exchange of a few pieces of coin as the early bets were won and lost.
The Earl knew the King considered him a threat and he knew how to behave. Sycophantically obsequious usually did the trick. He also knew he wasn't a threat at all. He didn't want to be King: it looked like an awful lot of hard work. A lot of it dangerous. If the King believed he was a threat, though, that was that.
After a bit more blind panic in the Earl's camp, the first of the King's inner guard arrived. This lot were simply to make sure that there was no direct threat to the King's person. They did this by knocking down and turning over everything that had been put up and turned the right way up. Having failed to find any archers in the trees, or knife men in the water butt, they sent word back to the main body that the place was safe for the King to enter.
All of this time the Earl had been getting ready. The gentlemen of the chamber had been trying their level best to get him as clean as possible, and the special sealed trunk, which contained a full set of clothes, had been ceremoniously opened. This had been packed in Northumbria for just such an occasion, and its very existence was kept a secret from the Earl. He would only have opened it on the first day of their journey. Under strict instructions from his most trustworthy staff not to do anything in these clothes that shouldn't be done in clothes, the final layer was only put on when the King's own person was in sight.
The King's own person was not, of course, the person of the King. The King's person consisted of about fifty people, all of whom had very particular jobs. Most of these involved stopping anyone else getting anywhere near the actual King. They arrived in a single block and took over virtually everything in the Earl's camp, pushing his own staff out of the way as they were untrustworthy dogs who could get up to God knew what. Toksvar they left alone. He was known as a younger son and so no particular threat. They also knew he was a bit odd and unlikely to cause any trouble.
Eventually, after what seemed like endless too-ing and fro-ing, pushing, shoving, preparing and re-preparing, a lone tent was erected in the middle of the camp and a guard was posted around it.
A messenger went over to the Earl's tent, and with all due ceremony craved the Earl's attendance upon His Majesty. The option of declining the craving was simply out of the question. Unless you already had ten thousand troops ready for the war that would follow. As a second son Toksvar's presence was craved as well, and while he toyed with saying that actually he was a bit busy at the moment, just to see what happened, he decided discretion was the better part of getting his head cut off.
The Earl of Northumbria, together with his second son, were welcomed into the presence of King Harold.
'My noble Earl,' said the King, rising to his feet as if this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in years.
'Your Majesty,' said the Earl, in so joyful an outburst that an observer might have looked around for the presents.
'And you, Toksvar,' said the King, approaching Toksvar and giving him a playful punch in the ribs.
'Your Majesty does us honour by visiting our humble encampment.’ said Toksvar.
'I do, don't I?’ agreed the King, 'And lo, I bring your brother.’
It seemed that one wall of the tent stepped forward and Toksvar recognised the great bulk that was his brother.
'Brother,' said Vignar, clapping Toksvar in a bear hug whic
h would have had most bears choking for breath. 'And Father!' Vignar exclaimed, stepping forward to shake his father firmly by hand while kneeling at the Earl's feet, as was his duty. The Earl was sure that he felt a couple of small bones in his hand crack, but none the less he blessed his son and bid him rise.
'You come from a successful campaign in the North, Majesty?’ the Earl asked. It was the sort of thing you had to ask Kings.
'Indeed, there's truth in what you say. The terror of the North is despatched to a watery grave, is he not, Vignar?’
'Aye,' screamed Vignar and waved his fists about a lot. Toksvar raised his eyes to the roof of the tent and shook his head at the irritation of court talk and the true stupidity of his own brother.
'And now we are making all due haste to the South, as I hear that the liar William the Bastard makes plans to land in our beloved country. Near some place called Hastings. We will despatch him as we have the Dane and thereafter we can return to court and govern the country, instead of fighting to keep its borders clear. The King nodded sagely, but Vignar looked very disappointed.
'When we heard that you were camped here we forestalled our journey to reacquaint ourselves with our most noble Earl,' the King beamed. The Earl cowered as he clearly heard what the King had said.
'What the hell are you up to?’ Toksvar translated under his breath.
'But what brings you here, Earl – rather at the edges of your estates, are you not?’ the King laughed, and clapped the Earl on the back.
'What are you doing out of your own lands, you bastard?’ Toksvar whispered through clenched teeth.
'Ah, family business, your Majesty. You know my son Toksvar here longs for a place in the world where he may serve your Majesty.’
'No, he bloody well doesn't,' Toksvar mumbled.
'Ah, indeed, indeed,' said the King, as if this was blindingly obvious.
'And while his brother Vignar has so nobly chosen to serve your Majesty through might of his arms …'
'Ahhr,' said Vignar, waving his mighty arms about some more.
'… young Toksvar takes more of the learned nature from his humble father.’
Toksvar coughed.
'And so he has turned to the Church.’
'My God!’ The King let it out before he could control himself. 'Toksvar, in the Church, eh? God, erm, bless him. A noble ambition, young Toksvar. And so you visit this place to take your first steps into the seclusion of the cloisters?’
'I have been making arrangements on behalf of my son, and we do indeed visit, to see what our next steps should be. Once that is done I must attend a meeting in Warwick and then make haste back to my estates in the North. To make sure that the crops are being managed properly.’
'Excellent,' said the King, happy at this news. 'We have not visited one of our religious communities for far too long. We shall join you.’
'Marvellous,' said the Earl, with a tone that said, 'oh, bloody hell.’
Caput XVIII
Day Five Finis
'I've come to find out what progress has been made,' Nicodemus hissed at Athan, now that they were safely out of sight behind a fallen pile of stonework.
'I would send word,' Athan spat their agreement.
'You would if I didn't have the Earl of Northumbria and his son with me.’
'What?’
'They wanted to see the establishment they're investing in.’
'But that's ridiculous, we haven't even started yet.’
'Well, what do you suggest I tell them? Sorry, but I can't show it to you now. Oh, could you leave the money anyway?’
Athan looked puzzled.
'But this is a religious community, it's for the good of his soul. What does the man expect, miracles?’
'The man expects to see a monastery ready for development. I see the builders’ tents are up, but what about the little internal difficulty?’
'Do you know who you sent?’
'Who?’ Now it was Nicodemus' turn to wonder what was going on.
'Brother Simon.’ Athan paused to let the name make its impact.
'I know, I chose him carefully, just the sort of person we need.’
'You did what?’ Athan wasn't happy at this news and Nicodemus took a cautionary step back.
'Yes, he's just some bumptious idiot who hangs around the church all day telling people what to do. I told him he could be King's Investigator if he came over here and sorted out Ambrosius's death. Seemed a good idea, get things buttoned up officially as it were.’
'The only thing that's likely to get buttoned up is the Investigator himself. In a canvas bag all of his own,' Athan glowered.
'What are you babbling on about? Ambrosius’s death was unforeseen. How were we to know that the old boy was on his last legs? It needed clearing up before we could start work. I assume you haven't explained everything to the Abbot.’
It was obvious Athan had not told the Abbot anything, 'I thought I'd leave that pleasure to you. You can tell him about Genly at the same time.’
'What about Genly?’
'He's dead.’
'Oh, so he's the other one. How did Toksvar know that?’ Nicodemus shook his head to remove this latest imponderable. 'Less of a surprise, I suppose,' he shrugged. 'I'm very disappointed here, Athan. I thought that you had the best interests of the Church at heart, and that the Bishop's own instructions for the debate would have been sufficient.’
'I still don't know why the Bishop couldn't instruct the Abbot directly.’
'Because that is simply not the way anything works. You stick to your monastery and let me worry about who gets told what and when. Abbots are important and senior people, and don't need to be disturbed by fiddling small details. Once we have the plan fully developed, we can let the Abbot know. If we engage him at an early stage he'll only question everything, and the Bishop would be inconvenienced.’
'And we wouldn't want that,' said Athan sarcastically.
'No, we wouldn't,' said Nicodemus with a shiver, 'And neither would you. The Bishop might be far less inclined to give a new Abbot his own monastery, for instance.’
Athan said nothing, but he said it very reluctantly. 'At least your investigator accepts the fact of the murder.’
'What?’ Nicodemus was dumbstruck. 'I only hinted at that to scare him a bit. I didn't think he'd really believe it,' he paused for thought. 'Mind you, it is Brother Simon.’
'And he's convinced Brother Hermitage did it.’ Athan considered this to be good news.
'Who?’ Nicodemus frowned as he tried to recall the name. 'Oh, him. Really? He doesn't seem the type.’
Athan moved quickly on. 'The next complication is some weaver has turned up.’
'A weaver?’ Nicodemus really didn't get this one. 'What's weaving got to do with anything?’
'He's not here to weave. He appears to be a friend of Hermitage and is asking all sorts of questions about Ambrosius.’
'Athan, this is all getting completely out of hand. It's quite a simple matter. Ambrosius popping off before the debate was ended should have been a hitch, nothing more. Now we have murders, dead priests, weavers and all sorts wandering around.’
Athan wasn't going to take this lying down.
'And King's Investigators and Earls of Northumbria cluttering the place up.’ As he said this there was a rather unpleasant glint in his eye. Well, an extra one.
'Yes, yes,' Nicodemus answered automatically while thinking what their next step should be. 'Where's your weaver and his team now?’
'I was just looking for them myself, funnily enough.’
'Right, we'll go and find them, see what they're up to. I shall have to get everything sorted out before we let the Earl in. Even then we'll have to keep him away from the Abbot. No danger there?’
'No danger of anyone bumping into the Abbot. He'll stay in his cell and no one will go close to that out of choice.’
'So,' said Nicodemus, stepping out from behind the rubble which concealed their conversation, 'Broth
er Simon and the weaver.’
*****
Having the King decide to pop in and see one of his monasteries is not a simple affair. Advisers on Church issues will wish to have their views heard. Military officials will have to make sure that the journey can be adequately managed. Victuallers will need to keep the party properly supported. Never mind just plain hangers-on, who go wherever the King goes in the hope that they'll get something out of it. Like a county, or a couple of major towns.
Then, of course, there was Vignar, who hoped above hope that a visit would give him the chance to fight someone. He was the only one of the party who was arming himself fully for a visit to a religious community. But then he armed himself fully wherever he went. He didn't have any other clothes.
The Earl had to move pretty quickly as he hadn't been prepared for an expedition, even if it was just a few feet up the track. He had his best court attire on, along with those awful shoes he could only just stand up in, let alone walk. He also spent a lot of time flustering about, asking where Nicodemus was. The King had a nasty habit of coming up with piercing questions and then getting all cross when you didn't know the answers.
The Earl didn't have a clue about most things, but as far as this monastery was concerned he knew pretty much less than nothing. Nicodemus was his source of information, and he wasn't there. Excusing yourself from the King's presence while you changed your shoes, or went to find someone who knew what was going on, was not the sort of thing even Earls did. As the King wanted to leave there and then, that was that.
Advisers, military men and victuallers were dismissed with a good natured wave of the royal hand while the King, the Earl, Vignar and Toksvar wandered alone up the roadway towards the monastery gate. Alone apart from a dozen or so heavily armed soldiers who accompanied Harold wherever he went.
'What's that, then?’ the King asked, pointing off to the right towards the new builders' village.
'I don't know, your Majesty,' the Earl answered, who wouldn't have recognised a tradesman if he'd been eating one.
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 22