'Looks like builders,' said Harold.
'Shall I investigate, your Majesty?’ Vignar drew his sword with some relish.
'No no.’ Harold gestured that the weapon should be put away. 'The last time I let you investigate something wholly innocent, the death toll was shocking and it cost me a small fortune in reparations. I'm sure we'll find out in due course. Now, does anyone know who the abbot of this place is?’
The question went unanswered as they came upon the open gate and bonfire which made up the entrance to the monastery. The King frowned and Vignar drew his sword. He grinned as he wasn't told to put it away.
The King nodded to his troops who advanced upon the opening. One of their number leapt through the gaping gate, sword in hand. A few moments later he emerged, none the worse for wear, indicating with a shrug that there didn't seem to be any trouble. The rest of the party approached and stepped through the small door.
As they entered and looked around, they caught a slight whimper on the breeze. Vignar jumped about, brandishing his weapon, while Toksvar turned his head this way and that until he identified the source. Kicking what looked like a burning hovel door to one side the naked figure of the gatekeeper was revealed as it scrabbled in the dust regularly beating its head on the floor.
'Ah, a madman given the shelter of the monastery, eh?’ the King said, impressed by the charity. 'The builders are doubtless doing some repairs to the gate and the poor fellow believes it to be his house.’ The entire party joined the King's laughter at the lunatic and went on their way.
After about half an hour of going on their way, and finding themselves back at the main gate for the third time, patience was wearing thin.
'The whole place cannot be deserted,' he said. 'Who feeds the mad man?’ A couple of soldiers were despatched in opposite directions to see what they could find.
'You're the visitor here, my lord Earl; what arrangements were made?’
The Earl, who had been far more concerned with his feet than finding monks, looked up from where he was rubbing his left sole while holding his court shoe in his hand. 'We are to be met by the Bishop's man, one Nicodemus. I can't think where the wretched fellow has got to.’ Passing the blame to an underling was as natural as passing water.
'Sire,' one of the soldiers on monk-finding duty called and beckoned from the corner of one building. The party strode quickly over.
Across a couple of quads they could see the retreating backs of two figures, one of them in monastic garb, entering a large building set on its own.
'Over there, then.’ said the King and led the way. Behind his bodyguard.
…
Inside the large building set on its own, Hermitage had organised what he called a reconstruction. James and Francis had been trembling ever since they re-entered the refectory, convinced that the Serpent was still there and was about to leap out and devour them.
Hermitage's patient explanation that Serpents couldn't leap had been of no comfort whatsoever. Something had to be done to bring them to their senses. Hermitage sat down where he had been at the time of Ambrosius’s death, and suggested James and Francis go to their places as well.
Obviously Ambrosius couldn't be with them, although Hermitage did suggest going to fetch the remains to give the scene some authenticity. Wat pointed out that a days-old rotting corpse would be neither authentic nor pleasant, and so he would play the part of the old monk. Simon, as King's Investigator, should stand by and observe to see what conclusions he could draw. He tutted and fussed and humoured the fools.
'So,' said Wat, moving to the end of the building, 'I was here spouting on about sand and shoes and wilderness and stuff.’
'Hardly that,' said Hermitage, taking offence on behalf of Brother Ambrosius.
'Whatever,' said Wat, 'and you were there listening.’
'I was.’
'Well, listen then,' said Wat.
'Oh, right.’ Hermitage adopted his crouched position with eyes shut as he imagined Ambrosius before him once more.
'And you two were there were you?’
'Yes,' said James in a shaky voice.
'Are you getting this?’ Wat asked of Simon, who was looking around the room to see if there was a door he could leave by.
'Oh yes,' he replied, smilingly placating at the madman.
'Now,' said Hermitage, in a muffled voice from his hunched position, 'where was the Serpent?’
James simply blubbed.
'What?’ said Francis.
'Come, come, Brothers, be bold,' Hermitage encouraged. 'Where did you hear the noise of the Serpent coming from?’
A very nervous James raised a shaking arm and pointed towards Wat.
'I was hissing?’ Wat asked.
'No, you weren't here.’ James said.
'I'm playing the part of Ambrosius.’ Wat shook his head at the idiocy.
'Are you going to die as well?’
'No, I'm not. But I think someone else here might in a minute.’
The point was not lost on James.
'It was coming from behind you, I mean Ambrosius.’
'I see.’ He looked over to Brother Simon to see if he had made any sense of this.
The King's Investigator was a lot closer to the door than he had been.
'Hermitage,' Wat said loudly. Simon stopped and looked up guiltily.
'Yes?’
'What do you see?’
'I can't see anything. I've got my eyes shut.’
'Open your eyes. Come over here and tell me what you see.’
'Ah.’ Hermitage did as he was instructed. 'Of course. The builders’ door.’
'The builders’ door.’
'What have the builders got to do with anything?’ James asked, still in a state of nervous collapse.
'How would the Serpent use the builders' door eh? He's a Serpent. They don't have any hands.’
Hermitage's reasoning was lost on James, and so he looked to Simon. The Investigator actually had his hands on the door and looked as if he was about to open it. He wasn't prepared for it to be opened from the outside, and he fell through the opening on to the dirt as Athan and Nicodemus arrived.
Athan looked at the figure at his feet, grinned and lifted his right foot high. He looked around at the number of witnesses and put it down again. On Simon's hand.
Hermitage turned to look at the new arrivals. His stomach plunged at the sight of Athan, and was overtaken by puzzlement at the sight of Nicodemus.
'Master Nicodemus,' he said. 'What brings you here?’
Wat looked around at them all, eyebrows permanently raised.
'I have had to come and sort out what should have been a straightforward task. The death of poor Ambrosius seems to have got completely out of hand. I now hear tales of murder. Ridiculous.’
Hermitage was pleased to hear that, although Simon looked out of sorts. The reaction of Athan was hard to gauge as all he did was glare at Brother Simon. The Investigator was getting to his feet, rubbing his hand.
'The debate is inconclusive then,' Athan almost spat. He was talking to Nicodemus, although he never took his eyes off Simon.
They stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
'Formally, I suppose one could say that, but perhaps there are other means of resolution we have not explored.’
This did make Athan turn to Nicodemus with a look of towering anger on his face. It was the look that was usually on his face, but he hadn't pointed it in that direction before.
'Other means?’ Athan spoke the words very slowly and deliberately.
'Yes', said Nicodemus, casually. 'I've been reviewing the regulations of the Conclave and we can desire the Bishop to extend his decision.’
'Extend his decision.’ If Athan could have gritted his teeth any more, he would have been eating his own chin.
'That's right,' Hermitage agreed. 'If there is an inconclusive debate the Bishop can “extend his decision” – a sort of casting vote, if you like. He could hear t
he opposing argument to Ambrosius’s and then decide for himself. Although that might be difficult as Father Genly is dead as well.’
'So are you telling me,' Athan growled, 'that it wasn't necessary to argue Ambrosius’s point away?’
'Seems not,' said Nicodemus with a rather worried look on his face as his observed Athan. The man's fists were clenching and unclenching. He was swaying first towards Simon and then towards Nicodemus as if he didn't know which way to go first.
Hermitage frowned at them all as he turned ideas over in his mind.
The tension of the situation was broken as the door opened again. This time it was virtually flung off its hinges as a giant man in battle dress leapt through the door and waved a huge sword in all directions.
'Ha haaa,' he yelled and that was all that was necessary, as everyone quickly backed away.
Another figure strode quickly into the room afterwards.
'For goodness sake, Brother, this is a monastery, not a training camp.’ This much smaller man stepped in front of the giant and glared at him until the sword was lowered.
'These people are monks,' he said glancing around the room before spotting Wat, and Nicodemus.
'Mostly,' he added.
Vignar reluctantly sheathed his sword, but still glared daggers at everyone in turn, inviting them to provoke him into chopping something off.
Next through the door was a much smaller man than the rest, but much better dressed. The others seemed to make way for him, so he must be in charge. His demeanour and attire was so impressive that even Brother Francis stood up. The new arrival was unarmed, but had an intelligent look about him. He gave Hermitage a huge feeling of confidence. He thought that everything was going to be all right. He couldn't explain why, he just felt overwhelming security in this man's presence.
The small man was followed by a much, much bigger one dressed up as an Earl. Then came a large contingent of well-armed soldiers who took up station around the walls.
'Who are these people, and what's going on?’ the man said. He gestured to Simon, who happened to be the nearest.
Simon recognised authority when he saw it and stepped forward to bathe in its glow.
'I am Brother Simon,' and he moved into declarative mode, striking what he thought was a noble pose. 'The King's Investigator,' he announced.
'That's odd,' said the man.
'Why?’ Brother Simon demanded.
'Because I'm the King and I didn't know I had an Investigator.’
Simon's mouth dropped open and stayed there. He looked at the man who claimed to be the King. He looked at all the other people in the room he didn't recognise, and then he looked to Nicodemus for explanation. That humble servant was looking in every direction possible but Simon's.
It was Hermitage who was the first to kneel, a fact which did not go unnoticed, and the others all followed suit.
In the silence that followed it was clear no one actually knew what to do.
'I expect any minute,' the King said, 'that someone will answer my question.’ It was a very mild comment, in a quiet voice, but it put the fear of God up everyone. 'A monastery with no gate and only a naked madman at the entrance. A man who claims to be the King's Investigator although the King has never heard of him. Where is the abbot of this place?’
'Here I am,' the Abbot's voice called from behind Wat. An interruption so unexpected, and in so tense an atmosphere, that Hermitage actually screamed. Fortunately it was ignored as all the attention of the room focused on the Abbot as he hopped forward on a crutch which Hermitage was absolutely positive he had never seen before.
Those who knew the Abbot, or had heard of him by repute, would not believe that this was the same person. He was clean. To Athan the miraculous crutch was as nothing compared to this revelation. The Abbot had found a new habit from somewhere, some water from somewhere and had washed himself virtually everywhere by the look of it. You could see the colour of his skin and each strand of his hair, rather than the mat it usually formed. Even more alarming as he hoisted himself into the knot of people was he didn't smell any more. How had he done that?
'My Lord Abbot.’ The King clearly recognised the Abbot; this was a day of surprises. 'I didn't expect to see you in this place.’
'Nor I you, your Majesty.’ The Abbot bowed, and the King nodded in acknowledgement.
'There seem to be some goings on,' the King observed.
'Indeed there are. Several of them, all at the same time I believe.’
'And your presence here would be no coincidence.’ the King said with some weight that meant nothing to anyone else. 'Let us start with the King's Investigator, shall we. He intrigues me.’
'I think Master Nicodemus can help us there,' the Abbot replied.
If Nicodemus could have shrunk up his own nose, he would have.
The King followed the Abbot's gesture. 'So, Master Nicodemus, what's your tale?’
There was little information in all the stumbles and stutters which Nicodemus uttered before he finally got going, but his audience waited patiently.
'I, er, am the humble servant of the Bishop of Lincoln and news was brought to me of a death here in the monastery. It needed looking into and so I, erm, asked Brother Simon if he would carry out that duty.’
'And appointed him King's Investigator, eh? Is that within your power?’
Fortunately it was a rhetorical question and Nicodemus was not called upon to answer. It clearly wasn't going to be in Nicodemus's power in the very near future. Very little would be.
'So, a death eh?’
'A murder possibly,' the Abbot said with heavy weight.
'Really?’
'Or not,' said Hermitage speaking up for the first time, realising if he didn't do so now, in the presence of the King, it might turn out to be his last opportunity lost.
'Ah, my loyal monk,' said the King with the emphasis on the word loyal, and a piercing glance around the rest of the room. 'At least I assume you are a monk. Not a King's special monk or anything. Not a murder, you say?’
'I am a monk, your Majesty. A humble monk,' Hermitage said, not without some pride, 'And no, your Majesty, not a murder. Brother Ambrosius was an old man and in the excitement of the Conclave he simply passed away.’
'Did he?’
'No, your Majesty, he didn't.’ Wat spoke up now from the back of the room and stepped forward. Hermitage looked at him with abject horror. How could his friend betray him, here and now of all places?
The King had another look of recognition on his face.
'Master Wat, I trust you are well and your fingers nimble?’ The King grinned a most unhealthy grin.
'Indeed, sire,' Wat answered with a bow.
'I look forward to the latest instalment of my bathhouse series.’
'In preparation by my apprentices as we speak, sire.’
'Excellent. So you say it was a murder then?’
'Possibly, sire. I think I know what happened, but I'm not sure I know why.’
'Pray tell.’ The King laughed at his own slightly monastic, but very weak, joke. So did everyone else.
'Brother Ambrosius was proclaiming his argument from here,' Wat took up the position, 'but at the back of the room there is a secret door, the builders' door. I maintain that someone came through that door and whispered to Brother Ambrosius.’
'Fiendish whispering, eh?’ The King was enjoying this.
'Could be, sire. Brother Ambrosius was an excitable fellow, and a very old one as well. There are two witnesses who say that they heard hissing during the debate, which was making Ambrosius more and more angry. Whoever was whispering, and whatever it was that they were whispering, was enough to push poor Ambrosius into some sort of fit, of which he died.’
'But you don't know why, and presumably not who either?’
'No, sire. I understand that the subject of the debate was not one of great import. It could be that his opponent did it, but he too is dead.’
'Good lord, a dangerous place
to be, this monastery. Who was the dead opponent?’
'Father Genly.’
'What, the Father Genly?’ The King was astounded.
'Indeed, your Majesty,' the Abbot confirmed.
'Oh well, good riddance, then. Anything else to go on?’
'Only the presence of builders, sire.’
'Do you think they did it?’
'No sire, in fact they aren't here yet.’
'Builders who aren't here yet, are here? You puzzle me, Master Wat.’
'I mean preparations are in hand for builders to start work, sire, but there is no knowledge of building among those here.’
'Is this true, Father Abbot?’
'It is, your Majesty.’ The Abbot was good at confirming today.
'And our noble Earl of Northumbria is here as well, looking for a place for his youngest son. This hardly seems suitable, my Lord.’
The King glanced back at Northumbria.
'It appears not, your Majesty. It seems I have been grievously misled.’ The Earl simply shrugged. He had dropped better men than Nicodemus in the most enormous piles of poo, and not caught a splash of it himself. All of this was nothing to do with him.
'Yes,' the King drawled; he obviously wasn't convinced by the Earl's declaration of heartfelt disappointment.
'We have a strange set of circumstances that require some explanation.’ Being a King this wasn't a rhetorical question, even though it sounded like one. 'Brother monk, what is your conclusion?’
Hermitage stared at the King and then looked back over his own shoulder as he thought that there must be a monk standing behind him. When he saw there was no one, he turned back to the King. The look of innocent fear on his face would have brought a tear to the eye of Hengvar, Viking of Vikings, just after he had slaughtered an entire herd of extra large-eyed fawns.
'Your Majesty?’ he managed to get out.
'You seem a loyal and intelligent sort of fellow. Given the facts that we have before us, what would you conclude?’
Well here was a marvellous opportunity. So often, when Hermitage tried to exercise his intellectual skills in front of people of note, they noted he should shut up and not be invited back again. This was the King, you didn't get much more noteworthy than the King. Well, you didn't get any more noteworthy at all. Perhaps that was causing Hermitage's mind to go all wobbly.
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 23