The Garderobe of Death

by Howard of Warwick

  'There they are,’ a shout went up from a patrolling guard.

  Within moments a large contingent was heading their way.

  'Not likely to notice us unless Grosmal himself is patrolling eh?’ Hermitage asked as he prepared to surrender.

  Wat was frowning. 'Very odd. I wonder what's happened that they want us this badly?’

  'May I speculate that it isn't good?’ Hermitage asked.

  'Please do,’ said Wat as the leading guard came up. He was very big, very ugly and very Norman.

  'We've been looking for you everywhere,’ the man said. 'Where've you been?’

  'Oh, here and there,’ Wat said casually, 'you know, out and about.’

  'Yeah, well time to come in now,’ the guard said as he drew his sword, not very casually.

  'We've been investigating,’ Hermitage explained as they walked back across the grass to the castle.

  'Dirty buggers,’ the guard spat.

  'It involves thinking,’ Hermitage retorted, rather amazed at the words and tone coming out in his own voice, 'not a requirement for guards, I would surmise.’

  Wat nudged Hermitage and gave him a supportive wink. It didn't drive the shame from the young monk.

  'Disgusting,’ the guard muttered.

  'So,’ Wat said brightly, 'what's going on that you're looking for us?’

  'That Ethel bloke said we was to look for the monk. He'd gone missing, apparently,’ the guard responded. 'Now we know why, don't we?’ he sneered.

  'Looking for Hermitage?’ Wat was surprised. 'But that was hours ago. I've been imprisoned, rescued, imprisoned again and escaped in the time you've been looking for Hermitage.’

  The Guard stopped and faced his captors. 'Well, obviously it took us this long to find him as we've only just found him.’

  'That's very reasonable,’ Hermitage put in, trying to get some charitable thoughts back in his head.

  'And it turns out he's been investigating in the woods with some other bloke,’ the guard looked Wat in the eye, 'which, as I say, is disgusting. If I wanted to do investigating with another man I'd hide in the woods as well. Now come on.’

  Wat gave Hermitage a resigned look and they followed the man back to the castle.

  Once inside the gates the guard made them stand against a wall. He instructed one of his men to go and find Ethel and the rest of them to stay and guard the captives.

  'And no investigating one another,’ he instructed.

  'My good man…’ Hermitage was ready to embark on a comprehensive explanation of investigation covering etymology, grammar, declension of the original Latin verb and a number of observations of his own on custom and practice, drawn from his recent experience.

  The guard walked off.

  'Well, really,’ Hermitage commented.

  'It's all right,’ said Wat, 'it was me who asked Ethel to find you in the first place – when you went missing from the garderobe.’

  'Ah, I see. Yes, Scarlan and his band captured me and wanted to ransom me to Lord Grosmal.’

  'Yes about that,’ Wat insisted. 'I thought you'd joined their band.’

  'Oh good heavens, no. A rough lot. It was only when I explained that Grosmal would probably pay for the entertainment of watching my execution and that I knew you they changed their mind.’

  'Hermitage,’ Wat whispered fiercely, 'it would have been helpful to know all this.’

  'Really?’ Hermitage ran this over his head. Making connections between events as they happened had always been tricky. Getting them written down and having a few weeks to consider the documentation was much more straightforward.

  'Yes really. If I'd known you were under duress we could have got rid of them before they carted us off into the woods for some light tying up.’

  'Ah,’ Hermitage nodded with new understanding. 'Yes, I can see how that would have been useful.’

  'Oh good.’ Wat drilled the lesson into Hermitage with a harsh glare.

  Hermitage filed this new concept away with the others he had accumulated since meeting Wat on the Lincoln road all those months ago. It was turning into quite a collection. He pondered for a moment and concluded that the weaver was probably getting less out of these experiences than he was. There was so much Hermitage could tell him, but the man never seemed interested in the latest theological thinking. Or even developments in domestic monastic rule.

  Still, give it time and a few more lengthy conversations. Something must give.

  Hermitage's musings were brought to a halt by the arrival of Ethel.

  'What the devil are you doing here?’ the retainer demanded. For once driven by a bit of tangible passion.

  'Oh, you know,’ said Wat, 'just passing by. Trying to help here and there. Thrown in a dungeon on the say so of an idiot in a habit.’

  'I say,’ Hermitage objected.

  ''Not you, Simon.’

  'Oh. Right.’

  'I've been abducted by mad woodsmen and tied to a tree. Escaped at peril of our lives, captured by a fresh bunch of guards, marched here against our will,’ he stopped and gave Ethel one of his hardest glares, 'the usual.’

  The manner, tone and content of the little speech did not go unnoticed. 'We had you in the dungeon,’ Ethel hissed back, 'you escaped – what the hell would you come back here for?’

  Hermitage thought he detected a hint of jealousy in the retainer's tone. As if he wished he'd escaped. And if he had, he wouldn't have come back.

  'Believe it or not, the bunch who got me out of the dungeon are just as deranged as the people on the inside. The problem was they were closer. And please believe me when I say that this is the last place I want to be.’

  'Me too,’ Hermitage put in, feeling that he ought to say something, and it ought to be supportive of Wat.

  'After all,’ the weaver went on, 'going back into the dungeon and facing execution for a murder I didn't commit wasn't on my list of things to do today.’ He folded his arms and waited for the response.

  'Oh, that's all sorted,’ Ethel said, relaxing and turning his stare away from Wat. 'Mind you in Lord Grosmal's eyes breaking out of the dungeon will be pretty serious. Damaging the door is probably worse.’

  'What do you mean, sorted?’ Hermitage asked.

  'We know you didn't do it.’

  'Well, thank you,’ Wat was put off his offensive stride.

  'Oh yes,’ Ethel went on, ‘Grosmal's got Foella in the cells now. She's been found out.’

  'Really?’ Hermitage was surprised at this. Even Wat looked put out.

  'Apparently.’ Ethel sounded surprised as well.

  'And what is Lord Grosmal going to do?’ Hermitage was worried. The sanction for killing de Turold seemed to be pretty consistent no matter who was accused at any particular moment.

  'What do you think? You're the investigator,’ Ethel sneered.

  'Oh dear, oh dear,’ Hermitage fretted, 'I hate to say this, but I think we need to see Lord Grosmal. I have some more news about his murder, er, the murder,’ he corrected himself.

  Voluntarily?’ Ethel asked.

  Hermitage shrugged and Wat sighed.

  …

  Ethel led the way once more into Grosmal's presence. He was a little less cautious this time; the noble was in a better mood now there was someone in his dungeon again.

  'My lord,’ Ethel announced as he entered the room with Hermitage and Wat failing to hide behind his inadequate figure.

  'Ah, Ethel,’ Grosmal turned from the fire.

  His face had reddened as he warmed himself and Hermitage couldn't keep the thought out of his head that the man looked like nothing less than a swede. Perhaps a turnip, but certainly a round root vegetable. One that was cooking nicely.

  The image took away some of the fear of meeting this man again. Only some of it.

  'What are they doing here?’ Grosmal demanded.

  'We found them, sire.’

  'I can see that. The one who escaped from my dungeon, and broke my door? He should be dead.
The monk? God knows what you do with monks.’

  'They have news about the murder,’ Ethel announced calmly.

  Grosmal sighed, 'I've had all the news about the murder I want. Every time I talk to someone I get more news about the murder. The next person who opens his mouth about the murder will probably tell me it was someone else, and frankly I'm getting bored of the whole business. I've got the woman in the dungeon. Let's say that's that.’

  'But she didn't do it, sire,’ Hermitage spoke up, despite his trembling.

  'The King's Investigator said she did,’ Grosmal declared.

  'No, I didn't,’ Hermitage responded automatically. He glanced sideways and saw that Wat had his head in his hands.

  'What?’ Grosmal said slowly and with intent. And not the good kind of intent.

  'Oh, you mean Brother Simon,’ Hermitage made great play of this revelation, 'of course. The King's Investigator. I understand now.’

  'Well, I don't,’ Grosmal growled. 'Are you saying he isn't the King's Investigator and you are?’

  Hermitage's mouth hung open while he waited for some words to fill it up. 'Erm,’ wasn't a very good word, but it was all that came.

  'Ethel,’ Grosmal barked, even though the retainer was standing right next to him.

  'Yes, sire,’ Ethel responded calmly.

  'Get the other monk.’

  Ethel bowed his non-bow and left.

  'Are you the King's Investigator?’ Grosmal asked again. 'It's quite a simple question. Yes or no will do the trick.’

  'It's not quite that simple, sire,’ Hermitage began.

  'It was a long time ago,’ Wat stepped in to explain, 'at the monastery of De'Ath's Dingle...’

  Grosmal held up his hand. 'Are you the King's anything?’

  'Well no, not really, although I did do some work for...’

  'Then shut up. You've already broken my cell.’

  'I can fix that,’ Wat offered.

  'Me too,’ Grosmal said with a more permanent solution in mind. 'Now. Monk. Are you the King's Investigator?’

  'No,’ Hermitage said with confidence, having had the chance to think it through a bit.

  'Then why did you say you were?’

  'Because I was. Briefly.’

  Grosmal stepped closer to Hermitage. 'Let me tell you, monk, I have a large collection of tools in my dungeon which I use for asking people questions. They always answer. I haven't had a chance to use my tools for a long while. Shall we go and see if my Tongue Waggler still works, or are you going to explain now?’

  Hermitage gulped. 'I'll explain now please.’

  'Oh dear. Well, give it your best shot and we'll see.’ Grosmal sat back on his bench by the fire and folded his arms.

  'I was King's Investigator,’ Hermitage said, 'but the King is William now and he didn't appoint me, so I can't be.’

  'Nice answer,’ Grosmal nodded.

  'But I was appointed by King, er, by the previous occupant of the, er, job?’

  'And the other monk?’

  'Well, he was appointed too.’

  'So you're both King's Investigators. Ex-King, that is?’

  Hermitage knew that a simple ‘yes’ would suffice here. It would bring things to a speedy halt and stop any potential unpleasantness. He also knew that his answer wasn't quite the whole truth. That didn't so much rankle with him as render him totally incapable of keeping his mouth shut. If he had a truth inside him he had to let it out. Wat had criticised him many times for this fundamental failing, but he couldn't help himself.

  'Well yes and no,’ Hermitage had to say.

  Wat, who had been smiling, stopped smiling.

  'You see, Brother Simon…'

  'Who?’

  'The other monk.’

  'Oh, him. Yes?’

  'He was appointed by the Bishop of Lincoln.’

  'Ex bishop.’

  'Ex bishop, yes. In fact, he wasn't even appointed by the bishop. He was appointed by the bishop's man Nicodemus. There is some question about the authority to make such an appointment, but I haven't had the chance to carry out the necessary researches to determine the truth of the situation. I'd need to get to the archives in Lincoln and consider various volumes of...’

  'Yes, yes.’ Grosmal shut Hermitage up.

  Hermitage looked at Wat, who was nodding encouragement. Wat never encouraged him to talk about such matters.

  'And then King, er, the ex, previous King appointed me directly. But, as I say, he's gone now. Perhaps King William has his own Investigator?’ Hermitage finished.

  'I doubt it,’ Grosmal sighed. 'In fact I hope not if they're anything like the two I've met so far.’

  Hermitage shrugged apology for his own nature.

  'Back to the question in hand,’ Grosmal said, having clearly lost all motivation to ask Hermitage any questions using his tools. Or even having any more discussion with him at all.

  'You say the lady in the dungeon didn't do it?’ Grosmal asked the question, but it was clear from his tone he didn't really want an answer.

  'That's right, sire.’

  'And how do you know this?’

  Hermitage was about to answer immediately when he realised he would be betraying a fellow countryman to the Norman. Could he really do that? Granted it would save a lady from a horrible fate. And a Saxon lady at that, so the betrayal would really be an even outcome. As far as Saxons being executed was concerned.

  But if the lady thought she was doomed anyway, was it fair to doom someone who thought they were safe in order to un-doom someone who already thought they were doomed?

  It was a fascinating question.

  'Well?’ Lord Grosmal was bored with Hermitage's fascination.

  New thoughts came to Hermitage. He would be betraying the person who had shot at him. Twice. He would be telling Lord Grosmal that a man killed de Turold when that man was boasting about it to everyone. Surely it was only a matter of time before word got to Grosmal anyway? Hermitage would only be shortening that time.

  These justifications gave his some comfort. A more shameful comfort came from the thought he'd be sending a man to his doom who jolly well deserved it. He drew breath.

  'Because the person who did it confessed to me,’ he announced.

  'Are you supposed to tell what people confess to you?’ Grosmal looked rather worried.

  'Oh, not that sort of confession,’ Hermitage explained, wondering briefly what sorts of things Grosmal had confessed to priests that he wouldn't want repeated. He wondered as briefly as he could as he was sure they would all be pretty horrible.

  'So?’ Grosmal

  'I don't know his name, but he is a small guard.’

  What?’ Grosmal leapt to his feet.

  Hermitage leapt back.

  'A small guard, you say?’ He looked at Wat. 'You saw him too?’

  'Oh yes,’ the weaver said.

  'So he's real?’

  Wat and Hermitage exchanged looks at this. Looks that said so many things about Normans and this Norman in particular.

  'Oh yes, sire,’ Wat said in that assuring voice used to tell children there is no bogeyman. Just before you scare them awake in the middle of the night pretending to be the bogeyman.

  Ethel appeared at the doorway of the room with Simon in tow. Literally, as Ethel had hold of the monk's belt and was virtually dragging him along.

  'Ethel,’ Grosmal called enthusiastically.

  'Sire?’ The retainer responded without any enthusiasm at all.

  'That woman.’

  'Which one, sire?’

  'The one in the dungeon?’

  'Ah, Lady Foella, yes, sire.’

  'She was telling the truth. There is a small guard.’ Grosmal seemed surprised and delighted.

  'How disappointing for you, sire.’

  'Where is this man?’ Grosmal asked Hermitage.

  Oh well, in for a penny, thought Hermitage.

  'He's hiding out in the woods to the North.’ Hermitage felt he retained s
ome honour by not mentioning Scarlan and the rest of the band.

  'Not with that idiot Scarlan and his stinking men?’ Grosmal almost laughed.

  'You know mister Scarlan?’ Hermitage was shocked.

  'Of course. You don't think a band of so-called Saxon fighters could hang about in my woods without me knowing?’

  'How come they're still there then?’ Wat asked.

  'Because they're useless. They couldn't do damage to a dandelion head. They entertain me. I kill one of them every now and then to keep my hand in, let them plan an attack and give my men some practice, that sort of thing. Not that it's much practice fighting that lot.’

  'Ethel,’ Grosmal gave orders,

  'Sire?’

  ‘Send a detachment of guards to bring Scarlan's bunch in. Needn't be a big detachment. In fact, send them without any weapons. Be good for them. Then release Foella and bring her here.’

  'Sire,’ Ethel nodded and left, pushing Simon into the room as he went.

  'Ah, Brother erm.’ Grosmal spoke to Simon, but looked at Hermitage.

  'Simon,’ Hermitage prompted.

  'Yes, Brother Simon.’ Grosmal's words came out like a snake selling apples to a lady in a garden. 'A brace of monks, eh? Walk with me both of you. This one,’ he gestured at Hermitage, 'seems to have pertinent information concerning the death of my good friend de Turold. I would have him explain this to me. You,’ he looked at Simon, 'you've got some explaining to do as well.’

  He led them both from the hall with an arm around their shoulders. Neither of them felt comforted. They weren’t meant to. Grosmal was wondering if this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. His Bending Iron hadn’t had an outing in several months, and it was always his favourite. He just hoped it had been cleaned up after the last time.

  Caput XXV

  Four-thirty: Castle Takes Wood

  Scarlan and his men, and boy, were recovering from their expedition. Well, Sigurd was recovering. The rest were gathered in Scarlan's tent, sitting on the floor reminiscing about the fantastic job they had done.

  The small man retold how he shot deliberately wide to drive Hermitage and Wat into the hands of Sigurd.