The Tapestry of Death

by Howard of Warwick

  'Hardly the point, young lady. How would you like it if I put your head on something like this?'

  Cwen shrugged as if it had already happened.

  'Ha ha!' Virgil rubbed his humungous hands in glee. 'Oh, this is too marvellous. Everyone upstairs again. Torture's off! There's so much to be achieved with this one work. I take it all back, Briston isn't a lazy, good for nothing pimple on the face of weaving. He's a genius.'

  'I made it,' Cwen put in.

  'But he thought of it,' Virgil laughed.

  He ushered everyone back towards the stairs. Parsimon went first, his head still hung low, but not so low that Stott couldn't smack it firmly with his hand as he followed his servant. As the master of the manor passed Virgil, the tapestry was snatched from his hands. Stott gave Virgil a hard stare, but the stony face made it clear the work was Virgil's property now. The Castigatori and Virgil's men departed, exchanging unhealthy looks and threatening gestures. Eadric followed with a look of deep thought on his face. He stole glances towards the tapestry in Virgil's hand and flexed his fingers, as if half thinking of snatching the thing and running. Virgil gestured Cwen and Dextus to go up the stairs ahead of him. Cwen did so but Dextus loitered.

  'It's no good loitering,' Virgil told him. 'There's no way you're getting your hands on this.' He waved the tapestry tauntingly.

  'We'll see,' Dextus mumbled as he took to the cellar steps.

  The giant looked back round the space as Dextus disappeared. 'Come on you,' he called to Firman. 'Now I've seen this thing,' he waved the tapestry, 'I'm very much inclined to find out exactly who you are. Perhaps we'll have some torture after all.'

  Firman smiled at Virgil. 'I wonder if I might have a word, Mister Virgil,' he said in a conspiratorial manner, looking round the cellar himself to make sure everyone had gone.

  Virgil half closed one eye, looking at Firman as you would at a cat that’s just barked. He turned from the steps and approached the table.

  . . .

  Stott was berating Parsimon up in the main hall. The slap on the head had just been the start. There were fierce whispers, smacks on the shoulder, arms thrown in frustration, and small circles walked in. Lectures were started on a variety of subjects – lectures that would clearly be repeated many times over the days to come.

  Parsimon stood taking it all, gazing at the flagstones. When Stott started an exposition of Lady Lorinda's wonderful qualities, the servant did raise his eyes to the ceiling but it went unnoticed by his master. Dextus and the Castigatori were huddled by the fire, the fighting force recovering its senses. The men stretched and flexed their arms and legs, silently preparing for the next round. Virgil's men sat at the table among the disordered pewter. They were similarly rubbing injured limbs but were whispering fiercely. Every now and then one of them would look over to the Castigatori, as if taking note of a face. Eadric stood alone, deep in thought. Cwen joined him, having looked around the room and weighed up the alternatives.

  'What is your interest in all this?' she asked.

  'Me?' Eadric expressed surprise. 'Exactly as I said. I was travelling the road and got caught up in this ghastly business. Now I've seen that tapestry, I can see how ghastly it really is.'

  Cwen frowned at him, 'And Firman?'

  'Not a clue. Seems to be a bit of an idiot. Wandering about the highway dressed like that. On his own.'

  'It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?' Cwen asked.

  'You know, I think it is.'

  'I mean, both of you. Like I said downstairs, this trade has made me a pretty good judge of character. Firman is odd but so are you. You don't look like a humble traveller going from here to there. I hate to agree with Virgil, but I think you're looking for Briston.'

  'I can honestly tell you that I am not, but it doesn't matter really, does it?'

  'Why?'

  'Because the only thing that does matter is whatever our friend Virgil believes. If he thinks I'm the pope, we can have mass.'

  'Where is Firman anyway?' Cwen asked, 'and Virgil? What are they up to?'

  'Search me,' said Eadric, glancing round the room to confirm the two were missing. Firman could be missed in a room full of people, but Virgil couldn't be missed in a room full of anything else at all.

  The two frowned at one another, but then their eyes widened and the frowns transformed to looks of horrified surprise. A sound inveigled its way into the space of the main hall. It was an unexpected sound and it made the entire company stop what they were doing. It was a sound that brought the Castigatori to tensed readiness. It made Virgil's men stand and form a defensive triumvirate. It was a sound of pain.

  That it appeared without warning, without anyone in the room actually being in pain, caused the surprise. No one had fallen or got in some new fight. That it was authentic and heartfelt caused the horror. It began as a low moan, the moan of realisation that comes in the moments after you've turned your ankle and look down to see your foot dangling from the end of your leg.

  Then it grew. It grew into the scream of someone having the offending foot ripped off by an enormous strength. The volume increased so rapidly that no one in the room could do anything but listen. The sound seemed to have no particular source. It raced and bounded round the room like a wounded animal trying to shake a bear trap from its limb. This was no animal though: it was human. Only a creature with an immortal soul could wrench such agony from its lungs and force it upon the ears of others.

  This was worse than Virgil's threat of torture. The imaginations of everyone in the room drew their own picture of what had made this demented noise. None of the pictures were at all healthy. Childhood nightmares, remembrances from the heat of battle, the anticipated beating from deranged parent, all fed the images that spun in their heads as the sound filled the room.

  Dextus was the first to move, but all he did was turn to try and locate the source of this torment. It faded as he did so. Not instantly. It rose to a shriek of simple disbelief at whatever was happening to this ravaged soul then it descended to a strangulated, gasping choke before there was silence. Even the silence held threat. Whatever had happened was horrible and could be looking for somewhere to happen again.

  'Firman,' Cwen called when she at last drew breath.

  'He's with Virgil,' Eadric said with urgency.

  'Not anymore,' one of Virgil's men said with a slight snigger of nervous relief.

  Eleven heads turned to the cellar entrance as one. Everyone in the room simultaneously wanted to know, and not know, what it was Virgil had done to Firman. Eadric and Cwen looked to one another, their question was why? What on earth could the harmless clothes-horse Firman have done to prompt such awful violence.

  There was no movement from the cellar door.

  Eight of the heads turned to Virgil's men. They all tried to look in other directions.

  'Go on then,' Dextus commanded, with a nod of the head towards the cellar.

  The Castigatori growled. Two of Virgil's attendants gave the third and smallest a strong shove towards the cellar. He looked back in anger at his fellows, mouthing deprecations. They waved him away and he trod cautiously toward the door. The man peered into the depths from which the lights of the torches flickered, as if held in the cellar against their will.

  'Master?' the man called in a soft and friendly tone, raising the expectation that his next sentence would be “would you like any help with the dismembering?”

  There was no reply and so he took the first step, calling hopefully and forlornly at each stair as he descended.

  Once out of sight, the group in the main room breathed more normally. No one moved to offer the man any support, either moral or physical, least of all his companions.

  After a moment, there was a new sound. This too was one of pain, but heavily tainted with anguish. Looks were exchanged across the room and as one, the group moved towards the stairs. They were bowled backwards by Virgil's man coming back out of the cellar at speed. The look on his face was one they would all remembe
r for years to come. The man glanced nowhere, he stopped for no one. He went straight to the door of the manor, threw it open and ran, howling, into the night. The remaining men of Virgil's band gave snorts of contempt. They were not confident snorts though, and they did not offer to go next into the cellar.

  Dextus gathered the Castigatori and they slowly descended the cellar steps. The rest of the company formed a line behind them, safely in the shadow of large monks.

  'It could be a wolf,' Stott helpfully observed.

  'A wolf?' Dextus stopped going down the cellar steps and looked at the master of the house in complete surprise.

  Stott was unmoved. 'Yes. One got in the cellar once. In the worst of winter. Devil’s own job to get the thing out again. Had to kill it.

  'A wolf?' Dextus was now disbelieving. 'In Lincolnshire? When was this?'

  'Oh, not long back. Fifty, sixty years? My grandfather told the tale every Christmas.'

  'You idiot,' Dextus muttered. 'I think a wolf would make more wolf-like noises. What we heard was a man. Or rather used to be a man. What the hell is Virgil doing down here?' he asked, as he resumed the descent. 'Eating the remains?'

  There wasn't room for them all to get down the steps at once so they formed a line behind Dextus. The line bumped to a halt as the priest had clearly stopped at the foot of the stairs.

  'Deus salvabit nos,' the priest's voice passed along the line like a grieving relative.

  Everyone pressed forward to see what had been found. Some of them didn't really want to see what had been found. A verbal report would have been quite sufficient.

  As they dislodged Dextus from the bottom step, the group crowded into the space and gawped at the sight that greeted them. Despite herself, Cwen clapped an appalled hand to her mouth and swung her eyes quickly away. So did Stott and Parsimon, the latter letting out a small squeak of disgust.

  'Good God,' Eadric said as he looked at the body on the table.

  He pushed passed Dextus and stood by the corpse he had been speaking to moments before. It was clearly a corpse even though there was no break in the skin, no sign of obvious attack. Certainly no wolf bites. Rather, it looked as if the skin had been put over the wrong body. The bits inside no longer fitted properly, and jutted and prodded out in various places. It was only moments after death and so the bruising would probably come out very soon. From the state of the body, it was reasonable to assume the bruises would be forming a very long queue and would be coming out for hours.

  They had all seen the results of a beating. It was quite a common sight since the Normans arrived. The swollen lips, deformed cheeks, and half-closed eyes distorted a face until it could be unrecognisable. That had happened to the whole body in this case. From head to little toe, there didn't seem to be a single part left untouched. And that touch had been one of incredible strength. The victim had clearly stood no chance and had probably not even been able to put up much of a fight. At least in this case, despite the damage, the victim was recognisable.

  'How could anyone do this?' Cwen demanded, part in horror at the damage inflicted on a human being, and part at the strength and determination required for this particular damage.

  'I think we better go back upstairs.' Dextus was clearly scared. He glanced around the cellar space and could not see anyone else. Perhaps after a monstrous frenzy such as this, the killer had retreated behind one of the barrels, or into one of the darker corners of the cellar, to recover from the insane rage that had clearly possessed him.

  Dextus ushered them towards the stairs once more.

  'But,' Cwen interrupted, 'what about Firman?' She looked back at the table.

  'Believe me,' Dextus said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'Whatever man or creature did this to Virgil, he's probably done the same to Firman. Wherever he is.'

  Cwen gave a last shivering look at the giant's body and scanned the room. 'Whatever did it took the tapestry,' she observed.

  Caput XIX

  Plans Afoot

  'What do you mean, you won't go? You will go!' Wat was more than insistent. He was instructional, demanding, and threatening all at once

  He and Hermitage were standing over Briston, appalled at the man's blank response and that he was staying exactly where he was.

  'If I go, Dextus will kill me,' Briston reasoned. He hadn't got up from the cot and was still cuddling the girl, making it clear he had no intention of going anywhere.

  'And if you don't go, I'll kill you.'

  'Ah, but you won't. Not really. You'll be very cross and shout a lot, but you wouldn't actually kill me. Not to death. Dextus would do the death bit. Not personally, of course. He'd take me to some church institution and do it there. And you know how they take their time over killing people.'

  Wat looked to Hermitage for some answer. The monk had none and just looked blank. People not doing as they were asked was quite a common experience for him and he'd never figured out what to do about it.

  'Virgil will kill Cwen,' was all he could say.

  'Yes,' Briston did at least have the grace to cast his eyes at the floor at this, 'that's probably true.'

  'And you're going to let him!' Wat snarled the accusation.

  Briston held his arms out to indicate helplessness. 'What difference would it make if I was there? Virgil's a big chap. He can kill who he likes.'

  'I hope you're listening,' Wat said to the girl. 'Cwen first and it'll be you next.'

  The girl simply looked as if all this was terribly exciting and said nothing.

  Hermitage continued to plead, 'Virgil is holding Cwen against your return. We take you back and he lets Cwen go. We don't take you back and he kills her.'

  'Oh come on!' Briston was contemptuous of such naivety. He turned to Wat, 'You know perfectly well he's probably killed her already. And if I do turn up, he'll kill her anyway. He's like that.'

  'He might not.' Wat seemed to admit the strength of Briston's argument.

  'So, on the basis of “might not”, I'm to throw myself on Dextus's sword? Or knife? Or whatever it is the church uses to help people leave the world these days?'

  'Dextus wouldn't kill you. Not personally. And Virgil wants you alive.'

  'I think I'd rather Dextus killed me.' Briston leaned back on the bed and gazed at the ceiling as if the matter was decided.

  Wat looked again at Hermitage. Who again was no help. He looked at Briston. He looked at the ceiling. And then at the floor.

  'There must be a way. There's always a way,' he said mostly to himself.

  'We'll figure it out while we travel,' he said after a moment's thought. 'We take you back. Get Cwen released if she's alive and then get you out of it.'

  'How?'

  'Erm, a trick.'

  'What trick?'

  'A good one.'

  'Obviously. And what is this trick? The disappearing weaver?'

  'Well, I don't know. I haven't thought of it yet,' Wat snapped his frustration. 'We'll think of something though.'

  'I'm not comforted.' Briston folded his arms.

  'We let Virgil take you and then kidnap you back.'

  'Got a record of taking things from Virgil, have you? Things that he wants to keep?'

  'I cannot believe you are going to leave Cwen to die!' Wat's anger was real.

  'Ahh,' Briston said in that manner people use when trying to imply that the weaver they are talking to has a soft spot for an illegal female apprentice.

  'What does that mean?'

  'You've gone soft on Cwen,' Briston accused with a laugh in his voice.

  'I have not,' Wat bit back. 'I'm just appalled at yet another example of you not thinking things through. Of you taking what you want because it's in front of your eyes, while you leave everyone else to clear up your mess. Except, in this case, she won't be able to clear up your mess because she'll be dead.'

  'You're still going on about Leamington.!' Briston's voice was high and accusatory.

  Hermitage was intrigued. Leamington? What had hap
pened in Leamington, he wondered. He once knew a novice from Leamington. Perhaps it was to do with him? He glanced at the arguing weavers and recalled their trade. No, definitely not. The novice had been a rather obsessive character, Hermitage recalled, kept going on about the size of Noah's ark and how all the animals wouldn't fit.

  Wat's voice had risen to a crescendo, 'It is not about Leamington. I told you, I've forgotten about Leamington. I don't care about Leamington any more. It's just the perfect example. I was lucky to escape Leamington with my life, while you...'

  'While I left with the profits in my hand and a trail of destruction behind me,' Briston mocked.

  'Well you did. Have you been back to Leamington?'

  Briston looked horrified, 'No! Of course not. Are you mad?'

  'There you are then. A whole town you can't visit any more. This time, if you want to visit Cwen, you'll have to look for her grave.'

  Wat breathed deeply and recovered himself. A bit. 'Briston, whatever this plan is of yours, whatever this Tapestry of Death thing is, it'll end the same. In another six months, you'll be running away again. From a different set of problems, I grant you, but they'll be just as deadly. It'll be just as important and there’ll be just as much wreckage behind you. And this girl will probably be in the middle of it.' He gestured to the still smiling girl.

  'So, let me get this straight,' Briston reasoned. 'You're suggesting that I should face up to Virgil and Dextus. Take my chances because I have to get it over with some time. That if I carry on, there'll be another Virgil and another Dextus down the road. That if I deal with them now, I really will be able to change my life forever.'

  Hermitage thought this was a very mature and sensible approach.

  'Absolutely,' Wat confirmed.

  'Ha,' Briston burst out. 'You may be mad but I'm not. Remember that stupid phrase you were always quoting?'

  'Which one?'

  'Never put off 'til tomorrow what you can do today?'