'Maybe not,' Wat replied. 'Maybe we'll all stay alive and you'll end up in one of Virgil's smaller dungeons. Such a happy outcome has got to be worth a try.'
'Let's assume you're right. Everything goes according to your plan. You'll end up with Virgil at the very least. I hope his little dungeon's big enough for two. In fact, he'd probably rather have you than me. More profit in a scene of Wat's than one of Briston's.'
'It's a risk we'll have to take. I'm sure I'll think of something. Perhaps we could just call from a distance, get Cwen, and then send you and your cart rolling down the hill into Virgil's arms.'
Briston looked at Wat with his best loathing face, which was very loathsome. He drew breath to continue the argument.
'Help,' he yelled. 'Help, help! I'm being captured.'
Hermitage jumped in alarm and stepped towards the cart with arms outstretched, waving about in those gestures that say "be quiet". He didn't really know why Briston would respond in any way other than get louder, but it seemed the right thing to do.
Wat wasn't concerned at all.
Hermitage got in a positive panic when the landlord appeared around the corner.
'Mornin',' the landlord said as brightly as a shiny piece of silver. The man appraised the situation before him. He looked at Wat who was simply standing at the end of the cart. He looked at the monk, who seemed to be dancing from side to side, trying to obscure the contents of the cart with his habit. He leaned around the monk and observed his erstwhile guest now tied up in the cart.
'You off then?' he asked.
''Oh yes,' Wat replied. 'Our friend's got an appointment at Stott Manor.'
'Ah,' the landlord nodded. 'Fine old gent, Mister Stott.'
Briston gaped at the conversation. 'Get me out of here,' he demanded.
The landlord looked to Wat who flipped another coin into the air.
The landlord's hand moved and the silver vanished in mid air. One moment it was glinting in the early sun, the next it was gone, the glint having transferred to the landlord's face.
'You have a safe journey then,' he nodded and turned whistling back to his cleaning.
'Come back here, you rogue,' Briston called.
Wat lifted the jug again and Briston fell to silence.
Hermitage joined Wat at the front of the cart and they stood where the horses ought to be. They got the vehicle moving with a hearty tug and rolled it round into the main street. They turned right in the direction of Baernodebi and heaved away.
'Good gracious,' Hermitage said as they came upon the wreckage of two houses at the end of the road. The buildings on either side had collapsed into the roadway and were being examined and kicked over by a gaggle of locals.
'Perhaps there was an earthquake?' Wat suggested as they drew close. There was room between the bits of wreckage to negotiate the cart and the locals were far too engrossed in their fallen buildings to take any notice of the shouting weaver who claimed he was being kidnapped.
'Never mind you,' one old man snapped at Briston. 'Look what's happened to my house. Some bloody idiot opened the gates last night. They were the only thing holding my home up.'
Hermitage was about to open his mouth when he found it clamped by Wat's hand. 'Walk on,' the weaver instructed very clearly, 'just walk on.'
Caput XXII
What Animal?
The same morning sun gently tested the walls of Stott manor. There had been sleep, but Stott and Parsimon had done all of it. They had snored like pigs with terminal congestive disorders, one in his chair and the other curled in front of the fire. The sleep had been fitful though. And so it should be.
The barring of doors and shuttering of windows had been carried out in double quick time and though this secured the room, it didn't stop the hammering from outside.
Dextus, Eadric, and Cwen sat, paced, stood, and then did it again. In the black heart of the night, the noises had stopped. Whatever it was realised it was not going to get past the barriers. Unless it had found another way in, of course.
Caution rose with the silence. Knowing where the thing was when it was hammering to get in was more comforting than thinking it might be silently behind you.
The first rays of light lifted loads from backs and raised furrows from brows. Cwen, Dextus and Eadric exchanged looks of careful relief. As the light bled into the room, Dextus approached the door. Even for a large, strong and threatening priest he was tentative, as if expecting the thing to fly off its hinges at any moment. Cwen and Eadric gave him strong support. They stood where they were and silently urged him on.
He reached out and lifted one end of the substantial oak beams that had been laid across the door, slotted in metal brackets built into the wall for just this purpose. He rested one end on the floor and turned to the other. This too was removed without incident. Eadric gently kicked Parsimon into wakefulness and they waited to see what would happen next.
Dextus leaned forward and lifted the latch of the main door then pulled gently. Nothing moved so he pulled harder. He frowned at the door and pulled hard again. He then stepped back, appraised the door, and kicked it hard.
'Damn thing's stuck,' he called. 'All that thumping to get in must have wedged it. Give me a hand.'
Dextus looked at Eadric, who looked at Cwen, who looked at Parsimon. They all looked at Stott, who slept on. With a resigned and unenthusiastic shrug, Eadric went to the door.
Together the two men pushed, pulled, kicked, prised, and persuaded the door to creak open a crack for the daylight and then get hands around it and heave. To great splintering noises, the thing eventually opened enough to let one man pass through.
The noise had woken Stott.
'What are you doing to my door?' he demanded, instantly awake.
'Opening it,' Dextus replied.
'Well, it certainly doesn't sound like it. Parsimon, go and open the door properly.' He waved an instructional hand at his servant.
'I'm not going anywhere near it,' Parsimon replied as if the request was outrageous. 'Not with that thing out there.'
'Good God, man. This is all your fault,' Stott explained and continued the previous night's berating just where he had left off.
Dextus looked at the old men with contempt and squeezed himself out through the door.
'Ow,' came from outside, and it was not Dextus's voice.
The others made for the door and peered out as best they could.
'Firman?' Cwen asked as she saw a figure on the floor just moving after Dextus had tripped over him.
'I believe so, my dear,' Firman replied as he got to his feet. 'To be honest, I'm not entirely sure any more. Not after the night I've had.'
Dextus now put his back to the door and heaved it from the outside. It opened some more, reluctantly.
Firman stretched and tested his limbs and muscles and then limped his way back into the hall.
'What happened?' Cwen asked, when the man had deposited himself on a chair.
Dextus, having surveyed the outside and found nothing, joined them.
'I simply do not know,' Firman replied looking at them in turn. He noticed the pile of Castigatori. 'Where are the others? Mister Virgil and his little men?'
'They ran off,' Dextus answered before anyone could get a word in, 'Virgil's still here.' His look said there should be silence about Virgil's fate.
'You were with him, Mister Firman, in the cellar. Do you remember?' Cwen asked.
Firman looked to the flagstones as if they held the answer.
'I don't,' he said. I remember seeing that awful tapestry of Mistress Stott. I'm ashamed to say I was going to tell Virgil this was really nothing to do with me. I thought perhaps he would let me go now he had his tapestry. I do know the Bishop of Dorchester, you know,' he nodded around the assembly, none of whom were remotely interested in which bishops he knew.
'And then?' Dextus demanded.
Firman's face said he was thinking hard. His frown said nothing came to him. 'It's all a blank.' He sounded
puzzled. 'I remember waking up outside and it was dark. There was lots of noise and I hid a bit, to be honest.'
'Hid? From what?'
'I don't know. There was just lots of thrashing about going on, like an animal in a bush or something.'
'An animal in a bush?' Dextus was not impressed. 'Big animal? Big bush?'
'Well obviously, or I wouldn't have hidden. After a while, there was some running about and some banging.'
'Probably your men's heads on the door,' Cwen told Dextus.
'Really?' Firman was interested.
'And then?'
'Then it all went quiet and the sky was just starting to brighten so I headed for the door. It was stuck but I could see the lights inside. I just lay down for a moment and must have dropped off.'
'Dropped off? In the night? With animals in bushes and banging going on? Not having a clue what had happened to you, you fell asleep?'
'I was tired,' Firman defended his actions.
'I don't believe it,' Dextus summarised. 'Come and see Virgil,' he instructed, taking Firman by the arm'
'Must I?'
'You must.'
Dextus led the man across the room. Eadric and Cwen followed. Stott and Parsimon stayed by the fire. Down in the cellar, Dextus spread his arm to introduce the new Virgil.
Firman looked and then looked back to Dextus. 'What?' he whispered, trying not to wake the giant.
'Look more closely,' Dextus spoke. 'Give him a poke if you like.'
Firman looked very puzzled but approached the body.
The bruising really had come out now. It had come out and was parading up and down the main street of Virgil's body. It was livid bruising and was shouting angrily at anyone who looked in its direction.
'Oh my goodness,' Firman's voice was a shocked whisper when he took in all the details. 'Who could have done all this?' He held his hands out to encompass the "all" that had been done to Virgil.
'That's what we'd like to know,' Dextus asked. 'You were the one with him before this happened. Then you vanished. You say you're outside all night, outside with all the noises we heard. My men go out and are piled up by the door. When we eventually get it open what do we find? You. Asleep.'
'My dear fellow,' Firman protested, 'I don't know what you think I'm capable of but it certainly isn't any of this. I mean, look at me.' He held his arms out to offer himself for inspection.
The others looked and shoulders sagged as they all accepted there was no way this character was capable of killing Virgil and despatching three Castigatori. His clothes weren't even out of place.
'Perhaps you're possessed at night,' Dextus proposed.
The others looked at him. He was serious.
'Are you serious?' Cwen almost snorted. 'Possessed?'
'It's perfectly reasonable,' Dextus explained in a weary tone that he obviously used when he was speaking to the uneducated. 'Possession is a fact,' he said, 'Mark, Book Five, Chapters one to twenty.'
His audience looked blank
'The region of the Gadarenes?' Dextus clearly could not believe the ignorance around him.
'For goodness’ sake, the man from the tombs who was possessed and could not be bound? Do none of you listen to your priests when they warn you of the dangers of the devil?'
There was a sort of mumbling assent. The sort people use when they want to give the impression that they understand when actually they don't have a clue.
'In fact,' Dextus was following his own trail, 'the Lord cast the devils into the bodies of pigs. That's suspicious.'
'Yes,' Eadric said, taking half a step away from the priest who seemed to be getting quite excited.
'And Briston used a pig. It all fits.'
'Does it?' Cwen asked in the sympathetic voice saved for the dying.
'I'm not mad, you idiots,' Dextus proclaimed.
The others did not look convinced.
Dextus counted on the fingers of his left hand, ‘One, Briston the Weaver, who we know does works of sin, if not actual evil, uses a pig to attempt his escape from justice. Two, pigs were the animals our Lord chose to host the devils named Legion before they drowned.'
'Drowned?' Cwen was getting lost.
'Of course. They all threw themselves in the sea and drowned.'
'All? How many were there?'
'Two thousand of course.'
'Two thousand! Two thousand pigs?'
'Naturally.'
'That's a lot of pigs.'
'It was a lot of demons.'
'Did no one object?'
'What?' Dextus was an intelligent man losing control of his own conversation.
'I mean, drowning two thousand pigs?' Cwen asked as if it had happened yesterday. 'That must have been most of the pigs for miles around. Wasn't there a fight or something? I heard of a preacher over Grimsby way who tried to baptise a lamb in the sea and drowned that. The shepherds nearly murdered him.'
'We are talking about our Lord, you foolish girl. The populace rejoiced because he had rid them of a legion of demons. A legion! Not one or two causing a bit of trouble here and there but a whole legion. A couple of thousand pigs was a small price to pay.'
Cwen shrugged, still not happy. 'If you say so.'
'Yes I do.' Dextus glared his priestly glare, which was very good. Cwen averted her eyes.
'Now,' the priest tried to recover his composure, 'where was I? Ah yes. Briston uses a pig. Then Virgil, an out and out sinner if ever I met one, gets done to death in mysterious circumstances. By some creature of immense strength, you see?'
The audience didn't see.
'One who could not be bound even with chains?'
'You've lost me.' Cwen was shaking her head.
Dextus sighed and explained, as if to children, 'In the Book of Mark, there is a man who lives in a tomb, who is possessed and cannot be restrained even by chains. Our Lord meets him, casts the demons out of him and into pigs that then drown themselves. Clear?'
Eadric and Cwen nodded, trying to look agreeable.
'So the connections here are obvious. Firman could be the one possessed who cannot be restrained. Someone like that could easily have killed Virgil and knocked out my Castigatori.'
'But,' Eadric was thinking, 'he's only possessed at night?'
'Yes.'
'And he doesn't damage his clothes while he's running around killing giants and knocking Castigatori about?' He gestured at Firman who displayed himself to show that all of his fine attire was undamaged from this supposed night of mayhem.
'Not if he has the strength of Legion, no.' Dextus was clear.
'Well,' Firman said in the silence no one was able to fill. 'If it was me, I'm terribly sorry.'
'You don't seriously believe this?' Cwen asked.
'Who's to say? I certainly don't remember what happened last night. And Dextus is a priest, an educated man. If he says that's what happened, who are we to argue?'
'Look at Virgil,' Cwen pleaded. 'I mean look at him. Unless your fists are going to grow when you're possessed, how could you do this to him? The man was a monster. But, I can't believe that demons, even legions of them, pop in for a bit of possession during the night but then clear off when the sun comes up.'
'Well, that's perfectly reasonable.' Dextus scoffed at her ignorance.
Cwen went on, 'I know everyone laughed, but I said it had to be an animal. Something like a goat with great big horns.' She demonstrated what great big horns would look like.
'A goat,' Dextus snorted. 'It was a devil.'
'Perhaps I simply don't know my own strength?' Firman suggested.
Eadric was silent. He was looking at each of them in turn. 'Something like a goat,' he mumbled, 'big horns, hooves.'
They looked at him and he focussed his gaze on Firman, 'Or like a sheep,' he said.
They all laughed at this.
'Now you're being ridiculous,' Cwen spluttered.
Caput XXIII
Normans
Fortunately for Hermitage and Wat, the roa
d was clear and the cart was good. Briston kept up a stream of moaning wails as they headed back for Baernodebi. He had begun the journey with a series of very reasonable arguments for his release. These had subtly transformed into mild threats after only a few paces. Then they became very explicit threats. The threats were followed by offers of bribes for his freedom, which became progressively more extravagant, and eventually he resorted to plain begging. When this failed, he simply wailed like a child who didn't want to go and see his toothless and stinking old grandmother.
'Has he always been like this?' Hermitage enquired as if they were talking about a horse with a mangy coat.
'Oh yes,' Wat nodded. 'Always wants what's best for Briston and will lie, cheat, and cajole until he gets it. Never cares a hoot about what damage he causes and never takes responsibility.'
'But he's your friend?' Hermitage couldn't quite follow this.
His history was full of people with the most appalling personal qualities and he wouldn't count any of them amongst his friends. Actually, he couldn't claim anyone at all amongst his friends until he met Wat. Of course, there had been boyhood fellows with whom he ran the woods and fields of home, but usually he went home and read a book by the fire after. There was only the one book in the house but he read it many times.
The fellows went home and practised fighting, or breaking things, or tormenting sisters. They wouldn't have dreamt of going home and reading a book. Obviously they couldn't because Hermitage had the book.
'Well…' Wat was giving careful thought to his answer. 'We go back a long way. We're both weavers. We shared the same master.'
'Who died just before we left,' Briston called from the back of the cart with a great weight of suggestion in his voice.
'These things happen,' Wat replied without apparent interest.
Hermitage felt a connection traipse across the back of his head but Wat was still talking.
'I suppose we were sort of thrown together. I don't know if we'd have struck up a friendship if that hadn't been the case. In fact, we spent most of our time arguing and fighting. It was alright when the money was coming in, but we split up as soon as trouble came along. Briston had his own ideas about how to live his life and I had mine.' Wat lapsed into quiet thought for a moment. 'No actually, I don't think we are friends.'
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