He glanced up at Wat and Hermitage, who detected a faint ghost of regret on his face. A look that said the man would rather be facing a host of Saxon rebels than a single dissatisfied daughter.
Wat raised his eyebrows and nodded, trying to indicate that everything was well, now that the place was back to normal. He tipped his head towards the door, like grandparents leaving the house just as the baby has started to cry. Gilbert gave them a shrug that said that he'd really rather be going with them, but he nodded them a goodbye with his thanks. These particular thanks were rather less ebullient than they had been when the prospect of his daughter's return was just a prospect.
Wat made a collection of gestures to confirm that the favour was still on. Gilbert nodded once more and went over, as requested, to examine the appalling state of Aveline's shoes, which, for goodness’ sake, had only been there two days and now look at them.
Closing the great doors behind them, Briston still rubbing his head, the complaints of the lady rose to such a pitch that they brushed the woodwork aside and went straight for the irritation centre of the male brain. Even Hermitage shuddered.
Down at the bottom of the mound, amongst the soldiers and their horses, Wat looked for what he'd been promised.
'Ricard?' he asked of the first man he saw.
This man gestured him towards the makeshift stables, which were actually better constructed and more comfortable than the keep.
Hermitage looked at them and wondered if Aveline didn't have a point.
A large Norman was tending a large horse inside the generous space.
'Ricard?' Wat repeated.
'What?' The large man turned to face them.
They all paused for a moment, Gilbert had kept his promise: this man was the biggest, scariest looking Norman any of them had ever seen.
Even his horse looked ready for a fight.
Caput XXVII
To the Manor Shorn
The occupants of Stott manor gathered around its rather tattered doors and looked out. Actually, they peeped and peered out, subconsciously hoping that if their heads couldn't be seen, they wouldn't get cut off. If the Normans were coming.
'Where's the rest of them?' Dextus asked as he surveyed the approaching figure.
'Don't tell me you can't see him?' Eadric sounded worried. 'Maybe I really am going mad.' He rubbed his eyes.
'Yes, I can see him,' Dextus was rather dismissive. 'What I can't see is any others. I can see a Norman, not Normans. I see one Norman on a horse, riding rather slowly and looking rather bored.'
'But still,' Eadric encouraged alarm, 'a Norman!'
'I think we can deal with one Norman on a horse.' Dextus dismissed the alarm and turned back into the room.
The others followed in both relief that this wasn't a horde of Normans, and disappointment that Eadric had raised the alarm unnecessarily.
'He's a pretty massive and scary looking Norman,' Eadric commentated from the door as the Norman got closer. There was no response. 'And his horse looks really cross.'
'We'll give it some hay,' Dextus suggested. 'That'll cheer it up. And if we throw you to the Norman, perhaps that'll cheer him up.'
'A horse!' Cwen called out.
'Yes, know it?' Dextus replied. 'Large animal, used for transport?'
'Really? I never knew that,' Cwen's sarcasm rolled back. 'I mean, a horse could have done Virgil in, not a sheep.'
'Ah yes?' Dextus did not sound convinced.
'Of course. Hard hooves, kick a man like Virgil to death in no time.'
'Quite big, this horse then?' Dextus enquired.
'Oh yes,' Cwen was enthusiastic. 'Just like the one the Norman's on. And we all know that if there’s a dead Saxon, there’s going to be a live Norman not far away.'
Dextus looked at her with the thoughts making visible tracks across his face. He turned to the door to consider the Norman and horse now approaching. Eventually he reached a conclusion. 'We may have our killer then,' he said, in a rather odd tone.
Cwen beamed and searched the room for approbation.
'Yes,' Dextus went on, 'the large horse that climbed down the chimney into the cellar kicked Virgil to death, laid the body out, stole the tapestry, and then made off with Firman. All without so much as a whinny.'
'Perhaps Firman climbed on.' Cwen defended her assumption.
'Firman?' Dextus enquired. 'Did you climb on a large horse in the cellar after it kicked Virgil to death?'
'No,' Firman said without having to think about it much.
'The horse that then climbed back up the chimney with you on its back?'
'Definitely not.'
'Oh dear,' Dextus said in mock disappointment.
'It could have gone out through the hole in the wall,' Cwen insisted. 'I know horses can't climb chimneys, I'm not stupid.'
'Maybe it ate the tapestry thinking it was forage?'
'Could be,' Cwen nodded.
'Interesting,' Dextus rubbed his chin in thought. 'However, I think I would have to disagree with you on one key point,' he reasoned.
'Which is?'
'You are stupid. A horse did not lay Virgil out on the table. We heard no horses. They go clip clop when they move about. We heard no goats and no sheep. We haven’t tried a pig yet. They seem quite popular in this business. And I’m told they’re quite intelligent. Not quite made it into the tapestry business yet though.'
'Alright,' Cwen grumbled.
'I mean pigs can be pretty vindictive beasts.'
'Yes, yes.' Cwen had given up.
'Perhaps we could find reference in the Bible to them being great despisers of tapestry, sent forth by the Lord to wreak havoc on weavers of evil.'
'There's no need to go on.'
'After our Lord forced the demon named Legion into the pigs and they drowned, they came back to life as a massive scourge of tapestry.'
Dextus folded his arms.
'There are no animals in my cellar,' Stott insistently mumbled. 'No sheep, horses, pigs, cattle, nothing. This is a manor house, not a farm.'
The debate on the homicidal proclivities of the farmyard had taken their minds off the approaching Norman, and so there was general surprise when a heavy, pounding knock shook the door. This was not the sort of knock that enquired if entry was possible. This was the knock of someone who wanted the door taken out of their way. Someone who expected the door to be taken out of their way. Quickly.
The company exchanged glances before Dextus acknowledged that he was the one who was going to get the door.
'Hello,' a friendly cheerful voice called as a figure squeezed through the door.
'Wat!' Cwen called and ran over to the weaver. They embraced and Wat lifted the girl from the ground, swinging her round in joy at seeing her still alive.
'Told you,' Briston snorted, as he forced his bulk through the doorway.
Wat put Cwen down and the two of them looked away from one another as if any expression of mutual interest was entirely coincidental.
'I'm erm, glad to see that you're still alive,' Wat said.
'Thank you. I'm pleased that your journey was completed satisfactorily.'
'Thank you.'
'Don't mention it.'
Hermitage now entered the room, his slim frame having no trouble at all with the hanging door. He took in the assembly.
Stott and Parsimon still by the fire as if nothing had changed.
Eadric on his own in a corner of the room, which seemed a bit odd.
Firman was with Dextus and the Castigatori were piled up on the floor as if nothing had changed for them either.
He scanned the room and frowned. As he opened his mouth to speak, the door moved. It moved completely off its hinges and came to rest on a pile of peculiar pewter.
'I say,' Stott said.
The figure of Ricard strode into the room and he looked around as he pulled his massive mailed gloves off.
Hermitage looked through the entrance to see where his horse had gone after it had kicked
the door down. The horse was grazing some way off. He looked at Ricard's metal boot and the metal boot-shaped indentation in the door.
'This is Ricard,' Wat said, introducing the huge Norman to the rest of the room. The rest of the room nodded politely at the huge Norman, his gloves, his sword, his dagger, and his armour plating. 'I borrowed him.'
'Borrowed him?' Dextus clearly found this concept too much. 'You borrowed a Norman?'
The Norman growled. Dextus tried smiling, but it didn't come out right.
'Yes, we were able to do a favour for a local Norman, Lord Gilbert? Do you know him? Nice chap. Lovely daughter.' Wat laid his good relations with the Normans on very thick indeed. Entirely for Dextus's benefit.
'Why did you borrow a Norman?' Cwen asked, also having trouble with the idea.
'To deal with Virgil,' Wat grinned. 'I mean, who better? I've bought Briston as well but we'd already found him. I was worried what Virgil's going to do when we hand him over so I borrowed Ricard. I'm sure he'd stick his sword in Virgil if we asked nicely.' He caught Cwen's eyes and held them, his voice dropping into serious huskiness. 'And I half suspected he would have already killed you. So I brought Ricard along to finish him off.'
Cwen's eyes held Wat's close and the world fell into silence.
Ricard coughed as he rested his hand on his sword and looked at the company as if he was ready to stick the thing in any of them. Or all of them.
'Where is Virgil?' Wat asked as he dragged his attention away from Cwen. His frown said he couldn't understand why the cause of all their trouble would be missing.
Hermitage looked around the room. The cause had gone and the cause's three men had gone with him. The unconscious Castigatori were one thing, but if Virgil had gone out for something, visit the privy perhaps, why weren't his men guarding Cwen? And if Virgil and his men had gone, why hadn't everyone just run away?
Had some other business come up that required Virgil’s presence? It seemed unlikely. From the little Hermitage had seen of the man, he was very committed. And what were all these bars and shutters doing on windows and doors.
'He's dead,' Hermitage announced. 'Isn't he?'
'How?' Cwen's surprise stopped her finishing the sentence.
'He's not here. His men aren't here. We've only really been gone one night and he'd hardly be likely to go off and do something else when he was supposed to be holding you. You've barricaded the windows and doors, which could have been for Virgil to keep you all in, but the door was open. You locked yourselves up all night to keep something out.' he paused for a concluding thought. 'Virgil isn't here. He would hardly leave so you could lock him out. Therefore the something you locked out killed Virgil.'
'Very good!' Dextus was genuinely impressed.
'Or perhaps he's incapacitated?' Hermitage added.
'Where is he?' Wat looked around the room as if the giant lunatic was hiding and the whole thing was some bizarre parlour game.
'He is dead,' Cwen confirmed.
Wat looked at her. 'No, come on, where is he?'
'Dead,' Dextus nodded.
'Dead?' Wat was still disbelieving.
'I think that's what three separate people have told you so far,' Dextus calculated.
Wat looked to Stott, Parsimon, Eadric, and Firman. They all gave him nods of confirmation.
'Dead,' Wat said, still in disbelief, but it was now accepting disbelief. 'He can't be.' The words were those of someone who's just been told their favourite dog is dead when he was only chasing sticks half an hour ago.
'Why's that then?' Dextus asked.
'I don't know,' Wat came to his senses rather. 'He was just too, well, big.'
'And big people don't die?'
'Not easily.'
'Oh, he didn't die easily, believe me.'
'Did you do it?'
'Me?' Dextus was flattered. 'My Castigatori and I couldn't knock a hole in his hat, let alone do him to death. You can see the body if you like, smashed to pieces from the inside out by the look of him. Your Brother Hermitage is right. Whatever did it was outside and we barricaded ourselves in.'
'To avoid it?' Wat was disparaging.
'Wouldn't you? A thing that could beat Virgil to death?'
Wat thought again, 'Good point.'
'You know what this means,' he added as an afterthought. 'I borrowed a Norman for nothing.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Briston piped up. 'He could still come in handy.' He nodded his head to indicate Dextus.
Everyone looked at him.
Stott rose and spoke, having just focussed on the man who was now in his hall, 'You sir, are the cause of all this trouble.'
'Well, I don't know about that,' Briston answered, rather proud of himself.
'I do. You are the wretch who did that appalling tapestry of my dear Lorinda. Who brought monks and the like into my home. Who made that ghastly giant man come here to cause wrack and ruin, to drink my wine and get himself killed in my cellar. To get my door knocked off and my pewter bent.'
Briston shrugged.
'If I've been paying attention, I gather Father Dextus here wants a word with you. Well I say let him carry on and please God it's the last one you ever hear.'
'Now then, now then,' Briston said, trying to calm the conversation. 'Let's not get carried away.'
'Yes, let's,' Dextus said. 'I'll wake the Castigatori and they can carry you away. And Wat,' he added with a pointed stare.
Wat and Cwen were still examining the backs of one another’s eyeballs, but the weaver came round when he heard his name.
'We'd better have a look at Virgil,' he said.
'Why?' Dextus asked.
'Curiosity?'
Dextus frowned as if calculating what it was Wat was up to.
'Hmmm, alright,' he said.
He gave his Castigatori gentle kicks, as if they shouldn't lay there unconscious all day. He beckoned towards the cellar door. Stott and Parsimon indicated they'd had enough of looking at dead Virgil. Ricard stood like a statue, seemingly unaware and uninterested in what was going on around him. He eventually noticed the fire and moved to stand near that. He unsheathed his sword, dug its point in the floor, and rested his hands on the top, like some knight, carved into the lid of his own tomb.
The others looked at him in some puzzlement about why he would want to just stand there like that. Even Hermitage realised that a huge Norman with a sword could do pretty much anything he liked.
Though Cwen, Eadric, and Firman had already seen the body, they joined the viewing as Dextus led the way past the table that had been upended as a barrier across the door. Once down the steps again, Dextus held his arm out to show dead Virgil on his slab.
'Well, I never,' Wat breathed, now accepting that the man really was dead. 'What a mess.'
Virgil was a mess now. All the damage done to his body had come out to show the world. The giant's blood had clearly stopped pumping and so the bruises were starting to fade. This still left them very widespread and visible.
Swellings, which in life would have been debilitating in themselves, were now simple lumps and bumps. The problem was Virgil had a very big body and every single bit of it appeared to have a lump or a bump. Sometimes both.
'Who could have done this?' Wat breathed, clearly impressed.
'That's what we wondered,' Dextus replied. 'We've been through most of the animal kingdom without an answer.' He raised his eyebrows at Cwen.
'Still,' Wat said, who was smiling thoughtfully.
'Still what?' Dextus asked after there was no further word from Wat.
The weaver looked up from his thought and shrugged, 'Who or what killed Virgil, eh?'
'Yes?'
'Who cares? The man's dead. Nobody liked him. Good riddance.'
'Wat!' Hermitage reprimanded his friend. 'The man still had an eternal soul and he has been murdered.'
'He certainly has. Not sure about his eternal soul though.'
'We must not speak ill of the dead.'
'Wh
y not? We all spoke ill of him when he was alive. I should think it bothers him a lot less now.'
'That's not the point. We will all go where he has gone. What do we want people to say about us?'
'Doesn't really matter.'
'It certainly does. If people are thinking ill of you after your death, your soul will suffer. Earnest prayer will see you enter paradise. You really don't want to consider the alternative.'
'As far as Virgil's concerned, the alternative is all he deserves.'
'Hear, hear,' Briston chimed in.
'Forgiveness,' Hermitage suggested and instructed at the same time.
Wat simply rolled his eyes at such an apparently stupid idea.
'Come on then,' Dextus interrupted. 'You've seen he's dead. Time to go.'
'Was Virgil found like this?' Hermitage asked.
'We're hardly likely to try and move him,' Dextus replied.
'Then we have a mystery,' Hermitage concluded. 'A murder by person or persons unknown. We should investigate.' Hermitage was sure about this. Having dealt with murders, deaths, and dead bodies – which turned out to be pigs – he knew this sort of thing needed resolution. More than that, he knew that he needed to resolve it. He could not leave things unanswered. It would be like leaving a parable uninterpreted. Unbearable. It would rankle and wrinkle inside him. He had to know.
'It's as the weaver says,' Dextus stepped into Hermitage's reverie. 'Who cares?'
'Who cares?' Hermitage was horrified at such things coming from the mouth of a priest. In his short acquaintance with Dextus, he was beginning to wonder if the man really was a priest.
'Could have been one of Virgil's many enemies coming to finish him off. If the bad men kill other bad men, we can but rejoice.'
Hermitage gaped. This was appalling.
'Come on,' Dextus pressed. 'Wat and Briston here have appointments.'
'Ah,' Wat said. 'About that. I'm so sorry but I don't think we're going to be able to make it,' he said as if he was reluctantly declining an invitation to dine.
'Very funny,' Dextus was all seriousness now.
The Tapestry of Death Page 25
