Caput XIV
Lord Bonneville Will See You Now
They entered the room, which was as large and imposing as the main hall, but which had warmth and comfort as its themes. The room was still huge, this one must be at least sixty feet long with a massive fire blazing away the cold of the stone, in an inglenook so large you could hold a mass in it.
In front of the fire, at a huge table, covered in a luxurious red cloth that hung to the floor, the figure of Lord Bonneville sat. At least Hermitage assumed it must be Lord Bonneville as surely no one else would be lounging back in what could only be described as a throne, with his feet on the table.
'Come on, come on,’ Lord Bonneville beckoned them to join him, but Hermitage thought he detected a slight slur in the words, and in the gestures. They set off for the fire.
'Have you wiped your feet?’ Bonneville demanded in all seriousness.
They stopped.
The guard escorted them firmly back to the door where a large piece of thick cloth lay on the floor. The guard gestured at it and Hermitage and Wat looked at it.
'Well wipe your feet,’ the guard commanded.
Hermitage looked at his feet and at the cloth and wondered how exactly he was supposed to achieve this.
The guard huffed and stepped forward to demonstrate. He stood on the cloth and moved his feet backwards and forwards as if removing something unpleasant he'd just trodden in.
Hermitage studied this bizarre dance before repeating it, followed by Wat and Poitron.
'That'sh the shpirit,’ Lord Bonneville commended through wine addled lips. 'Now, come and tell me all about the grishly murder.’
Hermitage thought he had said gristley murder for a moment, but soon adjusted to the noble’s slurring cadence. Perhaps this was a true Norman accent. Crossing the room they noticed the fine wall hangings to which even Wat raised an appreciative eyebrow. There were long wooden backed pews lining the walls, scattered with expensive cushions. A couple of large hounds of some sort lay slumbering by the fire.
Norbert the guard escorted them to the nearside of his lordship’s table and stood bolt upright, indicating quite clearly that they should do the same.
Nobody said anything as they came to a halt, but Lord Bonneville gave them a questioning look, although even this seemed to be a bit off balance.
'We have been told about the deaths my lord,’ Hermitage spoke up, never being content to let a silence loiter, 'but I can assure you we had nothing to do with them.’
'Not what Poitron saysh,’ Lord Bonneville replied.
As they were now within close range Hermitage realised that Lord Bonneville was drunk. Of course he was drunk, it should have been obvious the moment they entered the room. The table was liberally decorated with empty wine jugs, there was a large goblet in front of Lord Bonneville, from which he continued to take occasional sips, and the noble body itself was not so much lounging in its throne as slumped there. Hermitage thought that his lordship would be very unlikely to come to them as he probably couldn’t stand up.
But it was morning for goodness sake, who could be drunk in the morning? Hermitage supposed revels could go on all night, he had heard of such things obviously, but only so that he could disapprove of them. There was no sign of any other revellers, and the tales told always involved a large number of other revellers lying around the hall in various states of consciousness. And undress in some of the unnecessarily lurid examples.
'I would have to suggest,’ Hermitage proposed carefully, 'that master Poitron has leapt to a conclusion without sufficient evidence to support it.’
'Eh, what?’ Lord Bonneville asked with several blinks, as if making his eyes move would help the explanation into his head.
'Master Poitron has no proof,’ Wat explained.
Lord Bonneville seemed to give this some serious thought. He crossed his fingers together and rested his chin on his clenched hands.
Hermitage waited for his lordship's consideration.
His lordship snored loudly.
'Eh, what? Aha,’ his lordship announced as the noise of his own snoring woke him up.
'The murderers,’ Norbert the guard announced, as if reminding his lordship where he was, was routine business.
'Ah yesh,’ Bonneville took up where he left off, 'no proof you say. But you are shtrangersh.’
'Not all shtrangersh, I mean strangers, are murderers,’ Hermitage stated.
'Really?’ Lord Bonneville asked in some surprise.
'Not at all,’ Hermitage had his usual feeling of not following what was going on around him. Other people were bad enough in general, nobles seemed to be worse and drunks were just awful. Putting them all together gave him little hope at all.
'But Poitron says you do murder,’ Lord Bonneville went on, 'he shaysh you shaid so.’
Hermitage thought this conversation was going to be very hard work. Translation was one of his joys, but usually from Latin or Greek, not drunken Norman.
'Ah, I see the misunderstanding,’ Wat explained, holding a hand out to indicate to Hermitage that he would take it from here. 'It isn't that we do murder,’ Wat spoke slowly and clearly, 'it was just that we have some experience of looking into murder.’
'Looking into it?’ Lord Bonneville sounded that he considered this to be very strange behaviour.
'We erm,’ Wat hesitated, 'in the past we have investigated murder.’ He drew breath, clearly prepared to explain the term.
'Inveshtigated you say,’ Lord Bonneville raised his eyebrows in a rather uncoordinated manner, 'from the Latin? Vestigare? To track?’
'Exactly,’ said Hermitage, smiling broadly.
'Hardly need to track our two,’ Bonneville said rather glumly, 'the blacksmith’s got an anvil where hish head should be and the wheelwright's got half a wheel through the middle of him. He could roll away I shurppose.’
'And the third death?’ Hermitage brought his lordship back to the matter in hand.
'Oh, what'sh his name,’ Bonneville slurred and slurped another mouthful from the goblet.
'Lallard?’ Wat offered.
'That's the feller. He's gone, though, I hear.’
'So we understand,’ Hermitage nodded agreement.
'Bit rough eh?’ Bonneville went on, 'being murdered and then clearing off. Doesn't help mattersh at all.’
'We suspect he was taken away,’ said Hermitage, not understanding what Bonneville thought had happened.
'I shushpect he was as well,’ Bonneville confirmed, 'being dead and all he was hardly likely to do it himself.’ The noble lord gave issue to a noble hiccup.
There was another prolonged silence during which Lord Bonneville could have been thinking deeply or dropping off again.
Hermitage turned to Norbert, wondering if there was anything they were expected to do in this situation. The guard was as upright as ever in his lordship's presence and offered no help, nor any sign that he was going to do anything other than remain very upright.
Hermitage thought he detected a hint of criticism in the man's uprightness, as if suggesting that Lord Bonneville should be a bit more upright himself. If the master of the castle was incapable of maintaining a proper stance, then Norbert would have to stand upright for two.
'Sho,’ said Lord Bonneville, coming out of his reverie and regarding the group at his table once more. He moved his feet slightly as if preparing to take them off the table and use them to stand up. He got to the start of the move and then seemed to change his mind and left them where they were, clearly having little faith that they could carry out so challenging a task. 'You do murder then,’ he nodded to himself, although it was unclear if the nodding was voluntary or not.
'We have had the misfortune to deal with it in the past,’ Hermitage acknowledged with a slight bow of the head.
'Bit of a coincisense, coinsubsence, coingdus, bit odd you turning up here now isn't it?’ Lord Bonneville eventually got out.
'Ah well,’ Hermitage began but then stopped
. He looked to Wat to see whether they really wanted to raise the name of Le Pedvin in this place.
'It is a coincidence my Lord,’ Wat explained, picking up Hermitage's concern, 'but in fact there is more to our tale.’ Wat nodded very slowly at this, slowly and conspiratorially.
'Ish there?’ Bonneville asked, apparently not picking up on the significance of the nod.
'There is my lord, but it can only be for your ears.’ Wat nodded even more slowly.
Lord Bonneville watched the slow nodding so intensely that his own head started to move in time.
'I'm not leaving you here alone with his Lordship,’ Norbert spoke up, 'are you mad?’
'Are they mad?’ Poitron asked as an echo.
Norbert turned to him in horror, 'They want to say something which is only for his lordship's ear.’ The guard was clearly offended, either at the suggestion that Hermitage and Wat had anything of significance to say, or at the thought of anyone being unaccompanied anywhere near the Bonneville ear.
'They can say what they like,’ Poitron said without concern, 'but they'll do it here and now.’
'Quite.’ Norbert confirmed.
'I really shouldn't,’ Wat said with a hint of menace in his voice.
'I insist,’ Poitron repeated with his own hint of menace.
As his hint was backed up by a very straight and proper guard with highly polished weapons, Wat shrugged a shrug of resignation to Hermitage, as if being forced to give away their secret.
'The truth is my Lord,’ Wat looked around the room to make sure no one else was in earshot, 'we are here on a mission from Le Pedvin.’
Hermitage was gratified that Norbert dropped his gauntlets at the sound of the name. At the least it had an effect on someone. Silence entered the hall and ran about, being silent. Norbert recovered his gloves and Hermitage observed the looks he was exchanging with Poitron. He couldn’t make out if they were terrified, puzzled or just uninterested.
Lord Bonneville did now move his legs. He swung them off the table and planted them under his seat. He hoisted himself up and transferred his hands quickly from the arms of the chair to the table in front of him.
'Oh it’sh you then ish it?’ he said, 'I wash wondering when you'd bloody well get here. Must shay I wasn’t expecting a monk.’ And with that Lord Bonneville's hands, arms, torso and head joined his feet under the table, where they combined to emit loud snoring noises.
Caput XV
Name Dropping
'Look what you've done to my lordship,’ Norbert accused as he dragged the recumbent form of the House Bonneville from under the table.
'Look what we've done?’ Wat hissed to Hermitage, 'he was drunk before we got here.’
With Poitron's help the noble was returned to his throne but his consciousness stayed beneath the furniture.
'What's this about Le Pedvin?’ Poitron demanded, seriousness dripping from his demeanour.
'Just as I say,’ Wat replied firmly, 'we were sent here by Le Pedvin.’
Poitron just glared and narrowed his eyes to convey deep suspicion.
'Your master seemed to know all about it,’ said Wat, 'until he dropped off.’ Wat nodded towards the table and raised his eyebrows. ‘Expecting us, he was.’
Hermitage offered a slight nod to Poitron. He was content with the statement that they had been sent here by Le Pedvin; after all, it was true. He suspected that if any more detailed questions were asked he would not be able to maintain the pretence.
'To do what exactly?’ Poitron asked. He asked as if he knew exactly why they'd been sent and was testing them to see if they came up with the right answer.
'Like we said, to look into murders,’ said Wat.
Hermitage was glad Wat had said it.
'Is this true?’ Poitron turned his question directly to Hermitage.
'That's what he said,’ Hermitage confirmed that Wat had said it.
'You said they were over Bayeux way?’ Poitron questioned.
This alarmed and surprised Hermitage. It was clear the Norman had been listening to their tale, even though he appeared not to be. He had lost track of all the lies they’d told since arriving and was now positive one of them was going to rear up and bite their heads off.
'Murders all over the place,’ Wat tutted as if the house had been left untidy, 'and you know what Le Pedvin’s like,’ he tried a touch of camaraderie.
Poitron shrugged it off. 'He sent two Saxons to investigate murders in Bayeux? Hardly likely I'd have thought.’
'Where else? Get to the coast and get on a boat, you end up here.’
'Not without a lot of trouble you don't.’ Poitron was persistent,
'Of course we're only the ones Le Pedvin sent this way. I think he's probably got people going all over the place. But then he's not likely to share his plans with the likes of us is he?’
Hermitage liked that reasoning, it opened opportunities to say that they didn't know what Le Pedvin was up to.
Norbert was tidying up his master, trying to make him look as noble as possible, considering the man was slumped in his throne with his jerkin all askew and dribble running down his chin. The guard hoisted the noble into a more upright position, but without his wits to help, the noble lord kept heading back for the floor. Eventually Norbert leant nonchalantly against the back of the throne with one hand discretely holding the back of his lord's collar to stop him slipping. Norbert clearly couldn't do nonchalant and so it looked more like the man was trying to strangle his master from behind.
Poitron’s glare was trying to pierce monk and weaver to their hearts, where he would find the truth. He was clearly unimpressed and still didn't believe them, which gave Hermitage concern that the man might just do something horrible and tell Lord Bonneville when he woke up.
'You have just had three bizarre murders,’ Wat went on, 'how many before them?’
'None at all,’ Poitron exclaimed, clearly offended at the suggestion that murder in Cabourg was like dancing round the maypole, regular entertainment, occasionally done by children.
'Exactly,’ Wat concluded, 'no murders at all, nice peaceful place until the invasion of England. Bit suspicious that. So someone's come here doing murders, someone from outside.’ Wat moved slightly closer to Poitron as if sharing a great confidence, ‘which explains why Le Pedvin would send outsiders to look into it.’
Hermitage thought that was a very poor argument indeed, but appreciated this was not the time.
Wat winked at Poitron and even went so far as to tap the side of his nose, confirming that this was a great secret and was obviously true.
'I know,’ Poitron confirmed, moving firmly away from Wat, 'that's exactly what happened.’
Wat grinned, 'There you are then.’
Hermitage was not grinning, he had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.
'With one slight amendment,’ Poitron added.
'Oh yes?’ Wat enquired.
'The murders were done by two outsiders. You two.’
'No, no,’ said Wat, explaining, in a dangerously patronising tone Hermitage thought, that Poitron had got the wrong end of the stick.
Hermitage was concerned that whatever stick Poitron had got hold of, he was about to use it on them.
'Your master was expecting us,’ Wat went on.
Hermitage was grateful to hear that his friend appeared to be taking this seriously now.
'Hmm,’ Poitron didn't seem to have an answer to this.
Wat continued, 'He knew about Le Pedvin sending someone, and even appeared to be grateful we'd arrived.’
Poitron said nothing but exchanged looks with Norbert, who had noticed his master's face turning a bit blue and had loosened his grip slightly. This only allowed Lord Bonneville to slip further down his chair and it was clear he was going to be in no fit state to resolve this dispute for some time yet.
'Perhaps we'll just lock you back in the dungeon until his lordship can let us know what to do.’ Poitron clearly liked this idea
.
'Le Pedvin’s personal men, expected by Lord Bonneville?’ Wat asked. ‘You can if you like, I suppose.’
Hermitage didn’t like that offer at all, but it did seem to give Poitron some serious worry.
'You cannot put Le Pedvin's agents in a dungeon,. Wat pressed the advantage.
Hermitage thought the tactic of trying to be authoritative and commanding was worth a try; explanation was clearly getting them nowhere.
'So why didn't you say you were Le Pedvin's agents when we first met?’ Poitron demanded.
Wat was dismissive, 'We're hardly likely to divulge that sort of information to a servant are we?’ He even snorted.
'What?’ Wat demanded of Hermitage as they sat in the dusty ground outside the castle gate, almost exactly where the guards had thrown them.
'Well, really Wat,’ Hermitage complained, as he stood and dusted himself off, ‘'you could see the fellow wasn't happy. Calling him a servant in that way was bound to make him react badly.’
'He gets up my nose,’ Wat shrugged, 'not trusting us like that.’
'We were lying,’ Hermitage hissed, even though there was no one near to hear them.
'That's not the point. Most of it was true, how dare he not believe the true bits. Jumped up little toad.’
'A jumped up little toad with the keys to the dungeons and an officious guard at his disposal.’
'Well,’ Wat grumbled.
Hermitage could tell from his friend's demeanour that he accepted the handling of Poitron could have gone better. Never one to take advantage of the discomfort of another, which he had been told was another of his significant failings, Hermitage got back to the matter in hand.
'Bonneville was expecting us,’ he said with some wonder, 'what on earth does that mean?’
'Could be anything.’ Wat didn't seem too concerned about the reason for Bonneville's knowledge, 'could be he thinks we've really been sent here to solve the murders.’
'Then why didn't Le Pedvin tell us?’ Hermitage thought it bad enough that all the people doing murders lied, it was still sinful but might be expected from that sort of person. If the people who were supposed be getting you to solve the murders were lying as well, where would it all end?
Hermitage, Wat and Some Murder or Other Page 15
