'Who can say why the trials and tribulations of the world are visited upon us?’ responded Hermitage helpfully. To him, being attacked was simply what happened when you ventured on to a road.
'No, I mean why were you attacked?’ Wat repeated. ‘It's very suspicious. Nobody in their right mind attacks a monk for profit, and they certainly weren't trying to steal your habit. What is it about you that they were after?’
Hermitage looked at Wat, expecting the weaver to have the answer to his own question.
Wat looked back at Hermitage, apparently expecting the same from the monk.
They both looked away into the trees, but there was no answer there. Perhaps the road ahead would explain everything to them. Hermitage could only hope it was better behaved than the road behind.
Caput IV
Day Three Sext
Why he had been attacked was a fascinating question, Hermitage thought. When in doubt … He started warming up for an exploration of the nature of sin, the presence of evil and the consequences of the fall from grace in the Garden of Eden, but Wat interrupted.
'There's no sense in this particular attack. Monks don't have anything worth stealing. No point robbing a monk.’
Although this was sensible, it sounded rather heartless, even mundane. From his perspective, Hermitage thought the question why do people rob was far more interesting.
'Did you know them?’
'Certainly not.’ Hermitage didn't know anyone like that. In fact he really knew very few people at all.
'So what's your business going to Lincoln?’ Wat asked, carefully brushing the dirty palm print from the front of his chest.
Now here was an opportunity for a decent conversation. Hermitage leapt in.
'I have an important message for the Conclave there. Are you familiar with the Conclave? They are doing some magnificent work, you know. I am particularly interested in the notion of the expiation of sin through the prayers of others, but I have been engaged in a fascinating debate about the suffering of our Lord in the wilderness.’
Wat sighed, put his hand to his face, and shook his head as Hermitage rambled on. He gestured that they should walk, and together they resumed their journey. The day continued warm and comfortable, and their spirits rose like midges from a bog. Which themselves rose in numbers, probably attracted by Hermitage’s habit.
The next few hours were uneventful, as uneventful as any hours could be when Brother Hermitage had free reign and an audience. As scattered clouds departed from the country sky, the slopes of the Lincoln hill came into view and gave them pause. They gazed at what was surely the most magnificent sight in the realm. Probably the world. The towers of the Roman town still teetered here and there, with enough height to be seen from several miles. The raw outline of the church could be seen just topping the trees, albeit covered with the scaffolding that stopped it falling over.
Hermitage explained that Lincoln was so magnificent a place that it had more than one church. Old St Peter and Paul in Bailgate had been visited as a ruin for so long that many suspected it had been built as a ruin in the first place, simply to attract visitors. The new church, however – new because it had only been there for a couple of hundred years – had been doing its best to fall down ever since it had been put up.
‘You haven't told me what takes you to the great city, my son,' Hermitage asked in a brief pause for breath.
'Erm, no.’ Wat hesitated.
Hermitage waited.
'Just a sales trip. I weave tapestry mainly. Personal commissions, that sort of thing,' He was rather dismissive.
'Really?’ Hermitage asked. His mind leapt back to the scary tapestry in the Abbot's chamber at De'Ath's Dingle. 'I saw a rather disturbing tapestry just yesterday, as it happens.’
'Oh?’ Wat enquired rather nervously, his eyes darting back and forth, as if expecting the disturbing tapestry to have followed them.
'Yes, a very powerful image which my Abbot must use to concentrate his meditations on the potential of allowing the devil to take control of the world.’
'Oh, that one,' Wat muttered, but Hermitage missed it.
'Are you a master weaver, my son?’
'Not officially.’ He showed some embarrassment at this.
Hermitage raised a monastic eyebrow.
'My guildsman did not make the necessary arrangements for recognition as a master, although I had completed all the necessary steps. The man was quite insistent on this.’
'I see,' Hermitage mused, not really understanding.
'Several times over.’ There was a note of bitterness now.
'Ah.’
'To the very highest level.’
'Good, good.’
'Including dyeing and carding, cloth work, needle preparation, frames, hanging, horizontal and vertical, commissioning and stock control, sales and aftercare…' The sentence petered out rather than coming to an end, and even Hermitage could see that a change of topic was in order. Wat was getting over-excited and Hermitage did not like excitement in others.
There was a pause. Hermitage couldn't do pauses.
'Lincoln is a fine city, is it not?’ he said.
'Profitable,' said Wat.
'I myself am travelling to the Conclave,' said Hermitage, 'or did I tell you that?’
'Yes,' said Wat as they began to move along the road again. ‘Several times,' he added with a sigh.
'Ah,' said Hermitage, 'I have been told that I do that sometimes. You will stop me if I go on, won't you?’
'I'll try,' said Wat rather hopelessly. 'This Conclave certainly doesn't sound like motivation for an attack, though. What is this message you're taking?’
'One of the debates has not been concluded properly,' Hermitage said with great significance.
'Oh dear,' Wat responded, without any significance at all. 'I can't believe anyone would attack you over that.’
'Well, not physically,' Hermitage replied, slightly disappointed that Wat couldn't see the importance of debate. Theological importance obviously, but still, people should take an interest. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'although I am grateful for your concern the attack was just one of those things.’
'As I said, no one tries to rob a monk.’
'Maybe they were very stupid robbers?’
'Clever enough to follow you all the way from where we met.’
Hermitage looked at Wat as he absorbed this new information.
'They were probably waiting for their opportunity to get me. You know, no one watching.’
'They asked me if I'd seen you.’
'Did they?’ Hermitage said slowly. He was starting to get his familiar worrying feeling again. He worried about most things most of the time, but every now and again something special would come along which demanded a little bit more effort. He started to concentrate quite hard on his worrying.
'Why would they do that?’ Wat asked.
'They'd obviously decided I was their target and wanted to know where I was.’ This was pure speculation, but it sounded convincing.
'I think that's true, but it makes robbery even less likely.’
'Why?’
'We've agreed that a robber would have to be a very stupid one to think about going after a monk?’
'Yes.’ Hermitage's worry was dampened by a potentially enjoyable debate.
'So very stupid robbers, having lost sight of their monk, would simply rob the next thing that came along. They wouldn't ask for directions, follow the monk for a few miles and then rob him.’
Wat left a pause for Hermitage to think this through. 'Look at me,' he said, holding his arms out to show off his clothing.
'Yes?’
'I mean, I'm a better bet to rob, aren't I?’
'Of course. But then you seem very capable of taking care of yourself.’ Hermitage nodded his head back to the woods in which naked and beaten robbers were probably still nursing damaged parts.
'They don't know that when they have a go. They could have robbed me when they as
ked directions. We were on our own then. They had their club, why didn't they?’
'Because a monk is less likely to put up a fight and even if they weren't stupid, they didn't seem very good.’
'That's another thing. Two men, one with a club? They should have had me easy. This clearly wasn't their normal line of work.’
'I still don't know what you're getting at?’ Hermitage said, and he really didn't.
Wat sighed. 'Those two men were after you. Personally. Not just any monk – they followed you. And it wasn't to rob you.’
'What then?’
'That's what I don't get. This debate business can hardly be the stuff to motivate attacks in the woods.’
'Hardly.’ Even though he was an enthusiast for argument, Hermitage had only ever seen one debate descend into physical violence. That was entirely justified as some fool had proposed that women could be priests.
After several moments thought Hermitage had an idea. He hesitated to mention it. This Mr Wat was obviously a worldly and clever fellow, and the pointless musing of a humble monk would be of no interest to him.
'Erm,' Hermitage found himself mumbling.
'Yes?’
'Well, I'm sure it's nothing really.’
'What is?’ Wat was all encouragement.
'I just wondered.’
'Yes?’ There was hint of impatience now.
'Whether it might be the, erm, death?’
'What death?’ Wat almost shrieked.
'Well, Brother Ambrosius.’
'A monk is dead?’
'Didn't I mention that bit?’
'No, you did not mention that bit. How did he die?’
'He just died, that's why I didn't think anything of it. He was nearly fifty.’
'When did he die?’
'During the debate.’
'That must have put a dampener on things.’
'Oh yes, he was the speaker after all.’
'He died while he was speaking?’ Wat was aghast and sounded it.
'No, he sat down first.’
'Brother Hermitage, this is very significant.’
'That's what Athan said.’
'Who the hell is Athan?’ Mr Wat was getting terribly excited now, but there was no call for profanity.
'He's our Prior. He kept saying I had something to do with Ambrosius’s death and wanted me punished. The Abbot insisted I come to Lincoln with the news though.’
'Why have I not heard of him before now?’
'I don't know. Do you move in ecclesiastical circles?’
'No, I do not move in ecclesiastical circles.’ Wat threw his hands in the air, apparently in frustration at something or other. 'Well, not unless they pay up front. I mean why, in all the telling of this tale of yours, have you made no mention of Athan? Or the death? Or the Abbot?’
'Well, I didn't think they were relevant.’
'Two men follow you for miles and attack you in the woods with no motive of robbery. All of this just after you have been engaged in a debate during which the main speaker died. The Prior wants you punished, but the Abbot sends you out on the road. No relevance?’
'Er…’ Hermitage could only cope with the events of the world one at a time. He seldom saw they could be joined together, and it worried him if he did. 'Are you suggesting,' he began warily, not sure what was being suggested, 'that there might be some connection?’
'Doesn't it seem a bit of a coincidence?’
'Why would my Abbot send me out to be attacked?’
'Or murdered.’
'Or murdered. Thank you.’
'Well, I don't know him do I?’
'He's quite capable of attacking people himself if he thinks it needs doing.’
'Or murdering them?’
Hermitage could cope with no more of this outrageous fantasy. 'This really is ridiculous. I shall simply deliver my message to the Bishop and the whole matter will be closed.’
'Ah yes. Is the message written down?’
'Of course,' said Hermitage, patting his habit where the parchment lay nestled in a simple inner pocket.
'Let's have a look then.’
'Certainly not.’ Hermitage was horrified.
'It might give us some clue about what's going on.’
'It is a communication from an Abbot to a Bishop. I can't possibly open it.’ It was clear from Hermitage's tone that this question, rarely, was not up for debate.
'So what happens when you've delivered it?’
'The Bishop will consider the matter and take the appropriate action.’
'And what will you do?’
'As the Bishop directs me. If there is some function I can perform it will be an honour. If not, I will simply return to the monastery.’
'Yes,' Wat said in a very slow and deliberate way. 'If I were you I'd think very carefully before doing that.’
'You are a very suspicious fellow, I must say.’
'Look, perhaps someone doesn't want word of this death taken to Lincoln and that's why you were attacked. They could have been after the message?’
'Wouldn't make much difference really.’
'Why not?’
'Well, I still know Ambrosius is dead. I can tell the Bishop that without having it on a piece of parchment.’
'Not if you're dead in a wood, you can't,' Wat concluded. 'Maybe they don't want news of the death to get out at all?’
'That would be a bit hard. Ambrosius was reasonably well known. He'd be missed when he didn't return to his home monastery.’
'But not for some time.’
'No, I suppose not.’
'Maybe just enough time.’
'Enough time for what?’ Hermitage asked.
Wat looked at him seriously and intently. He frowned his usual frown and rubbed his chin. 'Not a clue,' he said brightly. 'You say the death was natural?’
'Oh yes. Poor Brother Ambrosius passed away just as he was completing his argument.’
Wat's frown returned. 'That sounds pretty unnatural to me,' he said.
'Really?’ Hermitage replied airily, as if this sort of thing happened every day.
'Well, it seems a bit odd, doesn't it,’ the weaver went on, 'dying in the middle of a debate?’
'That's what Brother Athan said. Sort of.’ Hermitage did not want to lie, he wasn't capable of it, but nor did he want to lay all of the facts before this stranger.
'So he just finished talking, sat down and died?’
'That's about it,' the monk replied. ‘He had finished his opening speech, but was quite exhausted. It was the fourth day.’
'Four days?’ Wat exclaimed. 'For an opening speech? What was this debate about?’
Now Hermitage looked puzzled. Hadn't Wat been listening as they walked?
'Well, it was as I was saying,' he began, starting to go through the whole matter again.
'Never mind,' Wat said, interrupting, 'I'm sure after four days of debating anyone's entitled to drop dead.’
'Anyway, I've got to let the Conclave know so they can consider what to do about the question.’
'An important matter, I'm sure,' said Wat.
'It seems so to the Abbot and Athan.’ Hermitage had doubt in his voice.
'You aren't so positive?’ Wat was clearly engaged with the issue, which delighted Hermitage.
'Well, it is a rather esoteric matter. Of clear interest to the theological community, but to be honest…' He paused, wondering whether he should go on.
'Go on,' Wat prompted.
Hermitage hesitated, and then spoke with care.
'Neither the Abbot nor Athan have ever struck me as particularly engaged with the more philosophical aspects of the religious life.’
Wat paused now and seemed deep in thought
'Brother Hermitage,' he said seriously.
'Yes?’
'Bearing in mind what you said before.’
'Which bit?’ Hermitage was enjoying himself.
'About your tendency to go on a bit?’
&nb
sp; 'Oh.’ Hermitage stopped enjoying himself quite so much.
'Yes,' Wat said, 'bearing that in mind, can you tell me, in a very short time, say two sentences, what this debate was about?’
Hermitage looked very disappointed.
'Again,' Wat said brightly, 'by way of a summary.’
Hermitage frowned. He supposed that weavers shouldn't be expected to follow this anyway.
'Well, briefly,'
'Yes?’
'When our Lord spent the forty days and forty nights in the wilderness…'
'Yes?’
'Did he get sand in his shoes?’
'And?’
'That's it.’ Hermitage couldn't see what else the weaver was expecting.
'Four days?’ Wat was incredulous.
'Well, it's not as simple as you think.’
'It sounds pretty simple,' said Wat, 'in the wilderness, in sandals. I think the answer is yes.’
'So did Ambrosius.’ Hermitage was enthusiastic again.
'Good.’
'So do I.’
'Not much to debate, then?’ Wat shook his head seemingly in disbelief.
'Well as I say, it is fairly advanced.’
'It would have to be. And this is why it's odd that your Abbot and this Athan are interested?’
'Exactly,' said Hermitage, 'they'd be more concerned with, oh, I don't know, how many times you should beat an acolyte before sunrise.’
'Hmm, I had a weaving master like that,' Wat said with some feeling, 'and you think this Conclave of yours will kick the whole thing off again.’
'I don't know. It's up to the Bishop really.’
Wat shook his head in what seemed to be despair.
'Well, I can see it's a matter of the utmost importance.’ It didn't sound like Wat thought this at all. 'The sooner we get to Lincoln, the sooner you get your answer, the sooner we can all sleep safely in our beds knowing the great issues of the day are in safe hands.’
As they moved off Hermitage thought he heard Wat mutter an obscenity. Perhaps he'd trodden in something.
'Always assuming we don't get murdered before we get there, of course,' the weaver added with disturbing jollity.
For a moment Hermitage thought how annoying it would be to get murdered before all this was sorted out, but then he realised that he would be the murdered one. While he recognised this was the thought of an idiot, he was quite engaged by the idea of finding out what on earth was going on.
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 4
