'Perhaps Athan really believes I did it.’ That's what Athan said, so Hermitage believed it.
'He's not stupid. Assume for the moment, for the sake of argument, that Athan knows you didn't do anything. Why would he say you did?’
Hermitage looked intently at Wat as his thought processes worked through the problem.
'Because he hates me?’
'He seems to hate everyone, why you? Why not Francis or James?’
'Because I was there.’
'God, you’re making this hard work, Hermitage. Look, he knows Ambrosius is dead because he found him. In this discussion we're assuming he knows you didn't do it. Why would he say you did, if it wasn't pure and simple malice? What other reason could there be?’
New pathways in Hermitage's mind opened up. From the expressions that went over his face, they were narrow and wobbly pathways, subject to collapse at any moment.
He stumbled over the sentence. 'If he accuses me of murder, he must know that Ambrosius didn't die of natural causes.’
'Aha.’
'And perhaps accusing me takes attention away from whatever did happen?’
'Praise the Lord.’
'What a strange expression.’ Hermitage paused in his exploration. 'Ah but, ah but, ah but,' he added.
'What?’
'Sorry, I get a bit carried away with arguments some times. I'm famous for my ah-buts.’
'I can imagine. What's this one about?’
'What if Athan knows that it is natural causes, but wants there to be a murder for some reason?’
'What reason?’
'I don't know. I've only just started thinking of a senior Brother of the monastery as a potential deceiver. Never mind the sins of the other Brothers. And I have you to thank for that.’
'Don't mention it.’ Wat nodded in recognition of his role in Hermitage's growing maturity.
'The question is “why” to all of this. Why want a murder, why distract attention?’
They both looked at one another, then at the ground, then at the sky and then at the buildings that surrounded them. There was no revelation.
'What would happen if there was a murder?’ Wat asked.
'Pretty much what has happened, I suppose. An investigator comes in, the culprit gets found and that's that.’
'I still think this building work is in the weave somewhere. It's too much of a coincidence. We need to know what that's all about. Francis, James and the builder. We've got three people to question now. I think we should split up.’
'Oh,' Hermitage didn't like the sound of this. There was no telling if Athan was going to be waiting for him somewhere. He was convinced the man would be able to arrange a trial and execution in the blink of an eye.
'You'll be safe enough. You know what we're looking for, what we're trying to find out. If you find any of them just get as much information as you can. We'll meet back here in an hour in any case.’
Hermitage detected that the weaver didn't know where here was, or how to find it again from anywhere else.
'You just look for the third falling chimney.’ He pointed up at the roofs above them.
'Right,' said Wat, and was gone.
'Now then, Hermitage,' Hermitage said to himself, 'gathering information and drawing conclusions should be right up your track.’ No. Bracing talks didn't make the churning feeling in his stomach go away. Perhaps he could just wander around for an hour and then come back. Mister Wat was bound to have found something out. He seemed a very bright fellow. And a successful weaver. He must remember to ask more about his particular products, though. They still seemed shrouded in mystery for some reason.
Better still, perhaps he should simply go and hide for an hour, that way there was no chance of Athan finding him.
Slipping around a corner, scanning his surroundings for a suitable resting place he walked straight into the figure of Chirk.
'Oh, sorry,' said the builder, helping Hermitage up. He seemed to be doing this a lot recently.
'Ah. Just the man,' he said, disappointed that he couldn't run away and hide after all.
'Really?’ said Chirk, pleased to be wanted.
'Yes. I wanted to ask you something.’
'Oh good, fire away.’
Here was the first problem. The idea of finding Chirk was clear. The notion he would have some information of value was understood. What that information might be, or how to get at it, was a complete blank. Whatever the link that Wat might perceive between the builders and events, it was a closed door behind a tapestry to Hermitage. 'What do you know about the murder of Ambrosius?’ seemed a bit blunt. With all the plotting and scheming that might, or might not, be going on, it was likely Chirk didn't know anything about it anyway.
'Erm, what are you doing?’ It was hopelessly weak, but at least it might buy him some time to come up with something a bit more penetrating.
'Measuring,' said Chirk with an enormous amount of pride. He held up his ruler once more.
'Ah,' said Hermitage. He hadn't had enough time yet.
'Measuring what?’
'The buildings.’
This was getting nowhere. Wat's conversations with monks went on a lot longer than this.
'Why?’ Why was a very good question. It was not one he had used very much in his career to date. His work on biblical texts had included a lot of who, and where, and what, but very little why. He would have to try it out when he got back to work. If he ever did get back to work.
The simple word caused Chirk all sorts of problems. People didn't ask him why he measured. It was enough that he did. It was the sort of thing people expected. If you brought in the builders the first thing you wanted to see was some measuring going on.
As his old Dad had always said, 'The secret of success is to always look like you know what you're doing'. It was generally accepted amongst the building fraternity that if anyone looked like they knew what they were measuring, it was Chirk. At builders’ parties, Chirk was always asked to bring his ruler.
'Why?’ he repeated.
'Yes, why?’ said Hermitage, kindly. 'Why are you measuring?’
'Well, you have to measure, don't you?’ Chirk said with the enormous confidence of a specialist who could look like he knew what he was doing. He also added a dash of underlying contempt for people who were not builders, and so were incapable of understanding the fundamental elements of the job. Like measuring.
'I imagine so,' said Hermitage. He encouraged Chirk with a smile.
Chirk smiled back and nodded. That was that.
Hermitage realised his query needed to be more explicit. 'I don't mean why are you measuring as part of the overall construction process.’
Chirk looked worried.
'I mean, why are you measuring here, at this time?’ Hermitage specified.
Chirk looked up at the sky and judged the time of day. Then he looked at the building he had been holding his ruler up against. He shrugged.
'Well,' said Chirk, gathering himself, 'you see this building's at the apex of the cross dimensions, which means that alterations to the substructure of the supporting trusses need to be co-ordinated with the uplift members.’ He was very proud of his Builder-speak, the sub set of trades-talk used to confuse and disorientate clients.
'I'm sorry?’ said Hermitage.
The clients usually were after that.
'I mean, why in this monastery at all? What building work is it that's going on? What have you been asked to do?’ Hermitage was quite definite. Surely the question was clear enough now.
'Measure,' said Chirk, still dealing with one question at a time.
This was hard going, thought Hermitage. Mister Wat was able to get straight to the point and move on. Hermitage was even finding this conversation a little irritating.
'What work is going to happen here?’ he asked slowly.
Again Chirk looked at the building.
'What, here?’ he said, pointing to the spot.
'No, not here,' said
Hermitage, pointing at the ground and hearing his own voice raised in unaccustomed frustration. 'Here,' he demanded, waving his arms about to indicate the whole of De'Ath's Dingle.
'Oh, right.’ Chirk had finally twigged. 'Improvements.’
That wouldn't be hard to imagine, but it wasn't enough.
'What sort of improvements?’ Hermitage pressed. He felt unsettled and restless with the responses he was getting. That he should have such thoughts about another person, rather than a recalcitrant piece of text, was unnerving.
'Various.’ Chirk was discomforted by this inquisition.
Hermitage felt a small growl start at the back of his throat. If he opened his mouth too quickly it would come out as a shout. This was appalling. He couldn't be driven to rage by a simple builder. No matter how simple. Perhaps he should just give up. No, Mister Wat would not be impressed if he came back after his hour and Hermitage had got no information. A full explanation might help.
'There is a dead monk,' he said.
'Where?’ Chirk jumped back and looked at the ground he had been standing on. 'Why don't you bury your dead in graveyards like everyone else?’
'No, no, not here,' Hermitage snapped rather testily. It didn't seem to affect Chirk. Perhaps he was used to people being testy with him. 'I'm trying to explain why I need to know what you're doing.’ Hermitage was immediately ashamed of raising his voice. He had never done such a thing before. This discussion was getting to the core of him and wriggling about.
'Measuring,' said Chirk, holding up the ruler.
'I know you are measuring.’ A flash of impatience snapped the words out of Hermitage. He was both ashamed and rather excited by it.
'Look,' he said, much more loudly than was necessary. He made eye contact with the builder to indicate that the man should shut up about measuring.
'Some time ago a monk called Ambrosius died while he was taking part in a debate.’
'Must have been very dull,' said Chirk.
'It was not,' Hermitage barked, 'it was a fascinating debate.’ He stopped himself. This was not the point of the conversation. He breathed deeply a couple of times. 'It has been suggested that he was murdered.’ Hermitage decided not to add that the main suspect was standing in front of the builder, as this would probably make him run a mile. A measured one.
'There appears to be no reason for the murder,' Hermitage went on before Chirk could move away. 'It was a very complex debate which wasn't going to have any major impact on anyone and the monk was not a very significant fellow. The only odd thing is that there is building work going on which no one seems to know about. Brother Athan won't tell us anything.’
As he reasoned this, Hermitage began to see what Wat might be getting at. Could there be any connection between the death of Ambrosius and the arrival of builders? It was very far-fetched and he couldn't conceive of anything that combined the suffering of Our Lord in the wilderness, with the knocking about of a ghastly place like De'Ath's Dingle.
Chirk didn't say anything. He looked at Hermitage and it wasn't clear the words had made any sense to the builder, let alone had any impact.
'So,' said Hermitage, thinking that anyone would be able to follow this, 'what we want to know is what building work is going on here and who is organising it?’
He waited and watched Chirk to see if any of this had sunk in. If the man said 'measuring' again, Hermitage would not be held responsible for his actions.
'I'm not building a graveyard.’ Chirk was offended.
Hermitage really didn't know how to deal with this. When you debated or enquired of people, they answered. They didn't not answer. They didn't talk about something completely different. Or answer a question you hadn't asked. Granted, sometimes they just walked off. Well, quite often really, but when they were engaged they responded. The man before him didn't appear to understand the rules.
'I am not saying you are.’ Hermitage spoke with quiet menace. For the first time, ever.
Chirk simply held his ruler up again.
'For heaven's sake, it's a simple question.’ Hermitage was brusque. He had experienced many new emotions over the last few days. His respect for authority had taken a severe pounding, and he had discovered things about the world that he profoundly wished he could un-discover. He now had the urge to lash out at an ordinary builder. This was awful. He drove his words out through gritted teeth. 'I'm asking what it is you are building.’
'What's it got to do with a dead monk?’
'That's it!' Hermitage yelled in some triumph. 'At last I've got through. That's what I want to know.’
'Absolutely nothing.’ Chirk was clearly offended. 'I have got absolutely nothing to do with some murder. Not after all that trouble with the cesspit.’
'What?’ Hermitage was taken back. What did this have to do with anything?
'That wasn't my fault,' Chirk was agitated. 'Of course the sides were slippery. The daughter of the house hadn't been watching where she was going. Bloody nobles, they're always going off the deep end about the smallest thing. Never let anything go.’
Hermitage looked aghast. Of the two reactions open to him, giving up on a hopeless case or taking it the next level, his new instincts leapt him to the latter. His shameful shouting at this poor man seemed insufficient somehow.
'I'd have a more intelligent conversation with the ruler,' Hermitage muttered to himself as he paused for breath. His mind told him that this was getting nowhere. There was no point in examining the man who stood before him. The act of simply standing before him was probably taxing him to the limit.
It wasn't his mind in control now, though. It was the frustrations of Athan and Simon, of his journey to Lincoln and the accusation of murder. It had all built up in him like the old outer tower of the monastery. The poor builder was simply the crumbling stone that brought the whole thing down.
Perhaps mime would help.
'Mr Chirk. Do you even know why you're measuring?’ Hermitage threw his arms around the limited view of the monastery trying to indicate measuring. He gestured his measuring impression at the floor. 'Do you know why you're here? Was it perhaps the case that someone told you to come and measure? Do you realise where you are? Perhaps you've come to completely the wrong place and are measuring all the wrong things?’
This bought a shameful look of some recognition to Chirk.
Hermitage made small building movements with his hands and fingers. He now paced up and down and tried to gesticulate great buildings into being.
'If you have actually measured anything with that stick of yours,' he said,
Chirk clutched his ruler defensively.
'Who are you reporting it to?’ Hermitage continued. 'Who wants the measurements? What are they?’
'Your monk was already dead before I got here?’ Chirk interrupted the stream.
'Well, yes,' said Hermitage, deflated. Had the man really got the point? Had the shouting and yelling all been worthwhile?
'Good,' said Chirk, 'nothing to do with me then.’ He picked up his ruler to do some more measuring.
'No,' Hermitage now whined plaintively and jumped up and down on the same spot. 'Please try to listen to what I'm saying.’
After some frenzied time spent kicking small pebbles and trying to turn others to dust with the soles of his very thin shoes, Hermitage recovered his breath. His fists were clenched and his teeth were fixed together. He really, really wanted to take hold of the wretched man by the scruff of the neck and shake him until something horrible happened. Between panting gasps of recovery he looked Chirk up and down and weighed the evidence for the man either hiding something or being stupid. Stupid. It was definitely stupid.
'We are going to stay here until I understand what's going on. Even if takes all night,' Hermitage said, very seriously.
Chirk looked decidedly worried at that.
'Look who I've found.’ Wat burst the moment by appearing around the corner with the scruff of Brother James's habit in one hand and that of Francis i
n the other. The King's Investigator followed at the back, looking rather surly.
'What?’ said Francis.
‘You found them,’ Hermitage cried out. It was a huge relief that some progress had been made at last. It was slightly disappointing that Wat had managed to locate two missing monks and find the King’s Investigator, while all Hermitage had managed to do was not get any answers from a builder. Still, he mustn’t be selfish.
‘I have,’ Wat confirmed, ‘and you’re a monk so see what you make of what they say. Personally, I don’t believe a word of it.’
Caput XVI
Day Five Vespers
Under the organisational skills of Toksvar, the caravan of the Duke of Northumbria made good progress from Lincoln. This organisation involved the carts and horses moving along at a pretty hectic pace, while everyone else simply had to keep up.
At a particularly damaged part of the road, one of the Duke's men tripped and fell into the adjacent bog. He sank immediately up to his waist and continued a slow descent, exacerbated by his struggling. His travelling companions sprang into action straight away, gathering around the spot to point and laugh. Bets were placed on how long the struggle would continue, and bids were made for ownership of the man's meagre possessions when he had no further use for them. Which would presumably be quite soon.
A fight almost broke out when a detachment from Toksvar's entourage barged through with ropes and logs. They set up a sophisticated ramp and pulley system and extricated the man from his muddy prison in no time at all. A far more prolonged and vicious fight broke out while the Duke's men debated whether the bets were null and void, or whether the bookkeeper should pay out on the time of the rescue. The journey resumed, but the score of bookkeepers was now bog one, train nil.
Toksvar's team were not immune to the attrition, despite its order and method. One man screamed out when his leg found a new pothole in the road. Toksvar examined the wound, found a break and decided there were only three options.
Firstly, the man could buy his way out of his Lord's service and do whatever he liked. Hobble away to a new life as a cripple, wait for rescue or take up begging there and then.
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 20
