Not only was this man the King, but he looked the part. There was something in his bearing, his way of speaking, his simple assumption that he was the most important person in the room that put Hermitage off his stride. It did more than put him off his stride. It chopped his legs off and stopped him striding anywhere.
'Erm,' Hermitage managed. It wasn't very impressive and the King just stood there, expecting something a bit more illuminating. The look was gentle and encouraging though, and Hermitage took some heart from it.
A lesson his father had taught him came flooding into his mind to fill up the space. Years ago, after another chasing around the village pond, followed by a beating and a ducking at the hands of the local children, Hermitage's father had spoken to him.
'For God's sake, lad,' it had started, and there had then followed the usual longwinded and explicit expressions of disappointment at virtually everything Hermitage had ever done. In the middle of it, though, had been a phrase which now came to life. 'The only thing you can do better than anyone else is debate. Pointlessly. Next time they start picking on you, debate with them. They'll all be bored rigid and bugger off to bother someone else.’
Hermitage thought that if he started debating the issue, an opening argument if you will, then something might occur to him.
'Well, your Majesty,' he began, and was very disconcerted to notice that the King and everyone else in the room was actually listening to him. He wasn't used to this.
'Let us consider the information we have before us. Brother Ambrosius we know is dead, and there is some dispute over the cause of that death. Master Wat has identified the unexplained presence of builders, and when I spoke to Chirk the builder myself all he could tell was that he was measuring up for improvements.’
At this point Hermitage's working mind, as opposed to his idling mind, sprang back into action. Rather like a waterwheel that keeps spinning when the sluice gates have been shut, he had been running on his own momentum and it wouldn't have been long before he stopped altogether. Now the gates had been opened, the water was flowing fast and strong and the wheel of Hermitage's thinking was powering along.
Unfortunately, being Hermitage, it had also come off its spindle and was trundling down the hill heedless of whatever dangers lay in its path. It could either come to rest in a peaceful meadow or smash itself to bits against some rocks. The outcome was beyond Hermitage's control.
'But why would there be improvements in a place as austere as this?’ he asked himself, disinterested in who else was in the room.
'Someone must be paying the builders to come and measure up. We have seen a tented village outside the walls to house a significant workforce. There are clearly detailed plans in someone's mind. Is it connected to Ambrosius’s argument?’ Hermitage paused at this point and everyone in the room thought it most impressive that he was increasing the tension like this. Hermitage had paused because he didn't know what came next. He knew his own mind well enough to realise it would come to him any second.
'And is it connected to any of the activities going on in the monastery that I have come across in my discussions with Master Wat and several of the Brothers?’
Brother James, thinking that this was some sort of quiz, almost put his hand up.
'Of course it is,' said Hermitage in his moment of revelation as all of his experiences over the last few days gelled together.
'How?’ the King asked
'The Epicurean heresy.’
'Ah,' said the King clearly not having a clue what this was. 'Perhaps you could explain it for those here who may not be familiar.’
'Wow,' thought Hermitage, a chance to explain some more.
'Well, sire. It is a given truth that those who take the religious path must endure suffering if they are to serve the Lord.’
'Of course.’
'And it is equally common that this suffering is achieved through physical discomfort. Cold cells, poor food, regular flogging, that sort of thing.’
'Never did me any harm.’
'Well, the Epicurean heretics believe that's too easy.’
'Easy?’
'Yes, if you're already miserable because your surroundings are horrible and you are in considerable discomfort and pain, then it's easy to suffer. It doesn't take any effort at all.’
'I'm not sure where you're going with this,' the King said, 'but I think it's going to be bad.’
'On the other hand if you are living in comfort and warmth, with fine wine and food and servants to do all your work for you, then it would take a great deal more personal determination to suffer for your belief.’
Hermitage was oblivious of the inherent insult to the King's way of life.
'So the Epicureans want warm comfortable monasteries, where everyone has to work jolly hard to suffer at all?’ the King asked, perfectly aware that this monk couldn't insult a Saracen.
'Exactly, your Majesty. Ambrosius’s argument went to the core of this. If his position held sway at the Conclave, that the Lord in the Wilderness did suffer physical pain through his shoes, then the Epicurean Heresy is false. If the Lord's clothing caused physical discomfort, then of course we should suffer similarly. If Father Genly had won then it could be argued that poor living conditions are not part of religious suffering at all and so should be stopped. We could all wear nice shoes, I suppose.’
'And I imagine,' said the King, developing his own argument, 'that such a large, comfortable, warm and welcoming monastery would have the younger sons of the nobility queuing up to get in. They might even pay handsomely.’
Nicodemus moaned quietly in a corner.
'So the big question then is who, eh? Who would be involved in such a devious scheme?’ the King said, casting his royal gaze around the room once more. 'Who do we have? Master Wat? I think not, already a rich enough man, eh, Wat?’
Wat simply blushed slightly and nodded acknowledgement. Hermitage looked at him in some surprise. He didn't know that he could like rich people.
'Brother monk here?’ he gestured to Hermitage. 'Again, I think not. It is he who brings us this reasoning and it is hardly the sort of scheme he would be interested in. Who else do we have? Ah, my noble Investigator. You had not reached this conclusion?’ He didn't wait for Simon to answer. 'No, I thought not. So, onward then. Master Nicodemus we have already met, and if he isn't in this up to his armpits I'm a Frenchman. Where does the funding for this sort of thing come from, apart from the coffers of the Church, and who better to have his cuffs in the coffers?’ He turned to Brother Athan. ‘Who are you?’
'Brother Athan, Your Majesty,' Athan said, unable to think of anything more helpful to his cause.
'I see from the glances that you have been exchanging with Master Nic over there that you have some connection to all this.’
'I, erm ...’
'He would need an inside man, of course, as he couldn't be seen dirtying his hands himself. Someone who knows their way around the monastery, perhaps – who knows where all the doors and hidey holes are?’ He let the question hang in the air with the clear indication that it wouldn't be the only thing hanging before long. 'And what might be in it for Brother Athan? Perhaps an offer of advancement? Your own monastery to command? Ha ha!' The King laughed long and loud as he saw from Athan's face that he had hit the monk on the head.
'Then we have the nobility here. Our noble Earl of Northumbria and his son come looking for a monastery. And Master Nicodemus is your introduction, my Lord.’
'Oh yes, your Majesty,' said the Earl, not satisfied with dropping Nicodemus in it until he had stood on him afterwards. 'Master Nicodemus put the proposal to me for a monastery such as the young monk here has described, and it seemed an interesting option.’
'I'm sure it did. I do hope you haven't put your money in yet because I fear the development is about to collapse.’
The King scanned the room to make sure he had covered everyone. Brothers James and Francis stood motionless in one corner.
'And who do
we have here? More conspirators?’
'Brother James, your Majesty,' James said in barely a whisper. He had never seen a King before, let alone his own King, and talking to one was not something he had been prepared for.
'And you are a Brother here?’
James simply nodded with his mouth half open as if he expected the King to magically ascend to the ceiling, from where he would rain down fire on them all. James knew Kings could do that if they wanted. He thought that keeping silent might prevent this fate falling on him.
Wat spoke up. 'Majesty, these are the two Brothers who witnessed the whispering.’
'Ah whispering witnesses, wonderful,' said the King, as if this was all some party game.
'And the other fellow? Your name?’
Brother Francis looked around the company as if he was wondering who had spoken to him. He glanced at the Abbot.
'It's all right, Brother, you may speak,' the Abbot said. Poor fellow was obviously overcome by events. Francis took a step forward and knelt before the King.
'Brother Francis, your Majesty, Vatican special envoy.’ From somewhere inside his habit he produced a small piece of parchment which he handed to the King. Harold unfolded it, read it and handed it back.
'Yours, I presume?’ he asked of the Abbot.
'I'm afraid so, your Majesty. My Brother fears for my safety of course, but Francis has been a most useful set of eyes and ears for me in this place.’
Athan just managed to stifle a loud 'Ha'. So that was how the Abbot always managed to know so bloody much.
'You are here to protect the Abbot?’
'I am, your Majesty,' Francis answered, still on his knees.
'Get up, man,' the King ordered with some irritation. 'I have to tell you that I do not like the agents of the Pope creeping about my Kingdom without my knowledge.’
'Indeed, your Majesty,' Francis said, 'and if it had become necessary to extend my activities beyond those of guarding Master Abbot in this place, then naturally I would have made myself known.’
'Naturally,' said the King, not believing a word of it. 'So you were witness to this whispering.’
'I was, your Majesty. It was hard to see, but it was fairly clear that there was someone at the back of the room whispering to Brother Ambrosius. The elderly man got more and more excited, and then simply expired.’
'And when were you going to raise this information? Before or after the execution of the wrong person?’
'Majesty, I immediately communicated to the Abbot who suggested that we should let matters progress so that the main protagonists would be exposed. I would have, of course, come forward to put matters right if they had been going awry.’
'Of course you would' The King's tone was complete and utter contempt. 'And your brother would not have any connection with this exposure of heresy?’ he asked of the Abbot.
This was going way over Hermitage's head. He was very proud of reaching his conclusion about events, while of course feeling very guilty about feeling very proud. All these people turning out to be not what they ought to be was too much. He would never understand people.
He did understand the stuff about the whispering, but what was Francis doing? More to the point, who was he? Hermitage had always thought he was some sort of idiot. Proved how wrong you could be. All the people who should be clever were turning out to be idiots and the one who was certainly supposed to be an idiot was a papal agent. This was all going to take some working out afterwards. And who was the Abbot's brother, for goodness sake?
'My brother the Pope has obviously discussed the heresies that concern the Church as he would with any of his confidants.’
'I bet he has,' the King said. His voice didn't rise in volume, but it was clear that he was furious.
'The Pope,' thought Hermitage, 'I didn't know he had a brother. And anyway, I thought he was Italian.’ It didn't occur to Hermitage that you could have a different parent and still be a brother, but then it wouldn't.
Nicodemus and Athan exchanged glances which carried very similar thoughts, although theirs were an awful lot ruder.
'And so he sends you here as some sort of carefully prepared scheme to defeat a rather obscure and harmless sounding heresy, on my territory and without my knowledge?’
'Your Majesty,' the Abbot exclaimed in a shocked voice. 'A complete co-incidence I assure you. My brother requested an isolated and less demanding post for me after my mission to Jerusalem.’
'Jerusalem,' thought Hermitage. This was getting really interesting. Perhaps he should have spent more time with the Abbot, got to know him. On second thoughts, that wouldn't have been a good idea. The man might be the Pope's brother and have travelled to the Holy Land, but he was still a dangerous nut.
'The Pope doesn't send the feared Father Elick anywhere for a rest.’ The King had ice in his voice.
'Oh, Jesus Christ,' slipped from Hermitage's lips before he could stop himself. No wonder he found the man terrifying. He crossed himself repeatedly while Brother James simply whimpered.
'I do assure your Majesty that the best interests of your kingdom and your people were paramount.’
'Yes,' the King stretched the word out. He clearly wasn't happy and was equally clearly going to do something about it.
'I did my best to protect the young Brother here by sending him out of harm’s way to Lincoln.’
The King raised a questioning eyebrow at Hermitage.
'I was attacked before I got there. Mr Wat saved me.’
The Abbot shrugged. 'The heretics were on the verge of exposing themselves and their scheme, at which point I would have simply had them burned.’
'You bastard,' Athan muttered to himself, clearly feeling very let down.
As the King surveyed them all again, weighing up his options of what to do with them, the door was flung open once more. The King's uniformed messenger burst into the room and handed over a scroll. Harold unrolled it and read.
'Bollocks,' he said.
The others all waited to hear the news.
'As you will have gathered I am not at all happy with the goings on in this place and I want to get to the bottom of it. What the Church gets up to on its own, is its own business. Most of it's pretty odd anyway, but it's usually no concern of mine. When the Pope's relatives and agents start popping up in my country, it casts another light altogether. I will find out who the whisperer was, I will find out who is behind all of this and I will make an example of them.’
Nicodemus and Athan exchanged another glance as if it were their last.
'However,' the King said.
They breathed again.
'I have news here,' he waved the scroll about, 'that William the Bastard has actually landed at Hastings with a large force. This is not what we agreed at all. If he was coming, he should have sent word of the date. The man has no manners. Now I have to get down there as quickly as possible to see him off. I've done the Danes in the North and now I'll do the Normans in the South.’ He cast a regal glare around the room which nailed everyone to their spot.
'After that I shall come back here, so I want nothing done until I return. No one is to leave. I shall instruct the local authorities to that effect. All I can say is that you're all bloody lucky there's a Norman invasion, or I'd probably string up most of you here and now. You.’ He pointed to Hermitage who was busy quaking in his habit.
He thought that the King had been quite a reasonable chap. Now there was talk of execution again.
'Your Majesty,' he managed to bleat
'What's your name?’
'Hermitage, your Majesty.’
'Odd name for a monk,' the King frowned. 'Still nothing surprises me any more. Come here.’
Hermitage's shaky legs were only just sufficient to get him across the space to the King.
Harold put his hand on Hermitage's shoulders.
'Brother Hermitage,' he intoned with a purposeful look at Simon, 'I hereby appoint you the King's Investigator.’
'Ma
jesty?’
'Well, until today I never knew there was such a position, but with all these goings on it seems I might need one. If I'm going to have one I shall make my own appointment.’ This time the look went to Nicodemus.
'So,' the King spoke in his best regal voice, 'am I clear? No one leaves. Hermitage here is King's Investigator and I'll be back in a week to sort you all out.’
Various mumbles and nods greeted the King's instruction.
'Good. Now, Vignar, you're with me. We ride. To Hastings.’
'Yaarh,' Vignar waved his sword in joy.
'And Toksvar, you'd better come as well. If William has come with a large force I could probably use all the men I can get.’
The look on Toksvar's face changed during this instruction. It moved from horror at the thought of having to go and fight in a real battle to realisation that people do get killed in battles. All you probably have to do is make sure that it's the right people. He clapped his brother heartily on the shoulder.
'And noble Earl. A good job you are here at the time of your nation's peril. I will have you at my side as we drive the Norman's from our shores.’
'Oh, good,' said the Earl.
'Master Wat,' the King called, 'walk with me. I have an idea for a work based on skirmishing band of soldiers accidentally crashing through a bathhouse, perhaps you can work on some preliminary sketches while I'm away. Once I've defeated William and taken his lands I have a mind to hang something insulting on the town hall in Bayeux. Never did like that place.’
The King swept from the room, 'To arms, to arms,' he could be heard yelling, as he left with Wat scurrying after.
There was a long silence while those left looked at one another, trying to decide what to do. Hermitage closed his eyes in silent, prayerful thanks that the nightmare he had lived through had ended. Had ended well as it happened. He seemed to have been appointed King's Investigator. He would have to find out what his duties were.
When he opened his eyes again there were considerably fewer people. The Abbot and Francis had simply vanished, although Hermitage thought he could hear the sound of running feet. Well, three feet and a stick.
The Heretics of De'Ath (The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage Book 1) Page 24
