'We're not talking about me,’ Simon blustered.
'Perhaps we should be,’ Wat retorted.
'How did you kill him?’ Simon snapped.
'You tell me. You're the Investigator.’
'Shall we make him confess?’ Grosmal asked with some enthusiasm.
'Wait a minute,’ Wat held his hands out in an attempt to calm things down. 'How did anyone kill de Turold?’
'They shot him,’ Grosmal snorted and grinned, 'in the arse.’
'Quite right, sire,’ Wat congratulated the Norman, 'but how did they shoot him?’
'With a bow.’ Grosmal nodded to the others in the room to confirm his quick wit.
'Right again, sire, but how? He was killed from below, but the killer didn’t get out through the garderobe door because that had been shut for years. It was a struggle to get it open.’
'He must have come out through the privy seat then.’ Wat carried on a two-sided conversation as it was clear no one in the room was going to follow this unaided.
''But the hole in the privy seat is too small for anyone to climb through. And if someone did manage that, how did they see in the dark to shoot?’
‘They had a candle,’ he chastised himself.
'Ah, but if they had a candle why did they leave it behind in the middle of the night?’
'Hum,’ Wat considered his own reasoning. 'The candle doesn't make any sense anyway.’
'What have candles to do with anything, you fool?’ Simon interjected. 'The killer may have had a box full.’
'But when a lighted torch was put in the chamber the whole place went bang. It would have gone bang with a candle. So the candle can't have been down there. Why take a candle to a murder and then not use it?’
'You tell me. Killer,’ Simon snarled.
Wat ignored him. 'The mystery of the candle is bad enough, but I believe the privy hole is key.’
'Do you mind?’ Foella put in, having sneaked up close to Grosmal once more.
'It's too small.’
Foella looked away.
'No one could have got down there. Not even Ethel and he's as thin as a – well, you know.’
Ethel bowed slightly to acknowledge the nicety.
'De Turold was shot from below, with a bow, which no one could have taken down there.’
There was silence in Number four.
…
Foella was getting bored. The day wasn’t going any better and the Gentleman’s gown was proving a bit chilly for dungeon-wear. Only half listening, she idly regarded the bits of ironmongery around the walls. Then, 'I know someone in the castle who's very small,’ she said, as if she just wanted to be part of the conversation.
They all turned as one to face her.
'What?’ she said, looking at the crowd, now looking intently at her.
'Who is very small in the castle?’ Wat asked very carefully, as if he was sneaking up on a duck.
'The, erm, little guard, of course,’ Foella rather hurriedly stated the obvious. They all looked blank.
'The little guard,’ she repeated, 'you must have seen him. He's a guard. Except he's little.’
''I don't have any little guards,’ Grosmal sneered at the thought.
'You do,’ Foella contradicted playfully, as if Grosmal was hiding her Christmas present. 'A little fellow. He's a guard.’
'I can assure you, my lady, that I do not have any little guards. What would be the point?’
'Well, that's what I thought, but I didn't like to say anything. One doesn't like to be rude.’ Foella smiled as one who very much liked to be rude.
'Where did you see this little guard, my lady?’ Wat asked.
'In the corridors, guarding. Where do you normally see guards?’
'Did he say who he was?’ Ethel asked.
Simon's head was going backwards and forwards now as he tried to follow the conversation.
'No, he did not say who he was. I don't invite conversation from the staff and I certainly don't talk to guards,’ Foella said, looking down her high and mighty nose. 'Anyway, why would he say anything? I walk round the castle all day. I don't expect the guards to introduce themselves.’
'Then how do you know he was a guard?’ Simon interjected, smiling at everyone and nodding acknowledgement that he had the situation under control.
'How do I know any of them are guards?’ Foella snapped back. 'They dress like guards. They behave like guards. They're guards. I don't expect to interrogate the staff to make sure they are who they appear to be. I'm a lady, not a bloody peasant.’
'This is very significant,’ Wat said. 'It seems we have someone who could have carried out the murder. My lady,’ he turned to Foella, 'do you think the fellow was small enough to get through the privy hole?’
'What is this?’ Foella glared at them all. 'First I'm supposed to get the names and addresses of the servants, now I have to know the dimensions of the plumbing?’
'Sorry, my lady,’ Wat bowed.
'So I should bloody well think. Honestly!'
Wat addressed the others. 'We have a suspect,’ he declared. 'All we have to do is find him.’
'Send out the guard to find a guard?’ Ethel smirked.
'If he is an impostor, he won't hang around,’ Wat made a move to the door. 'We'd better start looking.’
At a nod from Grosmal the gaoler put an arm out at around throat height and knocked Wat firmly to the floor.
'Oof,’ said Wat, rubbing his throat and gasping his breath. 'What was that for?’
'Trying to escape, of course,’ said Grosmal.
'But we have a good idea who the killer is, we should find him,’ Wat protested.
'We have one possible killer,’ Grosmal explained, 'who is not imprisoned in my cells. We have another possible killer who is imprisoned in my cells. I'm not likely to let the second one go, am I? In case we don't find the first one.’
'But…'
'When all this gets explained to William,’ Grosmal began, then shook his head at the prospect. The explanation obviously wasn't clear to him, so how would he get on with the King? 'Point is, I’ve got to have someone to hang. I think I'll keep you for the time being.’
'Very wise, sire,’ Simon said condescending from no very great height. 'After all, they could still be in league. The weaver and the little guard.’
'A plot?’ Grosmal asked.
'Indeed, sire.’
'There we are then. You stay here – we'll go and look for the little guard. If he exists,’ he said triumphantly.
'Are you calling me a liar?’ Foella glowered.
'No, no, my lady,’ Grosmal rapidly back tracked. 'I mean if he hasn't already made good his escape.’
The party left the cell with Foella mumbling obscenities at Grosmal's back.
The Gaoler grinned at Wat and pulled the door closed behind him, sliding the massive bolt across as he did so.
Wat got to his feet and looked around. At least this place was larger than his last cell. And it had an ample supply of tools lying about. At a quick glance he saw several he could use to simply take the door completely to pieces.
For reasons that he failed to comprehend, many of Wat’s very particular clients wanted tapestries set in dungeons like this. With implements like these. In active use. He’d done so many of them he felt like quite an authority on the places.
Caput XVII
One-o-clock: Wood to Castle 2
The rescue party was ready.
There had been much debate about the benefits of sneaking. A lot of it revolved around pride and standards and the things a real man did, rather than effectiveness. The combined forces of the sneaking camp (Hermitage, Scarlan and the now re-captured Cotard) eventually won the day.
It wouldn't be the underhand sneaking of a thief in the night. Durniss's bulk made it unlikely he could sneak anywhere, while six people approaching the castle would not go unnoticed anyway.
When Hermitage said the sneaking in mind was more like deceit, even Sig
urd the Elder came round.
Sigurd son of Sigurd said he could do a really good sneak and demonstrated by lying down and crawling through the grass making hissing noises. At the end of his sneak he jumped up and held his arms out. Prompted by Sigurd the Father, everyone applauded politely, whereupon Sigurd son of Sigurd ran round and round in circles for a bit.
With a plan that was more Hermitage's walk-up-to-the-gate-and-ask than anything, the troop left the safety of the wood and headed across open ground to the castle. They had agreed their story and who would do the talking.
Before they reached the ramparts they were approached by a couple of guards, patrolling the outer reaches.
The party held its collective breath as it prepared for the most daring part of the plan. They would have to be convincing or all would be lost. One word out of place, one wrong gesture or suspicious behaviour of any sort could see them condemned along with Wat. Even Sigurd son of Sigurd had been made to swear an awful swear that he would keep quiet.
The guards drew closer. They looked the group up and down. They appraised them and their eyes narrowed. They hefted their weapons.
As they drew level one of the guards suddenly threw back the visor of his helmet and spoke.
'Afternoon,’ he said, glancing at the sun and seeing that was as near to midday as anyone would know.
'Oh, er, afternoon,’ the rescue party mumbled.
'Nice day,’ said the second guard. 'At least the rain's kept off.’
'Hello,’ shouted Sigurd son of Sigurd, getting bored. 'I'm a rescuer,’ and he jumped around to demonstrate.
The guards laughed and wandered on.
'Ha, ha,’ Sigurd the elder roared under his breath, 'idiots.’
'I told you it wouldn't be a problem,’ Hermitage explained. 'They're not expecting an attack or any sort of action at all. The Normans have settled in and it's life as normal. This is a working castle,’ he waved his arm towards the gaping gate of Castle Grosmal, 'not the site of a siege.’
'Gone soft,’ Sigurd mumbled again.
Cotard was quite cheerful and didn't hide his face in his hood any more.
'They want people to come in,’ Hermitage went on. ‘They want to get back to the country being as normal as possible, except with them in charge.’
'It'll never happen,’ Scarlan sneered.
'I think it already has, to a large extent.’ Hermitage smiled weakly, hoping this comment wouldn't lead to a physical reprimand from Sigurd. All remained peaceful so he went on as they walked.
'The Normans will want their taxes and tithes and the like, of course. But they won't get anything if the farmers can't farm and the traders can't trade, so they have to leave them alone. They're far more likely to murder a rival noble than they are the man who cleans out the gargoyles.’
'Our Saxon nobles.’ Scarlan expressed his disgust at the notion.
'Were they good nobles?’ Hermitage asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
'Bastards,’ Cotard put in.
'You watch your mouth,’ Sigurd pointed a finger.
'Well, they were,’ Cotard responded, obviously confident that Sigurd wouldn’t attack him in front of a castle full of Normans in the middle of a sneaky rescue.
'Yer,’ Durniss added, nodding his great head.
'Mine took all the doors off my hovel, just 'cos he needed a new one for his cupboard,’ Cotard whined.
'What?’ Hermitage found this hard to believe.
'He did,’ Cotard declared the truth of his statement. 'He'd had the carpenter build him a great closet for all his magnificent robes and the like. Bloody thing was bigger than most hovels. And of course he never paid the carpenter. Said it was his dues. Then when they come to the doors they need another one in a hurry.’
'Another one? How many doors does a cupboard need?’ Hermitage asked.
'Well, I don't know. I've never had one, have I? All I know is they needed another door and so the Lord sent out for all the doors in the hovels.’
'And you didn't get them back if they didn't fit?’
'Course not. They used what they wanted and the rest was firewood.’
'Awful.’ Hermitage shook his head at the greed of mankind and its ignorance of the needs of others.’
'Only right and fair,’ Sigurd said. 'Got to have nobles. Once you got nobles they can do what they like. Not for us to question.’
'Oh, I think…' Hermitage began.
'Not for us to question,’ Sigurd said very slowly and deliberately.
Hermitage changed tack. 'For me there'll be very little change. Monastic life will carry on exactly as it always has. The Normans worship God the same as everyone. We'd never have a king who did anything to change belief or the status of the monastery.’
The party nodded acceptance of this eternal truth.
'And if I'd stayed in De'Ath's Dingle I probably wouldn't have noticed the change from Saxon to Norman until someone came and told me.’
'Yeah,’ said Scarlan, 'but who'd want to stay in De'Ath's Dingle?’
The party snorted its agreement.
…
By this time they had reached the main castle gate. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible they strolled across the drawbridge, nodding 'good afternoon' to the occasional guard.
'Now what?’ Scarlan hissed as they stood in the courtyard. And they did stick out rather as they clearly had nothing to do. Everyone else in the place was either doing something or was rushing somewhere else. Here a man was adjusting a horse's bridle; there two more were carrying saddles away for storage. Still more were shovelling horse dung into a cart. And another group was unloading a freshly butchered horse for the kitchen.
'I'd heard it, but I never believed it,’ Durniss rumbled to himself.
'What?’ Cotard asked him.
'They really do eat horses.’
'Delicious,’ Sigurd put in. 'Come on, monk, what do we do now?’
'Now we, erm.’ Hermitage looked around for a suitable guard. 'Ah, just the fellow.’ He led the group across to where William le Morton was guarding the castle walls – by holding them up with his shoulder.
'Guard,’ Hermitage called.
William looked up. 'There you are.’
Hermitage looked around to see who else had joined them.
'We’ve been looking for you. Where you been?’
'Looking for me?’
'Yes. Instructions from Ethel to find you. Him and that other one of you. The one in proper clothes.’
'Wat.’
'The one in proper clothes.’ William spoke more loudly.
'No, his name is Wat.’
'Why?’
'No, Wat.’
'No, why is his name Wat?’
'Why not? What’s wrong with Wat?’ Hermitage decided to move on. 'I've been on an errand,’ he explained, ‘and I've come to find Wat. So can you tell me where he is?’
William looked around cautiously. 'In the dungeon, I hear.’
'The dungeon?’ Hermitage feigned shocked surprise. ‘What's he doing there? Investigating some new aspect of the murder?’
'What the what?’ said William, thoroughly confused.
'What is Wat doing in the dungeon?’
'Not much, I should think.’
'Why is Wat in the dungeon then?’
'They don't tell me nothing. I just heard from my mate on chamber duty that he got to cart this bloke off to the dungeon. Lucky bastard.’
'Lucky?’
'Yeah, I never got to cart no one off.’ William looked sullenly at the floor.
'So,’ Hermitage went on, 'erm, which dungeon did they put him in? Er, cart him off to.’
'I'd heard it was number two.’ William nodded at this significant point.
Scarlan poked Hermitage in the back. 'Get a move on,’ he hissed, 'we're starting to attract attention.’
Hermitage looked around the courtyard. There did seem to be a lot more activity now. More guards were coming out of the buildings.
'Uh, oh.’ William stood up straight. 'Here comes the head guard. I'd better see what he wants.’
Before Hermitage could ask any more, William ran off in a very military manner towards a well uniformed guard with a badge at his shoulder.
'Norman,’ Sigurd spat.
The group tried to blend into the stonework of the castle. Hermitage and Scarlan turned their heads as if in deep conversation. Durniss stood and stared at the horses.
Cotard and Sigurd pretended they were bargaining over some intricate matter of trade.
Sigurd son of Sigurd poked some ants with straw.
'So,’ Scarlan whispered, 'where's dungeon number two then?’
'No idea,’ Hermitage shrugged.
'What?’
'We never got as far as the dungeons.’
'What good is that?’ Scarlan demanded.
'I imagine they're downstairs somewhere. We'll just have to find a way in and look.’
'What, with the place crawling with guards? For a learned man you are particularly thick.’
'Well, pardon me,’ Hermitage said, some shameful irritation creeping into his words.
Their worry was disturbed by the return of William.
'Now we’ve got to look for some small guard,’ he said, shaking his head at the random stupidity of orders.
'A small guard? Why?’ Hermitage asked.
'No idea. Don't think for a moment that we're ever told why we have to do anything,’ William grumbled. 'The orders are to find a small guard, so a small guard we’ll have to find.’
'How small?’
'Small enough to fit down a privy, apparently,’ William shrugged.
'Filthy bastards,’ Sigurd spat.
'Oh, I see,’ said Hermitage, in the relieved tone he used when things became clear. Or slightly less totally obscure, at any rate. 'And is there such a small guard? Have you ever seen him?’
'Nah. Don't know that there is one. Could just be one of the Lord's whims. You know like, fetch me a peasant with one leg. Find a pregnant deer. All the weird stuff he gets up to. He probably just fancies a small guard. Rather the small guard than me.’
The Garderobe of Death Page 16
