Caput XX
Half past Two: Lady to Dungeon
The Lady Foella did not go quietly all the way to the dungeon. Eleanor could have predicted that.
'Put me down,’ she ordered.
'When we get to the dungeon we'll put you down. Then we'll throw you in a cell and lock the door. Then perhaps you'll shut up,’ one of the guards said wistfully, in a lilting Norman French accent.
'I will not shut up.’ Foella was outraged.
'Well, at least we won't be able to hear you, which is just as good.’
'I'll see you punished for this. I know who you are,’ Foella growled through clenched teeth.
'No, you don't,’ the guard said simply, 'your sort never do.’
They were at the steps down to the cells now, but the guard had more to say. 'It was me who brought all those wretched trunks up to your room when you arrived. Two days of solid work coming and going while you sat in the window seat shouting at your maid. And you still don't recognise me.’
'Well…' Foella began.
'Still, when Lord Grosmal wants your head chopped off and I volunteer to be axe man, you might bring me to mind, eh?
For once Lady Foella was speechless.
…
The guards were rather taken aback as well when they came across the wreckage in the dungeon, including the unconscious gaoler and the moaning lock-up boy.
'What happened here?’ The guard demanded.
The lock up boy moaned some more and held his head, and then his leg. 'There was an army of them. They attacked out of nowhere, we never stood a chance.’
'When Lord Grosmal finds out you won't have much of a chance either,’ the guard observed. 'We'd better lock this harridan away and go and tell his lordship.’
'You can tell him,’ the other guard responded, 'he likes you.’
'I told you,’ his companion snapped back, ‘that was only the once.’
'Look,’ Foella piped up, 'I can see you've got a lot on your hands so I'll just wait here if you like.’ She tried to smile, but it didn't come out right.
'The guard simply laughed. 'Number three for you, I think.’
'Oh, you bastard,’ the other guard said with some feeling.
'What?’ Foella cried out as she was bundled through a solid cell door and into the room. 'What about number three? What's special about number three?’
She continued to cry out as the door was slammed and locked and the guards went to find Lord Robert.
'Tell me,’ she squealed, 'tell me what's special about number three?’
When there was no response her voice broke into a sort of whimper. 'Please tell me.’
The lock up boy jumped to his feet and gathered his meagre possessions ready to leave and start a new life. Or at least keep the old one out of the hands of Lord Grosmal. He then paused, thought and helped himself to the less meagre possessions of his still prone master before scuttling up the steps.
Just as he left the dungeon itself he heard a high pitched scream from Lady Foella.
'Found out about number three, then,’ he sniggered as he whistled his way out of the castle.
…
Despite the news coming from a supposed friend, Lord Grosmal did not take it well. In fact he took it so badly the second guard had to take the rest of the day off to get his wounds seen to.
He hurriedly dragged Ethel, Simon and the undamaged guard back to the dungeon.
When they arrived the gaoler was just coming round.
'So, my man,’ Grosmal said, crouching down beside the clearly befuddled gaoler, 'where is my prisoner?’
It was asked very nicely, but it pressed a look of terror on to the gaoler's face.
'My lord,’ the man mumbled, 'I was struck from behind by a massive blow. Look, it destroyed the table.’ He gestured to the wreckage around him.
'And it looks like it took my prisoner away.’ Grosmal gestured to the cell door which was propped up against a wall instead of stopping the people in the cell getting out.
'Ah.’ The gaoler looked.
'Guard,’ Grosmal called and the remaining guard stepped up.
'My lord.’
'Take this man outside and give him a massive blow on the back of the head. This time make sure he never wakes up.’
'My lord.’
The guard dragged the gaoler to his feet and took the protesting figure away.
A gentle and plaintive plea whispered into the silent chamber.
'Please let me out.’
'Ah,’ said Grosmal, 'number three. Good choice.’
With no staff in support, Grosmal stepped up himself and pulled back the bolts of the cell door.
The Lady Foella tumbled out straight into his arms and looked nervously back at the cell.
'There there, my lady,’ Grosmal was all comfort and solicitation, which was very disturbing. 'Let's have a nice chat and you won't have to go back in the nasty cell.’
'Nasty,’ she shivered.
'Come, Master Investigator,’ Grosmal summoned Simon, who had been hanging back by the steps. 'Let's go into number four and you can do your thing.’
'My, er, thing?’
'Yes, finding out about matters. I'm sure the lady has a lot of matters she wants to discuss now.’
'Ah, yes, of course.’ Simon didn't sound very sure.
'All of which will lead to the inevitable conclusion that she knows about de Turold's death and will confess all before King William.’
'Will she?’ Simon asked.
'She will.’ Grosmal was quite emphatic.
The lord of the castle took the still trembling Foella by the arm and led her past the absent door of the interrogation room.
Simon followed but he had to be ushered in by Ethel.
'So,’ Grosmal said cheerfully, spreading his arms to encompass the impressive array of equipment in the room. 'Where would you like to start?’
'Oh.’ Simon was looking around the room as well. Apparently for another exit. 'Erm, perhaps with some questions?’
'Well, obviously, but which tool do you want to ask the questions?’
'Tool?’
'Yes. Good God man, anyone would think you'd never asked any questions before.’
'Ha ha,’ Simon laughed lightly and without authenticity.
'What's it to be then eh? The Dancer's Hearthstone?’ He gestured to a large collection of metal shapes held together by chains. 'Sir Bringly's Brightener?’ He pointed to a single spike with a winding handle on the end. 'Perhaps even the Iron Encumbrance?’ This was a man-shaped piece of metal with holes in it at strategic points. Strategic and intimate.
'Oh er.’ Simon was paralysed with indecision.
'I have it.’ Grosmal picked up a strangely shaped object which looked like nothing so much as the leavings from a blacksmith's apprentice on his first morning. 'My Lady's Grimace. Perfect and so appropriate. I've always liked this one.’
He handed the contraption to Simon, who cut his finger on it.
'I think we can achieve our ends without mechanical assistance.’ He sounded sure, but didn't look it.
'Really?’ Grosmal looked at Lady Foella, and then at his interrogation equipment. His face was that of a youth told to leave the hall before the roistering began.
'Oh yes, sire,’ Simon had found his condescension again. 'Modern methods simply require the application of intellect. A few piercing questions will get to the truth.’
'Without any actual piercing?’ Grosmal was not convinced.
'Absolutely.’
'Well, I must say this is extremely disappointing and I have to say suspicious. I've never heard of anyone asking any questions or getting any information out of anyone without equipment. Are you sure you're qualified for this job?’
'Of course I am, sire,’ Simon huffed, ’was I not appointed by the King? Did I not solve the mystery at De'Ath's Dingle?’
'So you say. And you never used anything? Not even a tickling spike?’
'Absolute
ly not.’
Grosmal shook his head. 'Saxons are very odd. Have it your own way, but I expect results.’
'Of course, sire. Now if you could leave me with the lady?’
'Leave you?’ Now Grosmal really was lost.
'Oh yes, sire, absolutely essential. The, erm, victim must not be distracted by others. I myself require the deepest levels of concentration and these are highly confidential methods.’ Simon nodded significantly.
'Can't I even watch?’
'I'm afraid not, sire.’
'What do you make of this, Ethel?’ Grosmal turned to his retainer.
'Highly unorthodox, sire.’ The retainer spoke to Grosmal, but looked at Simon.
'No use of the questioning engines and now no one else in the room?’ Grosmal thought and then a sly grin appeared on his face. 'What are you going to do to her then?’ he asked Simon.
'I am going to put her to a severe test of reasoning. One which she will not be able to resist. The truth will out.’
Grosmal frowned in thought some more. It was not a pleasant sight. 'All right. I'll give you ten minutes.
'It will take longer than that, sire.’ Simon dismissed this ridiculous timescale.
'We'll come back after ten minutes, and if there's no progress we use something metal.’
With a wave of the arm Grosmal ended the conversation. The same arm gestured Ethel to leave the room and the door was propped back in place behind them.
The afternoon sun dappled through the shoddy brickwork of the cell. It danced on bits of equipment that had never been anywhere near a dance, and illuminated the place quite unnecessarily.
In the distance a bird tweeted its incongruous joy at the day, while a sheep coughed its throat clear of half-digested grass in a much more appropriate manner.
Motes of dust floated in the air, their lazy progress making it clear they had not the faintest idea what went on here.
All in all the processes of nature trod their path; slow, relentless and consistent. Probably just what Grosmal expected of the King’s Investigator.
…
Simon turned to Foella. She was standing rather still, but kept wringing her hands as her eyes darted about the room.
'Now, my lady,’ Simon said as he approached her.
Her eyes found him. 'What?’ She snapped her snap, but it was a nervous one with a quiver in it.
‘I am going to ask you a series of questions. Answer each one honestly and openly and this will lead to the revelation of the truth of events.’
'What?’ she snapped and quivered again.
Simon sighed as talked down to Foella. 'I will ask you some questions,’ he said very slowly. 'They may not seem connected to events, but will lead us on a trail of inexorable thinking. We will start with simple things, questions from the outlying reaches of your time here. Subtle questions which will slowly build up a picture of you, of the people here and how the time has passed. Questions, seemingly innocuous, which will create a picture. A picture of great detail, but a picture of the whole. When we have all the minute, inconsequential details we will stand back and look at what we have created. In that creation the circumstances of the death will be revealed. It will be clear and it will be unavoidable.’
Foella seemed to be emerging from her nervous state as Simon rambled on.
'Questions?’ she said.
'Indeed.’
'Go on then,’ she challenged him.
'Right, my lady,’ Simon was not phased. He looked Foella in the eye. 'Are you ready for the first question on our tortuous path to truth?’
'Yes.’
Simon drew his breath. 'Did you kill de Turold?’
'No, I bloody well didn't, you idiot.’ Foella was now completely out of her nervous state and resumed her normal approach to life - attack.
'Oh.’ Simon seemed lost now.
'That wasn't very subtle, was it? Where's the chain of inconsequential questions? The building of a picture?’ She put her hand on her hips.
'That was a ruse,’ Simon flustered.
'A ruse?’ Foella's voice rose to a shriek.
There was a giggle from outside the cell door at the sound of the shriek. A giggle with a Norman accent.
'Yes, I was lulling you into a relaxed state before snapping out the key question. It's a common technique.’
'Relaxed? I'm in a bloody Norman torture chamber, you imbecile. How relaxed do you think I can get? I've just been released from a cell with, with things in it and threatened by a man with his own collection of pain makers. Is this really the best you can do?’
Simon looked nervously from Foella to the door and back. He then stole a glance at My Lady's Grimace.
'Don't even think about it,’ Foella instructed. 'You even look at any of those things and I'll use them on you.’
'My lady,’ Simon dropped his voice, 'Lord Grosmal is going to return at any moment and if there is nothing to tell him he most certainly will use these things.’
'So what do you suggest?’ The contempt in Foella's voice was strong and direct – it headed straight for Simon.
The king’s Investigator narrowed his eyes as if reducing the amount of light entering his head would make his thoughts work harder.
'You knew de Turold?’
'Of course.’
'Very well?’
'There was only Grosmal, me and de Turold here,’ Foella answered, ignoring the hundred odd other people who were there as well. But then they were peasants, servants and guards, so didn't really count.
'He had a cousin knocking about somewhere, but they didn't get on so he kept out of the way.’
'So you knew de Turold? You had meals with him and conversations.’ Simon nodded in a very knowing manner.
'Well done,’ Foella was not complimentary.
'And we heard that de Turold was shot in the privy.’
'In the arse in the privy,’ Foella corrected.
'Indeed, and did you know this place?’
'The arse or the privy?’
'The privy, my lady, the privy. I think you had better take this matter seriously.’
'Oh, I am taking the matter seriously. It's you I think are a joke.’
'Did you know the privy?’ Simon asked. He ignored the comment, but hardened his gaze at Foella.
'Of course I did. You can't miss the place, it stinks.’
'And we also heard that you threw a knife at Lord Grosmal and accused him of killing de Turold, your husband,’ Simon stopped talking as if amazed at his own powers of deduction.
'That wasn't it at all.’ Foella tried to dismiss the suggestion, but the dismissive tone towards Simon had gone. 'It was merely that I liked de Turold. When I heard that he'd been killed, I was naturally upset. I thought Grosmal must have had something to do with it.’ She shrugged.
'Your husband?’
'No no,’ Foella laughed a tinkling laugh. The sound was more like a horse's corpse being thrown through a window made of cheap glass than a tinkle. 'I got confused in the horror of the murder.’
'You got confused about who your husband was?’
'I don't have a husband,’ Foella glared.
'Then there hardly seems room for any confusion whatsoever. I can understand a woman who sees two men in a darkened chamber being confused. If the men are of about the same size and shape and their faces are covered. And they don't say anything or move about. Then I can understand a woman being confused over which is her husband.’
'Yes, all right,’ Foella capitulated.
Simon was on a roll. 'But if a woman entered such a chamber and did not in fact have a husband at all, she would not mistake either of them for her man.’
'Yes, yes.’
'Because, not having a husband at all, she would realise that neither of the men presented to her could be that man, because he didn't exist.’
'All right…'
'Perhaps if she entered an empty chamber she might confuse the emptiness for her absence of a husband.’
> 'Shut up.’
Simon shut up because he had driven himself down a rational dead end.
'So you thought you did have a husband?’ Simon struggled to get back on track again.
'No.’
'Then what, my lady?’ Simon demanded. 'You need to explain.’
'I need to do no such thing.’
'Then Lord Grosmal will return and use some of his own personal methods.’
Foella looked to Simon and to the stack of personal methods lying in wait. She sighed.
'I had thought that de Turold might be a suitable match.’
'A dead man?’
'Before he was dead. I think that weaver is right, you are useless.’
'That will do, my lady.’ Simon bit the words.
'Naturally when I found that de Turold was dead my plans fell apart and I was, erm, disappointed.’
'So disappointed that you threw a knife at Lord Grosmal.’
'Just so,’ said Foella looking Simon straight in the eye. 'I do that sort of thing when I get disappointed.’
'You attack people when they disappoint you? Interesting. Did de Turold know of your intentions?’
'He and I had a discussion of sorts over dinner the night he died.’
'And was he amenable to the proposal?’
'It wasn't a proposal, but yes he was amenable. Well, amenable to taking the first steps.’
‘What were those?’ Simon was positively lively. This line of questioning actually seemed to be getting somewhere.
'He, erm.’ Foella hesitated as she thought carefully about her next sentence.
'Yes my lady? It is important that you tell everything. If you had nothing to do with the death then all the details you can give will ensure no action is taken against you.’ Simon nodded encouragement for her to go on.
'He was going to come to my chamber that night.’
'Really?’
Foella actually blushed. Just for a moment before she forced it away.
'Yes, but he never arrived.’
'He was killed on the way?’
'He must have been.’
The Garderobe of Death Page 19
