The Garderobe of Death

by Howard of Warwick

  He crawled further and found that the light was coming from really very low on the floor. The masonry of the tunnel they were in was fundamentally poor, but just here there was sufficient shoddiness to allow the light from the neighbouring chamber to seep through.

  William got his head low and pressed one eye against the hole.

  'Oh dear,’ he said as he drew his eye back. Quickly.

  'What is it?’ Eleanor's voice.

  'You don't want to know.’ His voice had a shiver in it.

  'Of course I do now you've said that.’

  The skirts bustled forwards until Eleanor kicked William.

  'Oy.’

  'Get out of the way. I want to see.’

  She lay down on the ground, pushing William to one side.

  'You really don't,’ William insisted, but he let her go ahead.

  She pressed her eye against the hole.

  'Oh,’ she said in a serious tone. A tone devoid of all life and joy and hope. A tone which said it had been inside Eleanor's head and had left, taking the happy part of her with it.

  'Is that…?’ she asked, the tinkle of her voice tolling like a knell.

  'Yes,’ William replied. The darkness deepened further as he spoke.

  'I never knew the Normans did that sort of, you know,’ Eleanor's voice broke slightly.

  'Don't think about it,’ he said, finding her arm and squeezing it. She lay her hand on his in gratitude.

  They sighed together and moved on as one.

  After several more minutes of stumbling, turning and bumping into things, one of which moved out of their way and generated a shriek from Eleanor, they noticed a pronounced reduction in the darkness.

  The next corner was visible, and from it came a vague recollection of daylight. A poor memory of the sun.

  They edged around it and saw a door. It was a wooden door full of holes, and its construction matched the deplorable standard of the rest of the castle. It hung on one hinge, the other being completely missing, but there was definite light behind it.

  It didn't look like welcoming and warm daylight. It wasn't even fresh as it had a dim and shadowed quality about it. But it was a darn sight better than staying in the eye-watering darkness of the tunnel. Perhaps it might wash the image of that other chamber from their heads.

  William grabbed the door, gave it a light tug and stood holding it as the whole thing came off in his hand. They both stepped forward, still crouching slightly under the roof of the tunnel, and noticed that the floor on the other side of the door seemed to be missing.

  They found some bits of wall which didn't fall apart under the lightest grip, and leant through the door to look down on to a large open space. They were some ten feet up the side of a wall and the door opened out onto an enclosed courtyard.

  The floor was covered in logs.

  One of the logs looked up and moved. 'Master, we are discovered again,’ it called out, skipping away towards a giant log in the middle of the place, into which it disappeared.

  William and Eleanor exchanged very puzzled looks.

  'Ah.’ A well-rounded and educated voice called up in recognition.

  They looked down and saw that a more normal figure had appeared on the floor below.

  As normal as any figure could be in a courtyard full of logs, that is.

  'This is just Eleanor,’ the new figure called comfort to his companion, 'the Lady Foella's maid. And William the guard.’ The voice was cordial and welcoming. The log man peeped out.

  'You,’ Eleanor called.

  'Do you know him?’ William asked. 'And how does he know me?’ he added.

  'Of course I know him. This is the one that came creeping out of my lady's wardrobe in the first place. So this is where the tunnel leads.’ She looked the space over. 'What a dump.’

  'The tunnel leads to many places, sweet Eleanor,’ the man called up in good cheer.

  'Oy,’ said William, 'less of the sweet. And how do you know who I am?’

  'I meant nothing by it, sir – William. And I know you as I know all in the castle. William le Morton now, but only recently, eh?

  Eleanor was puzzled. 'What does he mean?’ she demanded of William.

  'Nothing, nothing,’ he rushed out. ‘What do you know of Lady Foella's imprisonment?’

  The man shrugged. 'Only that it has happened.’

  'Hum.’ Eleanor was not convinced.

  'And where she is held, how to get there and how to release her, of course,’ the man added with a further shrug.

  'What? Well get her out then,’ demanded Eleanor, who was not Foella’s maid for nothing. She tried to wave a hand to illustrate the point, but nearly fell. 'Look, this is ridiculous. Can you come up? It's very off-putting, shouting from up here.’

  'Logs, fetch the ladder,’ the man instructed.

  They all watched while Logs went behind the little house of logs and emerged with a construction made of logs. He put this on the floor of logs and propped it against the wall.

  It was a ladder in as much as it had two sides with some rungs between them. But the whole thing looked like it had been grown especially, rather than manufactured.

  'Come down,’ the man called.

  'I'm not getting on that thing,’ Eleanor squeaked.

  'It's perfectly safe, I assure you. Safer than being in the tunnel. It's always a bit prone to collapse around the edges.’

  William clearly agreed as he took hold of the contraption and got one foot on to it. 'I'll go first,’ he said, holding out a hand to help Eleanor.

  William climbed and Eleanor grumbled down the ladder until they reached what passed for the floor.

  'Right.’ Eleanor had hands on hips and was in combative mood once more. 'Just who the hell are you and how quickly are you going to get my mistress out?’

  'My name is not important and I can't get your mistress out,’ he shrugged his shrug.

  'If you shrug once more I'll kick you so hard in such a place that your shoulders will never come down again.’

  'What would be served by getting your mistress out?’ The man seemed to take the threat to heart.

  'She would be got out, you idiot. A bit less prone to execution?’

  'And then Grosmal will execute someone else. If not a lot of people.’

  'A lot of people are not my problem. My mistress is my problem. And right now I am your problem.’

  'Very clearly argued, I'm sure, but not persuasive.’

  'My lady did not kill Henri de Turold,’ Eleanor said with some emotion.

  'We don't know that,’ said the man among the logs. He almost succumbed to a shrug, but resisted.

  Eleanor narrowed her eyes. 'I bet you do.’ The narrow eyes were trying hard to pierce the man, like the arrow that had done for de Turold.

  'Not at all,’ the man dismissed the accusation.

  'You kept going on about how much you knew, and how mysterious you were. If you don't know who killed de Turold I would be very surprised.’

  The man said nothing.

  'In fact I'd be very disappointed. Not much of a mysterious creeper-about if you don't know about a murder. The only murder to have happened in recent days.’

  'We have other interests.’ The man nodded his head towards Logs who grinned at everyone.

  'And what might they be?’ Eleanor's determination was bristling.

  The man drew his shoulders back. 'We are the Brotherhood of the Sward,’ he announced.

  'Sword,’ Eleanor corrected.

  'No, sward.’ The man corrected the correction.

  'Very nice, I'm sure. Meaning?’

  'We are a Brotherhood,’

  'With you so far.’

  'And we protect the Sward.’

  'What Sward?’

  'The Sward.’

  'What? Like the Greensward?’ William spoke up with a healthy load of disbelief.

  'Exactly.’

  'All of it?’ William was incredulous now, as well as disbelieving.

&nb
sp; 'As much as we can protect.’

  'Protect it from what?’ It was Eleanor's turn to address the man as if his brains had been trampled into some sward.

  'Normans, just at the moment.’

  Eleanor shook her head to get rid of some patently daft ideas. A couple of twigs and a bit of the tunnel dropped from her hair. 'You are protecting the fields from the Normans?’

  'Not just the fields. The forests, the animals, the whole of everything.’

  'And the Normans are doing what exactly? Walking on it heavily?’

  'They are despoiling it with their foreign ways. If we don't take action it will be gone.’

  'The whole of everything will be gone?’ Eleanor checked the man's reasoning.

  'Precisely.’

  'Mad. You are precisely mad. This thing here,’ she gestured to Logs, who grinned, 'we can see he's mad. He looks it. He talks like it. He behaves like it. Full deck. You, on the other hand - you look normal, but then you go and open your mouth.’

  'Say what you will, Eleanor. In the days of the Saxon we had respect for the land. We nurtured it and worked with it. It supported us.’

  Eleanor's look was suddenly full of understanding. 'Druids,’ she laughed, 'you're a bunch of bloody Druids. Why don't you go and live in a tree with one of your spirits instead of bothering the normal people?’

  'As it happens I am not a Druid, but I have a lot of sympathy for their ways.’ The man had got very defensive.

  'I bet you do. Danced naked round any mulberry bushes recently?’

  William sniggered.

  Logs looked offended.

  'That is a myth. Honestly, there are so many rumours around Druidic ways. Usually made up by people who should know better.’

  'So the Normans are chopping down the wrong trees, killing the wrong animals. There's a lot of them out there and when you chop one down a new one grows.’

  'And there are many Normans. All of them busy despoiling. If we don't act, who will?’

  'No one. I think that's the point. Anyway, what's all this got to do with my mistress and de Turold?’

  'We are all chaff in the wind.’

  'Speak English.’

  'The needs of individuals are nothing compared to the needs of the Sward.’

  'Excellent. In that case you as an individual can go and tell Grosmal you killed his mate. You're so weird he's bound to believe you. My mistress will get off and you can become a bit of the chaff.’

  'My duties to the Sward prevent that.’

  'I don't think the Sward will miss you. You'd make a bit of extra soil after a few years in the ground.’

  'It cannot be.’ The man folded his arms with some finality.

  'So what is it you actually do?’ William asked patiently.

  'I'm sorry?’

  'This protecting of the Sward? What does it involve?’

  'We protect.’ The man sounded grand.

  'Yes, but how?’ William persisted. 'I mean, what is it you do when you get up in the morning to protect things? Where do you go? What do you…’, he hesitated as he couldn't think of a better word, 'do?’

  'We confuse the Normans.’

  'You confuse me,’ Eleanor put in.

  'I mean we confuse their schemes. Where they go hunting, we scare away the animals. Where they plan to fell the forests, we invoke the spirits.’

  'That mulberry bush again.’ Eleanor was contemptuous.

  'No,’ the man insisted, 'we put up symbols and images to enhance the spiritual strength and frighten the Normans away. We carve the face of the Green Man. The Foliate Head is powerful.’

  'It is if you're eating the right mushrooms,’ Eleanor mumbled.

  'You'd be surprised how easily we can worry the average Norman with a few well-placed dolls and masks.’

  'So why are you in here?’ William asked, 'I mean I'd have thought you'd be out there in the Sward. Looking after it and all. Being in a Norman castle's a bit, well, off, isn't it?’

  'We have our missions here as well. This place was not always Norman. It retains a good spirit for the time being. Their developments must be halted though.’

  'So set fire to the logs,’ Eleanor suggested.

  Logs gasped.

  'Or at least get my mistress out. That would confuse them and damage their plans.’

  'Hardly.’

  'She's a Saxon lady. She's part of the spirit, isn't she? If the Normans kill her that'll be more damage to the precious Sward.’ Eleanor was getting exasperated.

  'It's not the same thing at all.’

  The man's mind seemed made up. If Eleanor could pace up and down she would. Unfortunately the ground was made up of uneven logs and any pacing would likely lead to a broken ankle. A thought did occur to her though.

  'She wants to marry Grosmal.’

  'I have already advised her against that path,’ the man nodded sagely, 'and she'll make a rather poor bride if the groom executes her before the ceremony.’

  'Not if you let her go and square it with Grosmal. Look,’ Eleanor was contemptuous, 'I work for Lady Foella. I'm with her every day. I am the closest thing she has to a confident, friend and advisor. When times are difficult she discusses issues with me. I give what help I can from my meagre experience and my lowly position. She listens to me.’ Eleanor paused for the finale. ‘Then she takes absolutely no notice whatsoever and does exactly what she wanted in the first place. Believe me, she's not going to do anything Grosmal says. In fact she's more likely to do the opposite. If she got out and did marry him, that would aid your plans.’

  'How?’

  'You'd have a Saxon in charge again. She'd exert her influence over Grosmal the way Vikings influence unarmed villagers. Course you wouldn't be able to tell her what to do exactly.’

  'Why not?’

  'No one can. But you could drop hints in her ear, suggest that Grosmal wanted some trees chopped down, for instance. First thing she'd do was say the trees were hers and if he touched them she'd do something horrible to him. She's good at that. Doing horrible things to people.’

  The man frowned. To Eleanor it was a good frown. It meant he had something to think about.

  'Grosmal is a Norman. He wouldn't change anything,’ he argued.

  'Pah,’ Eleanor dismissed the objection. 'He'd be married to Foella. Have you any idea what that would be like?’

  Logs and the man exchanged glances. There was quite a bit of apprehension in them.

  The man waved the plan away with a hand. 'We have our own designs for Lord Grosmal.’

  'Yes, blame him for de Turold's death somehow.’

  The man's eyebrows shot up. 'How do you know that?’

  'You told me. In Foella's chamber remember? You've spent too long with the trees.’

  'Ah, yes,’ the man relaxed slightly. 'We will arrange it that Grosmal is blamed for de Turold's death and his reputation will be destroyed.’

  'Problems,’ Eleanor said as if she had a list.

  The man sighed with reluctant resignation. William shifted his feet and spotted a log which looked safe enough to sit on. He sat.

  'One. I don't think you're capable of influencing one of your logs to lay still. How you think you're going to persuade any of the Normans, let alone King William, that Grosmal is a bad lot is beyond me. He's probably exactly how the King likes him.

  Two. If Grosmal is shamed by some massive stroke of luck, who are you going to get in his place? Pardon me, but I don't think King William will say “Gosh, that Grosmal chap was a bit rough, wasn't he? I know, I'll put the Saxons in charge again. Better still, let's give the estate to the Druids. They'll look after it nicely”.’

  'Three.’ Eleanor paused. 'Three is one plus two, there you are.’ She folded her arms.

  'Very entertaining, young lady. There is still no reason to release Foella. At this point in our plan Grosmal will simply capture her and put her back. Or he'll pick someone else. Once he is shamed your lady will be released.’

  'If she isn't dea
d by then,’ Eleanor snapped. 'Gods of the bushes, I hope you get shot up the arse like de Turold.’ She plonked herself down on the log with William and buried her face in her hand.

  There was a silence in the log store.

  Eleanor was disturbed by muttering. When she looked up Logs and the man were engaged in a heated but whispered conversation.

  They noticed Eleanor was watching and the man turned back to face her.

  He tried to do nonchalant, but it had a distinctly worried flavour. 'Er, shot up the arse like de Turold?’ he asked, as if making conversation in a chapel.

  'Yes,’ Eleanor said, 'didn't you know?’ Her tone climbed a notch to superior. 'Mister clever, mysterious, “I know all that's going on, we have plans”. Did you not know how de Turold was killed?’

  'The details are not a concern. The fact is sufficient. As long as he's dead the outcome will be the same for Grosmal. Who cares how it happened?’

  'Well, you do by the look of it. Yes, de Turold was shot up the arse.’

  'By a crossbow,’ William added.

  This caused more whispered and insistent conversation.

  'And, erm, just out of interest, where exactly did it happen? I mean we know, of course, but I just need to check that you do and are telling the truth.’

  'Yeah, right,’ said Eleanor with a cartfull of contempt.

  'He was killed in the garderobe,’ William explained. 'Horrible, it were. I weren't there meself, but I heard from the staff that Lord Grosmal himself found the body. Still sitting on the bog. Stark naked, with an arrow up 'is whatnot.’

  This set the man and Logs to a flurry of shouting at one another in heavily controlled whispers.

  'Well, thank you for your time,’ the man said quickly. 'Logs will show you out. We have some, er, business to discuss.’

  'Oh no. We're not going anywhere. There's more to this. What do you know about de Turold and the garderobe?’

  Eleanor never got an answer. She hadn't noticed Logs disappear from his place behind the man. He had walked silently round behind them, as if he were part of the floor himself. Then he hit them on the head with some logs.

  Caput XXIV

  Four-o-clock: Wood 2 to Castle 2

  Hermitage and Wat's discreet emergence from the woods surrounding Castle Grosmal lasted about five seconds. Then all plans of a quiet ‘wander off’ were slaughtered…