Murder Most Murderous

By Howard of Warwick

“Aha” on page 1? This can’t be right.

When Brother Hermitage starts the latest investigation by working out who did it, you know that things are bound to be going wrong by page 2; nothing in Hermitage’s life is that easy.

And surely, William the Conqueror hasn’t dragged Hermitage, Wat the Weaver and Cwen across the country just to idle away the passing moments? There’s a dead Norman noble to be considered, and quickly because William hasn’t got all day.

But what Hugues d’Auffay, owner of the body in question, was up to is a mystery in its own right.
His father behaved strangely enough; he fought in the battle near Hastings, conquered the country and then went home again. Why would any self-respecting Norman conqueror do that?
Hugues himself had plans but no one is talking. Perhaps the servants can be persuaded to spill the turnips?

But they’ve got their own world to organise; entirely to their advantage, and so will need some persuasion.
The Saxon servants are keeping a dark secret in a locked trunk, one that the Normans are very keen to get their hands on. Is there a bargain to be made?

Is the curse on the d’Auffay family to be believed?
Can Brother Hermitage really use questionable methods to get information?
And why do people keep dying?

All of life is here:
tapestries that dare not show their faces;
a curse from an old wise-ish woman;
a physick who is surprised at the number of dead bodies one investigation can produce.

Read the 23rd Chronicle of Brother Hermitage and you’ll wonder why the King’s Investigator still hasn’t got the hang of it.

Chronicle No. 22 garnered comment aplenty:

5* Outright Laughter
5* Laughed till my sides ached. (The Funny Book Company cannot accept responsibility for injured sides.)
5* If you're into history, crime thrillers or humour this is the series for you.
5* What fun

• Language: English
• Publisher: Howard of Warwick
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781913383220

Howard of Warwick

Howard of Warwick is but a humble chronicler with the blind luck to stumble upon the Hermitage manuscripts; tales of Brother Hermitage, a truly medieval detective, whose exploits largely illustrate what can be achieved by mistake. Now an international best-seller with nearly a quarter of a million sales and a host of Number 1s, it only goes to show. Howard's work has been heard, seen and read, most of it accompanied by laughter and some of it by money. His peers have even seen fit to recognise his unworthy efforts with a prize for making up stories. The Chronicles of Brother Hermitage begin with The Heretics of De'Ath, closely followed by The Garderobe of Death and The Tapestry of Death. Howard then paused to consider the Battle of Hastings as it might have happened - but almost certainly didn't - and produced The Domesday Book (No, Not That One). More reinterpretations hit the world with The Magna Carta (Or Is It?) Brother Hermitage still randomly drifted through a second set of mysteries with Hermitage, Wat and Some Murder or Other: Hermitage, Wat and some Druids and Hermitage, Wat and Some Nuns. Just when you think this can't possibly go on: The Case of the Clerical Cadaver turned up followed by The Case of the Curious Corpse and now The Case of The Cantankerous Carcass. Now there are thirty of the things in various cubby holes all over the world. All the titles are also available as major books, with paper and everything. Try your local bookstore or www.thefunnybookcompany.com

Book preview

Murder Most Murderous

By

Howard of Warwick

(The Meandering Chronicles of Brother Hermitage)

The Funny Book Company

Published by The Funny Book Company

Crown House, 27 Old Gloucester Street

London WC1N 3AX

www.funnybookcompany.com

Copyright © 2021 Howard Matthews

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, or distributed by any means whatsoever without the express permission of the copyright owner. The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

Cover design by Double Dagger.

ebook ISBN 978-1-913383-22-0

Scriptorial appreciation is due to:

Mary

Susan Fanning

Karen Nevard-Downs

Lydia Reed

Claire Ward

Also by Howard of Warwick.

The First Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

The Heretics of De'Ath

The Garderobe of Death

The Tapestry of Death

Continuing Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

Hermitage, Wat and Some Murder or Other

Hermitage, Wat and Some Druids

Hermitage, Wat and Some Nuns

Yet More Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

The Case of the Clerical Cadaver

The Case of the Curious Corpse

The Case of the Cantankerous Carcass

Interminable Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

A Murder for Mistress Cwen

A Murder for Master Wat

A Murder for Brother Hermitage

The Umpteenth Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

The Bayeux Embroidery

The Chester Chasuble

The Hermes Parchment

The Superfluous Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

The 1066 from Normandy

The 1066 to Hastings

The 1066 via Derby

The Unnecessary Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

The King’s Investigator

The King’s Investigator Part II

The Meandering Chronicles of Brother Hermitage

A Mayhem of Murderous Monks

A Murder of Convenience

Brother Hermitage Diversions

Brother Hermitage in Shorts (Free!)

Brother Hermitage’s Christmas Gift

Audio

Hermitage and the Hostelry

Howard of Warwick’s Middle Ages crisis:

The Domesday Book (No, Not That One.)

The Domesday Book (Still Not That One.)

The Magna Carta (Or Is It?)

Explore the whole sorry business and join the mailing list at

Howardofwarwick.com

Another funny book from The Funny Book Company

Greedy by Ainsworth Pennington

Murder Most Murderous

Caput I: It Begins With Aha

Caput II: Wake Up, Hugues

Caput III: Nothing Like A Good Investigation

Caput IV: The Tent of Wonders

Caput V: It’s All a Plot

Caput VI: Normans Know

Caput VII: Negotiating Tactics

Caput VIII: Revelations

Caput IX: Chase The Tapestry

Caput X: The Tale of The Tailor

Caput XI: Dead Revealing

Caput XII: The Old Folk At Home

Caput XIII: The Horrible Folk At Home

Caput XIV: The Curse

Caput XV: It’s Pronounced Hrypadun

Caput XVI: The Tents of Death

Caput XVII: Open The Box

Caput XVIII: Clues Under Canvas

Caput XIX: Gather Ye Murders

Caput XX: Roads Start Leading

Caput XXI: The Corpse Will See You Now

Caput XXII: All Evil

Caput XXIII: All Is Revealed: Unfortunately

Caput XXIV: The Tapestry Unravels

Caput XXV: Threadbare

Caput XXVI: Crime and Some Punishment

Caput XXVII: Defiant To The End

The Investigator’s Apprentice

Caput I: It Begins With An Argument

Caput I: It Begins With Aha

‘Aha.’ Brother Hermitage reached out his right hand and clicked his fingers as the moment of revelation arrived.

Unfortunately, he’d never been able to click his fingers and so the dull thud his digits produced drew little attention. Some of his audience even looked puzzled at what the monk was doing waving his hand about in the air.

He quickly put all his fingers behind his back and took to pacing up and down in front of the dais.

The sigh of relief from Wat and Cwen was heartfelt as they relaxed and waited to hear what this particular, aha was going to reveal. Hermitage had obviously worked out who did it, he just needed to explain it to everyone else.

The distraction of the noise gave Hermitage a moment to consider this largely ridiculous situation; completely ridiculous if the truth be told, which it always should be.

Sitting right in the middle of the dais, on a very large chair, as was his right, King William himself gazed down. Of course, Hermitage was William’s duly appointed investigator, but he would rather not have to do the investigations while the king stared at him. It was bad enough doing them at any time, but when someone was watching, the whole thing got much more difficult and he found it hard to get his reasoning out.

And Le Pedvin and Ranulph de Sauveloy. Why not bring the fallen angel himself to peer down on him, promising a hateful fate for any little trip or mistake?

An extra Norman noble on either side did nothing for his confidence; unless it was the confidence that if he survived this experience, he could look forward to never having a day as bad as this for the rest of his life.

Lords Giffard and Grandmesnil, as they had been introduced, simply added to the total weight of glower that poured on Hermitage’s head. They looked like fearsome men in the prime of their fearsomeness and were obviously close to the king. If Hermitage needed some fear, they would be the men to go to. They may even have been at Hastings and were in line to receive a goodly portion of England for their trouble. Which meant they might be around for a while.

As far as Hermitage was concerned, most Normans looked alike and it was hard to tell one from the other. This was largely their own fault as they all wore the identical strange haircut and dressed pretty much the same; ready for battle.

Hermitage knew that there were normal Normans back in Normandy. He’d even met several. The ones in England seemed to be of a particular type; scary.

In this case, Giffard appeared to be the younger of the two. His eyes were still bright with enthusiastic loyalty to his king and told of his willingness to throw himself wherever William wanted him thrown. Probably into a fight where he would struggle mightily to defeat the enemy.

Grandmesnil had more wisdom about him but looked even more dangerous for it. There was something about his slightly sideways glance that said he too would enter the fray, but then do something quite unspeakable in order to survive.

Heritage had never met either of them before and prayed that this would be their last encounter.

A final figure in clerical garb was the only one who demonstrated any actual interest in what Hermitage was going through. The rest of them simply wanted to know who did it; and quickly.

This was William of Poitiers, the king’s chaplain, apparently. Hermitage could only think that if the man had any Christian sympathy, he would be helping them all leave.

As Hermitage had worked through this terrible situation, the chaplain had nodded occasionally and even muttered to himself, as if committing some step to memory.

With Wat and Cwen he had been dragged from the weaver’s workshop at the crack of dawn, hauled across the countryside to the king’s encampment and presented with a murder to solve without a by your leave. But then this was the king, who by definition did not need leave before he did whatever he wanted.

It was only Hermitage who had been dragged, literally, but Wat and Cwen had anxiously followed, for which he was truly thankful. There wasn’t much they could actually do, but Wat might try to talk their way out of this, as usual, while Cwen would glare at the Normans from every angle, her youth and diminutive stature deflecting any serious punishment. Fortunately, the Normans didn’t know that her stature was the only diminutive thing about her.

But this bizarre set of circumstances was beyond anything they had ever come across before. Even one of Wat’s old, imaginative tapestries couldn’t portray this tale.

Hugues d’Auffay had been murdered.

Through largely impenetrable Norman accents, it had taken them a few moments to realise that Hugues d’Auffay was a person and not some sort of pudding. The question of why anyone would murder a pudding led Hermitage to conclude this must be someone’s name.

The facts were soon made clear. Hugues d’Auffay was the son of Gilbert d’Auffay, one of William’s companions at Hastings. Young Hugues had been found dead in one part of the king’s tented court and Hermitage had been sent for.

Then he had been asked who did it. As if he knew!

Even more bizarrely, he had been told that it was someone in this room. King William was sure of it and instructed Hermitage to identify the guilty party. Most of the king’s companions shifted awkwardly in their seats at this accusation, but none of them attempted to escape. They would probably be dead before they made the exit. They regularly beckoned their servants to replenish their goblets with wine and supped deeply as they waited for Hermitage’s explanation.

His request to examine the body was considered with some surprise and not a little disgust, but was reluctantly agreed to, as long as he was quick. They could look, but they weren’t to touch as that was too revolting.

Overseen by a large Norman guard, the three of them considered the form of poor Hugues, which rested on a cot in an antechamber behind the king’s dais.

Wat commented that the fellow looked quite fresh, which Hermitage always found a disturbing description when applied to a dead body. And Hugues was barely more than a boy, which was a source of despair. If someone younger than Hermitage himself could be murdered, what hope was there for the world?

There was no obvious cause of death, which was always a nuisance. A knife sticking out would be too much to hope for but it would be a clue.

Whose knife is this? Hermitage might be able to ask.

Erm, it’s mine, someone would reply.

Did you kill Hugues?

Yes, I did.

And that would be that. Life was seldom so simple.

‘Who would want to murder one so young?’ Hermitage had asked sadly.

‘Someone younger?’ Wat offered.

‘Or older,’ Cwen added.

None of which had been any help at all.

And now he stood before the Normans on their dais and reached his conclusion.

He had been permitted to question the nobles concerning events. In fact, they’d been positively encouraging, which was a worry in its own right.

Who was Hugues? Who had seen him last? How did they know him? What was their connection to the deceased?

Instructed to explain his processes, he had covered method, motive and opportunity, his own formulation which at least gave him something to think about when he had not the first idea what was going on; which was most of the time.

Wat had added his own triumvirate: greed, revenge and anger, the only reasons for any murder, he proposed.

Putting all of this together and considering the replies to the questions he had posed, Hermitage had drawn the only possible conclusion.

But he didn’t like to mention it. Not in front of the Normans.

Accusing anyone of murder was a ticklish business. The people involved tended to be both deeply unpleasant and dangerous; after all, they had killed someone.

When they were important Normans as well, the prospects of a nasty outcome were very real; mainly for the investigator.

If it had been William himself, that might not have been so bad. After all, he was the king and killing people, or having them killed was all part of his might and majesty.

As he was the anointed of God, could he actually commit sin at all? Surely, everything he did had God’s blessing. That was a very interesting theological question; one Hermitage would much rather be considering than the body of Hugues.

Then there was Le Pedvin.

Anyone brought to this place to investigate a murder would naturally conclude that Le Pedvin was the victim. After all, he looked the most dead of anyone in the chamber. And the fact that he was sitting in a seat was probably a result of him having been propped there.

Even the movement and speech coming from his pale and cadaverous form didn’t seem to be sufficient signs of life. Perhaps he was like a chicken and could keep going for some time after the fatal wound; in his case, several days.

Hermitage was used to him though, unfortunately. The man had always looked like this. The single eye that considered those presented to him, did so with such casual malevolence, that the question of whether he was capable of murder simply didn’t arise.

Even the patch across his missing eye looked like it was up to no good.

Le Pedvin was a master of method, while motive and opportunity could always be found; a mild annoyance and some spare time would be sufficient.

In this case though, Le Pedvin’s defence of, why would I bother?, seemed genuine. He was not the sort of man to deny a murder if he’d done it.

And there was another in the room of far greater suspicion.

Hermitage had dismissed Ranulph de Sauveloy quite early in his analysis. Obviously, the man was deeply foul, unpleasant, deceitful and self-interested, but he was not the sort to commit such a crime. Persuade someone else to commit it, yes. Argue the victim into doing it himself, quite possibly. Take physical action against another though? Not de Sauveloy’s style.

Of course, poison was a possibility, and Hermitage imagined that Ranulph de Sauveloy would be well versed in that method of helping people to get out of his way. But again, he would not handle the poison himself. And why would he want Hugues dead anyway? Hermitage had come up with no reason.

That left the newcomers, well, new to Hermitage. William of Poitiers, he discounted. Not simply because the man was a cleric, obviously. Odo, William’s half-brother, was Bishop of Bayeux and he was as lively a killer as his sibling. No, this William seemed too interested in Hermitage’s progress. He concluded that the real killer would not be so keen on finding out who did it. And again, no motivation was uncovered by the questions Hermitage had posed. Always assuming the answers were honest.

On to Giffard and Grandmesnil, then. From their appearance, they were both capable of murder, even if the method in Hugues’s case had yet to be confirmed. Somehow, that fact did not trouble Hermitage particularly. All of these men would be quite willing to commit murder, the method would simply be that which worked best at the time.

Enquiries into familial connections were more illuminating. By asking a question about land, which Hermitage had only thrown in to fill an embarrassing silence when he couldn’t think of anything useful, his reasoning started to bubble.

A further question to the king and some enquiries about Hugues’s father had completed the picture in Hermitage’s head.

‘Well?’ the king demanded. ‘Come on. Out with it. We haven’t got all night.’

‘Ah, yes, Your Majesty.’ Hermitage had stopped pacing but now began again, mainly to give his body something to do while his mind got on with the job in hand.

‘Young Hugues is dead.’

‘Brilliant,’ Ranulph de Sauveloy sighed.

‘And you suspect someone in this room.’

‘He always does this,’ Le Pedvin complained. ‘Repeat everything he’s already been told.’

‘We do not know for certain the method of Hugues’s murder,’ Hermitage pressed on quickly. ‘But we can consider motive and opportunity. In this case, motive is key. You are all quite capable of the deed itself. And doubtless, you would have had the opportunity, as it seems Hugues died not long ago.’

‘I’m starting to feel a motive for murder myself.’ Le Pedvin’s eye was doleful.

‘But what motive could there be for the murder of a young man of noble birth? Your Majesty, you told me of Hugues’s father, Gilbert d’Auffay, a companion of yours at Hastings. You further told me that he had been offered English fiefs as a reward for his service, but he declined and returned to Normandy.’

The king grunted his confirmation.

‘I asked myself why he would do that? Why would a Norman noble who had fought in battle not take the spoils of victory? There had to be some pressing reason for him to return home.

‘We then heard that Lord Grandmesnil’s estates in Normandy border those of d’Auffay.’

‘Aye.’ The king sounded quite interested now, which was a bit disconcerting.

‘Further, Lord Grandmesnil is taking estates in England. Can I ask one further question, your Majesty?’

‘Proceed.’

‘If young Hugues d’Auffay had approached you, might you have given him the fiefs you offered his father?’

‘I might,’ the king said with a serious nod. ‘I might well indeed.’

Hermitage took a deep breath. He thought about closing his eyes so that he couldn’t see the Normans but thought that would look a bit odd.

‘Then I have a possibility, only a possibility, mind. Gilbert d’Auffay was persuaded to return to Normandy to protect his estates from Lord Grandmesnil who had threatened to take them. We have heard that there was some bad blood between the families, and disputes in the past, so this may well have continued.

‘Then, when young Hugues arrived, he was perceived as a threat to the distribution of land in England and so had to die. It would also be a further blow to his father in the conflict between your two nobles.’

‘Hm.’ King William stroked his chin and considered Hermitage, who was doing his best not to look at Lord Grandmesnil.

‘What about Giffard?’ William asked.

Hermitage shook his head. ‘There is no connection between the families. Their lands in Normandy are far apart, and there is no report of any quarrel. He was awarded lands in the west, while Lord Grandmesnil has Leicester as his, close to the fiefs you were going to award d’Auffay.’

‘Let me get this straight.’ King William leaned forward in his chair and gave Hermitage the chance to answer his next question wrongly and suffer the consequences. ‘You’re telling me that Lord Grandmesnil killed Hugues d’Auffay?’

Hermitage swallowed, and his voice trilled into the room like a startled blackbird. ‘I, er, that is, if, as you say, someone in this room did it, then Lord Grandmesnil is the most likely. But it could have been anyone, really.’ He tried a weak smile, so weak it barely managed to move his lips at all.

He turned his head to Wat and Cwen who gave him encouraging nods.

‘What do you say to that then, eh, Grandmesnil?’ William demanded of his noble.

Hermitage did not like dealing with the Normans at all, being caught between two of them could well be fatal.

Lord Grandmesnil’s face was emotionless and terrifying as he looked through Hermitage as if trying to determine which bit of him to rip out first.

Then, to Hermitage’s utter confusion, he clapped his hands on his knees and burst out laughing. ‘He has me, your Majesty, he has me indeed.’

Now the other Normans joined in the laughter and rocked in their chairs. Only Le Pedvin remained unmoved, while de Sauveloy simply put a rather smug look on his face, which was probably his version of raucous enjoyment. They all called for yet more wine.

‘Erm?’ Hermitage said.

‘You have found the killer, master investigator,’ the king clapped his hands with what appeared to be glee.

Hermitage didn’t dare ask what they were all so happy about, but at least Cwen and Wat looked as confused as he felt.

‘De Sauveloy said you would,’ William reported. ‘But Le Pedvin had a coin or two against you. Come on everyone, pay your debts.’

There was a mixture of grumbling complaint and triumphant gloating as the Normans exchanged coins.

‘You have wagered on a murder?’ Hermitage was so aghast that his natural reticence was battered aside.

‘Naturally,’ William confirmed. ‘And a fine entertainment it has proved to be.’

‘Entertainment?’ Hermitage knew that the Normans were an awful people, but to treat the death of their own as some sort of jest, was simply appalling.

‘It was William’s idea,’ the king gestured towards his cleric who acknowledged the praise with a modest nod.

‘Idea?’ Hermitage was now feeling giddy as his inability to understand the world around him started to affect his balance.

Wat stepped up to his side. ‘You answered the questions Hermitage asked just to see if he could solve the murder.’

‘You have it,’ William was still smiling broadly.

‘That’s awful,’ Cwen burst out bravely. ‘How can you treat murder as entertainment? It’s disgraceful. No one in the world could think of anything so revolting.’ Her youthful and slight form looked as if it could be brushed from the tent by a single Norman gauntlet.

‘It’s all a ruse,’ Ranulph explained lugubriously, clearly impatient at their idiocy. ‘Grandmesnil and d’Auffay get on fine. We drew straws to see who the killer would be, and then made up all the nonsense about disputes and bad blood.’

‘But, but,’ Hermitage’s belief was still struggling to keep up. ‘Hugues d’Auffay is dead. How can that be entertainment?’

‘He’s not dead,’ the king dismissed the idea. ‘He is in on the game. He was keen to play the victim. And he fooled you all.’

Hermitage looked to Wat and Cwen to check that they agreed his next words.

‘But he is dead,’ Hermitage said simply.

‘No, he isn’t, you idiot. It’s a pretence,’ Le Pedvin said this as if explaining why arrows had a pointy end. ‘You went and saw him and couldn’t even tell that he was alive.’

‘I’ve got a dog that can play dead,’ Giffard put in.

Hermitage shook his head. He hated to disagree with Le Pedvin about anything but there was a fact here. He couldn’t allow a fact to be denied, even if it was by the people in charge of the country who determined most of the facts.

‘I have been forced to deal with many murders in my role as King’s Investigator,’ he said meekly. ‘So many that I can now recognise a dead body when I see one.’ He nodded back in the direction of Hugues’s body. ‘And I’ve just seen one.’

‘Ridiculous,’ the king scoffed.

‘I told you he was an idiot,’ Le Pedvin put in.

‘Hugues d’Auffay is pretending,’ de Sauveloy explained as if to children.

‘He’s doing a good job of it,’ Cwen retorted. ‘What with the not breathing and everything.’

‘William,’ the king instructed. ‘Go and