His latest meandering had brought him through the edge of the great forest, to this estate where he had hoped he might find some shelter and rest. If he was honest with himself, and he usually was, travelling was not terribly satisfactory. The opportunities for serious study, or intelligent debate on theological matters were severely limited, even if you counted the chap he had met on the bridge some miles back who claimed to be the Archangel Gabriel. To find that the place was at war was appalling, even if the combatants seemed quite content with the situation.
Another highly perilous aspect of Hermitage’s nature was his concept of interference; the ability to spot when you are butting in to someone else’s business. Those tell-tale indicators that the people you are dealing with are less than welcoming of your enquiries, or even of your very presence went over Hermitage’s head. That spark of understanding that can be triggered by the smallest message transmitted subconsciously, remained subconscious. All of these were faculties which Hermitage had in absolutely no way whatsoever.
Never mind having any empathy with other people, Hermitage couldn’t even tell when the person he was interacting with had gone so far beyond the end of it, that he couldn’t even see his tether any more. Even after he had been hit, Hermitage couldn’t normally figure out why. It is said that fools rush in where angels fear to tread, but the fools would probably find that Hermitage was already there when they arrived, and had pulled up a chair to explain the blindingly obvious to someone who was giving off all the signals of a rabid bull.
Thus, the very clear indication from the man at arms that Hermitage should leave his enquiries where they were and walk quietly back into the wood were not so much ignored as absolutely and comprehensively missed as widely as a man with fishing net standing in a desert. Of course he was going to visit the estate house and the Lord to discuss the war, what else was there to do? Interference and enthusiasm are a dangerous combination, especially when Hermitage was to sensitivity what Bobo the kitten strangler was to a little girl’s birthday celebration, a complete stranger.
He stood and headed for the Lord’s castle, a fighting man with a large pike at his back.
Really the End
Brother Hermitag, the Shorts Page 9