Hermitage, Wat and Some Druids

by Howard of Warwick

‘The Gods,’ Lypolix confirmed with a nod. ‘The Gods.’ He gestured towards the armoured figure as if it should be obvious.

  The Arch-Druid wiped his face with his hands. ‘Is this the God who gave you the instructions about the sacrifices?’ He suddenly sounded very old and weary and not all in charge of things anymore.

  ‘The Gods,’ Lypolix cackled and nodded happily.

  ‘See,’ said Wulf, in some triumph. ‘One perfectly normal man,’ he held out his arm towards de Boise, ‘and one loon,’ he gestured to Lypolix.

  ‘Ah,’ said de Boise from under the nose piece of his helmet, ‘my sacrifices all gathered together. Marvellous. And you brought the gold.’ He smiled a smile at the Arch-Druid which gave Hermitage the shivers. Even though it had only grazed him as it passed by.

  De Boise gestured imperiously with his sword and the clearing seemed instantly flooded with men.

  Hermitage recognised Banley and the robbers, and Ellen clearly recognised Leon.

  John seemed to recognise when he was outnumbered and faded away from the back of the Arch-Druid, disappearing towards the temple.

  Hanging back rather, were six others. Five were local looking men, carrying sticks as if they really wanted to do something with them. The sixth was sitting on a mount that bore an alarming resemblance to the distant relation of a horse.

  ‘Leon,’ Ellen demanded in rather aggressive manner, considering she’d been fretting over him for hours, ‘what do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’ve joined the Normans,’ Leon explained, proudly.

  He was a full grown man, but still young. His beard had not yet come but he was clearly built for strength. There was a certain vacancy in his face that said when the strength wasn’t required he could sit and stare at water for entertainment.

  ‘You’ve done no such thing my lad,’ Ellen made clear. She strode across the clearing, heedless of the large Norman warrior. She grabbed Leon by the ear.

  ‘Ow, mum,’ Leon whined, ‘not in front of the Norman.’

  ‘You’re a straggler,’ Ellen insisted. ‘You were born a straggler and you’ll die a straggler. And all the time in between you’ll be a straggler. Ow!’ Ellen cried out as de Boise reached out a mailed hand, grabbed her by the hair and propelled her back into the clearing.

  ‘Leave my men alone, witch.’ he rumbled.

  ‘Who are you calling a witch?’ Ellen demanded.

  Cwen hurried over and held Ellen back from launching herself into a fully armed Norman noble almost twice her size. With more than twice as many weapons.

  ‘My Lord de Boise,’ Hermitage stepped forward and bowed his head. He could tell that this man was a fairly typical Norman noble. The type who didn’t so much kill first and ask questions later, as kill first then ask who to kill next. However, something the man had said was bothering him.

  ‘Ah,’ de Boise cast his glare at Hermitage. ‘The monk eh?’

  Hermitage restrained himself from asking why this needed confirmation. ‘That’s right my Lord.’ He bowed again. ‘His majesty the King will be delighted to hear you are still alive. He thought you dead. We are of course grateful for you rescuing us from the druids.’

  ‘Rescue?’ de Boise sounded puzzled, which worried Hermitage further.

  ‘Er, yes, that’s right. But you mentioned “your sacrifices”’?’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You did, my lord,’ Hermitage bowed again.

  ‘That must be right then,’ de Boise nodded to himself.

  ‘But now the druids are vanquished there is no need for the sacrifices.’ Hermitage tried to make it sound like a commanding statement. It came out like a timid question.

  ‘Oh, no,’ de Boise beamed at them all, ‘got to go ahead with the sacrifices. I promised the funny little one.’ He pointed in Lypolix’s direction.

  Hermitage didn’t know whether the next thing he said was going to lead to instant resolution of all their problems, or make things an awful lot worse. He dropped his voice and spoke in what he imagined was a conspiratorial manner.

  ‘We are here on a mission, my lord.’

  ‘A mission?’ de Boise sounded very interested.

  ‘Yes, my lord. A mission. A mission from,’ he looked left and right to make sure de Boise understood the importance of this, ‘directly from King William himself.’ He stood back and tried to look significant.

  De Boise now looked left and right and beckoned Hermitage to come closer. He looked the monk in the eye and said, ‘I know.’

  Hermitage felt relief flood through him.

  De Boise stood back and addressed the whole field. ‘All the more reason to sacrifice you.’

  Of course. It had turned out an awful lot worse. He should have known.

  ‘But, but,’ Hermitage spluttered, ‘Le Pedvin.’

  ‘Le Pedvin,’ de Boise roared, ‘another good reason to sacrifice you.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Hermitage was telling the truth. He was also rather annoyed that he didn’t understand. It had to be quite simple, surely.

  De Boise gave a short laugh, ‘Ha,’ he said, ‘not much of an investigator then.’

  That really stumped Hermitage. If this noble knew they had come from the King and that Hermitage was the investigator, what was all this about sacrifices?

  ‘You, er, know that I’m the King’s Investigator?’ Hermitage kept his voice down in case anyone else heard and took the information badly.

  ‘Of course I do. And this is the one who weaves,’ he gestured at Wat, who gave a little nod of acknowledgment.

  ‘And I’m Cwen,’ said Cwen, with feeling.

  De Boise looked at her, clearly puzzled as to why the woman was announcing herself.

  ‘But if you know, my lord,’ Hermitage tried to reason this through but wasn’t having much success.

  ‘I think,’ said Wat, taking a cautious step forward, ‘I think Lord de Boise’s interests and the King’s are no longer in quite such close harmony.’

  ‘Eh, what?’ Hermitage couldn’t see how that comment helped at all.

  ‘One way of putting it,’ de Boise confirmed, with a grunt.

  ‘The King sent you to find Martel,’ Hermitage protested, his head bobbing backwards and forwards from de Boise to Martel.

  ‘And now I have,’ de Boise nodded at Martel. ‘Although I suspect he’s been avoiding me. Typical Martel tactic.’

  Martel had found something interesting to look at in the trees.

  ‘It’s no good gaping master investigator,’ de Boise addressed Hermitage. ‘If you can’t work it out for yourself I am under no obligation to explain it for you. You will go to your grave not knowing what on earth is going on. Ha.’ The noble seemed to think this was quite amusing.

  Hermitage had no intention of going to his grave not knowing what was going on. He intended to know pretty much everything by the time he went to his grave.

  ‘You really intend to let these pagans sacrifice us?’ he asked in honest disbelief.

  ‘If they like. They seem very keen on the idea.’

  Hermitage cast a glance at Lypolix and saw the connection from false god to strange druid. ‘Probably because you gave it to them.’

  De Boise shrugged. ‘Tie them up again,’ he commanded.

  The assembled men, including the new arrivals stepped up to their task and started securing the sacrifices once more.

  Wulf and Gardle tried to demonstrate that they were druids and so were excused tying up. One look from the Arch-Druid confirmed that this was not the case.

  Leon started to approach his own mother but almost immediately handed the rope to someone else.

  ‘You can’t believe that sacrificing us in this manner is going to make some stone circle magical,’ Hermitage protested to de Boise as his wrists were rebound.

  ‘Of course not,’ de Boise confirmed, snorting at the very idea. ‘I’m not a savage you know. It will make you dead though, which is the general idea.’

  Hermitage found himself bou
nd next to Wat and Cwen now, as if de Boise was starting a collection. He watched in bewilderment as the Norman instructed his men to go round gathering up all the gold. It was taken from jerkins and leggings, from boots and from gloves. Some was even taken from one place Hermitage had never dreamed anyone could hide anything - or would want to.

  He watched as the treasure was piled into quite a significant heap, over which de Boise stood guard.

  When the gathering had been concluded, the Arch-Druid left his position near the temple, and walked over to de Boise. There was some gesturing and quiet conversation - and an awful lot of pointing at the gold and at the captives. De Boise appeared to dismiss whatever it was the Arch-Druid was saying and dismissed the man with a wave of a heavy metal hand.

  The Arch-Druid stomped back to the temple, all the while looking over his shoulder at de Boise.

  Hermitage let the events swirl around in his head. There had to be some explanation which would cover everything that was going on, it was just that he hadn’t thought of it yet. If he let his various ideas wander round on their own for a bit, it wouldn’t be long before two or three banged together and the whole thing would make sense.

  He couldn’t force this to happen, that was the sure-fire way to make the process slow down. He had to think of something else. That way his ideas would think he wasn’t watching them anymore and would sort themselves out.

  He took his mind off the problem by thinking about the gold. He had never in his life seen so much in one place. He had been in some bishop’s palaces that boasted great wealth, but even they weren’t a patch on the pile of precious metal that was lying around in these woods. He also knew several of the bishops who would drop a baby in the font to get their hands on it.

  ‘The gold,’ he said as his revelation came, ‘de Boise wants the gold for himself.’

  ‘Well done Hermitage,’ said Wat, ‘knew you’d get there in the end.’

  ‘And he wants to kill us so no will know he’s got it.’ Hermitage was appalled at such a senseless waste of human life. Particularly his own.

  ‘Not quite, I suspect,’ Wat said, thoughtfully.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I think he wants to kill us so that everyone does know he’s got it.’

  ‘Er,’ Hermitage was lost again, and he had been doing so well.

  ‘Or rather he particularly wants to kill you and me so the King knows he’s got it.’

  Hermitage let his ideas off the leash again. It was probably going to take them quite a while to work this one out.

  Caput XXVIII

  A Few Revelations.

  ‘Well,’ said de Boise, bringing Hermitage out of a reverie which hadn’t got him anywhere at all, ‘time for the sacrifices then. I think we’re ready.’

  They were unceremoniously hauled to their feet and pushed off, back towards the village.

  The only one complaining about their treatment was Ellen, but she was doing enough complaining for everyone.

  ‘Leon,’ she snapped at her son, who was, perhaps wisely, keeping his distance, ‘if you sacrifice me I shall be absolutely furious.’

  ‘Yes, mother,’ Leon sighed.

  ‘I shall haunt you,’ Ellen cried.

  Leon’s mumbled reply could only be heard by those close by. ‘She’s haunted me for the last twenty years, why should being dead stop her?’

  ‘Woman,’’ de Boise called across the field, ‘if we drop a rock on your head, will you shut up?’

  Ellen shut up.

  ‘Better,’ said de Boise. ‘Now look,’ he addressed the assembly, ‘there’s no need for any excitement. We only need to sacrifice the monk and the weaver.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ said More.

  ‘And perhaps the two druids who are probably going to be trouble. After that you can all be released, if you behave. And if you don’t behave I promise I won’t sacrifice you. I’ll just kill you in the normal manner.’

  The Arch-Druid approached de Boise again, this time with Lypolix hopping at his heels. There was a more heated discussion this time, but once again the druid was waved away.

  ‘Why just us?’ Hermitage asked.

  ‘It’ll send a message,’ said de Boise

  ‘We can’t send a message if we’re under a rock,’ Hermitage pointed out.

  ‘You don’t have to deliver it in person,’ de Boise sighed at Hermitage. ‘Well, not a whole person. You know, I really don’t understand what the King sees in you.’

  At the word “King” Hermitage’s ideas came home to roost. This de Boise spoke about the King as if he knew him personally. Hermitage drew on his experience to conclude that any Norman who knew the King personally was likely to be a dangerous madman. And dangerous madmen tended to do dangerous, mad things.

  Now, what would be dangerous and mad that a Norman could do in Wales? Something involving a lot of gold that the King wanted. And messages involving dead investigators and weavers?

  ‘You’re challenging the King,’ said Hermitage, now sure that he was right. How much more dangerous and mad could you get?

  ‘At last,’ de Boise raised his eyebrows as high as they would go.

  ‘You knew about the gold and didn’t volunteer to go and look for Martel. You decided to come and take it for yourself.’

  ‘Quick, isn’t he,’ de Boise commented to Wat. ‘As soon as Martel sent word of the gold, the King kept going on about getting hold of it but insisted on going north instead. I reasoned that if he knew the gold was under threat he’d come personally to deal with the problem. He’d probably come without his main force which would make it easier to deal with him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Wat said to Martel, ‘why did you send word to the King? Why on earth would you do that?’

  Martel shrugged, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought the King would be happy and might let me come home.’ He let out a little sob, ‘It’s horrible here. You don’t know the things that go on. I’ve had to hide in a cave for the last six months. I even had to hide from hiding in a cave when de Boise arrived.’

  ‘You knew he was here?’ Wat was appalled.

  ’Er,’ Martel had clearly said too much. ‘I only saw him briefly,’ he excused himself. ‘He occupied the cave for a few days and I thought it best not to bother him. He’s always been a most difficult man. Then, when I say him killing someone, I kept right out of his way. After his time in the cave, he moved on.’

  ‘Where exactly did you hide when all that was going on?’ Wat asked, quite rudely.

  ‘In a bush.’

  ‘So this is all your fault,’ said Cwen. Clearly intending to do something about it.

  Martel said nothing.

  ‘And the bits,’ said Hermitage, still on track.

  ‘What bits?’ Cwen asked while looking at Martel in a very unhealthy manner.

  ‘The bits that the King received. He thought they were de Boise’s and that one of his knights had been killed.’

  ‘And even that didn’t bring him,’ de Boise huffed his discontent. ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you? You’d think if you were a King and someone sent you bits of one of your knights, you’d immediately set off seeking revenge?’

  ‘Er,’ Hermitage really didn’t have an opinion on this.

  ‘Well, I would,’ de Boise confirmed.

  ‘They were the bits of the first messenger,’ Hermitage concluded. ‘The one you killed.’ He threw the accusation at de Boise. He had found the killer of the poor messenger. In his mind the mission had been a success. Of course he might have known it would be a Norman. He could have stayed at home and come to that conclusion. But now he was here, with the killer, and was able to accuse him to his face.

  The face of the killer didn’t seem put out in the slightest.

  ‘Of course they were,’ said de Boise as if who the bits belonged to was of little importance. ‘I got the mad old druid to give them to the next messenger with a nasty little curse as well.’

  ‘So you were trying to prov
oke the King to come to Wales seeking your killers.’

  ‘And he’s usually so easy to provoke,’ de Boise complained. ‘He’d have set off without a moment’s thought, or preparation, and I’d have been waiting for him.’

  ‘Just you?’ Hermitage thought that was very unwise, knowing William the way he did.

  ‘I had to get some men together. I found the druids and the gold but couldn’t risk trying to fight off William completely alone. Unfortunately, the best I could do was Bermo and his men,’ de Boise pointed out the rather sorry bunch who were mooching around towards the back. ‘Not that I was going to risk a frontal assault with that lot. I’m not stupid. I’ve got an excellent plan. A nice ambush and an arrow in the back. Then I’d have the gold and could buy a whole army.’

  ‘But the King didn’t come.’ Hermitage nodded and shook his head at the same time.

  ‘No he didn’t,’ de Boise snapped, ‘so he obviously needs some more provocation.’

  ‘I don’t think killing us will bother him in the slightest,’ Hermitage pointed out.

  ‘In fact, if you let him know how you’re planning to do it, he might come to watch,’ Wat added with resignation.

  ‘Ah, but it all adds up, doesn’t it?’ said de Boise.

  ‘Adds up to what?’

  ‘Adds up to more dead people. The King might be able to ignore one dead knight, but when his investigator and the weaver go as well, he’s bound to think there’s something going on.’

  ‘Something going on,’ Hermitage tutted at taking death so lightly. ‘How do you know about the King’s Investigator anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, the King’s always boasting about how he has his own investigator.’

  ‘Is he?’ Hermitage felt a swell of pride.

  ‘Said he would send his personal investigator to sort out Martel and the gold.’

  Hermitage was about to say that that was nice. Then he remembered that it wasn’t.

  ‘Of course he hasn’t got a clue what it means or what it’s for,’ de Boise went on, ‘but then he boasts about how he’s got his own privy man as well.’

  Hermitage’s despair when he found out about the true depths of people’s deceit came back as a familiar friend. The whole business had been a ruse from one end to the other.