Hermitage, Wat and Some Nuns

by Howard of Warwick

  Her head disappeared completely from view and Hermitage only just stopped himself letting go of the rope to check on her.

  ‘Can’t see anything yet,’ she called up. ‘Drop me a bit.’

  The three men let the rope slip through their hands a little.

  Hermitage had a thought. ‘I wonder if we should have tied this end to something.’

  The others gave him a very worried look but it was too late now.

  ‘No,’ Cwen called, as she explored the space, ‘nothing here. Just going to spin round to look at the other wall.’

  Hermitage saw the rope turn slightly as it dropped over the seat.

  ‘Aha!’ Cwen called in triumph.

  ‘Have you found something?’ Hermitage called. Excitedly taking a step forward.

  The others followed him as the weight of Cwen pulled them.

  ‘What did I say?’ Cwen called in a very fierce voice.

  ‘Sorry,’ Hermitage replied as he returned to his place and they pulled the rope back.

  ‘We shall have words, Hermitage,’ Cwen said with a great deal of menace.

  Hermitage gave the others a weak smile. They looked very grateful that they hadn’t been named.

  ‘There is a recess here,’ Cwen reported, ‘a space built in the wall. Quite big as well. Plenty of room for a chest or something.’

  ‘And is there anything there?’

  ‘Er,’ Cwen replied as she was obviously exploring, ‘no.’

  Hermitage felt a weight of disappointment. He didn’t want to find a chest of coin, that would show there had been no robbery, but he needed something to take to the moot.

  ‘Wait,’ Cwen called again, ‘there is something.’

  Hermitage’s weight now lifted.

  ‘There are a few loose coins. Not many, but they’re just scattered about.’

  ‘That’s excellent,’ said Hermitage. ‘Sounds like there was a robbery then. Someone killed Gilder and took the coin.’

  ‘There’s something else as well,’ Cwen went on.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Can’t tell. Some sort of scroll I think. I’ll bring it up. Right. Haul away.’

  Hermitage, Balor and Eggar put their backs to the task and Cwen slowly emerged from the privy.

  Hermitage had to admit the sight of her head appearing through a privy seat was not one he was going to forget easily.

  She pushed her shoulders back through once more and took her own weight from the rope.

  The three men stepped forward and helped her out onto the floor of the room.

  ‘Well done,’ said Balor, in genuine admiration, loosening the rope and taking it over Cwen’s head.

  ‘Right,’ she said, ‘let’s see what we’ve got.’

  They all heard the sound of the bottom door slamming shut and Hendig coming back into the house and up the stairs.

  Cwen sat on the privy seat, which didn’t look right to Hermitage’s eye, and presented her findings. A handful of coin was put on the floor and Eggar picked one up to examine it.

  ‘Looks like his,’ the servant observed. ‘It’s certainly a Shrewsbury coin. But then they all look alike anyway.’

  ‘And this,’ Cwen held up her other find for all to see. It was indeed a scroll of some sort and she let it fall open.

  ‘Oh’, said Hermitage as he bent to examine it. Then he said, ‘My goodness, is that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cwen, peering at it herself, ‘I rather think it is.’

  . . .

  ‘What on earth do we do with this?’ Balor asked as they gathered on the ground floor of the house once more.

  The floorboards had been put back and the furniture returned to its place. There was little hope for the bits of the walls that had been damaged but at least the place was habitable.

  They were gathered round the items recovered from the privy which were spread on Gilder’s table.

  ‘We use it to get Wat released,’ said Cwen. It came out as more of an instruction than a suggestion, which was probably as intended.

  ‘Do a few coins really prove that he didn’t do it?’ Hendig asked.

  ‘They certainly prove Gilder had money here,’ said Hermitage. ‘It’s reasonable to assume there was quite a lot of it, considering all the rents he took. If all that is left is a handful of coins we can assume the rest were taken. We then conclude that whoever killed him took the coin and ran away.’

  ‘It’s a lot of assumptions,’ Balor pointed out. ‘And what about this,’ he pointed to the other privy-droppings.

  ‘I really don’t know what to do with that,’ Hermitage said.

  ‘Well, I do,’ said Cwen, as decisively as usual. ‘We take it to Hild.’

  ‘Who?’ Hermitage asked.

  ‘Woman called Hild,’ Cwen explained. ‘She seems to be some sort of friend of Mildburgh’s, although I don’t think the word friend should go anywhere near those two. If Mildburgh is a rude, aggressive, self-important, hectoring old battle-axe, Hild is her evil twin: quiet, mean and loathsome.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like she’s going to be much help,’ Hermitage observed.

  ‘The widow Hild wouldn’t help the dead into their graves,’ Balor noted.

  ‘You know her then?’

  ‘Very few people know Hild, mainly because they don’t want to. Rumour is that her husband died because it was the quickest means of getting away from her.’

  ‘Oh, really,’ Hermitage complained.

  ‘But she became femme sole and had all his land and wealth.’

  ‘Which gave Gilder reason to dislike her,’ said Hendig, ‘not that he ever needed much in the way of reason.’

  ‘Mildburgh said that Hild was going to help with the nunnery,’ said Cwen.

  ‘And what use is this Hild going to be?’ Hermitage asked.

  ‘This,’ said Cwen, rolling up the scroll from in the privy once more, ‘goes to the heart of the nuns’ plans for their new home.’

  ‘Does it?’ Hermitage was lost.

  ‘Of course it does. The plans they had for Gilder to pay for it. If Gilder had this, it sheds a whole new light on things. A light Hild is going to have to explain.’

  ‘Why not go straight to Mildburgh?’ Hermitage asked. ‘She does seem to be in charge of pretty much everything.’

  ‘Because I’d rather know where we stand. When we confront Mildburgh, I want to be sure of our ground. I want the woman completely at our mercy with no way to turn. After all, she seems to be the one pressing for Wat’s death all the time.’

  ‘Aha,’ said Hermitage, worrying about why it was we confronting Mildburgh when it was only Cwen who seemed to have a clue what she was talking about. ‘Hadn’t we better get the execution postponed first?’

  ‘Oh, they won’t be ready for that for hours.’ Cwen sounded confident. ‘Balor can come and get us if it looks like it’s picking up pace.’

  Balor nodded that this would not be a problem.

  ‘I still don’t see,’ Hermitage began.

  Cwen curled her lip. ‘Because this way we can show up the moot and confront Aclan and Mildburgh and Cuthbert and grind them all into the dust at the same time.’

  ‘Aha,’ Hermitage tried to sound happy with the plan, ‘yes, I see. Jolly good idea.’ He swallowed.

  . . .

  Wat was trying to do some explaining as well. He was trying to explain to Aclan, who had come down to the lock-up on his own, about how time worked and that travelling from Wales to Shrewsbury in no time at all was not possible. He also explored the arguments against being in two different places at the same time and rounded off with a short lecture on how he didn’t even know Gilder, so why would he want him dead.

  Aclan nodded through the bars in the door. ‘What can I do?’ he said. ‘You’re here. Gilder’s dead. You seem anxious to leave town and you’ve done nothing but witter on about the murder since you got here.’

  ‘When we got here Gilder was already dead,’ Wat pointed out for about the fifth time. ‘And t
he whole town was going on about it. It was a bit hard to ignore. Your entire moot seemed to have got drunk in celebration. What are we supposed to do? Not mention it in case someone thinks we did it?’

  ‘Why did you run off then?’

  ‘Because you’d got it into your heads to execute all of us. Despite being completely wrong. And I need to get back to my workshop before dear King William turns up and burns the place to the ground.’

  ‘Now, why would he do that?’ Aclan laughed lightly. ‘Not going to be King very long if he goes round burning places to the ground.’

  ‘You can explain that to him through the smoke of your burning hall.’

  Aclan paused in thought for a moment.

  ‘Mildburgh is convinced you did it,’ he said.

  ‘And you do everything Mildburgh says, do you?’ Wat retorted.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Aclan said in a very worried tone. ‘She has very strong views about most things. They seem extraordinarily fierce when it comes to you. And believe me, extraordinarily fierce where Mildburgh is concerned is really dangerous.’

  ‘She’s just a nun.’ Wat sounded exasperated.

  ‘There’s lots of ’em though,’ Aclan explained. ‘If it was just her it would be bad enough but there’s dozens. And she carefully selects novices to follow in her footsteps. Rejects most of those who turn up.’

  ‘Daughters of the wealthy,’ Wat nodded at the usual order of things.

  ‘Doesn’t matter who they are,’ said Aclan, ‘as long as they’ve got the personality of a mad dog with fleas and the strength of a giant, she takes them. It’s like having an army in the place.’ He shook his head at the worry of it all. ‘We never believed Gilder was really going to pay for a new nunnery but it would have been good if he had. Send them off to Wenlock. I tell you, the best place to deal with Mildburgh is from miles away.’

  ‘What?’ the word barked down the dark passage to the lock up as the head mad-dog-with-fleas approached.

  ‘Aha,’ said Aclan, with a tremor, ‘I was just explaining the plans for the nunnery.’

  Mildburgh appeared and her eyes pinned the Ealdorman to the spot. ‘Really?’ she said, disdainfully. ‘And what does that have to do with the execution?’

  ‘Just making conversation,’ Aclan said, weakly.

  ‘I believe the weaver would be better off spending his time in repentance for his sins.’ She threw her look through the bars of the door where it caught Wat full in the chest.

  He frowned hard as he examined her face, framed in the doorway. ‘Have we met?’ he asked.

  ‘Have we what?’ Mildburgh almost exploded on the spot.

  ‘Have we met? You look very familiar.’

  ‘No, we have not met,’ Mildburgh declared, ‘not until you arrived here.’ Her disappointment at Wat arriving here was clear. ‘I would be ashamed to discover I’d ever been in the same county as you.’

  ‘What have you got against me then?’ he asked putting his face to the bars.

  Mildburgh looked at him as if he was spouting gibberish. ‘You’re disgusting,’ she stated the obvious.

  Wat shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  ‘Those tapestries of yours should be burned with you on the top.’

  ‘I don’t make them anymore.’ Wat explained, ‘Hermitage won’t let me. And anyway, you don’t have to look at them.’

  ‘But others do look at them. And their sin is multiplied with every glance.’

  ‘And you know what’s best for everyone then?’ Wat enquired.

  Again Mildburgh looked at him as if he was mad. ‘Yes,’ she said, simply. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Making tapestries is not a crime,’ Wat pointed out. ‘I grant you, killing people is a crime, but I didn’t do that. I really don’t think you should be executing me for tapestries when you know I couldn’t have killed Gilder. That sounds like a sin itself.’

  Mildburgh was clearly not used to having a debate about her opinions. Or anyone answering her back at all.

  ‘The world will be a better place without you,’ she concluded.

  ‘And the real killer of Gilder?’ Wat asked.

  Aclan dared to cast a questioning glance at Mildburgh at this.

  She made a noise of dismissal and contempt.

  ‘Let’s be honest,’ Wat leant casually against the inside of the door. ‘You both know I didn’t kill Gilder and that Hermitage and Cwen had nothing to do with it either.’

  Mildburgh growled.

  ‘Alright,’ Wat accepted, ‘for the sake of argument let’s just say I didn’t do it. You execute me and the world is a better place because the man who used to make rude tapestries isn’t in it anymore. You’ve still got a killer in Shrewsbury. Someone quite prepared to take most of the head off your leading merchant. Who knows where they’ll turn their attention next?’

  At least Mildburgh and Aclan seemed to be actually listening.

  ‘Once Gilder is gone and the killer has got away with it they could be thinking “who next”? Who else annoys your murderer? Perhaps it’s the moot and the other merchants who have all the money and take all the rents?’

  Aclan frowned.

  ‘This could be just the start of a merchant killing spree.’ Wat drove his point home, ‘Start at the top and work your way down. Before you know it even the beggars in the street with half a coin in their pot will be getting their heads knocked off. I bet the members of the moot will be top of the list.’

  Mildburgh coughed her contempt.

  ‘Or the nuns,’ Wat went on, ‘the ones who go round telling everyone what to do. Must be very annoying having a nun picking on you all the time. Now that you know you can get away with killing the main merchant of the town, a nun will be a piece of pudding.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Mildburgh snapped. ‘No one is going to be killing anyone. Once we execute you, the murderer will be dead.’ She folded her arms.

  ‘Sure about that, are you?’ Wat asked.

  ‘I am always sure about everything,’ said Mildburgh, and Wat believed her.

  ‘Oh, please yourself,’ Wat waved them away.

  ‘What?’ Aclan didn’t understand.

  ‘I’ve had better people than you try to execute me. Give it your best. Something will turn up.’

  ‘Really?’ Mildburgh did not believe it.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Wat, ‘the King might arrive and kill you all,’ he sounded hopeful. ‘Or more likely Hermitage will figure out who really did it. He usually does. Frequently at the last minute.’

  ‘We shall see,’ Mildburgh sounded confident that her own preferred outcome was still favourite.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Wat, ‘once the trial gets underway you’ll see I’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Trial?’ said Mildburgh, in a very poor impersonation of innocence. ‘What trial?’

  Now Wat sounded worried, ‘The testing of the evidence by the town authorities and my peers.’

  ‘The sheriff and the moot you mean,’ said Mildburgh with a cruel smile. ‘Good luck with that,’ she added as she walked away, dragging Aclan in her wake.

  Caput XXI

  Captured by Nuns

  At the stronghold of the wandering nuns of Wenlock, Cwen’s demand to be taken to Hild was studiously ignored until she brandished her findings from Gilder’s privy.

  The nuns on guard at the door stepped smartly out of the way and sent word that Hild had visitors.

  Balor was to keep an eye out for any forthcoming executions and Hendig and Eggar had said they had no desire to talk to Hild. After all, they pointed out, they lived in Shrewsbury and had to put up with her and Mildburgh every day.

  ‘I’m sure she hasn’t moved an inch,’ Cwen whispered to Hermitage once they were in the plain chamber where Hild still sat.

  ‘Ah,’ said Hild, ‘it is the impudent child again.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Cwen.

  ‘Why are you here? Sister Mildburgh is at the moot hall.’

  ‘We know.’<
br />
  ‘Dealing with that awful weaver.’

  ‘We know that too. And that’s exactly why we want to talk about your nunnery.’

  Hild waved a dismissive hand. ‘That is no concern of yours.’

  ‘But I say it is.’ Cwen sounded confident. ‘Because it’s the reason Mildburgh is trying to deal with Wat. You were going to support Mildburgh in the rebuilding.’

  Hild didn’t answer, but then it hadn’t really been a question.

  ‘Gilder was supposed to pay, although no one else believed that, and you were going to what? Pay for a chapel or something?’

  Hild stared at Cwen as if unable to understand why this young woman had the temerity to even speak to her.

  Hermitage had a moment of revelation. All of those thoughts that had lodged themselves in his head since their arrival in Shrewsbury had finally started talking to one another. One of the pieces of information from over there had bumped into a fact that was passing by and the two of them got chatting. ‘You own the land,’ he announced, as sure of it as of anything. ‘Inherited from your husband.’

  Hild at least gave an almost imperceptible nod in Hermitage’s direction.

  ‘Aha,’ said Cwen. ‘So you provide the land and Gilder provides the money.’

  Hild kept her peace.

  ‘Except, of course, why on earth would he do that? Why would the meanest man in town spend anything on a nunnery?’

  Cwen waited for a reply, but there was none.

  ‘Unless, of course, Mildburgh had invented it all in her head. Or she thought she could force his hand. She convinced herself Gilder would pay, even though everyone else, Gilder included, knew that he wouldn’t.’

  Again, Hild’s silence was profound.

  ‘And then we found this,’ Cwen held up her find.

  Hild peered and squinted at the object, so Cwen took it closer until the old woman could clearly see it. Cwen was gratified to hear Hild gasp. Not the gasp of a normal person, but for Hild it was a positive outburst.

  ‘Where did you get that, girl?’ Hild demanded, waving in the direction of the object Cwen was holding up.

  ‘Gilder’s house,’ Cwen replied, ‘hidden in the privy. Explains quite a lot, wouldn’t you say?’