Hermitage, Wat and Some Druids

by Howard of Warwick

  ‘More than That eh? You have another names? This is mysterious and I must think upon it.’

  More opened his mouth to explain but clearly thought it was a waste of time. Being considered an idiot by More was high praise indeed.

  …

  The whole party tramped on through the hours, and it became increasingly apparent that they were leaving the civilised world behind. Over hills, following streams, taking herders’ trails and then setting off through the woods again, Hermitage just hoped this Lypolix really did know where they were going.

  After one crossing of a stream on stepping stones, every one of which wobbled, the lead straggler appeared at the head of the parade. She ignored Hermitage and made for Wat.

  ‘We’ve been having a bit of a think,’ she announced.

  ‘Remarkable,’ Wat replied.

  The straggler was hesitant in admitting a misjudgement, ‘And it does seem that there might not actually be an army after all. As such.’

  ‘No army eh?’ Wat asked, looking around the completely wild countryside, apparently to see if he agreed with her. ‘You know, I think you may be right.’

  ‘So, erm, we’re going to sort of head off now.’ She waved vaguely back the way they had come. It would take them quite a while to get back into good straggling country.

  Lypolix materialised between her and Wat and there was a look in his eyes that wasn’t quite right.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he wailed, as if casting a magic spell. ‘The stragglers shall not leave. They have stones.’

  ‘That’s right,’ the straggler spoke loudly and clearly. ‘We’ve got stones and we’ll just pop back and get them.’ She nodded exaggeratedly and gave the usual accommodating-a-madman look to Wat.

  ‘You cannot leave,’ Lypolix seemed to find the prospect hugely amusing.

  ‘I think you’ll find we can,’ the straggler confirmed, a hint of forcefulness in her voice.

  ‘No, no,’ Lypolix laughed and skipped a bit.

  ‘Yes,’ said the straggler. All humour was gone now and she was a fierce looking woman, ready to bat the old man away if he tried to stop her.

  ‘But,’ Lypolix began.

  ‘But nothing.’ She pointed her finger. ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘You’ll miss the feast,’ Lypolix cackled.

  That got her attention. ‘Feast?’

  ‘A great feast there shall be. The greatest.’

  ‘Great feast?’

  ‘Days and days shall the celebrations continue.’

  The straggler was coming round. She carried the look of a woman who couldn’t remember the last just plain feast she had had, never mind a great one. ‘Days and days? And we’ll be there?’

  ‘It cannot happen without you,’ Lypolix pointed a withered finger at her, which he then circled around everyone else. ‘Once the stones are complete, the whole village will feast.

  ‘Ah, well,’ the straggler had clearly been persuaded, ‘if there’s going to be a feast, I expect we could stay.’

  The pilgrim and the robbers had drifted over to lend an ear to this conversation. It seemed they too were having their doubts about continuing to tramp through the welsh woods.

  Word of the great feast spread quickly and everyone was very satisfied with the prospect. Even if there was no gold or a decent relic at the end of it, they’d get a good feed.

  The straggler had a second thought. ‘How much further is this feast?’ Even if the feast was magnificent, it might not be worth tramping across the whole country.

  ‘Nearly there, nearly there,’ Lypolix cackled as be beckoned them to follow further into the woods.

  …

  Further into the woods went on for several more hours and the day was starting to tip into evening before the trees started to thin and the ground rose more appreciably.

  Lypolix led them up what seemed to be a sheep trail, probably frequented by just the one sheep, who was lost anyway. The trail led almost vertically up a steep incline and as usual, the first crest was a false one. Down a small dip, sparsely grassed but more well-trodden, and up the other side, the true peak of the hill was reached.

  Hermitage, being in the position of honour at the front of the group was the first to gaze down upon their destination.

  ‘The village,’ Lypolix announced with a general waving of arms.

  Hermitage could see a valley. Its floor was broad and flat as the side of the hill enclosing it fell quickly away. In front of him, the far side must be at least a mile away. Trees paraded down this distant slope as if thinking about an invasion.

  Off to his right the head of the valley collided into an even steeper hill which rose like a rampart. What was on the other side of that could only be a matter of conjecture. Probably more of the same.

  To the left the valley rolled down towards open ground, although more hills stood sentinel, as if guarding its entrance.

  This was a well-protected spot. No one would be able to approach the place without being seen from some way off. If the routes over the other hills were the same as the one they had endured, it was unlikely anyone would bother anyway.

  But protection also meant isolation. If these people didn’t tell anyone they were here, they could missed completely.

  As Hermitage looked over their destination he was sure he felt the same basic emotion as would anyone who had tramped all those hours to get here. Enormous disappointment.

  Lypolix had used the word “village”, but as far as Hermitage could see, someone had used this valley as a dumping ground for half-built huts. The ones that had been half built before their builder realised the whole job had gone horribly wrong and he was going to have to start again.

  A passing peasant had then seen the discarded shavings of a hut builder and asked if he could have it. The builder was glad to get the room back and probably assumed the fellow was going to use it for firewood, not to live in.

  There was one building larger than the rest, and that seemed in better order, but there was even something wrong with that one. He frowned as he struggled to discover what it was about this place that bothered him so intensely.

  Organisation. Of course. Anything that wasn’t organised gave Hermitage the most intense irritation that almost felt physical. Naturally, he never gave expression to it, but it still rankled.

  This village showed no signs of organisation at all. The huts had been randomly distributed over the available space and even faced in different directions. He assumed that if you had all the space you needed there was no need to lay things out carefully. But really, if you wanted to talk to your neighbour in this place you would have to leave your hut and there was a good chance you’d get lost on the way.

  Once darkness fell, the village would be impossible to navigate unless you’d been born there. Perhaps that was the point.

  There were some people moving around down there, although even they didn’t seem to be doing anything coordinated. A livestock pen was empty, the sheep doubtless out to summer grazing.

  He couldn’t imagine this place producing a great anything, let alone a feast.

  The rest of the party had arrived at the hill top now and looked down upon the village with a silence that almost sighed its own despair. Had they really come all that way for this?

  ‘Is this it?’ One of the robbers asked, in blunt criticism.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ Lypolix cackled. ‘See, see.’ He held his arms out wide to encompass the magnificence of the view.

  Looks on faces said that the others were having a bit of a problem spotting the magnificence, hidden as it must be, behind this pretty rubbish village.

  Well, they were here now, and there certainly wasn’t anywhere else to go. Hermitage clapped his hands together, trying to encourage some enthusiasm in himself and the others. He looked to Lypolix to lead the way.

  As he did so he saw some more shapes up the cliff at the far end of the valley.

  ‘’What are they doing?’ he asked.

  ‘The stones, the st
ones,’ Lypolix answered.

  Hermitage wondered if the man said everything twice for the benefit of others or because he might forget himself.

  ‘Aha.’

  ‘They shall bring the master to the village.’

  ‘So the village has a master,’ Hermitage nodded. ‘I look forward to meeting him.’

  ‘You shall, you shall,’ said Lypolix with a quite enormous cackle which continued as he beckoned and led them down the hill.

  Caput XIX

  Strangers and Stranger Still.

  Wulf was in the village when the party arrived down the hillside and all he could do was gape.

  The Arch-Druid had stayed at the temple to brew a fresh batch of his magic recipe for broken fingers, which he thought the stone-movers were going to need. In fact all it did was knock the patient out of their senses while he re-set the bones.

  Lypolix led the arrivals, skipping and dancing and cackling and gesturing all at once.

  ‘You’re here,’ said Wulf in staggered surprise as Hermitage drew up with the rest of the band at his back.

  ‘How do you do,’ said Hermitage, holding his hand out, hugely relieved that the man could speak English. And that he didn’t breathe fire.

  Wulf shook it in a daze. ‘You’re a monk,’ he observed.

  Oh dear, thought Hermitage, these people really were isolated. ‘That’s right,’ he explained slowly, ‘I’m a monk. You see this is the habit of my order…’

  ‘And how many are you?’ Wulf asked. He scanned the crowd, quickly trying to add up.

  ‘Twenty two I’m afraid,’ Hermitage only now realised that this was a terrible imposition on such a small place.

  ‘Twenty two of you, and one a monk,’ Wulf’s disbelief was only fading slowly. ‘It’s unbelievable.’ He scanned the crowd and noticed that one of the number was another druid, a stranger to him, but one of their own. So it couldn’t be quite right that all the sacrifices had turned up.

  ‘You doubt, you doubt,’ said Lypolix, tapping the young druid hard in the chest.

  ‘Doubt what?’ Hermitage asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Wulf said, quickly. ‘It’s, erm, just that Lypolix foresaw your coming.’

  Hermitage frowned at such nonsense. ‘He found us in the woods,’ he pointed out, ‘not much foresight required.’

  ‘No, ha ha, indeed,’ said Wulf rapidly moving on. ‘You are all welcome of course.’

  ‘Twenty two is quite a lot to manage,’ Hermitage apologised.

  ‘But you’re expected.’ Wulf thought he’d explained that. ‘We’re just getting ready for you.’

  A frown deposited itself on Hermitage’s face.

  ‘Where’s the feast?’ the lead straggler demanded as she stepped forward and saw no signs of cooking.

  ‘Feast?’ Wulf asked.

  ‘Yes, feast. Your little man here said there would be a feast. A great one.’ She nodded towards Lypolix.

  ‘Ah, yes, the feast. Of course. I shall talk to the village headman and we’ll get things started now you’re here. We didn’t know exactly when you’d arrive.’

  This worried Hermitage. How could these people really be expecting twenty two of them to arrive? Surely their travel here had been a secret? Then he realised that it had been anything but. And they’d caused such trouble at the river crossing that the whole of Wales probably knew they were coming. No mystery there then. Apart from the fact of the druid who had met them at the inn? He couldn’t immediately work out how that had happened. But he would.

  Wulf held his arms out and addressed the crowd. ‘You are all welcome my friends and the feast can begin.’

  There was a restrained cheer at this, although Hermitage caught a mumbled “relics” from somewhere in the group.

  ‘Choose a hut to take your rest and we’ll all get together later.’ He beckoned that they could take their pick of the comfortable dwellings on offer. ‘We are all expecting you, the villagers will give you our greatest hospitality.’

  Hermitage chastised himself for thinking that this probably wouldn’t be very great. Still, the chance for shelter and a sit down was most welcome.

  The group cast their various glances around the huts nearby and wandered off in twos and threes, probably to look for something better.

  More wandered off on his own, perhaps to look for a river.

  Hermitage, Wat and Cwen made sure they stayed together, and that everyone else left them alone. They nodded an assurance to John that they weren’t going to run away if he took his eyes off them.

  ‘Did you see it?’ Cwen hissed as soon as everyone else had gone.

  Wat led them off into the village, he seemed to be making a bee line for the largest hut of all.

  ‘See what?’ Hermitage asked.

  ‘The you-know-what,’ Cwen replied, quietly.

  ‘What you-know-what?’ Hermitage was lost.

  ‘The you-know-what we have come for,’ Cwen growled at his stupidity.

  ‘Martel?’ Hermitage asked. Surely it was too much to hope for that they would find the Norman in the very first place they looked.

  Cwen sighed her annoyance. ‘We are not looking for Martel. Remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ it came back to Hermitage. He always found the deceits of others very hard to follow. His eyes widened. ‘There was some you-know-what?’ he had missed that completely.

  Wat had found the largest hut and stuck his head in the door. ‘This’ll do,’ he said.

  ‘Young mister Wulf was wearing a large chunk of you-know-what round his neck,’ Cwen explained.

  ‘But,’ Hermitage started. Then stopped.

  ‘He had a gold torc round his neck,’ said Wat.

  ‘Really?’ Hermitage thought he was usually quite observant, but he hadn’t spotted that.

  ‘Don’t know what else it was.’ Wat shrugged.

  ‘Why didn’t the robbers spot it?’ Hermitage asked. After all, it was the one thing they’d come all this way for.

  ‘Who knows? It was very small and buried in his robe. Or perhaps they’re just idiots who wouldn’t recognise gold if it stabbed them.’ Wat led them into the hut.

  This was not a dwelling place, and Hermitage thought that it was not really a sensible place to stay.

  ‘This looks like their meeting room,’ he observed, ‘shouldn’t we find a home to go to?’

  ‘Personally,’ Wat reasoned, ‘I’d rather stay as far away from people as possible. Our lot are trouble and this lot are up to goodness knows what.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Surely Wat hadn’t had time to get suspicious already? Hermitage knew he still had a lot to learn about suspicion; which seemed to be a bit of a drawback for an investigator.

  ‘Think about it.’ Wat prompted.

  Hermitage could do that. He did.

  ‘Why are a group of isolated villagers welcoming a large band into their midst and feeding us, when they probably have barely enough for themselves?’ He asked the question to the air.

  ‘Because we outnumber them,’ Cwen clearly thought this proved her point.

  ‘They could have simply run off into the trees and hidden until we’d gone,’ Hermitage countered. ‘After all, there’s very little here of value to make us loiter.’

  ‘They want something,’ Wat concluded.

  ‘We haven’t got much,’ Cwen noted.

  ‘Then it’s something we haven’t thought of,’ said Wat as he dropped his pack in a corner of the hut.

  Hermitage contemplated this, but could come up with nothing. He looked at their surroundings and could not ignore the huge, round table which occupied most of the space.

  ‘I say, look at this table,’ he ran his hands over the surface. ’I’ve never seen anything like this before. What’s it doing in a place like this?’ he walked its circumference which must be enough to seat a huge number of people. ‘It’s very good quality. Looks quite old though.’

  Wat and Cwen looked disinterested.

  ‘I imagine this has some sto
ries to tell.’ Hermitage smiled to himself as he imagined who it might have been made for.

  ‘Doesn’t look very comfortable,’ said Cwen as she slapped the surface of the wood.

  ‘You can’t sleep on their table,’ Hermitage protested.

  ‘Don’t fancy the floor much,’ Cwen turned up her nose.

  ‘I’m not even sure we should close our eyes,’ Wat observed with a knowing expression.

  ‘Wat,’ Hermitage chided, ‘that Wulf fellow is a young druid and the strange Lypolix is the only other person we’ve met.’

  ‘Could be a village of druids then,’ said Cwen, ‘and we all know what they do.’ She made a cutting motion across her throat and accompanied it with a strangled gurgle.

  ‘Oh, really,’ Hermitage huffed. ‘That’s a complete myth. Anyway, how is a small welsh village going to deal with twenty two of us?’

  ‘The question is how did a small welsh village know there was twenty two of us coming at all?’ said Wat.

  Hermitage thought his answer would help, ‘We’ve been making enough trouble across the countryside for anyone to spot us miles away. We even had a fight at the river which was more like a small battle. I’d be surprised if anyone round here didn’t know we were coming. Probably the most exciting thing that’s happened for years.’

  ‘And the druid who came to get us?’ Wat asked.

  Hermitage had hoped that wouldn’t come up. He hadn’t thought it through yet. ‘Perhaps he didn’t come to get us,’ the idea sprang into his head.

  ‘He said he had,’ Cwen noted.

  ‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he? Once he’d seen us. Could be that he’d come to get anyone, whoever happened to be passing by. What did he call us? The monk, the weaver and the child? Anyone could see that just from looking at us.’

  Wat coughed, ‘You mean this welsh village has sent druids out to collect strangers?’

  ‘Could be,’ Hermitage saw that his reasoning was sound, which was always a comfort.

  ‘We’ve all heard of villages that simply run out of people. You know, the old die and there are no children,’ said Wat

  Hermitage and Cwen nodded. It did happen.

  ‘Could be the village is searching for new people to join them.’ Wat stuck to the suggestion.