Hermitage, Wat and Some Druids

by Howard of Warwick

  ‘Or More, or Stropit,’ Cwen added.

  ‘Or all the robbers,’ Wat noted.

  ‘It is a big place my friends,’ the Arch-Druid held his arms out to demonstrate just how large. ‘I expect they’ve just wandered off and will be back shortly. We’re not holding anyone captive after all.’

  Cwen and Ellen still looked suspicious at this tale but the evidence was hard to deny. There was no one under threat. The missing people were just missing and the Arch-Druid seemed to be most concerned about his cooking pot.

  Hermitage wasn’t sure he could stand much more of this. First they tramp through the countryside, then they’re going to be sacrificed, then they’re not. He just wished everything would settle down and he could get back to normal. Whatever that was now.

  The whole situation was completely bizarre, never mind whether there was going to be any actual death or not. And they were still no closer to completing their mission. There was no sign of Martel. Yes, there was some druid gold, quite a bit of it draped around the Arch-Druid, but there was no way they were going to be able to get away with any of it for the King. Not that Hermitage would dream of stealing someone else’s gold anyway.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen a fellow called Martel have you?’ he asked the Arch-Druid. ‘A Norman. Came here some months ago, probably.’

  ‘No,’ the Arch-Druid boomed happily, ‘as you now know, we get very few strangers in these parts. We tend to make a song and dance of it when any do turn up.’

  ‘Hywel didn’t seem very happy at having to supply a feast,’ Hermitage pointed out.

  ‘Ah, well,’ the Arch-Druid explained, ‘Hywel is never very happy about anything.’

  Hermitage felt rather deflated. He didn’t want to be sacrificed under a big rock of course, but he had been prepared to put up some sort of fight. Now it didn’t seem to be needed.

  ‘What now then?’ he asked the Arch-Druid.

  ‘It’s ready,’ the man announced, stepping back from his cauldron. ‘We all have the ceremonial libation, then we move on to the blessing of the stones. Then you can all do whatever you want.’

  Hermitage looked very suspiciously at the cauldron full of ceremonial libation.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, the druid reassured him, ‘it isn’t poisoned or anything. Look. I’ll take the first portion.’

  He dipped a small ladle into the cauldron, extracted a full measure and blew across it to cool it. He took a cautious sip, as anyone would of a boiling hot potion that you about to stick in your mouth. Then, when satisfied it wasn’t going to burn him, he drank the lot.

  ‘Ah,’ he smacked his lips in pleasure, ‘may not be to everyone’s taste, but I love it. Here you go.’ He held the ladle out for the monk.

  Hermitage and the others still held back but then the other druid, Wulf and Lypolix all queued up for their drink.

  Perhaps Hermitage would try a sip. Just to be polite. He did wonder about the point of being polite to people who he had been assured were planning to sacrifice him under a rock. But if that really was wrong he ought not to hold it against them. It could be that Wem was a fanciful chap who made up ridiculous tales. He had come across people like him often enough. Most often they were his fellow monks.

  After the druids had had their fill he took a small mouthful of the frankly foul distillation. If this was what druids drank he wasn’t surprised they were dying out.

  No one else volunteered to taste what came out of a druid’s cauldron, so the Arch-Druid went amongst them with his ladle, doling out small mouthfuls. The universal conclusion about this creation of the woods, with its secret recipe of natural ingredients, freshly plucked from the floor and walls of the forest, was that it was revolting.

  People spat and did what they could to clear their mouths of stuff that seemed determined to cling to their teeth. Perhaps chewing a nettle would take the taste away.

  Hermitage thought that he would need to have a long discussion with a devout abbot or bishop after all of this, just to sort out what was sinful and what he needed to do penance for. If he could find a devout abbot or bishop that was.

  This thought was still in his head when he realised that he was falling to the ground. He seemed to be at one remove from the body of the monk that was now collapsing onto the ground in front of the cauldron. He could watch it, as if from a great distance, and note with interest what a body looked like when it fell senseless.

  As consciousness fled, his final thought was to wonder if this might have anything to do with the druid’s potion he’d just drunk.

  Caput XXV

  Tied and Ready.

  As Hermitage’s senses slowly wormed their way back into his brain he noticed that his body was having a hard time keeping up. He felt stiff and uncomfortable, with the distinct impression that if he gave his muscles an instruction they would disobey.

  He managed to move his head from the slumped position it had fallen into, and sucked up some of the dribble that had run down his chin. Even that still tasted of the foul brew.

  He managed to blink his eyes open and at least his reason was still intact, even if his vision had a strange swimming quality about it. The druid potion must have been very strong stuff. He was not used to drinking at all. Certainly not the strong spirits the ordinary man and woman indulged in. He had never seen the attraction of ale, apart from it being safer to drink than water, and wine had never been offered.

  He tried shaking his head lightly, which turned out not to be a good idea at all as it felt like the inside of his head stayed still while the rest of him moved around.

  He let a little groan escape his mouth.

  ‘Ah, master monk,’ the voice of the Arch-Druid boomed into his head in unnecessarily booming manner.

  Hermitage groaned again and tried to move his arms. Unsurprisingly, he found that he couldn’t. He swore would never drink again. Druid potion was unlikely to come his way, but even the ale would be approached with caution.

  He blinked more life into his head and tried again. His arms still wouldn’t move.

  As sense returned in more force he detected that the reason he couldn’t move his arms was that they were tied up. How had that happened?

  Sight came back into order and he looked about him. They were still in the area of the cauldron and the others were still with him. Wat, Cwen, the stragglers and the pilgrims. And they were all tied up. That was very odd.

  Perhaps they’d had to be restrained for their safety. It could be the drink had driven them into wild thrashings and shakings which could have injured them and the druids had kindly tied them up.

  He recalled one of Wat’s most insistent lessons. More like an instruction really. Stop thinking the best of people all the time and have a look at the worst.

  The worst would mean that the druids had poisoned them after all; had tied them up to stop them getting away, and were really going to sacrifice them to the stones. Wem had been telling the truth and the Arch-Druid had been lying. Honestly. You couldn’t trust anyone.

  That had been one of Wat’s instructions as well.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he managed to croak out through a potion ravaged throat.

  ‘Everything according to plan.’ The Arch-Druid smiled broadly and walked over to crouch in front of Hermitage. ‘Everything is exactly as it should be.’

  ‘The stones,’ Hermitage got out, half statement, half question.

  ‘And the sacrifices,’ the druid added. ‘All proceeding very well indeed, thank you.’

  ‘The drink,’ Hermitage was finding it very difficult to make his thoughts come out of his head in the right order.

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ the Arch-Druid replied. ‘One my best, I think. Very effective and very fast. Just the job. Of course the right mushrooms aren’t always available but the Gods provided.’

  ‘But, we, you.’ Hermitage knew exactly what question he wanted to ask. He knew what words he had sent to his mouth, but these were the only ones that worked.

&
nbsp; ‘How come we all drank the potion but only you succumbed?’ The Arch-Druid prompted.

  Hermitage nodded.

  The Arch-Druid shrugged, ‘We’re used to it. Lypolix and I haven’t been druids for years without developing a certain resilience.’

  Hermitage was now able to look around the clearing.

  ‘In fact, I’m a bit concerned that Lypolix has been taking the stuff regularly, in secret.’ The Arch-Druid tapped the side of his head with one finger. ‘Can’t be good for you.’

  ‘And.’

  The Arch-Druid followed Hermitage’s gaze.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the Arch-Druid nodded. ‘That probably does seem a bit odd.’

  Hermitage could see all of those he knew were tied up as he was and now knew why. He didn’t know why the young druid, Wulf, was tied up as well. The other druid was tied next to him.

  ‘He’s the stone seer you see,’ the Arch-Druid smiled, got to sacrifice a stone seer or the circle wouldn’t work at all.’ He paused in thought, ‘Or so Lypolix says.’ He looked at the cauldron with a frown. ‘And the other druid isn’t from round here. Probably best to tie him up anyway. Just to be on the safe side.’

  A shape moved across Hermitage’s vision and he looked up. He was surprised again. But then this was a generally surprising situation.

  John was prowling about the ground, sword in hand.

  ‘Turns out John is one of our most loyal servants. Handy sort of man to have around if there might be trouble.’

  Hermitage had so many questions but his brain was still so addled that he gave up on them and slumped in despair.

  The Arch-Druid stood and looked down from his great height at Hermitage. ‘Won’t take long to get everything going,’ the man rubbed his hands in happy anticipation. ‘The master stone is ready to roll down the hill so we’ll do you first, if you don’t mind. Then we’ll get on with the rest of the circle. Few days and the whole thing will be done.’ The druid strode away, chuckling and humming happily.

  Hermitage had a very long list of things he minded about. He minded about them very much indeed. As soon as his head was working properly he would present all his arguments to the Arch-Druid and get this ridiculous situation sorted out.

  In the meantime he was tied up in a remote welsh village with a group of druids who wanted to sacrifice him under a large stone. ‘Wat!’ he hissed as loudly as he dare.

  The weaver was tied up nearby but hadn’t shown any sign of life. He now rolled over, wide awake, and looked at Hermitage as if all of this was his fault.

  ‘The druids,’ Hermitage started.

  ‘I heard,’ said Wat in a rather fierce tone.

  Hermitage rolled his head around and brought some more sense to bear. ‘I expect you think we should have left when we could,’ he said.

  ‘Er,’ Wat seemed to think about it for a moment, ‘yes.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Hermitage asked. Wat was the one who got them out of situations like this. Well, not exactly like this, obviously, but similar.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ the weaver did not sound happy.

  ‘We need to escape,’ Hermitage thought perhaps the potion was still effecting Wat.

  ‘Good,’ said Wat, ‘let’s do that then.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know, Hermitage,’ Wat ground the words out, ‘I’ve been tied up by a mad druid who wants to drop a stone on my head.’

  The others were all coming round now, and there were cries of surprise and complaint as they realised their condition.

  ‘Untie me this minute,’ a voice screamed across the forest. Cwen was awake then.

  The Arch-Druid strode into the middle of his definitively captive audience and held up his hands.

  ‘Friends, friends,’ he said, calmingly.

  There were some rather rude responses to this.

  ‘I do apologise for the inconvenience. We’ll get on with things as quickly as we can but in the meantime make yourselves as comfortable as possible.’

  Now there were some suggestions of what people were going to do to the Arch-Druid once they were free. Suggestions what Cwen was going to do, mainly.

  ‘Master?’ Wulf’s voice sounded more puzzled than fearful.

  ‘Ah, young Wulf. Our stone seer.’ The Arch-Druid walked over to his acolyte. ‘it’s just as I said, I always knew there was something special about you. Might have been best to stick to the priesthood after all, or a bard.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘The sacrifices to the circle,’ the Arch-Druid sounded very disappointed that Wulf hadn’t got this. ‘The Grand Complication needs very special sacrifices. The monk is for the master stone, and the stone seer lies opposite.’

  ‘What?’ Now Wulf sounded angry.

  ‘That’s what Lypolix says.’

  ‘And you believe that old loon?’ Wulf was letting himself go.

  The Arch-Druid stepped forward and clipped Wulf round the ear.

  ‘Ow. Well he is. He is a mad, decrepit, off with the owls, full strength loon. He couldn’t seer his own toes. All he does is cackle and skip about and pick things up off the floor. If he wasn’t a druid we’d have chased him out of the village by now.’

  The Arch-Druid was looking shocked at this tirade.

  ‘And you’re going to sacrifice me on his say so?’

  ‘You were quite prepared to sacrifice us,’ Cwen shouted out.

  ‘That’s different,’ Wulf responded, ‘you’re heathens.’

  ‘We’re not the heathens,’ Hermitage pointed out, ‘it’s you who are the heathens.’

  ‘How can we be heathens?’ Wulf retorted.

  ‘Can we stop arguing about who’s most heathen,’ Wat interjected. ‘The big druid here wants to kill us all. Perhaps we should concentrate on that?’

  ‘It will all be sorted out when the circle is complete,’ the Arch-Druid tried to calm the argument down. He looked quite surprised that his captives were arguing amongst themselves.

  ‘And if the circle doesn’t work?’ Wulf challenged, ‘if Lypolix really is as cuckoo as I say?’

  The Arch-Druid adopted a masterful stance, ‘Then I am prepared to admit I was wrong.’

  ‘But we’ll still be dead,’ Wat pointed out.

  ‘Never mind,’ said the Arch-Druid as he strode off to the temple. He did cast his eye back at Wulf, and frowned as he went.

  People struggled against their bonds but were held firm. Cwen and Ellen got positively frantic trying to shake their ties loose but to no avail. The druids must have done this sort of thing before.

  John simply stood by and watched them all. Probably ready to stick his sword in anyone who really managed to escape.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to keep us safe,’ Wat demanded.

  ‘You’re safe aren’t you?’ John noted.

  ‘Until we get stones put on top of us. Le Pedvin gave you specific orders.’

  ‘Le Pedvin,’ John spat on the ground. ‘Why would I do anything to help the cursed invaders?’

  Hermitage sighed to himself. Wasn’t there anyone here who had told the truth? About anything? It was all very disappointing.

  ‘We’re pilgrims,’ Elard called out, sounding very plaintive, ‘you can’t sacrifice pilgrims. It’s not allowed.’

  ‘I think you’ll find a druid who wants to build a stone circle on top of you can do whatever he likes,’ John shouted back.

  ‘But God protects his pilgrims,’ Elard was getting desperate.

  ‘Then he will do,’ said John. ‘Except of course the druid Gods are the real gods and you aren’t real pilgrims anyway. The monk said so.’

  ‘Arguing over who is who is beside the point,’ Hermitage had to speak up. ‘Burying people under stone circles in the expectation that they will perform some sort of magic is just wrong.’

  ‘We’ll find out, won’t we,’ said John. He wandered around among the captives to make sure they were all secure.

  ‘Wulf,’ Hermitage called
, ‘you’re a druid. Do you think this is right?’

  ‘Well,’ Wulf drawled out very slowly, ‘in principle of course, a blood sacrifice to power a stone circle is perfectly reasonable. In principle.’

  ‘But in practice?’ Wat took up the argument, ‘and when it’s your blood? In practice.’

  ‘Erm,’ Wulf didn’t seem to have an answer he was prepared to share.

  ‘And your friend there? Our mysterious druid companion whose name we don’t even know? What does he think about the whole stone, sacrifice situation?’

  ‘My name is Gardle,’ said the druid in a calm and serene voice, ‘and if the Gods will it, so mote it be.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said my name is Gardle.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that bit. What did you say after that?’

  ‘So mote it be.’

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Wat asked with some irritation.

  ‘Er,’ Gardle was taken back by the challenge, ‘it means so may it be.’

  Wat coughed in contempt. ‘So you’re happy to have a rock put on top of you until you’re dead.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Gardle, ‘I don’t think I’ll be needed for the actual sacrifice, ‘I think they’ve got enough.’

  ‘Oh, very convenient.’

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ Ellen called across from her resting place, ‘soon as my Leon gets back, he’ll have this lot for breakfast. We’ll be sticking them under stones before the day is out.’

  John walked over and gave her a light tap with the flat of his sword. ‘As soon as your Leon comes back, he’ll be tied up like everyone else.’

  Hermitage whispered to Wat, ‘At least that means they don’t have him.’ He took some encouragement from this. ‘And maybe Banley and the robbers are free as well, we could still be rescued. After all, they’re a half reasonable fighting force.’ His enthusiasm started to wane as he remembered how effective the robbers had been the last time they faced John.

  Wat’s snort indicated that he did not share Hermitage’s confidence. ‘At least they like me. If I offer them a tapestry they might help. The druids can’t possibly have anything that would persuade Banley to go along with this.’