Hermitage, Wat and Some Murder or Other

by Howard of Warwick

  'I mean we haven't moved him to look. I said we shouldn't. Piers come to me and said there's been a murder, and I say has there, and he says yes and I says no, and he says yes, so I says…'

  'If we could get to the point?’ Wat pressed.

  Blamour scowled at the interruption, 'I said as how we had the investigantor here and how he would want to look at things before we moved them.’

  'That was very thoughtful,’ said Hermitage, torn between the help it would be seeing the body after the murder without it having been interfered with, and the strong desire not to see any bodies at all.

  'Where is this unrecognisable body?’ Wat asked.

  'Top field.’

  'Cah,’ one of the old men snorted. Top field clearly had meaning of some sort.

  'And what were you doing in top field?’

  'Well I wasn't there was I? Like I said, it was Piers who says to me there's been a murder, and I says has there? And he says…'

  'Yes, yes,’ Wat waved Blamour to a halt, 'so why did he come and tell you? Why didn't he come to the village, or go to the castle?’

  'Well I don't know,’ Blamour huffed, 'you'd have to ask him. Are you interested in this murder or not? Or would you rather worry about who told what to who?’

  Wat frowned. 'Did the murders of the blacksmith and the wheelwright come to you first as well?’ He cast a suspicious look at Blamour and made sure that Hermitage saw it.

  That was a new factor, Hermitage thought. It was bad enough that the place was a haven for murder but if every one came to light through Blamour, that would be very odd. He couldn't imagine that the old man had actually done the terrible deeds. After all, he was really very old indeed, largely incapable, and moving an anvil and building a wheel would be well beyond him. It might mean that he knew more than he was telling though.

  'No they didn't,’ Blamour protested.

  Oh well, thought Hermitage, there goes another idea.

  'I suppose we'd better go and look,’ he said, reluctance swimming through him, 'is this top field far?’

  'No, not far.’

  'How did this Piers find the body?’ Hermitage's curiosity was getting the better of him, 'was he working in top field?’

  'He was,’ Blamour explained, 'and he found it 'cause it was him doing the ploughing.’

  Wat nodded at this interesting detail.

  Hermitage was horrified, 'Ploughing?’ he demanded, 'why on earth was anyone ploughing? It's the middle of summer. First felling trees when the sap is rising, now ploughing fields when you should be letting the crops ripen, what's wrong with this place?’

  'Apart from all the murders obviously,’ Wat helpfully added.

  'Yes,’ Hermitage went on, 'and the murders. Have we come to place of madmen?’

  Blamour just shrugged, 'Lord Bonneville's orders.’

  The old men muttered their agreement to this, and clearly shared Hermitage's opinion of the noble's methods of farming.

  'Well we shall have to ask Lord Bonneville then.’ Hermitage wasn't going to let this go. Murder was one thing, but mucking about with the order in which life should proceed was simply intolerable. 'So this Piers came across the body when he was ploughing? Do you think it had been there long? What's the crop?’

  'Peas,’ said Blamour as if the fact was entirely irrelevant.

  Hermitage nodded. 'Then the body might have been hidden from the time the plants grew high enough. It could have been there for weeks.’

  'Oh no,’ Blamour piped up enthusiastically, 'Piers saw it done.’

  Hermitage's capacity for handling events and the information that went with them was rapidly reaching its limits. Any moment now he would simply have to walk away and have a lie down somewhere. The thought of being locked in a dungeon started to have its attractions. At least in there people wouldn't be able to keep telling him things which made no sense and make him want to cry out to make the confusion stop.

  'He saw it?’

  'Oh yes,’ Blamour nodded happily at this.

  Even Wat was gaping slightly now and Hermitage really needed to make sure he understood what was being said, 'This Piers saw the murder done? In the field? He saw the murderer?’ Perhaps this was going to be the turning point in this hideous chain of events. If the killer had let himself be observed, it should be easy now to catch him. Unless of course there was more than one murderer, Hermitage wouldn't be surprised if this place had as many murderers as victims.

  Blamour smiled, 'He's still got him up the field.’

  'How, who, what?’ Hermitage gibbered rather, 'but you said Piers came down from the field and told you about the murder. He left the killer in the peas? He will have got away by now. Or is he dead as well, was there a fight?’ Despite himself, Hermitage thought he really wanted to get up to this top field to see what on earth was going on.

  'He's not going anywhere,’ Blamour explained, 'firmly yoked down. Piers has gone back up there.’

  'Aha.’ Hermitage thought that was good. If there was going to be a murderer in the field, he would rather the fellow was tied up in some way. 'Do you know him?’ This would be too much to hope, but you never knew.

  'Of course,’ Blamour said as if this should be obvious. 'Who wouldn't know that great big ox,’ he described the killer.

  'I see,’ said Hermitage, 'big fellow then?’ That would explain humping anvils about the place and knocking up a wheel with a man in it. He hoped the brute was tied up securely.

  'No,’ Blamour explained condescendingly, 'a great big ox, it's a sort of cow?’

  'Er,’ Hermitage's mind gave up all together.

  Wat's face didn't seem to know whether to laugh, cry or fall apart. 'Are you saying the man was murdered by an ox?’

  'Certainly was.’

  Neither Blamour nor the old men on their bench seemed to think that this was in any way peculiar.

  'That's ridiculous,’ Hermitage eventually got his thoughts in some sort of order, 'oxen can't commit murder.’

  'You tell that to the bloke who's just been trampled to death,’ Blamour retorted.

  'Being trampled to death is not the same as being murdered,’ Hermitage explained. Surely these simple country folk weren't quite that simple. 'Being trampled to death is an accident.’

  'Not if the ox means it,’ Blamour assured his audience as he folded his arms. The audience on the seat nodded knowledgeable agreement.

  'And how exactly do we find out if the ox meant it?’ Wat asked.

  'Don't ask me, ask the ox. You're the Invertibrator.’

  There was clearly no point following this conversation during its descent into complete madness. 'I think we need to go up to the field,’ Hermitage said to Wat, ignoring the others completely, who plainly had nothing useful to add to the situation. 'Which way?’

  'Follow the track past first field and the wood, take a right and up the hill. Top field's at the top.’ Blamour said helpfully. 'And while you're doing that, we can start planning,’ Blamour called as the monk and the weaver left.

  'Planning?’ Hermitage asked with a turn of the head.

  'Of course. We'll need a bloody big gallows if we're going to hang an ox.’

  Caput XVIII

  A Murderous Ox?

  'Have you ever been in a play Wat?’ Hermitage asked as they followed their directions up towards the top field and the scene of the whatever-it-was-a-scene-of.

  'A play?’ the weaver asked, clearly not expecting the question at all, 'no, why?’

  'I have. Well sort of. I took part in a mystery play a few years ago, when I was younger.’

  'And what's that got to do with murderous cattle?’

  'I was just told what to say and when to say it. No explanation of why I was saying it, how it affected the progress of the play, no context at all. It was most frustrating.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Wat with a smile.

  ‘I feel like I'm in a play again. Everyone else has their part but no one person really knows what's going on
at all. You have to be in the audience to get the whole picture and I'm not. It's like someone has set up a play full of mad people who do mad things, and they've dropped us in the middle of it, given us only our own lines and that’s it.’

  'That might not be far from the truth,’ Wat nodded his head.

  'The things the people are doing and saying are simply ridiculous. We have two bodies that've been interfered with in the most bizarre manner. We've got Lallard who might be dead and then again might not. And now we've got killer cows. It can't be real.’

  'With Le Pedvin in the middle of it all nothing would surprise me,’ Wat shook his head with despair almost Hermitage-like in quality.

  'And I think the worst part of it all is that the people behave as if it's all perfectly normal.’ Hermitage's hysteria was mounting a well-coordinated attack on his senses. 'No one seems bothered that their craftsmen have been rearranged; nobody at all cares where Lallard is, or Margaret and her husband. And now they think their livestock go round murdering people.’ Hermitage threw his hands up in despair as his mind whirled around trying to get this into any sort of order.

  'Well if the ox did kill this person…' Wat began.

  'Of course an ox can kill someone, they're big heavy things, they have hard hooves. If one of them stands on you it's bound to do some damage, but it's still not murder.’

  'Even if you die?’

  'Even if you die. The ox is an animal, it can't commit murder.’

  Hermitage was alarmed that Wat seemed to be giving such a ridiculous concept any credence at all.

  'Not even if it meant it?’ Wat asked quite reasonably.

  'Wat,’ Hermitage exclaimed, 'are you going as mad as the rest of the population?’

  'I'm just saying that the ox might have meant to kill this person. Cattle defend their calves, they might deliberately trample someone then.’

  'It's not calving season,’ Hermitage pointed out, 'although the seasons round here seem to be as wrong as everything else. The ox was ploughing we're told, so unlikely to be any calves about,’ Hermitage caught himself arguing the case as if it was in any way possible. 'In any case a beast of the field cannot commit the crime of murder. The first ever murder was Cain and Able, not the fox and the chicken.’

  'But an animal could have the intent to kill. Like you say, foxes do it all the time, are they murderers? I heard of a village up York way where they hung a rabbit for eating the Bishop's carrots.’

  'Well they were mad as well. Are you seriously suggesting this ox beheaded the blacksmith, built a wheel round the wheelwright and tidied up after Lallard's death?’

  'Well no.’

  'Good, that's something at least. Animals only follow the instincts God gave them. It's only man who ignores those instincts and does what he wants instead. In this case murder.’

  Hermitage was relieved that this increasingly disturbing conversation was brought to a halt by their arrival at top field. In other circumstances he would be happy to discuss the nature of sin and the motivations of the beasts of the field with Wat. Preferably this would take place in the back room of the weaver's workshop, a mug of ale and a loaf before them, and no one knocking on the door asking them to come and look at the latest in a series of dead people.

  Like the field near Blamour's place, top field was open to the tracks of the village and it contained what looked like a good crop of peas, a four-foot high green sea, climbing their pea-sticks and trembling slightly in the light breeze. Or rather it had contained a good crop, now it contained about half a crop.

  Tall trees bordered the field and stretched off up a hill at the back, creating a sheltered and peaceful spot. A small stream ran down the right hand side of the field, emerging from the wood to gently amble its way down the slope towards the river and then the sea.

  To the left, a small ditch had been dug, presumably to allow rain to run off without washing away the soil and the crops. In the field beyond, sheep could be seen wandering around with their heads down, one or two of them kneeling on their front legs to bring mouths closer to the food. A young boy ambled close by, keeping the sheep to their task and away from the peas. His head was cowled to keep the sun off but he turned to observe the new arrivals with interest. Hermitage imagined anything would be more interesting than watching sheep all day.

  The crop itself was well grown and looked healthy. Naturally a lot of it had been eaten by deer or rabbits, but there was still enough left to provide a good store for the village. Even more strange then that nearly half the field had been ploughed back into a brown mess, fully grown plants mixed up in the furrows left by the ox.

  The beast itself seemed quite happy, standing still in its yoke, munching merrily on the remaining peas. It was a big white female ox, as naturally passive and calm as the rest of its kin. A figure, Hermitage assumed it to be Piers, was lying on the ground, his back against the frame of the plough, and he seemed to be asleep. As far as could be seen from here there was no sign of a dead body.

  'Doesn't look like a killer,’ Wat nodded his head towards the ox.

  'It isn't,’ Hermitage replied confidently.

  'But if it did trample the man to death.’

  'That ox did not trample anyone to death.’

  Wat said nothing as they walked across the field towards the sleeping ploughman but did raise an eyebrow at Hermitage's confidence.

  'What about that then?’ He nodded towards a shape in the mud between the back of the ox and the front of the plough, half buried in the soil of the field. 'Looks like a body to me. And one pretty well trampled.’

  Hermitage was silent now as they approached the shape, which most certainly was a body. It was face down in the earth and had a couple of very clear ox hoof prints in its back. The deceased was dressed simply, leather jerkin and breeches but there was a good pair of boots on the feet. It was hard to tell where body ended and soil began, but a mass of thick dark hair was pressed firmly into the ground, a very neat hoof print right on the back of the head.

  'I think if an ox stood on me like that, I'd die as well,’ Wat offered.

  'It still didn't happen,’ Hermitage said with certainty.

  'Oy,’ Wat kicked the feet of the sleeping figure, which did no more than lift a floppy hat from his face and look up at the two figures before him.

  'What?’ the figure asked, clearly unhappy at being disturbed.

  'We've come to see the body,’ Wat said pointedly

  'Help yourself.’ The figure showed no inclination to get up and assist.

  'We,’ Wat repeated with heavy emphasis, 'the King's Investigator and his assistant, sent by Master Le Pedvin, have come to see the body.’

  'Oh, ar, right,’ the figure threw the hat to one side and leapt cooperatively to his feet, 'course sir, right away sir, this way sir.’ The man beckoned obsequiously towards the body on the ground.

  Hermitage appraised this Piers for any indication that he might be a murderer. The man was clearly of the land, his tanned face and knarled hands indicated a life of labour. He was probably only about twenty or so but many of those years must have been spent outdoors tending to crops or livestock.

  Hermitage leaned over to Wat and whispered in his ear, 'Are you really my assistant?’

  'For these purposes yes,’ Wat replied, which put a smile on Hermitage's face, 'but don't get any ideas,’ Wat winked.

  Piers was now standing by the body, holding his arm out as if inviting them to a fine feast.

  'This is how you found him?’ Hermitage asked.

  'Oh yes sir, begging your please sir.’

  'So you were ploughing,’ Hermitage began, 'why were you ploughing?’ He had to know what was going on round here. There was no thought that the murders and the just plain wrong farming methods were connected, but he found doing the wrong things at the wrong time of year was more annoying that Normans killing one another.

  'Lord Bonneville's orders sir,’ Piers went to touch his cap deferentially but found he didn't have it
on. He went to retrieve it from the ground, put it on his head, and then touched it deferentially.

  'And why does Lord Bonneville want the crops ploughed up in the middle of summer.’

  'Sure I couldn't say sir.’

  'Disease?’ Hermitage suggested, looking at the nearest pea plant, which looked fine.

  'Oh no sir, healthy crop this year,’ Piers explained with some enthusiasm.

  'So why are you ploughing it up?’

  'Sure I couldn't say sir,’ Piers repeated.

  Hermitage despaired that this fellow had no interest in why he was doing something stupid. A noble had told him to do it and so he did it. In this man's position Hermitage would have asked for the reason the peas needed ploughing. He would have sought an explanation from his superior that justified his actions. He would have engaged in a debate about the best course of action and what the alternatives might be.

  Several of his own superiors had let him know that this was the most serious of his failings, one that he better sort out double quick.

  'Alright,’ Hermitage gave up trying to find out why the ploughing was going on, it seemed only Lord Bonneville was going to be able to answer that question. 'You were ploughing and then you noticed the body.’

  'That's right sir,’ Piers did his deferential thing again, 'the man must have been hiding in the peas and the ox tramped on him. Murdered him.’ He cast a worried look towards the ox, as if expecting it to leap out of its harness and do the same to him.

  The ox showed not the slightest interest and carried on eating the peas.

  'Ridiculous,’ Hermitage concluded.

  'Why?’ Wat asked, 'there could have been a man hiding in the peas who got tramped on.’

  Hermitage sighed, 'Let me show you.’ He found it a very pleasurable sensation to have some information to impart that Wat did not already have. He was so used to the weaver being the one with the all the knowledge about the world, the one who could usually explain why people did things and what their motivations were. But now they were dealing with an ox.

  'Let's get the body out of there,’ Hermitage nodded to the figure on the ground, 'we can't move the plough until we do anyway, it would make an awful mess.