Hermitage, Wat and Some Nuns

by Howard of Warwick

  The table was cleared and wiped over and fresh supplies were brought out.

  Hendig, Balor and Eggar had decided they could best serve the resolution of this situation by being somewhere else altogether. They hadn’t said where, or what the resolution was going to be, but they wasted no time getting off there, leaving Hermitage, Wat and Cwen to whatever fate lay in store.

  Fate looked like it was preparing something quite special.

  In one corner of the hall, Aclan and Mildburgh were in huddled conversation, gesticulating in a rather explicit manner which clearly involved something dying. Or someone.

  At the noise of their arrival Aclan turned to face the room and beamed a smile as if his favourite relatives had arrived with the chest of money he’d been promised.

  ‘Aha,’ he held his arms out wide to welcome them all. ‘You’re here, you’re here.’ He strode over and looked them up and down, like he was measuring them for something. ‘Broke out of our lock-up eh?’ he laughed. ‘We shall have to do something about that.’ He beckoned them to come further into room. ‘Got to get the place tidy,’ he said, ‘if we’re going to have an execution and all.’

  ‘You’re not going to do it in here?’ Wat complained, as if he wanted to be put to death somewhere much nicer.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Aclan retorted, ‘there’ll be quite a crowd for the sentencing though, and we want the place to look its best.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Wat.

  Hermitage tried to take in the scene but the confusion stopped it making much sense at all. Wat was being held by two of the town’s strongest looking guards while the Ealdorman fussed about the place as if preparing for the visit of a bishop. Bishop’s visits usually ended in trouble as well, come to think of it.

  But this could not be. It was madness. Could these people not see that the course of action they were proposing went against all reason? Well. If they could not see it themselves he would have to make them.

  He felt a sudden surge of outrage give him a strength he seldom felt. Speaking up in the face of authority was something he avoided at all costs. Unless it was to agree with them, of course. He had been told once that he was a very agreeable fellow - and that if he didn’t sort that out he would get nowhere. He didn’t want to get anywhere anyway, but that didn’t seem to be the point.

  But here he was, his friend about to be sentenced to death by a thoughtless rabble, even if that rabble was being led by an Ealdorman and a nun. If ever there was a time to take his courage in his hands and speak up in the face of overwhelming odds this was it. Act Hermitage, now was the time to act. Now. This minute. Right now. Take action. Do something.

  He put his hand up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, quietly.

  No one paid any attention.

  ‘I say. Excuse me?’ he tried to get the attention of the room.

  Cwen tutted.

  ‘Oy,’ she yelled.

  Everyone stopped and looked.

  ‘The monk wants to say something.’

  All eyes turned to the monk. Which was a very uncomfortable experience.

  ‘Ah, yes, now then,’ he began, decisively.

  They were still looking at him. He saw the faces staring and decided that looking away was probably best. He did so and paced up and down in front of his audience, trying hard to avoid wringing his hands.

  ‘As you know,’ he went on, ‘I have some experience of murder. I mean looking into murder, of course. Not doing it. Or being murdered,’ he was getting lost already.

  ‘The point is,’ he continued, ‘that master Wat cannot have killed Gilder. We three were miles away in Wales at the time the deed was done.’ Surely that was enough.

  ‘So you say,’ Mildburgh challenged.

  ‘Er,’ said Hermitage, ‘well, yes, I do. I was there at the time.’

  ‘Where?’ the nun demanded.

  ‘Miles away.’ Hermitage thought he’d explained that bit.

  ‘But you won’t say what you were doing,’ Mildburgh pressed. ‘How do we know you’re not all in this together?’

  ‘We were on the King’s business,’ Cwen spoke up, ‘and Brother Hermitage is a monk. Unless he’s lying, of course?’

  Mildburgh looked like she was quite happy to accept the concept of a lying monk, but Aclan seemed more doubtful.

  ‘And why would Wat want to kill Gilder?’ Hermitage asked. ‘He didn’t even know the man.’

  ‘Ha,’ Mildburgh burst out.

  ‘Ha?’ Hermitage asked.

  ‘Yes. Ha.’ I’ve seen the disgusting works of this so-called weaver in Gilder’s hands.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean they knew one another.’ Hermitage explained, ‘Gilder could have got those from anywhere.’ He thought about this for a moment. It seemed that Gilder’s collection was known about then. So much for his secret treasury. Or perhaps he had one or two pieces at his house. Hendig had been sent to collect one after all.

  Wat opened his mouth to say something but one of the guards spotted him and used his fist to bang the top of the weaver’s head. The one person not being allowed to join this debate was the accused.

  ‘And master Wat seems very anxious to avoid staying in Shrewsbury,’ Aclan added. ‘Why would he do that if he hadn’t killed Gilder?’

  Hermitage tried to accommodate this, but the idea that everyone who wanted to leave town did so because they’d murdered someone made no sense at all.

  ‘I’m sure many people leave town,’ he explained, ‘that doesn’t mean they’ve killed anyone.’

  ‘Hm,’ Aclan grumbled.

  ‘By that argument the town would be nothing but dead bodies within a matter of weeks.’

  Aclan muttered something under his breath.

  ‘So there we have it,’ Hermitage concluded, ‘Wat wasn’t here at the time and he had no reason to kill Gilder. He had no motive and he had no opportunity.’ He held his arms out to demonstrate that his case was unarguable.

  Aclan pursed his lips in thought and beckoned Mildburgh to join him in a private discussion.

  Hermitage looked on, exchanging hopeful glances with Cwen, while the whispered debate continued.

  Eventually the nun and the Ealdorman broke their consideration and faced the hall once more.

  Aclan adopted a declamatory and ealdorman-like pose.

  ‘Tie him up,’ he instructed the guards.

  ‘What?’ Hermitage’s shock was very confused.

  ‘No one was worried about the death of Gilder at all until you three turned up,’ Aclan explained, Mildburgh nodding at his back. ‘And no one was discussing murder at all.’

  ‘But, but,’ said Hermitage, which didn’t really take things forward.

  ‘Granted, a monk isn’t likely to do it, nor a girl, so it must have been the weaver.’

  ‘But I’ve just explained,’ Hermitage got some order to his thoughts, ‘motive and opportunity.’

  ‘Details,’ Mildburgh dismissed this with a wave.

  ‘Details?’ Hermitage couldn’t understand this at all.

  ‘Yes, details. The weaver is a bad man,’ Mildburgh summed him up.‘We all know that. He’s the one most likely to have done it. Therefore he did.’

  Hermitage really needed to take her to task over this.

  ‘So he’s going to be tied up and locked up until Oswine arrives,’ Aclan confirmed, ‘with someone standing by the door this time. The moot will assemble and pass judgement.’ He cast a glance around the room. ‘When they’re all, erm, here again. And then we can get on with things.’

  ‘You’re all mad,’ said Cwen.

  ‘Be good for the town as well,’ said Aclan, ignoring her. ‘We won’t be killing the investigator after all, so King William won’t mind but being the place where Wat the weaver died. Bound to attract trade.’

  ‘And pilgrims, most likely,’ Mildburgh added.

  ‘But,’ Hermitage said once more. The only thing he could think of was to start all over again. If they hadn’t got it the first time, surely they w
ould if he repeated himself, perhaps several times. Maybe more slowly this time.

  ‘Out then,’ Aclan waved them away. ‘You can come back for the sentencing.’

  Cwen opened her mouth and seemed ready to embark on a much more lively defence of Wat. More lively and probably much more offensive.

  ‘We shall be putting guards on the lock-up, Aclan added, ‘and if you two try to get the weaver out, we’ll know you’re all in it together.’

  Cwen closed her mouth.

  Aclan paused in thought. ‘That would probably be better anyway,’ he said, ‘much more effective to have Oswine do you all at once instead of having to come backwards and forwards three times over. The man charges a fortune. The cost of executing someone these days is ridiculous.’

  Before Cwen could get going again, she and Hermitage were grabbed by yet more guards and dragged from the hall.

  …

  ‘At least they didn’t throw us in there with him this time,’ said Cwen as she and Hermitage were forced out onto the street.

  They were back in the Foregate among the throng of the town and Hermitage was wringing his hands with vigour, such was the distress this whole situation was causing.

  Cwen patted him heartily on the back. ‘It’s alright,’ she said, ‘we’ll just break him out again as soon as we can - and run for it.’

  ‘Run for it,’ said Hermitage, as if the very concept was unbelievable. ‘You know what they said, if we tried to break him out it would prove we were guilty as well and they’d execute us all.’

  Cwen tutted. ‘We’re hardly going to leave him to his fate though, are we?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Hermitage, and he meant it. He simply knew he was not going to leave Wat to his fate. What he actually was going to do was a complete mystery. ‘But if we daren’t break him out, what do we do?’

  ‘I’ve got a thought,’ Cwen said.

  Hermitage looked at her, the expression on her face giving him serious concern about what this thought might be.

  ‘We could arrange it so they can’t execute Wat.’

  ‘I think that’s the general idea,’ said Hermitage, not seeing that this was getting them anywhere.

  ‘By making sure this Oswine isn’t able to do the job.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Cwen bit her lip. ‘We wouldn’t actually kill him, of course.’

  ‘What?’ Cwen’s thought was even worse than he’d imagined.

  ‘Just incapacitate him. A bit.’

  ‘Incapacitate the town executioner, a bit?’

  ‘That’s it. Tie him up or something. Until they get bored and decide to let Wat go.’

  ‘I’m not sure this is sensible,’ Hermitage began.

  ‘It’s not sensible to execute Wat in the first place.’

  ‘Oh, I quite agree, but I think the moot will come looking for their executioner if he doesn’t turn up.’

  Cwen frowned. ‘Perhaps we could meet him on the way and you could tell him what a great sin he’s about to commit and send him home again?’

  ‘I’m not sure executioners worry about that sort of thing.’

  Cwen folded her arms. ‘You are not being very helpful, Hermitage.’ She gave him a glare.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ Hermitage fretted, unhelpfully. ‘We don’t even know what this Oswine looks like, let alone which direction he’ll be coming from.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Cwen admitted. ‘I can’t imagine he’ll be walking down the street carrying his axe and wearing a mask.’

  ‘There seems little point in arguing the case before the moot,’ said Hermitage. ‘Their decision goes against all sense, yet still they make it. How do you deal with people like that?’ He really had not a clue. As far as he was concerned, if reason failed, you tried some more reason.

  ‘Force,’ said Cwen. ‘Lots of force. And violence. Force and violence. Bound to do the trick.’

  ‘Two of us?’ said Hermitage. There was no point arguing against Cwen’s usual response to situations, he could see she wasn’t in the mood.

  ‘Hm,’ Cwen could clearly see the problem. ‘We could get Hendig and Balor.’

  ‘Four of us? Not much better, considering the number of guards the town seems able to conjure up.’

  They walked on in thought.

  ‘Hendig could threaten to reveal their secret messages and Balor could bribe them,’ Cwen suggested.

  ‘Better, surely, to get them to see sense,’ said Hermitage, disappointed at Cwen’s approach. First force and violence and now threats and bribery. He would have to sit down and have a good talk to her, once this was all over.

  ‘I think they’re all we’ve got,’ said Cwen.

  ‘There is Father Cuthbert,’ Hermitage suggested, although he didn’t have much confidence in the abbot.

  ‘He wasn’t much good last time,’ Cwen pointed out.

  Hermitage couldn’t think of anything else. Force and violence were the most appalling idea, but he found himself wondering how one would go about organising some.

  ‘Perhaps Hendig and Balor might have some other ideas?’ he suggested. ‘At least we could discuss it with them and see what they come up with.’

  Cwen nodded, but Hermitage thought he could see ideas of bribery and threats in her face.

  ‘Where would they have gone? Balor’s house again?’

  ‘Why not Gilder’s?’ Cwen asked, ‘after all, it belongs to Balor now and is a lot bigger and more comfortable than his hovel.’

  ‘Apart from the body in the bedroom,’ Hermitage pointed out.

  ‘Don’t have to go in the bedroom,’ said Cwen. ‘Place has more rooms than an army would need. Probably about time Gilder himself was thrown out anyway. Can’t imagine Balor will want to keep him.’

  Hermitage shuddered slightly.

  ‘The coin,’ he announced in a burst of excitement.

  ‘Where?’ Cwen asked, looking around.

  ‘In the house,’ Hermitage explained.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘It must be. We didn’t find it in the treasury and Eggar said Gilder always dealt with it. It must be hidden in the house somewhere.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘If we could find the place it is hidden and see that some of it is gone, if not all of it, we can tell the moot that it was a robbery. Wat didn’t do it because a robber did.’

  Cwen didn’t look convinced. ‘So we have to find a hiding place that doesn’t have anything it. That will prove that what isn’t there anymore was robbed?’

  ‘Erm.’ Put like that it didn’t sound a very good plan. ‘There could be some left. Or a trunk broken open, or a trail of coin the robber left behind.’

  ‘Or nothing at all.’

  ‘Even if we find a hiding place, it might look well-used. Perhaps it was broken open. It’s got to be worth a try.’

  ‘Could be that’s what Hendig and Balor ran off to look for,’ said Cwen.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Hermitage.

  ‘Not if they find it first and decide to keep what’s left and not say anything.’

  ‘They wouldn’t. Not with Wat’s life in the balance.’

  ‘Depends how much money it is,’ said Cwen, with a shrug.

  ‘I must say,’ Hermitage had to say, ‘you and Wat seem to be taking this very casually. I feel like my insides are being hit with whatever killed Gilder.’

  Cwen raised her eyebrows. ‘It just seems hard to take this bunch of idiots seriously. I can’t imagine the moot being able to organise a vote about lunch, let alone an execution. And that Mildburgh and her mad friends don’t even have a nunnery of their own. They do seem very cross about everything but it’s a big step from slapping someone’s face to having them killed. There’s only one who worries me,’ she concluded, with a frown.

  ‘And who’s that?’

  ‘Oswine the executioner. I just hope to God the man is as useless as the rest of them. If not, we could be in real trouble. Well, Wat could.’

  Ca
put XIX

  Dead Man’s Treasure

  They took the very short walk to Gilder’s house, Hermitage imaging that the main merchant of the town would select a home handy for meetings of the moot. Then it occurred to him that Gilder was so powerful he may have had the moot hall built close to his home so he didn’t have far to walk. Or long to wait if he summoned someone to his presence.

  Whatever the reason, they were soon at the door and facing, once more, the guards who had distracted Hermitage so unnecessarily. With the crowds departed the guards were resting on the step, their backs against the wall.

  ‘Erm,’ Hermitage said, cautiously, ‘we’re looking for Balor? Son of Gilder?’

  One the guards looked up with little interest. ‘He’s inside.’ The man spat at the monk’s feet.

  ‘Aha’ Hermitage made a reasonable impression of someone ready to surrender on the spot. ‘Perhaps we could, erm, knock?’

  ‘Do what you like.’ The guard spat again.

  ‘Really?’ Hermitage didn’t know what was going on. But then he was getting used to that in this town.

  ‘No one’s paid us,’ the guard explained. ‘Burn the place down if you like.’

  Taking a very cautious step between the two men, who did nothing to get out of his way, Hermitage banged on the door hoping that someone would let them in very soon indeed.

  They waited without satisfaction before banging again. This time Cwen did the banging which was much more insistent. And effective. And she could spit as well as the guard.

  A window opened above their heads and the face of Eggar peered down. ‘Yes,’ he asked, ‘what is it?’

  ‘We want to come in,’ Cwen barked upwards.

  The face disappeared and Hermitage was sure he heard Eggar talking urgently to someone in the room behind him, ‘It’s that girl and the monk. What do we do?’

  This seemed to generate some confusion and debate in the chamber, which was puzzling as Hermitage couldn’t see what the problem would be.

  The exact words couldn’t be made out but there did appear to be opposing points of view. One involved “letting them in immediately” while the other involved “now let’s think about this.”