Gervase gave a terse description of events and saw his friend’s amazement turn into apprehension. Ralph could not believe that he had been so careless of his safety.
“Two men have already been killed in Savernake.”
“Not by his hand.”
“How do you know that?”
“He is a gentle creature at heart.”
“Gentle!” exclaimed Ralph. “Can you call that thing of hair and fur which jumped out at us in any way gentle? I took it for a wolf, but you say it is a man. I hold to my conclusion, Gervase. The Welsh are untamed. They are far more animal than human. I have fought against them on the border and I know them to be savage barbarians with not an ounce of gentleness between them.” He shook his head in disgust.
“And you faced such an ogre on your own in Savernake!”
“He did not harm me,” said Gervase simply.
Ralph snorted. “I’ll take my men out at first light tomorrow and hunt this wild beast down.”
“No! I gave him my word.”
“Honour means nothing to the Welsh.”
“It means everything,” retorted Gervase with fierce certitude. “To him and to me. My pledge will not be broken, Ralph. If you try to lift a hand against the man, I will stop you by any means that I have. He has not hurt me and he has not hurt anyone else. All he desires is to be left alone in peace. He is a hermit.”
“So why did you seek him out?”
“To ask for help.”
“From some madman in a filthy sheepskin?”
“He knows, Ralph. You were right about the wolf that Hugh de Brionne caught. It did not kill the two men. The hermit knows who did.”
“He told you?”
“I have not yet won his confidence.”
“Leave him to me, Gervase,” said Ralph. “I’ll make the villain talk. If he can shed light on this business, I’ll cut the truth out of him with my sword.”
“Touch that man and you lose my friendship forever!”
It was such a vehement and unexpected threat that Ralph was pushed back into his seat. Gervase was never unassertive in argument, but this issue went especially deep with him. It made the older man more reflective. Ralph made an effort to understand his companion’s viewpoint.
“Can you like such a monster?” he asked.
“I respect him for what he is doing.”
“Living as an animal in the forest?”
“Turning his back on the world to follow his beliefs. It is no more than the monks at the abbey are doing. They have retreated into a life of self-denial in order to serve God. The hermit serves another deity and his withdrawal is more complete. He needs no brothers to share his suffering. He is a holy anchorite who chooses to worship alone.”
“But the man is a heathen!” protested Ralph.
“He is not a Christian,” said Gervase, “that is true. His religion goes back well before the birth of Jesus and it may seem crude and ignorant to us, but it has weathered many long centuries. Any man who can live that way for the sake of his soul must have immense strength of mind and spirit. He has not just made vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. He has renounced everything. Can you not see why I am so interested in this hermit? He is a survivor from some ancient culture, Ralph. He is our guide to the past.”
“All we need is a guide to that charter.”
“He may help us with that search, as well.”
“How?” said Ralph impatiently. “What did he tell you?”
“Enough.”
Gervase was satisfied that progress had been made, but his friend wanted more positive proof of the fact. His own visit had yielded one important clue.
“Keep your gabbling Welshman,” he said scornfully. “I prefer Eadmer the Moneyer. At least, he can instruct us.”
“What did you learn from him?”
“This.”
Ralph lifted up the large tallow candle that stood before him in its holder. Tilting it slightly, he poured hot wax onto the table, then produced a coin from his purse. He dropped the coin into the wax and banged it with his fist.
“Instead of a coin, use one of Eadmer’s dies.”
“When the wax hardens, the imprint would be perfect.”
“That is what the boy stole from the mint,” said Ralph. “All he had to do was to climb up that stinking hole, melt some wax and push a die into it, wait until it was ready, then clean the die and replace it exactly as it was found. Then back down the shaft with him to the boat where his father was waiting. Poor little Eadmer was none the wiser.” He rubbed a hand across his chin in contemplation. “I have solved the mystery of how the die was stolen, but to whom was it then given? Alric was no moneyer. Who was the miller’s accomplice in this conspiracy?”
“We shall soon know.”
“How? Will your Welsh hermit send us his name?”
“Do not scoff at him, Ralph.”
“What can that savage offer?”
“A sharp pair of eyes in Savernake Forest.”
“With a sharp set of teeth to match. You are deceived by him, Gervase.
He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
They argued on for another hour without resolution, then went off to their separate beds. Both were tired, but neither could sleep. The wine had freshened Ralph Delchard’s lust and he began to muse about the beauteous Ediva once more and wish that she was beside him. She had brightened his visit to Bedwyn and offered him a refuge from the tedious litigation on which his colleagues seemed to thrive.
Ediva had given him both love and priceless information. There was no more satisfying way to serve his king than between the thighs of such a woman. He was about to take her in his arms again when he at last fell into a deep slumber.
In the adjoining chamber, Gervase Bret tried to direct his imagination to Alys, but she was, for once, an inadequate occupant of his thoughts. Whenever she smiled, he saw the bearded face of the recluse; whenever she talked, he heard the rough Welsh voice in the bushes.
He went through each detail of his encounter with the solitary creature in the forest and wished that he had learned enough to comprehend the man’s universe. He recalled vague snatches of travellers’ tales from the days when he had studied at Eltham Abbey. They talked of weird religions in distant lands and put the fear of death into his young mind as they recounted the barbaric rites that were involved.
One man had spoken of mysteries nearer home and Gervase now wished that he had paid more attention to his words. The stories were about the ancient religion of Wales when a mystic order of Druids flourished. Could the hermit of Savernake be the heir to such a culture?
Had he been driven out of his native land by the spread of Christianity to seek a place where he could practice the old faith? Gervase cudgelled his brain to extract what meagre knowledge he had on the subject, but all that came was an unsatisfactory mixture of fact and conjecture. He did remember that oak trees were sacred to the Druids, and the clearing in the valley had been ringed by oaks. He also recalled the paramount importance of the sun and wondered whether the oval site had been chosen to trap its rays. But it was the most stark feature of the religion which had impressed itself upon him at the time and which now changed his whole attitude to his meeting in the forest.
Druids were said to use human sacrifices. They spilled blood in the cause of their religion. If the hermit was still practising the ancient rites with full vigour, Alric Longdon and Wulfgeat might well have been his victims. They were not attacked by any wolf. Their deaths had served a profounder purpose. Slain by the hermit, they had been necessary sacrifices on the altar of his belief. Gervase himself was lucky not to have followed them to the grave. It was not until well into the night that his demons relented and allowed his troubled mind a modicum of rest.
“Wake up, Gervase!”
“What?” He only half-heard the call.
“Come here, man. At once!”
“Why?”
“Look, Gervase! Just look.”
“Do not pound my head so, Ralph.”