Now, reaching deep, he drew out half a dozen bags of coins. She probably had a goldsmith with whom she deposited the bulk of her funds. This would be the taking from just the past few nights. There were also several items of fine jewelry. He casually pocketed them. They would not do Isleen any good now. Replacing the stone carefully in its niche, Merin ap Owen gathered up the several bags of coins. Blowing out the candles and snuffing the lamps in the rooms, he went to the window through which he had entered. Opening the shutters, he stepped through. He turned a moment before reclosing the shutters to view Isleen’s fallen body a final time. "Farewell, my pretty bitch," he whispered to her. And then he was gone into the night, well pleased with himself.
He had kept his promise to Eleanore de Montfort. She would never again be troubled by Isleen de Warenne. His pretty bitch was now in hell awaiting him, but perhaps he would not join her one day. Did not the lady Eleanore say even he could be delivered from the devil if he would but repent of his sins and wickedness? Had not she believed there was good in him? Five years on the road had taught him that to be alone and filled with evil was not a good thing. He did not know if he could ever be really good; but his mission fulfilled now, he knew he wanted to try. Reaching his horse, he stowed his booty in the saddlebags and set off down the old road called Watling Street, stopping six times along the way over the next few days to lay a bag of gold upon the altar of churches that he chose at random. The jewelry he left at the last church.
He moved northwest for the next several days, finally reaching the town of Shrewsbury. There he sold his horse and gear, pocketing the small profit for the final gift he meant to make. He walked through the town to his destination where he knocked upon the gates that opened to reveal a brown-robed monk.
"I wish to devote the rest of my life to God, good brother," Merin ap Owen said, "but I do not know if God will want so great a sinner as me. I have robbed, and murdered, and violated the fair sex. I am the worst of the worst, and I have escaped punishment for all my wickedness. Now I wish to repent, if the abbey will have me. My name is Merin ap Owen."
"God is always happy to welcome a repentant sinner, Merin ap Owen. Come in! Come in!" the monk cheerfully beckoned him. "We have some as bad as you here already. You are not the only man to offend our Lord. Still, I am certain God has been waiting for you for some time now!" And smiling, he ushered the penitent through the abbey gates.
The thought crept into his head unbidden that the lady Eleanore would be surprised-or would she? Seek the good in you for the sake of your immortal soul, she had told him. Well, he was going to try. A smile on his face, Merin ap Owen followed the brown-robed monk into the cloister, and into a new and better life.
Bertrice Small
