All right, I’d been lucky to escape the goose house, but now I became properly aware of the pickle I was in. I had a trouserful, you see, and no idea where to take it. All was quiet in my master’s house; everyone was asleep. I had to avoid the sentry box outside the house. In the main guardroom they wouldn’t have me because I stank so badly. And it was too cold to sleep in the street. I was at a loss which way to turn. Not until well past midnight did I have the idea of calling on the priest I keep mentioning. I knocked politely at his door – and kept on knocking until his servant girl reluctantly let me in. However, at the first whiff of what I’d brought in with me (her long nose soon winkling out my secret) she turned actually nasty and started ticking me off. This woke her master (who’d probably slept enough anyway by then), and he summoned us both to his bedside. Sensing immediately what was wrong, with a twitch of his nostrils he declared that there was no better time to bathe, regardless of what the calendar said, than when one was in the state I was in. After my bath he told the girl (this was before it got properly light) to wash my trousers and hang them in front of the stove; I was clearly frozen stiff by now, so she should put me to bed. I’d scarcely got warm before I woke at sun-up to find the priest standing at the end of my bed. He’d come to see how I was and ask how things stood with me. My shirt and trousers were still drying, you understand, so I couldn’t get up and go to him. I told him everything, starting with the wheeze my friend had taught me and how badly it had turned out. I went on to report how, as soon as he’d left (the priest, obviously) the guests had gone completely mad and tried (my friend said) to demolish the floor of the building they were in. Ditto into what a panic this had thrown me and how I’d tried to save my skin, managing only to shut myself in the goose house. Likewise what I’d learnt from the words and actions spoken and performed in same by the couple who’d eventually, in springing me, got themselves imprisoned. ‘Oh, Simp,’ the priest said, ‘you’ve really messed up this time! You had a good billet here but I’m afraid, very afraid, you’ll have lost it now. Quick – hop out of bed this instant and leave the house! If they find you here I can see myself joining you in your master’s bad books.’ That was it, then! I must put on my wet clothes and make myself scarce. It was my first lesson in how well you’re regarded so long as you have your master’s favour and how they look at you sideways the moment there’s trouble.
I went across to my master’s quarters, where everyone was still asleep except for the cook and a couple of maids. The latter were clearing up in the dining room where the banquet had been held the day before, while the former prepared breakfast – this morning, a snack from the leftovers. I approached the maids first. In the dining room shards of glass from drinking vessels and windows lay scattered about. Some sections of floor retained what guests had evacuated from one or the other end of their revelling bodies. Others held large pools of spilt wine and beer. The whole floor looked like a map, actually, on which someone had set out to portray various oceans, islands and expanses of dry or at least firmer land. Altogether, the dining room stank far worse than my goose house, which is why I didn’t hang around but went on to the kitchen instead. There I stood in front of the fire and let my wet clothes dry out completely, waiting in fear and trembling to see what fate had in store for me when my master got up. As I waited, I reflected on all the silliness and stupidity in the world. I let my mind wander over all that had happened to me in the last twenty-four hours or so – all the things I’d seen and heard and experienced. And as I pondered, my hermit’s poor, simple life seemed to me so full of contentment that I wished both him and myself back in its embrace.