Abbot Gunter went to the stables, mounted his horse, and after having to dismount to find the porter, yell at him for abandoning the gate, and then remounting his horse, he left his monastery. The ride to the village was exhilarating. He had a general idea of how he was going to negotiate with the merchant. He just prayed that his negotiation tactics would work.

Gunter stabled his horse at the village church and walked to the market. He greeted the villagers he saw and recognized. A few asked after his health and he replied he was doing better, thank you. And Gunter truly was doing better. Time and dedicating himself to properly governing his flock had done wonders for his spiritual and emotional health. 

He found the merchant easily. The merchant was packing up his goods into a covered carriage with the help of four extremely muscular men. Gunter walked as quickly as he could without running. If he ran, he would look pathetic. He was already at a severe disadvantage against the merchant. His monks had not only tried to seduce the man, but had the nerve to threaten him too. Gunter was surprised the merchant’s bodyguards hadn’t beaten Brother Æthelwine and Brother Wulfric to snivelling pulps. Additionally, Gunter was well aware that he looked very much like a eunuch. (To be fair, he had also reluctantly told the villagers and his monks he had had an operation for a lump after he recovered from the attack and the birth of his dead child.) His eunuch status put him in an odd, not quite man state, when it came to interacting with other men. Some men were ignorant of eunuch stereotypes. Others were not and believed them fully. Most men knew and fully believed them, much to Gunter’s annoyance. (However, being known as a eunuch was preferable than being thought of as a woman.) 

“Good afternoon,” Abbot Gunter said. 

The merchant turned his head and looked him up and down with his brown eyes. He let out a very long sigh. “Yes, Brother?”

“It’s come to my attention that you spoke with three monks this morning.”

The merchant nodded slowly. “Aye. That I did.”

“What did they say to you?” Abbot Gunter asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I am their abbot. I received some interesting information.”

“Well, Abbot, after the elf and the werewolf said they would and I quote ‘let me sodomize their asses for the ultramarine’ I told them to bugger off and then the elf threatened to give me elf shot and the werewolf threatened to eat me. So, I am not really inclined to sell to you.”

“What about the human monk?”

“The youth?”

“Yes. Did he speak to you?”

“Aye. He did apologise for the senior monks and gave me travel advice as if I had never travelled before, including on where to find the quietest spaces in the village in case I found the market too loud,” the merchant paused. “Is he well?”

“He’s simple-minded and should not have been out with the other two,” Gunter said. “I am here to ensure the others did not lead him astray.” 

“And to see the ultramarine, I am sure,” The merchant said.

“I am also interested in seeing what you have to offer. I am not convinced I want to buy it,” Gunter lied. “However, I am more concerned with what my flock is doing outside my monastery.” 

“I can tell you that they aren’t behaving themselves.”

“And they will be properly punished for it.”

The merchant hummed. Abbot Gunter didn’t leave. The two men stared at each other. Abbot Gunter knew if he spoke first he would lose any leverage in negotiations. The merchant however must have been used to desperate monks who wanted priceless pigments. He said nothing. They stared at each other in silence for about a minute before Gunter finally broke. 

“May I please see the ultramarine?” He sighed. 

“Thought so,” the merchant gestured to one of his guards who brought out a large wooden chest with several locks. The merchant took a key from around his neck, another from his pouch on his belt, and a third from one of the guards. He unlocked and opened the chest. Inside were several cases. The merchant took out one, unlocked that, and turned it around. Inside was a powder a blue so brilliant it hurt. Gunter closed his eyes. 

“How much?”

The merchant named a price significantly higher than what his monks had claimed it would be for the same amount of pigment. Gunter groaned internally and offered a price far below what Brother Wulfric and Brother Æthelwine had named. The merchant immediately closed his case and locked it. He put the case in the chest and started locking it. 

“What are you doing?” Gunter demanded. 

“I find that price more insulting than your monks’ threats. If you want the ultramarine you’ll pay what I named or you’ll find someone else. And good luck with that.”

A guard put the now locked chest into the carriage. The merchant started to climb up after it. Gunter could feel the ultramarine slipping through his fingers. 

“Fine,” Gunter said. “I’ll pay what you want. You’ll need to give me some time to collect the funds.”

“You have a week.” The merchant said. “I’ll meet you here at the same time as today. Have it all or I won’t sell.” 

“I shall.” Abbot Gunter paused. “Perhaps I can offer you hospitality in Jorvik? My brother is the archbishop there.”

“Absolutely not,” the merchant said. “I’m not stupid. Do not try to find me before the week is up. I will meet you here in a week. Good-bye.” 

The merchant shut the door of the carriage. Gunter watched helplessly as it drove off. If he could have killed Brother Æthelwine and Brother Wulfric he would have.