‘No. She was well dressed and therefore someone of rank and prosperity but certainly not a member of the community.’
‘What made you think that it was the abbot’s wife?’
‘It was just an idea, that’s all. It would have explained his reaction to Garb’s accusations.’
‘There are some weaknesses in that argument, Eadulf. If she were still alive, why not simply tell Garb and his father in order to prevent the public accusation against him? And you say that Brother Higbald denied the existence of the woman in the abbey?’
‘He did, but one does not necessarily have to believe him.’
‘Or, maybe, he and other members of the community simply do not know of her existence. Perhaps she comes and goes in secret.’
‘A mistress, perhaps?’
‘You do not have enough information to leap to these conclusions, Eadulf,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘And now, I want to rest a while. Ask more questions and make fewer deductions.’ She took another sip of the herbal remedy and then turned on her side.
Eadulf left quietly.
Outside he met Brother Willibrod. He was standing with another member of the community, a broad-shouldered young man. The dominus was looking less anxious than before as he greeted Eadulf.
‘I understand all is well. It is not the Yellow Plague but an ague. Abbot Cild has told me that you can stay for a few days until Sister Fidelma is recovered. Is there anything that can be done to aid her recovery?’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘Rest, warmth and perhaps someone could take her some clear broth at midday?’
‘It shall be done. Young Brother Redwald shall be instructed in this. By the way, this is Brother Wigstan. You asked to see him.’
Eadulf looked at the young man. ‘I am told that you saw this outlaw — Aldhere?’
Brother Wigstan nodded slowly. ‘I was returning to the abbey early yesterday morning. I was hurrying to join the brethren in singing Matins-’
‘Where had you been?’ interrupted Eadulf.
‘I was returning from a visit to the coast, bringing some fish to the abbey. As my cart came along the road nearby, I swear I saw Aldhere riding away.’
Eadulf frowned slightly. ‘You do not sound positive?’
‘I am positive. It was by the little copse at the side of the abbey that I saw him.’
‘And in order to recognise him, you have obviously seen him before?’
‘I have been robbed twice by him on journeys to and from the coast,’ agreed Brother Wigstan with bitterness. ‘I know him.’
‘And each time he let you go with your life? He does not sound the depraved villain that I have been led to believe.’
‘Is that all, Brother?’
Eadulf nodded absently and when Brother Wigstan had departed, he turned to Brother Willibrod.
‘And on such an observation, a man may be killed?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘It is hardly evidence. I have another favour to ask of you.’
‘Which is?’ demanded the dominus cautiously.
‘I have told you that I was a good friend of Brother Botulf. I would like to see his personal possessions.’
‘The brethren of Christ have no possessions,’ admonished Brother Willibrod gruffly. ‘You know the ruling of the Didache?’
The Didache or Teaching of the Twelve Apostles was a book dealing with church order and ecclesiastical life said to have been handed down from the earliest Christian community. But Eadulf had never read it nor consciously followed its rules. He shook his head.
‘The Didache says,’ quoted the dominus in sonorous tones:
‘“share everything with your brother. Do not say ‘it is private property’. If you share what is everlasting, you should be that much more willing to share things which do not last.”’
‘I have heard the teaching from other church fathers,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘Do you claim that this is the rule which you practise here?’
‘We try to retain the true rules of the faith,’ replied Brother Willibrod with some stiffness.
‘Even so, I would like a moment in the cell of my good friend.’
‘I do not know whether his cell has been cleared.’
‘Please?’
Brother Willibrod suddenly shrugged as if to dismiss the matter. ‘Very well. A moment of contemplation can be allowed. Come.’ He turned and led the way through the abbey, past the main dormitory and refectory buildings. ‘Brother Botulf, as the steward of the abbey, had his chamber here,’ he said, pointing to a door and standing aside.
Brother Eadulf entered the small chamber.
There was hardly anything within. A robe and a cloak were still hanging on wooden pegs, along with a book satchel. A pair of worn sandals were placed underneath them on the floor. The bed was a single straw mattress on a wooden frame with severalneatly folded blankets on it. A candle and a tinder box stood on a small table. There was also a beaker, a jug and a wash basin.
‘As you see, Brother Eadulf,’ intoned the dominus standing in the doorway, ‘Brother Botulf had no possessions.’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘I find it sad. A life gone by and nothing to show but a few memories of those who knew him. And memory dies, too, and is gone like smoke in the wind.’
‘Possessions are an abomination, leading men into temptation,’ replied Brother Willibrod in a stony voice. ‘Did not St Basil the Great declaim that property is theft? We of the faith must do away with all personal possessions. We are all equal in the faith.’
Eadulf sighed in resignation. ‘I think it was Aristotle who said that it was not the possessions but the desires of mankind which required to be equalised.’
He turned to the satchel hanging on the wall. There was a little book of scripture quotations in Latin there. As Eadulf lifted it out he saw a piece of crunched paper beneath it at the bottom of the satchel. He drew it out surreptitiously so that Brother Willibrod did not observe him tucking it in the sleeve of his robe.
‘I should remove that book to the scriptorium,’ Brother Willibrod said, holding his hand out for it.
‘Was it not Botulf’s book?’ queried Eadulf.
‘All is common property here,’ Brother Willibrod replied.
Eadulf watched the dominus return the book to the satchel and take it from the peg. As he did so, Eadulf took the opportunity to secure the piece of paper in the small sacculus that he carried on his belt. Brother Willibrod turned back to him.
‘Have you seen enough?’
Eadulf bowed his head in confirmation. As they were walking back to the main quadrangle, he asked: ‘Tell me, Brother Willibrod, as dominus of this abbey you know everyone who comes and goes, don’t you?’
Brother Willibrod regarded him curiously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that you know all the visitors here, don’t you?’
‘If you wish to question me about the intrusion last night, I have already explained that the foreign warriors scaled the walls, and-’
‘I am not asking about that. I want to know the identity of thewoman who was in the abbey last night. And I don’t mean my companion.’
Brother Willibrod regarded him with outrage on his features.
‘Are you mad? A woman, here in the abbey? Impossible!’
‘Not impossible. I saw her in the quadrangle by the chapel. A slim woman, fair-haired, with a red dress and jewels.’
Brother Willibrod took a physical step backwards. A look of astonishment crossed his face. Then it hardened into a mask.
‘There was no such woman in the abbey last night nor any night.’ He swung round and walked away so quickly that Eadulf was left staring after him in surprise at his reaction.
As he stood there, the youthful Brother Redwald came round a corner of the building carrying two buckets of water for the guests’ chambers.
‘Good morning, Brother Eadulf,’ he said nervously. ‘Is there anything I can do for you and Sister Fidelma?’
‘Thank you,’ replied Eadulf grimly. ‘I think everything
that needs to be done is being done.’ He was about to move on when he paused and said: ‘You could tell me where I might find Brother Osred. I was going to have a word with him last night but didn’t get the chance.’
‘Brother Osred? The smith?’ Brother Redwald pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I suppose he’s gone with the others.’
Eadulf frowned. ‘Gone with the others? What do you mean?’
‘Abbot Cild led a small group of the brethren out a short time ago. They have gone to the marshes in search of the outlaw, Aldhere.’
‘What?’ Eadulf recalled his vow to accompany Cild to ensure some sort of law prevailed if the abbot caught up with the outlaw. A moment later Eadulf was running after Brother Willibrod.
Chapter Six
The lonely bittern with its mournful cry caused Eadulf to draw rein on the mule that he was riding and glance in frustration about him. A short distance away, among the waving reeds, he saw the black and brown streaks of the bird’s plumage as it gently climbed the stalks, clutching at them in little clumps with its talons in order to haul itself up to scan the surrounding area. Then its bright eyes spotted Eadulf and it disappeared back into the shelter of the growth.
Only a few months ago, Eadulf knew that these tall reeds would have made a wild and dramatic image against the stormy skies; an image that would have enchanted him by its beauty. Now, however, they were flowerless and bent by the onslaught of the snow; they were humbled by the cold and frosty weather. It was only a passing thought, however, for more important things impinged on his mind.
Eadulf had to admit to himself that he was lost.
He had managed to persuade Brother Willibrod to lend him one of the few remaining mules in the abbey stables in order to ride out after Abbot Cild and the half-dozen armed brethren who had accompanied him. He had allowed the dominus to think that Abbot Cild had accepted his offer to go with them, and must have forgotten to wait for him.
‘It’ll be easy to catch up with them,’ Eadulf had assured Brother Willibrod. ‘I can follow their tracks in the snow.’
The dominus had agreed to let him go, but with utmost reluctance. The reluctance had been justified, for Eadulf had forgotten that the snow was dry and powdery and that the wind constantly gusted, blowing the snow this way and that. In fact he had only ridden a short way from the abbey when he realised that the wind had covered all tracks of Abbot Cild and his companions.
Eadulf should have turned back but some obstinacy drovehim forward, a determination which often helped him overcome adversity. He urged the mule on, but with a less than confident feeling. It was a sturdy animal, strong-limbed and used to the hardship of the cold weather, but it was also renowned for an obstinacy that was the equal of Eadulf’s. And Eadulf was the first to admit that he was not entirely comfortable in any saddle. He was not like Fidelma who had ridden almost before she could walk. He was nervous and he found that animals sensed his nervousness, especially this heavy-muscled mule.
In spite of the thick snowy carpet, Eadulf knew he was in the marshlands now and not far from the coast. He had grown up within reach of this countryside but had never really ventured into it. The scenery, the small streams and lagoons, the mixed woodland broken up by stretches of thinly disguised heathland under its covering of snow, were all typical of the low-lying marshes that constituted the coastal strips of the kingdom of the East Angles. But there were no tracks to follow; there was nothing substantial, nothing tangible by way of landmarks to take a bearing from.
From nearby a scolding ‘chickabee-bee-bee-bee’ sound seemed to sweep close to his head and then fade in the distance. He had a fleeting glimpse of a tiny white and brown shape, with a glossy black crown. The marsh-tit had been disturbed and soon Eadulf saw the reason. A female marsh harrier, identifiable by its large size, dark brown body, and buff shoulders and head, came swooping in search of prey. The raptor fed on the tiny birds as well as mice and other small mammals.
Eadulf found himself hoping that the tiny marsh-tit would elude its hungry pursuer.
He realised that he was very near the sea now. He could smell the salt tang on the air and he saw the snow on the ground thinning slightly as the heath gave way to a stretch of sand dunes and shingle beyond which the sea’s long, dim level appeared out of the grey that made sky and water seem momentarily one. Little clusters of sea buckthorn grew here and there among the sand dunes, an ancient little shrub, willow-like, slender, green with a silver underside. Eadulf noticed that it still bore a few of the faintly orange berries which, as a child, he used to gather for hismother to make marmalade. It formed a thicket and was all but indestructible.
Some way ahead he saw a small outcrop of land, a grassy knoll like a tiny headland jutting from a fairly thick-wooded area and rising to a high point from which the land dropped away like miniature cliffs into the sea on all sides except its landward connection. It formed a tiny little peninsula. Eadulf realised that it was a vantage point from which he would probably be able to see a fair distance across the marshlands and he might be able to spot the abbot and his brethren.
He urged the little mule forward towards the wood. He had decided that if he could see no sign of Abbot Cild and his companions from this vantage point then he might as well make his way back to the abbey. He had wanted to be with Abbot Cild if he caught up with Aldhere to find out what the outlaw had to say in answer to the accusation of causing the death of Brother Botulf. He had wanted to make sure that justice was upheld. But he had missed his opportunity, and he was positive that the abbot would not welcome any interference from him.
He made his way through the trees towards the small headland. When he emerged from their cover he saw something which caused him to draw rein sharply so that his small mount grunted in protest as it halted and stamped its forefoot in temper. In the lee of the headland was a Saxon longship. It was close inshore, and there were a score of men milling around it. Its design and pennants showed that it was not from the land of the East Angles but from the East Saxons. The great sail carried the solar symbol associated with the god Thunor, the cross with the broken arms.
Someone among them gave a cry as Eadulf was spotted and several of them, swords unsheathed, came bounding up the rocky incline towards where he sat in momentary surprise. Before he could react, he was aware of a hissing sound in the air. Several arrows sped by him but were not aimed at him. They had been fired from behind him and two found their targets in the oncoming warriors. The men dropped with cries of pain while the others came to a ragged halt.
Eadulf was confused. He suddenly found himself surrounded by several warriors, whose bows rained down deadly missiles onthe men from the longship. One of the newcomers grabbed his mule’s reins, a thick-set man with a mane of wild yellow hair and a black-toothed grin.
Eadulf was aware of the men below running for their longship, carrying or dragging those who had been hurt, while others were frantically pushing it into the waves. More arrows were unleashed by those around him but they found no human target, although several embedded themselves in the timbers of the boat. The retreating Saxon warriors scrambled into it, hauling themselves over the sides as it began to ride up and down on the waves. Men were swiftly adjusting the lines and ropes, shouting and cursing to each other, causing the big sail to move slightly in order to catch the offshore winds.
Away it went, dancing swiftly over the water and out of sight round the end of the headland.
A tall warrior who appeared to be the leader of the band who had launched the attack on the Saxons had sheathed his sword and was now examining Eadulf in some amusement. He was more wiry than muscular and carried a great scar across one cheek. His eyes were black and held an inner fire, dark and flashing. His lips were thin and the scar had twisted them into a permanent sneer. There was something about the cast of his features that seemed familiar to Eadulf but he was sure that he had not seen this man before. He was swarthy of skin, a man used to the outdoor life. He was dressed in dark clothes, woollen garmen
ts dyed black. Only his leather jacket was studded with polished steel roundels in the manner of body armour. He carried a round burnished shield and his helmet was simple, conical without adornment.
‘And who have we here? One of Cild’s evil brood, no doubt?’
Eadulf frowned in annoyance.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘Do you raise your hand against a religious?’
The warrior chuckled and gestured with a nod at his companions.
‘I would have thought that a man of such noble learning as yourself might have deduced that we have just saved your holy life from the East Saxons. You do not appear to be grateful.’
‘Why would the East Saxons want to take my life?’ Eadulfdemanded, trying to match the other’s bantering tone but not succeeding. ‘And why would you want to save it?’
The tall man’s eyes narrowed as he examined Eadulf more closely. The smile did not leave his features.
‘What is your name, Brother? I cannot recall seeing you in Cild’s festering pile of stones before. Are you a newcomer to this district?’
The man spoke with an easy familiarity which irritated Eadulf.
‘I am but recently come from Canterbury and before that I was over a year abroad. However, I am-’
‘He’s Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham!’
One of the band interrupted with a shout of recognition as he stepped forward.
The tall man turned to him, as did Eadulf, trying to place the scruffily dressed ruffian.
‘Do you recognise this man, Wiglaf?’
The short, sturdy-framed, brown-haired man nodded eagerly.
‘He was the gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham. I recognise him well. He once ordered that I should have twelve strokes of a birch stick for thieving.’
The tall leader turned back to Eadulf with mock seriousness.
‘Is this true? You ordered the punishment of poor Wiglaf here?’
Eadulf’s mouth tightened.
‘I cannot say one way or another,’ he said defensively. ‘I do not recognise the man.’
The Haunted Abbot sf-12 Page 8