The man called Wiglaf moved closer and stuck his grinning features in front of Eadulf.
‘I did not have a beard then, gerefa, for I was very young, but the birch stung and marked me for some years.’
‘Was the sentence just, Wiglaf?’ interrupted the tall leader, with humour still in his voice.
The brown-haired man chuckled. ‘That it was. I did thieve a pot of honey from an old widow. The gerefa was just.’
Eadulf gave up trying to identify the erstwhile honey thief. He had ordered many such punishments when he had been a gerefa.
‘Now you know me, but I do not know you,’ he ventured defiantly to the tall leader. The man continued to smile.
‘I am called Aldhere and these are some of my men.’
Eadulf’s eyes widened. The tall warrior saw the expression of surprise and grimaced in amusement.
‘I see, by your reaction, that you have heard of me, holy gerefa.’
‘That I have,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘From Abbot Cild.’
Aldhere laughed uproariously as if Eadulf had said something really humorous.
‘I doubt that you have heard any good of me from that son of a she-devil. Have you become a member of Cild’s noxious little brood?’
Eadulf shook his head. ‘I am staying at Aldred’s Abbey with my … with a companion for a few days before travelling on to Seaxmund’s Ham. I have been away from these parts for several years.’
The outlaw leader continued to appear relaxed and almost friendly as he digested this news.
‘Then, holy gerefa, I would advise you to leave that putrefied rats’ nest at Aldred’s Abbey sooner rather than later.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because it is an evil place; a place which should be shunned. Abbot Cild is an evil man.’
A frown crossed Eadulf’s brow as he suddenly remembered the words of ‘Mad’ Mul. He, too, had called the abbey a place of evil. It was time that some explanation was given.
‘I would have a word alone with you, Aldhere.’
‘Then you will ride with us back to our camp and we will talk on the way.’
Eadulf hesitated and then decided that he had to be honest.
‘Do you realise that Abbot Cild and several of his brethren are scouring these parts to take and hang you?’
Aldhere raised an eyebrow but the smile did not leave his features.
‘I am glad that you have warned us, holy gerefa, for it shows me that you are a man of integrity. That is more than I can say of Abbot Cild. However, we watched Cild entering the marshes earlier, and he has returned to the abbey long since. It was no more than a show to impress someone. What could his half-dozen men do against my war band?’
Eadulf suddenly realised that Aldhere had a score of men with him. Cild must have known that he was no match for them. Why would he have put on this show? Whom did he want to impress? Eadulf himself? The community? Garb and his Irish warriors? Or was this just another manifestation of Cild’s irrational moods?
They had all mounted horses brought to them by men who had obviously held them in the thickness of the wood while the attack was taking place. Two of Aldhere’s men took the lead, riding some little way ahead as scouts, while Eadulf and Aldhere followed. The others brought up the rear.
Aldhere rode in a relaxed position, stretched back in the saddle. It was clear that he had been raised on horseback.
‘Now, what is it that you wish to say that you feel is for my ears alone?’ asked the tall outlaw as they began to move forward.
‘Abbot Cild believes that you killed Brother Botulf.’
The sardonic snort told Eadulf that Aldhere did not think much of Abbot Cild’s belief. But Eadulf’s eyes narrowed at the implication.
‘So you knew that Brother Botulf has been killed?’
‘I knew,’ Aldhere replied grimly. ‘And if you are looking for a culprit you must speak to Cild.’
‘Are you making a counter-claim that Cild was the murderer and not you?’
‘Did I not make myself clear?’
‘Tell me how you knew that Brother Botulf was dead.’
For the first time, Aldhere’s features had become grave.
‘What does this matter to you, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham? You tell me that you have only just arrived at Aldred’s Abbey and, as I have said, if you have sense then you will leave it without delay.’
Eadulf decided to speak plainly.
‘It matters a great deal to me, Aldhere. Botulf was a close friend of mine. He was the friend of my childhood and youth. While I was at Canterbury a few weeks ago he sent a message to me asking me to come to the abbey and requesting that I endeavour to get there before midnight last night. I did so, only to find out that he had been killed shortly before I arrived. In support of Cild’s accusation of your complicity, one of the brethren insists that he saw you at the abbey about the same time.’
Aldhere was silent for a moment.
‘That would have been Wigstan, returning from his journey to the fishing village with fish for the abbey. I saw him. He was right. I was there.’
Eadulf glanced at him sharply. ‘Are you now admitting …?’
‘Don’t make yourself out to be a fool, holy gerefa. Of course I am not. Did Botulf tell you why he wanted you to come to Aldred’s Abbey? Or why you had to be there by that particular time?’
Reluctantly, Eadulf shook his head.
‘I did not kill Botulf,’ Aldhere said abruptly, with a controlled passion. ‘He was a friend of mine, too. I had come to the abbey to meet him in secret — also being instructed, like you, to come by an appointed hour at dawn yesterday.’
‘And so Brother Wigstan saw you?’
‘I have not denied it.’
‘But you did not see Botulf?’
Aldhere shook his head firmly. ‘While I was waiting for him in the shadow of the copse by the side of the abbey, I heard an outcry. I decide that I would not wait around to discover its meaning.’
‘So how did you learn that this outcry was due to the fact that Botulf had been found dead?’
‘Through Wiglaf. He had a contact in the abbey and found out that, thanks to Wigstan, Cild was claiming I was responsible.’
‘Why does Abbot Cild hate you?’
Aldhere gave a long deep sigh. ‘It is a long story. A tale with an even longer preamble.’
‘I have plenty of time,’ replied Eadulf without humour.
‘Then have patience until we reach the camp and then, over a dish of hot soup, I shall tell you that story.’
Eadulf relapsed into silence for a while. He was disconcerted by Aldhere. This was not exactly the image of the marsh outlaw that had been conjured by Cild. In spite of his appearance, which initially fitted Eadulf’s concept of a robber, Aldhere was a pleasant-mannered, educated man, with the quiet authority of a thane rather than an outlaw. Eadulf was bursting with questions but he decided to keep his natural impatience in check. As Fidelma was so fond of saying, they succeed who are patient.
They were riding northwards, parallel to the seashore but keeping to the shelter of the woods which grew thick where they were protected from the corrosive sea-salt air. Eadulf began to recognise his surroundings and he felt a slight pang of homesickness as he realised that they were not very far away from his birthplace.
Away to their right lay the shingle seashore and sand dunes marking the extremity of the land but to their left was a landscape of small lagoons, freshwater reedmarsh, and mixed woodland and heath. Then, as they moved through a thick belt of aspen, birch and oak that had seemed impenetrable, Eadulf suddenly found that they had arrived in a clearing with makeshift huts where several people were moving about, men and women and even children.
‘Welcome to my camp,’ smiled Aldhere, halting his mount and sliding off it.
Eadulf followed his lead and the outlaw conducted him towards one of the huts. Before they reached it, the door was opened and a woman came forward to greet Aldhere. She was sli
m, and flaxen hair showed beneath a headscarf that covered most of her features. She halted and frowned at the sight of Eadulf.
‘Who is he? A prisoner? One of Cild’s men?’ she demanded in an unfriendly tone. She spoke Saxon with a foreign accent which Eadulf could not place for the moment.
Aldhere shook his head, smiling.
‘No, my sweet, this is a guest. This is my woman, Bertha. This is Brother Eadulf, Bertha. Now bring us mead and hot soup and leave us to talk.’
Bertha sniffed disparagingly but ducked back into the hut, followed by Aldhere and Eadulf. The interior formed a single room with scarcely space for a bed, a table and a few stools. Aldhere motioned Eadulf to be seated, and placed himself on the other side of the table. Bertha set a jug of mead on the board. As she did so Eadulf saw that she had a scar on her right arm, running upwards from the wrist. The soup had already been made and, after a moment, bowls of steaming vegetables and fresh, warm bread were also placed before them. Then Bertha flounced from the hut as if angered by her exclusion.
‘Bertha? That is a Frankish name,’ commented Eadulf when they were alone.
Aldhere nodded thoughtfully. ‘I released her from a Frankish slaver, who was trying to sell her to the East Saxons. The slavers did not treat her well. I saw that you noticed the scar on her arm. She has others and that is why she tends to cover her face in front of strangers. She has preferred to stay with me.’
Eadulf nodded sympathetically. ‘A cursed trade is slaving and one that I hope will be outlawed one day. But, tell me, why were the East Saxons trying to kill me? They were never so violent when I was a young man.’
Aldhere took the jug of mead and poured from it.
‘It is all to do with King Sigehere who has returned to the worship of the gods of his father. He has declared war on all Christians.’
‘I thought that he had his hands full fighting his own people. Why does he send his men to raid our territory?’
‘Sigehere is an ambitious man no matter what religion he holds. The kingdom of the East Saxons is too small for him and so he sends warriors to probe his neighbours to test their strengths and weaknesses. There have been several raids against us … as you have now witnessed. A Christian holy man would have been a good catch for the warriors of Sigehere. They would have reserved a special entertainment for you.’
Eadulf shivered at the thought and took up the beaker of mead.
‘Why would they land at that point? There are no significant settlements in the vicinity apart from Aldred’s Abbey.’
Aldhere rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment.
‘That is a good point, holy gerefa. They usually raid to the north of here, against the lands of the North Folk where King Ealdwulf has his palace and fortresses. Why, indeed, would they land there?’
For a moment or two it seemed that the outlaw was lost in contemplation of the question. Eadulf decided to pull him back to the moment.
‘Can nothing be done about Sigehere? I thought his cousin Sebbi was leading a civil war against him. Surely that would curtail his ambitions?’
‘Sebbi is no warrior. He is too pious and has to rely on others to fight his battles. At the moment, he is hard pressed to hold his own against his pagan cousin.’
‘Is there no Christian neighbour to intervene on Sebbi’s behalf?’
‘Christian or pagan, kings are only governed by self-interest. What can Sebbi do for them? If it is nothing, then why should they support him?’
‘So there is no prospect of stopping Sigehere?’
Aldhere shook his head. ‘Short of defeating him in battle, little enough, I suppose. And Sigehere has too many powerful friends who would be willing to take his side. As a matter of politics, he even recognises Wulfhere of Mercia as his overlord, and Wulfhere, for one, would welcome the chance to move into our land of the East Angles if we sent an army against Sigehere.’
Eadulf paused uncertainly for a moment or two and then said: ‘You do not speak with the selfish attitude of a robber, Aldhere. You claim that Botulf was your friend. Tell me how this was and all that you know of his death.’
Aldhere set down his tankard of mead and stretched his arms before folding them easily across his stomach. He closed his eyes in thought for a second.
‘Botulf was the only one of your faith who did not condemn me when I was declared an outlaw. That was over a year ago now.’
‘First tell me how you met Botulf. What were the circumstances of your friendship?’
‘You will recall that Wulfhere succeeded his father, Penda, as King of Mercia eight years ago and has been busy ever since trying to re-establish the domination of Mercia over all the kings of the Angles and the Saxons?’
Eadulf nodded. During his childhood the name of Penda, son of Pybba, had been conjured by mothers to frighten their children into obedience. From his kingdom of Mercia he had marched on his neighbours, even killing Oswald of Northumbria, the most powerful of the Anglo-Saxon kings. Eadulf had been a child of six or seven at the time. There had been almost universal joy when Oswy, son of Oswald, who had become Northumbria’s s King after his father’s death, defeated and slew Penda at WinwaedField. The mighty Mercian empire had collapsed. Penda had been depicted as an ogre because he rejected the Christian faith and adhered to the ancient gods like Woden and Thunor. Yet three years after Penda’s death, his son Wulfhere had rallied the kingdom and begun to re-establish its dominance.
Eadulf was frowning.
‘What have such matters to do with you?’ he asked the outlaw leader.
‘I was thane of Bretta’s Ham, a warlord of the South Folk.’
Eadulf was startled to realise that his estimation of the man was correct. A thane was one of the lesser nobility; Eadulf knew only that Bretta’s Ham was to the south-west of the kingdom. He waited patiently for Aldhere to continue.
‘About a year ago, Wulfhere sent his brother Aethelred against the western border of our kingdom. Ealdwulf, our King, sent his Cousin Egric to command the army. It was a short skirmish but a fierce fight, for the Mercians came down on us like the furies of hell. I was given command of the right flank. It was not a good position, for Egric had placed us at the foot of a hill, almost out of sight of the main body. When the attack began, a message from Egric was sent to me to stand fast until we were called. I obeyed. The next thing we heard was that Egric’s positions had been overthrown and he was mortally wounded.’
Aldhere was silent for a moment or two and then he sighed deeply. ‘Once I learnt this intelligence, I led my men around the hill and came upon the Mercian rear. As I say, it was a fierce but swift fight and the Mercians were suddenly in full retreat.’
Eadulf made no comment as Aldhere paused again.
‘When I went to see how Egric fared and to tell him the good news that we had turned the Mercians, I found the life blood ebbing from him but the man still full of bile and recriminations. Instead of taking responsibility for the bad positions and his consequent overthrow — indeed, his own death — he ranted and raged against me even with his dying breath. He claimed that I was a coward. He said I had hidden away until he had been defeated; that I had made no effort to protect his flank. And in his anger, he died.’
There was a silence until Eadulf made the obvious comment.
‘But it was his own fault.’
‘He was the King’s cousin and those in his bodyguard who had survived took his dying words back to Ealdwulf. I was summoned to the King’s palace to answer for my cowardice. Those were the very words with which the demand for my attendance was made. I knew, then, that if I went, there would be only one resolution to my situation. My execution.’
‘So you decided not to go in answer to the King’s summons?’
‘That is the reason I am still alive today.’ Aldhere gave a wry grimace.
‘The King declared you an outlaw?’ Eadulf made a sympathetic clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Not to answer a king’s summons was a wrong course to pursue, I think.’
> Aldhere shook his head. ‘You believe that I should have gone to argue my case? Those men who were with me decided to go to the King’s court, and with them went Botulf.’
Eadulf started. ‘Why should Botulf go?’
‘Because, at the time, Brother Botulf had come to preach the word of the faith in Bretta’s Ham where I was lord. When word came of the Mercian attack, he volunteered to accompany my warband that we be not denied spiritual comfort in our hour of need. He was with my men throughout the fight, standing at my side armed with only the symbol of his faith, a crucifix. He knew the allegations of Egric to be untrue. He went to King Ealdwulf as an emissary on my behalf.’
Eadulf realised that Aldhere must be telling the truth. No one who knew Botulf would doubt such a story. Eadulf knew his friend’s courage.
‘But he failed?’
‘He failed to convince King Ealdwulf, who preferred the word of his dead cousin to those of my men. Those three warriors who went to him, three of my trusted commanders, he enslaved immediately. As for Botulf, he sent him back to Aldred’s Abbey, where he had originally come from, with instructions to Cild that Botulf was never to go further from the abbey than one mile in any direction.’
Eadulf was aghast. ‘But this is unjust! I did not know this.’
Aldhere smiled sarcastically. ‘Tell me about justice, gerefa. Only the powerful and rich can afford true justice.’
Eadulf thought of the system that he had witnessed at firsthand in the five kingdoms of Éireann and felt a sorrow for his people.
‘So this injustice has caused you to become an outlaw?’
‘As soon as I heard what had happened to Botulf and my men, I took those remaining loyal to me, and their women and children, and made for the fastness of the marshlands and the woods. Here, through good luck, I made contact with Botulf once again and he was able to tell me where my men had been taken as slaves. We were eventually able to launch a raid to free them and so our band has existed during this last year, sometimes attracting new members who felt that they too had been the victims of malicious injustice.’
‘It is a curious tale,’ Eadulf commented.
‘It is a tale that is common among the South Folk these days. We give too much power to too few who then dispense it according to their prejudices and not according to what is right and just.’
The Haunted Abbot sf-12 Page 9