The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  The big guard merely pointed to his mouth and shook his head. It became obvious to Eadulf that the man could not speak. Before he could do anything further, the brother had taken his arm and pointed with one hand along the cloisters. Then he held up four fingers.

  ‘The fourth door along that passage?’ asked Eadulf.

  The man nodded without a change of expression.

  Eadulf walked swiftly in that direction and counted the doors along the shadowy passageway. Outside the fourth door he saw some of the brethren were gathered. They were talking softly. For some reason Eadulf found himself drawing back into the shadows.

  ‘Come, Brother Wigstan,’ one of the religieux was calling. ‘It is time to sound the bell for supper. Leave him. He will come to his senses soon enough.’

  Eadulf saw Brother Wigstan come out of the doorway and join the others. They moved off together, their leather-soledsandals slapping the granite flagstones and dying away in the distance.

  Eadulf waited a moment or two and then entered through the door. To his surprise, it was not locked but latched from the outside. On opening it he found himself in a small cell-like room. Young Brother Redwald was sitting on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. The boy glanced up in terror.

  ‘It’s all right,’ whispered Eadulf, holding up a hand. ‘I mean you no harm. I must speak to you about what you saw.’

  The boy shook his head. His lips were trembling.

  ‘It was a demon, I tell you. It was …’ He glanced at Eadulf with another terrified look. ‘The abbot says that the Irish woman has conjured the demon up … and she is your companion!’

  He began to back across the bed away from Eadulf.

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘I mean you no harm, Redwald. Neither does Fidelma. She is ill and would be no more capable of conjuring spirits than you are. Put this idea out of your mind. Tell me what you saw. Describe it to me.’

  The boy appeared to calm himself a little.

  ‘It would be a great wrong if Sister Fidelma was blamed for something that she is not responsible for,’ insisted Eadulf in a gentle tone. ‘Only you can tell the true story. So tell me and I swear that you will come to no harm.’

  The boy began to look less terrified but scarcely reassured. However, with a little more coaxing, Eadulf managed to get the story from the boy. It was substantially as Brother Willibrod had told him.

  ‘I went to the guests’ chamber to see if there was anything I could do for the Irish sister,’ the boy confided. ‘I suffered an ague like that once …’

  ‘And you went into the chamber. What then?’ coaxed Eadulf as the boy hesitated.

  Redwald raised a horror-stricken face to his.

  ‘That was when I saw … her!’

  ‘Go on. Who was this woman who has terrified you?’

  ‘It is the lady Gélgeis. I swear it. I came to the abbey when she was still alive. I know what she looked like. It was she who nursed me when I had the ague. That was why I knew that I should try to help the Irish sister.’

  ‘I see.’ Eadulf waited patiently as the boy gathered his thoughts. ‘And you thought that the lady Gélgeis was in the room with Sister Fidelma?’

  The boy was adamant. ‘I did not think. I saw her. As I entered she was bending over Sister Fidelma and bathing her forehead … exactly as she used to do with me.’

  ‘Describe her.’

  ‘She is young and pretty.’

  ‘Yes? Go on? Describe her hair.’

  ‘She had red hair, more gold than red, and her skin was pale, very pale even by the candlelight. She was clad in a rich, crimson gown with jewels — glittering jewels. I stood there and … and she raised her head and looked at me. Holy Mother of God! Her face was exactly as I remembered it — but she is dead, Brother! She is dead! Everyone says she is dead. It must be so.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Redwald,’ Eadulf said, patting the boy’s shoulder. ‘Just tell me what happened then. She looked at you. Did she say anything?’

  ‘Forgive me, Brother, but I raised a cry and fled the chamber. I spared no thought for the Irish sister lying on the bed. I ran. I ran straight to Brother Willibrod who insisted that I go with him back to the room. We went back …’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘The room was deserted except for the Irish sister. There was no sign of Gélgeis.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I told Brother Willibrod the details of what I had seen. He insisted I tell the abbot. I believe that Abbot Cild was very displeased. My nerves were all to pieces and Willibrod gave me strong liquor to calm them and brought me here to rest. That is all I know.’

  Eadulf leant against the wall and rubbed the side of his nose with a forefinger.

  ‘When you returned, there was no trace of this woman you saw?’ he asked finally.

  ‘How could there be? It was an apparition, a ghost.’

  ‘You are convinced that it was the lady Gélgeis?’

  ‘It was no one else but the lady Gélgeis as I knew her. She has been dead this long year or more.’

  ‘I see. But tell me this, Brother Redwald: did you ever see the lady Gélgeis dead?’

  The boy frowned. ‘It is well known that her body was never recovered from the marsh. It rests in a quagmire not far from here. Some of the brethren said that she missed the path coming back alone to the abbey one evening and wandered into it. It is an evil place that has claimed several animals who have been caught in its muddy maw. They call it Hob’s Mire.’

  Eadulf was frowning. ‘Not far from here, you say?’

  ‘Aye, there is a track to a little copse and then beyond it stretches the marshes and that’s where Hob’s Mire is.’

  Eadulf suppressed a shiver, suddenly remembering the blue fluorescent light that he had seen about the very place the boy was describing. He found his hand shaking and tried to stop it by a surge of anger. Fidelma would not approve of the thoughts that were streaming through his mind at that moment. He had been brought up in this land worshipping the old gods, the old ways, and was not converted to the new faith until he was well into his maturity. But the blessed water with which the Irish hermit who had converted him to the faith of Christ had baptised him had not been powerful enough to wash away all his pagan beliefs.

  The wraith of Gélgeis — which he, too, had seen that first night near the chapel; the blue flame — whether it be the firedrake or not — and now the story Brother Redwald was telling him drew him back to the ancient beliefs of his people like tentacles reaching out and drawing him back into the tenebrous ways of the shadowy religion from which he had fled.

  He set his jaw firmly. In his mind he could hear Fidelma’s s chiding tones.

  ‘What is the supernatural but nature that has not yet been explained?’

  As soon as he said it, Eadulf realised that he was merely repeating something Fidelma had said. She would doubtless argue that if people of sound reason had seen the woman and she had been clearly recognised as a woman thought to have been dead, then there were two possibilities. Either the woman was alive or someone was impersonating her. Wraiths and spirits of the dead would not enter into her reasoning. It was as simple as that. Yet this was not her country nor her culture.Eadulf even felt a momentary resentment. How would Fidelma be able to understand the brooding evil that shrouded the dark Saxon winters? Then he felt disloyal for the thought.

  The boy did not seem convinced by his argument.

  ‘It is Yuletide, Brother. You remember what that means?’

  He knew well enough. During the twelve days of the feast of Yule the pagan deities of the Saxons came closest to Midgard, the middle world in which humankind dwelt. This was when the dead were free to seek out those who had wronged them in life, when trolls and elfin people were sent to punish the wrongdoers. Eadulf felt guilty at even thinking it, but a culture one has grown up with is hard to discard.

  He leaned forward to the boy and patted him on the shoulder again.

  ‘There is nothing super
natural here, son,’ he assured him confidently, although he felt he was an outrageous liar and that it must show. ‘It is just some mystery that we will get to the bottom of. Believe in your faith and be firm in the protection of the Christ.’

  He left the boy in the small cell and made his way back to the main quadrangle. From there he followed the route which he knew would lead him to the abbot’s chambers. Abbot Cild was waiting for him, seated at his table, his hands spread palm downwards and an angry scowl distorting his features.

  ‘Did you not understand that I had sent for you to come to me immediately you returned to the abbey?’ he demanded belligerently.

  ‘I had more pressing matters to attend to,’ Eadulf replied coldly, his demeanour showing that he was not browbeaten by the abbot.

  Abbot Cild’s scowl deepened.

  ‘Your lack of respect to me has been noted before, Brother Eadulf. Your duty is obedience to me as abbot.’

  ‘I have other duties,’ Eadulf responded. ‘My duty is to Archbishop Theodore, your superior in the faith. I have been appointed his emissary and may speak on his behalf. That is my sole area of obedience.’

  As he spoke, Eadulf crossed his fingers superstitiously. What he had said was true in that this had been his role when Theodorehad appointed him as emissary to King Colgú at Cashel, but it was his role no longer. Eadulf, however, suspected that Abbot Cild was not going to challenge him outright and send to Canterbury to ask Archbishop Theodore for verification. By all accounts, Cild himself was not one to stick to the truth. Within a few days, Eadulf hoped that he would have resolved the matter and he eased his conscience by remembering an old saying of his people — falsehood often goes further than truth when dealing with a liar, and such a lie will eventually pass away while only the truth remains.

  Abbot Cild regarded him with mixed emotions. A tiny muscle twitched at his temple; his lips thinned.

  ‘Are you claiming to have superior authority to me?’ he demanded threateningly.

  ‘I am simply pointing out that you have no power over me, Cild,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘Now, Sister Fidelma is ill. The crisis is close; her fever either breaks or she worsens. I shall be her nurse this night. So remove your guard on her chamber door.’

  Abbot Cild appeared stunned by Eadulf’s assertive manner. He was obviously totally unused to anyone challenging his power.

  Eadulf continued, unperturbed: ‘Next, remove this stigma of black magic and evil doings from her name. That a man intelligent enough to claim the position of abbot of this house should give credence to such tales of witchcraft is beyond belief.’

  Abbot Cild rose rapidly from his chair.

  ‘I shall not! I am abbot here, not you, and let Archbishop Theodore come here in person if he would challenge me.’

  Eadulf had not really expected his demand to be accepted immediately and without trouble.

  ‘That he might well do, for many things have come to his attention about this house.’ Eadulf realised that he was going out on a limb here by departing from the facts.

  Abbot Cild’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Explain your meaning,’ he demanded.

  ‘I intend to. But questions first. Why are you so afraid of this reported apparition?’

  The question was unexpected and Cild blinked and sat down again with abruptness.

  ‘What … what makes you think that I am afraid?’

  Eadulf merely smiled. ‘I saw a lady near the chapel last night. You were afraid when I described her. Tonight, Brother Redwald saw the same woman in Sister Fidelma’s room. This time, Brother Redwald claimed it was your wife who, it is reported, is dead. Is she dead?’

  Abbot Cild’s expression became angry. ‘Dare you call me liar?’

  ‘I am asking a question.’

  ‘She is dead. And only a person who practises the black arts could conjure up her image. Nothing happened until you arrived here with the foreign woman.’

  ‘But I am told that this wraith was seen before we came to the abbey,’ protested Eadulf.

  ‘The spirit appeared as soon as you entered this kingdom. The foreign woman’s witchcraft must be powerful to conjure the spirit at a distance,’ replied Cild, unabashed. ‘You forced your way in here and demanded hospitality. I should have expelled you both at that very moment. I relented and let you stay. Immediately, the wraith appears. And I have not forgotten that your coming heralded the arrival of Garb and his men who make such vile claims against me. I have not overlooked the fact that Garb and your companion are from the same country. Perhaps they are kin and in conspiracy? I am a logical man. It was your coming that brought this evil into Aldred’s Abbey. Nothing evil had happened until last night, when you both demanded the hospitality of this abbey.’

  Eadulf heard him out quietly and then smiled sadly.

  ‘But it did, Cild. Yesterday morning my good friend Botulf was murdered. And it was by his wish that we came here — too late!’

  Eadulf saw no reason to withhold this information any longer. He judged that now was the moment to use it, and he was right, for Cild was quiet for some time, trying unsuccessfully to make his face an expressionless mask.

  ‘Why did Botulf ask you to come here?’

  Eadulf smiled knowingly. He would play mind games with the abbot now.

  ‘Did someone in the abbey know that he had sent to Canterbury to request my presence at this place?’ Eadulf made his voice reflective.

  ‘I certainly did not know.’ Abbot Cild’s voice was tight with suppressed anger.

  ‘I realise that Botulf and you were not the close associates that you would have had people believe at the funeral service. What enmity lay between you?’

  ‘Did Botulf tell you that there was enmity between us?’ demanded the abbot.

  ‘Do you deny it?’ countered Eadulf.

  ‘I do not. I point out that your friend Botulf was forced upon me by the wish of King Ealdwulf. If you must know the truth, Botulf tried to defend a traitor and coward and was ordered by the King to remain in this community, moving no more than a mile from it, until he had expiated his crime. I did not like the arrangement but accepted the order of the King.’

  Eadulf nodded slightly. This agreed with the version which Aldhere had told him.

  ‘Yet you must have found Botulf a useful member of the community to allow him to remain as steward of the abbey?’

  ‘He had his uses,’ Cild reluctantly agreed.

  ‘So my friend, Botulf, who helped Aldred found this abbey some years ago, was returned here to serve you as the new abbot?’

  Abbot Cild pursed lips thoughtfully. ‘Botulf was one of Aldred’s first community here. But then he was sent to a western part of the kingdom to preach and it was there he fell in with the man who was to be a coward and traitor to the King …’

  ‘Aldhere?’ The question was swift and caused Cild’s eyes to widen a fraction.

  ‘How did you know that? From Botulf?’

  ‘No. I happened to fall in with your brother earlier today.’

  There was a silence while Abbot Cild digested this information.

  ‘You are trying to play games with me, Brother Eadulf,’ he said quietly. ‘And what lies has my young brother been telling you?’

  ‘Should he be telling any lies?’

  ‘He doubtless justified to you why he lives outside the law.’

  ‘He claimed to be innocent of the murder of Botulf for which, as I remember, you were insistent upon hanging him had youcaught him earlier today. I seem to recall that Aristotle wrote that the strife between brothers is bitter and cruel. Would Aldhere have done the same to you, I wonder?’

  Cild glowered in annoyance. ‘He has done worse to me by using guile to rob me of my inheritance.’

  ‘Was that not your father’s decision?’

  ‘My father was in his dotage and was influenced by Aldhere.’

  ‘But you went into the Church. Surely that is an end of the matter?’

  ‘I did not make Aldhere a tr
aitor and coward. Shortly after I returned here, Aldhere came under sentence of outlawry from the King. I merely attempted to regain what was mine by right.’

  ‘And King Ealdwulf did not agree with you?’

  ‘He agreed on the principle but not on the practicality, for he decided that there should be no future thane of Bretta’s Ham.’

  ‘Do you hate your brother to the point where you would personally encompass his death? That is hardly in keeping with the cloth you wear.’

  ‘Where is it written that I should forbear from vengeance?

  “Sing psalms to the Lord, who dwells in Zion

  proclaim his deeds among the nations

  for the avenger of blood had remembered-”’

  Eadulf interrupted the abbot’s quotation with a sharp gesture.

  ‘I would have thought that you might have considered the story of Cain from the text of Genesis. Cain murdered his brother, and when God came to pass judgment on Cain, Cain fully expected that his life would be forfeit as vengeance. But God told him “No; if anyone kills Cain, Cain shall be avenged sevenfold.” God merely set a mark on Cain so that anyone meeting him should not kill him. For vengeance begets vengeance.’

  Cild smiled thinly. ‘Brother Eadulf, I should advise you to read Exodus as well as Genesis — “then shall thou give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning …”’

  ‘I know the lines, Abbot, but blood cannot wash out blood. Vengeance will prove its own destroyer.’

  ‘Then, Brother Eadulf, am I to understand that you will disobey the words of the Scriptures?’

  ‘Are they there to be obeyed without question?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘They are the words of the holy men inspired of God.’

  ‘They are the words of men who set them forth for the obedience of fools and the guidance of the wise.’

  ‘Now I see why you travel with a witch. You have no religion!’ snapped the abbot.

  Eadulf was forced into silence by the cold illogic of the man. Finally, he found his voice, but he realised that Abbot Cild was a man of narrow mind and total self-absorption. And it brought him back to the main purpose of his argument with the abbot.