Fidelma’s eyes widened a little. ‘You did not think the news of her unhappiness was enough to bring one of your family to escort Gélgeis back home?’
Garb looked uncomfortable. ‘My father felt that brother Pol’s intermediacy was sufficient. But we did not hear from him again and after many months we decided to ask Brother Laisre here to make contact with her …’
‘Just a minute,’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘How did you know Brother Laisre?’
It was the Irish religieux who answered.
‘Brother Pol, the intermediary who took Gélgeis’s messages to Maigh Eo, had told Gadra about our little group here in Tunstall. So Gadra communicated with me to see if I could make contact with Gélgeis and ascertain what was happening. At the same timehe was anxious to learn the reason why he had not heard from Brother Pol.’
‘And did you contact Gélgeis?’
‘I tried, and that was when I discovered that Gélgeis was dead.’
‘One thing I would like to ask,’ intervened Eadulf. ‘You must know all the Irish in this area. Who is the young woman of Éireann with the red-gold hair who dwells close by the abbey?’
Brother Laisre looked blank. ‘A young woman with red-gold hair? I know of no such woman of our people in the land of the South Folk.’
Eadulf was surprised. He had told Fidelma on the journey what he had seen at the woodsman’s hut.
‘Perhaps she is a newcomer?’ suggested Fidelma.
Brother Laisre shook his head. ‘I would know of such a newcomer from our land and, if the truth be told, Sister, she would not long escape attention.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘Very well. I think, however, that you need to provide us with more details about your contact with Gélgeis. How did you set about getting in touch with her?’
‘She was dead by the time I tried to do so,’ explained Brother Laisre. ‘I went to the abbey disguised as a merchant and, by chance, it was Brother Botulf who spoke with me. I knew him before this nonsense decided at Whitby which has caused the split between us. He was a sympathetic man. It was from him that I learned that Gélgeis had, as her father and brother believed, grown unhappy. Cild was a vain and cruel man. He was unfit to be an abbot. Botulf said the girl had wandered into the marsh.’
‘Did Brother Botulf give any details of her death?’ Fidelma pressed.
‘No. He gave no details. Just that she had wandered into the marsh and that Cild was responsible. Those were his very words. Cild was responsible. There can be no interpretation to be placed on it other than murder. He told me that the body was lost in Hob’s Mire, an evil swamp of a place not far from the abbey. He said there was no use searching the quagmire for her body. He asked me to send word to her family that they should assume their daughter was dead to them.’
‘And Brother Pol had not returned with messages to Maigh Eobecause he was one of the brothers Abbot Cild had hanged for not submitting to the Rule of Rome?’ Eadulf was incredulous.
Brother Laisre simply nodded.
‘Not long after my meeting with Botulf,’ he continued, ‘Cild declared the abbey a closed house for the brethren believing in his rules. He drove several of the brethren out of the abbey. Some of them came here and joined me.’
Eadulf was eager. ‘Did you speak to Botulf again?’
‘Indeed, these events took place a few months ago. The messenger that I had sent to Maigh Eo had taken a long time reaching the sanctuary of Gadra’s fortress. His ship had been wrecked on the island of Mannanán Mac Lir, which lies between here and the land of Éireann. He was some time in finding a vessel to continue his journey. Gadra finally sent word back that he was coming here to seek reparation …’
Here Garb intervened.
‘My father is from the line of the kings of the Uí Briúin, kings of Connacht. He is a chieftain in whom the blood of the High King Niall of the Nine Hostages runs. He is proud and stubborn. Gélgeis is of his blood. He therefore determined to come to this strange land and seek reparation from Cild.’
Fidelma pulled a sceptical face. ‘The roscud.’
‘Aye, lady, the troscud,’ Garb replied firmly.
‘Truly,’ Eadulf put in, ‘your father must have loved his daughter with great emotion to embark on this course.’
‘He loved her as only a father loves,’ agreed Garb. ‘But we are also bound by honour as well as love and the troscud is our court of last resort. By the ritual fast we seek justice when our enemies are too powerful and arrogant to give it of their own volition.’
‘One thing that intrigues me, and forgive me for asking, but, as you perceive, I am a foreigner in these matters. What manner of person was your sister?’
Garb regarded Eadulf with some perplexity.
‘I do not know if I have understood your question, Saxon.’
‘I mean her temperament. Was her nature so unusual that her father, and perhaps yourself and your warriors, might give their lives willingly in her memory?’
Fidelma was slightly puzzled. She thought that Eadulf had understood the essence of the troscud and was wondering whyhe asked this question. Something made her realise that it was for a purpose.
Garb was not annoyed at the question. He smiled indulgently.
‘Gélgeis was my favourite sister. She brought tranquillity to any situation. She made a grey day fair, made the storm peaceful, made the troubled blithe of spirit. She was possessed of such a nature that she brought happiness to all who knew her.’
Eadulf blinked, thinking of Brother Willibrod’s words. Garb’s words sounded almost glib. While he hesitated, Fidelma took up the questions again.
‘Is there no dissuading your father from the course on which he has embarked? You must see that it will mean nothing to a man of Cild’s culture and, especially, to a man like Cild. Your father will simply be allowed to die. Cild — indeed, any Saxon not used to our ways — might simply regard the troscud as a joke.’
‘My father believes in the old ways and is determined.’
‘I will speak to him, for he must be dissuaded,’ replied Fidelma.
‘You will speak to him in vain.’
Eadulf was sitting staring ahead of him, his eyes unfocused as he turned over the facts and the differing pictures of Gélgeis that had been presented to him.
‘Brother Laisre, have you spoken to Botulf again? More recently?’ asked Fidelma.
‘A few weeks ago. That was when Gadra, together with Garb and his men, arrived here. I contacted Botulf and explained matters to him.’
‘How did Botulf react to your news?’
Brother Laisre glanced uncomfortably at Garb.
‘To be truthful, Brother, he shared your feelings that it was a waste of time. I explained the meaning of the troscud to him and he felt that no Saxon would truly understand its intent. I explained how Garb would have to come to the abbey to announce the start of the ritual and he promised to help.’
‘Did he?’
‘Oh yes. He managed to get Garb in to see the abbot on his own. That was a preliminary contact to ensure the abbot knew what was to take place. Cild laughed at Garb.’
‘Did Botulf warn you that this would be Cild’s reaction?’
‘Botulf said he was fearful … fearful for the relatives of Gélgeis. He said that there was an old saying of the Saxons — woe to him who is in a country where there is none to take his part.’
‘So he advised against the troscud?’
‘His advocacy was strong but I could only act as an intermediary. I told him the time and day that Garb would present himself at the abbey for the official announcement. We agreed that it would be on the tolling of the midnight Angelus bell when the brethren had been summoned to prayers in the abbey chapel. The announcement had to be made before the community.’
‘And it turned out to be the hour of Botulf’s funeral,’ muttered Eadulf.
Fidelma was thoughtful. ‘So Botulf knew that this would happen at the precise hour that it did?’
‘Indeed he did.’
‘No other words were exchanged?’
‘He mentioned that he knew that a friend of his was at Canterbury who knew something of the laws of both our peoples. He was going to send for that friend to come to the abbey.’
Eadulf’s shoulders slumped. ‘That was myself. I received the message from him asking me to be at the abbey before that time and on that day. Sister Fidelma and I arrived — but Botulf had already been slain.’
‘Did Botulf provide you with any other facts concerning Gélgeis’s death?’ Fidelma asked.
Brother Laisre shook his head.
‘What worries me,’ Eadulf intervened reflectively, ‘and I say this with all sincerity, is the lack of basis in law for any accusation to be made against Cild. Suspicion does not make for fact.’
Garb turned angrily on Eadulf.
‘Do you seek to defend Cild?’
‘Remember, I was the friend for whom Botulf sent. I seek what we should all be seeking. That is the truth. So far as I can see, we have only suspicion. We suspect that the lady Gélgeis met her death by foul means. We suspect that it was her husband, Cild, who encompassed that death. But so far, I have not been offered proof, only hearsay. The gerefa in me cries out for evidence.’
Brother Laisre stared at Eadulf aghast.
‘Cild’s reputation goes before him. He is evil. He is responsible for many deaths …’
‘A reputation does not make a man guilty. Nor does the fact that he is known to have killed others in the name of his religion make him guilty of the murder of Gélgeis.’
Fidelma, seeing the anger on their faces, intervened quickly.
‘Hurtful as it may sound to you, who believe that Cild is guilty, my comrade has a point. A belief is not evidence in law.’
‘Cild’s reputation is black. Doesn’t the old saying go that every colour will take black but black will take no colour?’
‘In other words, the cow with the longest horns will always be accused of butting,’ pointed out Eadulf with cynicism.
‘Truly,’ Fidelma sighed, ‘you are embarked on a bitter course of vengeance.’
‘Sometimes, dálaigh,’ replied Garb, ‘there is little between justice and injustice but much between justice and law.’
‘Is it not better to get more facts about what happened to your sister before this course is undertaken?’ demanded Fidelma. ‘Just as we must also find out what happened to Botulf?’
‘We know the hand that struck down both Gélgeis and Botulf,’ Garb said firmly.
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and shook her head warningly. It was useless to pursue the matter of evidence among people intent on vengeance.
‘Brother Botulf was a kindly and generous man,’ Brother Laisre was saying. ‘We would have had a good ally in him. I had already gathered that Botulf was at the abbey because of a punishment decreed by King Ealdwulf and that there was little love lost between him and Cild. I trusted Botulf. I fear his involvement with us was the cause of his death.’
‘The abbot must have found him out and slaughtered him as he had slaughtered others,’ Garb added. ‘Evil walks with him and in him and he must pay for it.’
‘Well spoken, my son,’ came a new voice, quiet and firm. ‘But it shall be done within the law.’
They turned towards the door.
An elderly man stood there. His features showed a resemblance to the younger man, Garb. He was tall, firm-jawed in spite of his advancing years. On his shock of white hair sat a silver circletshowing his rank. His eyes were deep blue, almost violet. His mouth was thin but firm. The graven lines on his face spoke of grief and suffering. He was dressed with the finery that bespoke his chieftainship.
There was little need to have him identified as Gadra, chief of Maigh Eo.
They stood respectfully as the man walked forward and sat down at the table.
‘There are strangers among us, Brother Laisre. Perhaps you will be good enough to introduce your guests to me?’
Brother Laisre inclined his head.
‘This is Brother Eadulf, emissary of the Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury, who travels with Fidelma of Cashel.’
The old chieftain’s eyes showed that he recognised the name.
‘Fidelma, sister of King Colgú of Cashel? Your fame as a dálaigh and dispenser of justice precedes you, Fidelma. My heart rejoices to see you here, for you may guide me in matters of law. I am about to undertake a course that may lead to serious consequences.’
‘Father,’ Garb cleared his throat nervously. ‘Sister Fidelma has already been acquainted with the facts of the action you are about to undertake.’
The old man inclined his head.
‘That is good. I do not wish to die in a foreign land with my name unrecorded and my fate unknown, and yet I fear it may be so. Yes, I do fear it.’
Eadulf shook his head slowly. He thought that most of the time he knew and understood these people. But it was at times like these that he came face to face with the fact that they were of an entirely different culture. This matter of the troscud, of ritual fasting to death to obtain one’s rights, to obtain justice, was alien to him. In his culture, if a person wanted to obtain rights they did not harm themselves; they took their sword and forced their antagonist to give them what they wanted. To ritually starve to death just to shame their enemy was a bizarre concept. He would never understand it.
‘Are you truly set upon this path, Gadra?’ Fidelma asked softly. ‘Is there no other way of seeking the truth than by the troscud?’
Gadra smiled with humour. ‘The ritual began when my intention was announced. The words have left my son’s mouth and cannot be returned to it.’
Garb nodded slowly. ‘If my father dies during the troscud and Abbot Cild has not come to arbitration and confessed his guilt, then the shame is his and he is cursed in this life and the next. Any man may slay him with impunity. I shall be that man, and if I am not, then my clansmen will see that retribution is taken.’
‘The people of this country will not see the justice in that,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘But the people in my country will,’ replied Garb with equanimity.
‘I would still want to find the truth by some other means than this,’ Eadulf said stubbornly.
The old chieftain turned to him, his eyes sparkling.
‘There is nothing stopping you. You may proceed in your way but do not seek to prevent me proceeding in mine.’
Fidelma nodded solemnly. ‘No one will do that, Gadra.’ She glanced warningly at Eadulf and continued. ‘But as for seeking the truth by any other means, the problem is that all the witnesses as to what exactly happened to Gélgeis are dead.’
‘Save for the very man who killed her. May her shade haunt him to his grave,’ snapped Garb.
Eadulf jerked his head up. His eyes widened.
‘Haunt?’ he exclaimed. ‘What makes you say that?’
Garb laughed outright.
‘Do not tell me that your people are afraid of spirits from the Otherworld? If so, may the abbot share that fear for then I will rejoice if the shadows cause him to look twice to each corner of the room, or down each dark corridor that he traverses.’
Eadulf saw Fidelma shake her head so slightly that no one else noticed the gesture. She stood up and stretched uncomfortably.
‘I am afraid that I must beg your forgiveness.’ She smiled around the assembled company. ‘I would like to find a bed to rest for this night. It is not that the hour grows late but I am still weak from the days of illness that caused my confinement in the abbey.’
Brother Laisre moved forward with concern on his features.
‘Of course, Sister. But have you forgotten what night this is? At midnight we celebrate the birth of the Christ child.’
Fidelma looked embarrassed. She had forgotten that it was the eve of Christ’s Mass.
‘If I may lie down until it is time to celebrate …?’
‘Even in our poor circumstances, dwelling in these woods, we have made
a little guests’ hostel,’ Brother Laisre replied with dignity. ‘Allow me to instruct one of the brethren to take you there and see that the fire has been adequately prepared.’
Fidelma glanced at Gadra.
‘You will excuse me, Gadra of Maigh Eo?’
‘Rest well,’ the elderly man replied gravely. ‘We will talk further in the morning.’
She was moving to the door when a thought struck her and she turned back.
‘There is one thing that occurs to me before I retire, Brother Laisre. I presume that you will be in touch with the abbey to let the abbot know of the progress of the troscud. It seems to me that unless he knows and is informed of the progress of the ritual it would have little effect. Who replaces Brother Botulf as your contact within the abbey?’
It was Gadra who answered.
‘You have a sharp mind, Fidelma, as befits a dálaigh of your standing. A means of communication was opened up through the apothecary of the abbey. He has agreed to keep the abbot informed.’
‘The apothecary? Brother Higbald?’ Eadulf was surprised. ‘And how is he told?’
‘We have a number of brothers who take it in turn to watch the abbey and leave messages at a prearranged spot where this apothecary can pick them up or, indeed, leave messages for us if he feels it necessary.’
Fidelma was thoughtful.
‘How did Brother Higbald come to agree to act as your new intermediary?’ she asked.
‘Two days ago, the abbot led a party out into the marshes,’ Garb said. Then he smiled. ‘Not long afterwards one of the abbey brethren set out alone on a mule in the direction they had taken. We were going to waylay him …’
Eadulf looked astonished and was about to identify himself as the lone rider when Garb continued.
‘Then we saw another member of the brethren following. It turned out to be Brother Higbald. He turned in the same direction. My men and I waylaid him instead. We did so as soon as he was in the shelter of the woods … I hasten to say that we stopped him at swordpoint otherwise I doubt whether our conversation would have been very fruitful.’
The Haunted Abbot sf-12 Page 18