The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I was merely thinking that Cild was once a warlord in this land. I remembered how strange it was, the morning after we arrived here, that he and some of the brethren rode out in search of Aldhere almost as if they were warriors in battle array rather than religious.’

  ‘I recall that you told me about that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘However, as you said, he was once a warrior and warriors’ traits never leave them.’

  ‘That was my reasoning.’

  ‘There is something else worrying you?’

  ‘Not worrying me, just irritating me. On our way out from the abbey, we passed a room full of warriors’ equipment. Remember?’

  Fidelma pursed her lips. She had forgotten.

  ‘I confess that I was not feeling well enough to take that in. Perhaps Cild likes to retain that link with his past life.’

  ‘If it is truly past. It was what Mul said that makes me think that it is not.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Maybe the rumours are true. Cild might well be in leaguewith Wulfhere of Mercia — involved in some plot to betray the South Folk to his kingdom.’

  ‘Why Mercia?’

  ‘Because the thing that has been worrying me is that the shields in that chamber each bore the battle emblem of the Iclingas. I had started to mention it to you when we found Botulf’s purse and the discovery drove it from my mind.’

  ‘Iclingas? What might that be?’

  ‘The Iclingas are Kings of Mercia.’

  They rode on in silence for a while, allowing the ponies their heads to find their own way through the snowdrifts — a task for which the animals’ natural senses were far better fitted than the guidance of their riders.

  ‘We should be at Aldhere’s camp within the hour.’ Eadulf eventually broke the silence.

  ‘I shall look forward to meeting him after the conflicting reports of his character given by you and Mul.’

  Eadulf snorted indignantly. ‘What does Mul know? Yet again, he repeats only the local gossip. I simply say that I prefer Aldhere to his dour brother Cild.’

  ‘There is often some truth to be found in gossip. Not so much fact but attitudes. I have known many ruthless men and women who are possessed of the sweetest temperaments until their plans are thwarted. It is often enlightening to listen to gossip.’

  Eadulf looked disapproving.

  ‘You are fond of quoting Publilius Syrus,’ he rebuked her. ‘Did you not once quote him, and quote him approvingly, that it was wrong to take notice of gossip?’

  Fidelma smiled. ‘You did not quote the exact words of Publilius Syrus, Eadulf, but the meaning is probably the same. However, what I said was to listen to gossip for attitudes and not for facts. In this instance the importance of the gossip lies in the context.’

  ‘And have you been led to any conclusion?’ Eadulf asked. He could not restrain the note of irony in his question.

  Fidelma’s features grew serious.

  ‘I will admit to you, Eadulf, that nothing I have heard so far makes me see any solutions. In fact, this is the most frustrating conundrum I have ever encountered. We only know for certain of one crime. The death of your friend Botulf. We hear accusationsof another crime … the abbot’s wife … but is it a crime? We do not know, for accusations do not constitute facts, as you endeavoured to point out at Tunstall. But how are we to proceed? There are no witnesses to these events, only rumours and gossip.’

  ‘There is another point to be considered.’

  Fidelma glanced across at him, frowning at his doleful tone. ‘Which is?’

  ‘That even if we could miraculously find the truth of what is happening, through what means could we reveal it and force a mediation on those concerned? You have no legal authority in this land. At least in Dyfed, the Welisc king gave you an authority. But here among the Angles and the Saxons, you have none. No authority at all.’

  ‘That is true,’ she agreed gravely. ‘But this is your country, Eadulf. These are your people. You are a gerefa here.’

  Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘I was a gerefa here, extolling the laws of the Wuffingas. Once I went into the religious my authority as a gerefa ceased to be.’

  Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  ‘Do you mean that a religious in this land cannot be an advocate of the law?’

  Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘It is with irony that Mul addresses me as gerefa. It is because as a non-Christian he refuses to call me Brother. Neither, if you noticed, does he call you Sister. I have found many in the religious who have sought my advice because of my legal background but, in truth, I no longer have authority in this kingdom and these people know it.’

  Fidelma reflected for a moment. Somewhere in her memory she must have known. It must have been explained to her when she had first met Eadulf at the great council at Whitby. Yet she had in recent times emphasised his legal standing to her people as it gave him a moral authority to help her in her own investigations.

  ‘Well, we will have to find some other way of exerting influence on matters,’ she said. ‘I believe Gadra and Garb will take notice if I can demonstrate that there is no need to undertake the ritual fast.’

  ‘But in the meantime,’ Eadulf sighed, ‘we have to keep out of the hands of Abbot Cild. I wonder how he can afford three gold pieces for our capture? It is a large sum to offer and you cannot doubt that many will be tempted by it.’

  Certainly Fidelma did not doubt it.

  ‘More to the point, why is he so concerned to have us caught and silenced?’ she said. ‘He must surely know, as we do, that there is no way we can prove anything against him …’

  ‘Unless we are overlooking the obvious,’ muttered Eadulf.

  Fidelma examined him thoughtfully. She could see his brows drawn together, his lips compressed, as if he were struggling to remember some forgotten information or event that had happened during the time that she lay in her fever.

  ‘You noticed that the crucifix Mul found was not one usually worn by a religious?’ she asked, after a while.

  Eadulf nodded.

  ‘It was made for a person of wealth, doubtless a woman,’ he replied. ‘It seems logical that it was Gélgeis’s cross.’

  ‘Logical, but its ownership is not certain, nor is the reason why it came to be at Mul’s farmstead.’

  A silence fell between them again before Fidelma broke it once more: ‘You have had conversation with Cild. Tell me, is he truly unbalanced in the mind? If so, have you learnt the cause of it?’

  Eadulf shrugged. ‘I would say that Cild is unstable to the point of being deranged. What caused his dementia? I do not know.’

  ‘The death of his wife and the strange apparitions at the abbey?’

  To her surprise, Eadulf shook his head.

  ‘I think there is more to it than that. Aldhere claims his brother was demented and cruel from childhood and this was why he was disinherited. Perhaps he was born evil.’

  Fidelma made a face.

  ‘Children are not born evil, Eadulf. They are usually created so.’

  They had been travelling through a stretch of woodland, mainly of bare, gaunt trees with a few clumps of evergreens here and there. It was flat country close to the sea, so close that they could hear the distant whisper of the waves sliding towards the shore and then receding. Now came the sound of something else.

  Fidelma drew rein and reached out a hand to touch Eadulf upon the arm. He glanced up from his reverie and halted too.

  It had been the crack of a whip that had warned her and now came two more cracks in sharp succession. There was a soft rumbling sound and the clink of metal upon metal. A nearby voice shouted.

  Fidelma looked quickly towards the direction of the sounds. They were coming from the track ahead, which seemed to twist out of sight through the woods.

  Eadulf was examining the landscape in order to identify some place of concealment.

  He nudged her arm and pointed inland beyond the tall sessile oaks whi
ch bordered the path to a nearby clump of evergreen trees and bushes, perhaps holly and polypody ferns, he was not sure. All he knew was that in this wilderness they offered the only hope of cover. There was no time to question the decision. They turned from the path and urged their ponies swiftly through the trees to ride around the meagre protection offered by the evergreens. As soon as they were behind the shelter, they both dismounted and held tight to their ponies’ reins. Only then did Eadulf realise that in the snow that lay about, their tracks could plainly be seen.

  It was too late, however. Around the corner, along the track, swung a light carriage drawn by two strong mares. It was a rich, ornate carriage, and highly decorated. A symbol was painted on the door but they could not discern what it was. Curtains at the window of the carriage flapped in the breeze caused by its momentum. Someone of substance was seated inside. But what astonished them both was the driver.

  He was a young man, obviously used to driving a carriage and pair. He held the reins effortlessly in one hand, striking the air with a whip held in the other and crying encouragement to the beasts in their mad headlong plunge through the woods. What astonished them was that he was clad in the robes of a religieux.

  Within one horse’s space behind the carriage came four mounted warriors, one carrying a square of silk on a lance which flapped in the wind. They were all well dressed and well armed and were clearly the escort to the carriage.

  Such was their momentum that no one noticed the disturbedsnow where Eadulf and Fidelma had turned from the path. The carriage and its escort thundered on through the wood and they could hear the sound of its passing diminishing in the distance.

  Eadulf straightened up with an exhalation of relief.

  ‘Did you recognise the emblem on that coach?’ Fidelma asked as she also straightened up and patted the muzzle of her pony in gratitude for its silence.

  ‘Not on the coach,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘But the symbol on the flag carried by the escort was plain to see.’

  ‘Which was?’ prompted Fidelma, climbing back onto her mount.

  ‘That was the wolf-symbol of the Wuffingas, the kings of the East Angles. Only the King’s elite bodyguard may use it.’

  Fidelma digested this in silence while he remounted his pony and they set off again slowly, retracing their path back to the main track.

  ‘Are you saying that it was probably the King of the East Angles who passed us just now?’ she finally asked. She suddenly smiled. ‘Maybe there was truth after all in the gossip about your King journeying southwards.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ But Eadulf seemed reluctant and when she pressed him he added: ‘I did not recognise the same symbol on the coach, nor do I understand why King Ealdwulf would be driven by a religieux. It is unusual.’

  She was inclined to agree.

  ‘And with only four warriors to protect him, it would seem strange that this King would ride into the territory of your friend Aldhere?’ Fidelma pointed out.

  Eadulf shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘Yet another mystery along the road to truth.’

  ‘If truth can be found along any road here,’ muttered Fidelma.

  They rode on for a further hour or more before Eadulf spotted some familiar landmarks.

  ‘I think we are near Aldhere’s lair,’ he said, sounding more cheerful than he had in a while. ‘Perhaps we will be able to begin to clear up some of these matters.’

  Fidelma did not reply and together they continued silently on in the direction he had indicated.

  The sound of a ram’s horn wailing nearby made them halt their ponies in momentary confusion.

  There came a movement along the edges of the path and abruptly a half-dozen warriors appeared at their sides with weapons ready. At their head, Eadulf immediately recognised Wiglaf. He saw Eadulf and grinned broadly, telling the others to put up their weapons.

  ‘Two more outlaws come to join us, eh, gerefa?’ he greeted them. And when Eadulf replied with a puzzled expression he chuckled. ‘Everyone has heard of the reward that the abbot has set on your heads so I suppose that you have come to take shelter with us. You should have tried to meet me as we arranged and we might have made your journey easier.’

  Eadulf had forgotten that he had arranged to meet Wiglaf outside the abbey, as Botulf had done before him, if there was any urgency.

  He was introducing Wiglaf to Fidelma when another rider came cantering along the path. It was a slim figure with a heavy cloak and hood drawn so well around it that they had no glimpse of the person’s features. Eadulf had the impression of a youth or a woman. The outlaw band must have known who it was for they drew their horses to the side of the track to allow an unimpeded passage for the rider.

  Wiglaf noticed Eadulf’s curiousity and chuckled lewdly.

  ‘That’s an old friend. Lioba often comes for a visit to our camp. And now …’ He jerked his head in the direction the rider had come from. ‘I’ll escort you there. Come, I will lead the way.’

  He turned his horse, issuing orders to his men to take up their positions again. They were clearing sentinels, lookouts protecting the outlaw camp.

  As they rode along Fidelma said: ‘I understand that you were Botulf’s cousin and in contact with him at the abbey?’

  ‘That I was, Sister,’ Wiglaf replied solemnly.

  ‘I would like to ask you some questions.’

  ‘Those must wait, then, for Aldhere’s camp is just ahead and I have to return immediately to my men. I will come back to the camp for the midday meal, then you may ask of me what you will.’

  The encampment was but minutes away and Aldhere hadalready been warned of their coming, for Wiglaf had taken out his ram’s horn and blown another short, sharp blast on it. Aldhere stood before his hut, hands on hips, smiling slightly. As they halted their ponies and began to dismount, he came forward with an outstretched hand.

  ‘Greetings, holy gerefa! I did not doubt that I would see your face again. And this time you have brought the Irish witch?’

  He roared with laughter at Fidelma’s disapproving features.

  ‘Have no fear, good Sister, for my humour is unlike that of my brother. I doubt not your piety. I am Aldhere, sometime thane of Bretta’s Ham, but now a simple outlaw. You are welcome to my encampment. Come away into my hut. It is a poor inhospitable place but it will shelter you from our fierce winter.’

  Like Eadulf before her, Fidelma found herself swept along by his mixture of joviality and domineering. She followed the large man almost meekly, without saying anything, but her eyes swiftly took in the surroundings; the men, the women and the children who populated this small forest glade. Wiglaf had apparently gone back to his duties as lookout but she saw that there were plenty more armed warriors about the place.

  ‘And do you approve, good Sister?’ Aldhere asked, pushing the hut door open with one hand while standing back to allow her to enter first. His keen eyes had not missed her appraisal of the camp.

  ‘Approve?’ She was caught off guard.

  ‘Of my camp, of course. My men bring their women and children for safe-keeping here. We are not expecting an attack from King Ealdwulf until the thaw comes. If this winter continues as it has, that might not be until the spring, please God. Ealdwulf does not like to fight with mud on his boots. He’ll wait until there is dry weather.’

  He motioned them to the stools. The room had not changed since Eadulf’s visit a few days ago. He looked round for the Frankish woman, Bertha, but there was no sign of her. Aldhere caught his glance and smiled again.

  ‘My woman, Bertha, has gone with one of my men to get provisions at the market at Seaxmund’s Ham. You see, we do not rob and steal but purchase goods from the traders.’

  ‘And where does the money come from to pay the traders for those goods?’ queried Eadulf innocently.

  ‘By the holy wounds of Christ!’ cried Aldhere with a bark of laughter. ‘You are possessed of a sharp mind, holy gerefa.’

  Fidelma had seated herself. />
  ‘So you do expect an attack from King Ealdwulf?’ she asked abruptly, picking up on Aldhere’s previous statement.

  Aldhere was not put out by the question.

  ‘Naturally,’ he replied. ‘He is not going to leave me as a thorn irritating this land of the South Folk.’

  ‘Why do you stay here, then? If you expect an attack, I would have thought you might move to any of the other kingdoms and sell your swords to — say, Sigehere?’

  ‘You shock me by your mercenary attitude, good Sister,’ grinned the outlaw. ‘I think some mead is called for.’

  He turned and brought a flagon to the table and poured the drinks.

  Fidelma suppressed a sigh of resignation. She realised that the provision of strong drink was an essential part of the ritual of hospitality to strangers.

  ‘Since I have been in your country, I have come to the conclusion that drinking is a main pursuit of your people, Aldhere.’

  Eadulf was looking uncomfortable and he cleared his throat noisily.

  ‘Perhaps it is best if I ask the questions …’ he said with a meaningful look at Fidelma. When she stared in annoyance at his intervention, he said softly: ‘I have mentioned before that the people of this land are unused to what is seen as forwardness in women. The role of women among the South Folk is very different from the benefits that you enjoy …’

  Aldhere interrupted him with a disapproving glance.

  ‘Tush, holy gerefa! Would you make me out to be a barbarian? I have mixed with the Irish missionaries and know the different ways they have. They might not be our ways nor do we need approve of them. But one of the missionaries instructed me in the words of the Blessed Ambrose: Quando hic sum, non jeiuno Sabbato; quando Romae sum, jeiuno Sabbato.’

  ‘When I’m here, I do not fast on the sabbath, when I am in Rome, I fast on the sabbath,’ muttered Eadulf.

  ‘Perhaps it is badly expressed,’ apologised Aldhere, ‘but what I am saying is that since you are used to being treated equally, then I shall treat you equally. Now what were you saying …?’ Abruptly, the erstwhile thane of Bretta’s Ham slapped a hand against his thigh and uttered a bellow of laughter.