The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘But if he prefers to take the side of Abbot Cild, then where will we be?’ protested Eadulf.

  ‘At least we have an advantage — we can get into the abbey without anyone observing us and perhaps we can get to the guests’ quarters and find this old judge before Abbot Cild is alerted.’

  ‘That is something of a desperate measure,’ observed Eadulf. ‘Most likely we would be seized by Cild or even Sigeric’s bodyguard and would then be unable to help ourselves, let alone help anyone else or solve the mystery.’

  There came the sound of raised voices outside. Eadulf went to the door of the hut and looked out.

  ‘It’s Aldhere’s woman … the Frankish woman of whom I spoke to you.’

  Fidelma joined him at the door.

  Outside, the flaxen-haired woman had dismounted from a horse and was speaking rapidly to Aldhere. Another man was just dismounting and unloading some panniers of items which seemed to be foodstuffs. It seemed to confirm Aldhere’s story that they had been to the neighbouring town to purchase goods. Aldhere was replying to Bertha quietly and also with rapidity. Bertha intervened and as she spoke she punched the air with her fist to emphasise whatever point she was making. She turned abruptly, remounted her horse and rode away. Theyhad been too far away for Eadulf and Fidelma to hear any of what was said.

  Fidelma shrugged and returned to her seat.

  ‘It seems not all Saxon women are quiescent in front of their menfolk.’ She smiled thinly.

  ‘Bertha is a Frank,’ pointed out Eadulf.

  ‘A fine distinction. Anyway, I need to question our friend Wiglaf before we leave here,’ she said as Eadulf turned back into the room.

  ‘He said he would be returning to the camp by now,’ replied Eadulf with a frown. ‘I wonder where he is?’

  ‘Where who is?’ came Aldhere’s voice. He had come through the door behind Eadulf unobserved.

  Fidelma was not perturbed.

  ‘Wiglaf. The man who brought us here.’

  Aldhere’s eyes narrowed for a moment.

  ‘What can he tell you that I can’t?’ he demanded suspiciously.

  ‘Perhaps nothing. None the less, he was in personal touch with Brother Botulf at the monastery until the other night when Botulf asked to meet you.’

  Aldhere nodded slowly. ‘That is correct.’

  ‘So he might have something to add which may be useful.’

  ‘Well, as you know, he is posted as a lookout but he should be returning to camp shortly. I trust you will join us in the midday meal?’

  ‘It will be a pleasure.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Will your Frankish friend be joining us?’

  Aldhere hesitated for a moment and then smiled back.

  ‘Bertha has other matters to attend to for the moment, Sister. Perhaps she will join us later.’

  ‘And Lioba?’ asked Eadulf, with a sudden burst of mischievousness. ‘Is she often a guest here?’

  Aldhere’s face reddened a little. His jaw came up defensively.

  ‘What do you know of Lioba?’

  ‘I am told that she is rather a wilful girl, well known at the abbey … and at your camp.’

  Aldhere thought for a moment and then he shrugged.

  ‘You have a good ear for gossip, holy gerefa. The girl is alocal peasant’s daughter who needs must make a living. She has contacts at the abbey and so she comes to my camp to supply me with news that I might not be able to gather in other ways.’

  It was clear that Aldhere was not interested in amplifying the subject. Fidelma changed it, for there was something else on her mind.

  ‘Have you heard of rumours of attacks made by East Saxon warbands recently?’ she asked abruptly.

  Aldhere smiled and looked at Eadulf.

  ‘Your friend, the holy gerefa, should be able to give you information on that. He was nearly killed by an East Saxon longship’s crew the other day.’

  ‘Ah, that I know about. I meant a major attack by several ships.’

  Aldhere expression was one of derision.

  ‘Are you talking about Sigehere and his warbands? They have not the capability to invade in force. The kingdom of the East Saxons is too divided. Sigehere and Sebbi are at each other’s throats. Individual longboats may strike here and there from time to time and there have been a few attacks along the border but never a major attack. The men of Sigehere are like gnats, darting over a summer’s marshland. Pinpricks of irritation but no more. What makes you ask such a question?’

  It was what she had expected to hear.

  ‘Someone said that there had been such an attack two days ago. I suppose they were mistaken?’

  Aldhere nodded emphatically. ‘When people are fearful they imagine all manner of things. I would know of such an attack.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ Fidelma adopted a musing tone, ‘as you are in enmity with your own King, whether you might welcome the King of the East Saxons in this land?’

  Aldhere drew himself up with an angry scowl.

  ‘I might be an outlaw but no traitor am I,’ he snapped. ‘From a man, those words would invite me to draw my sword.’

  ‘Then it is lucky that I am merely a woman,’ replied Fidelma without contriteness. ‘You see, there are those who would say it would be logical that in your anger against Ealdwulf you might turn to Sigehere.’

  ‘Show them to me and I will test their truth against mine with a sword blade,’ growled Aldhere.

  Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘All that you would test would be who is the better swordsman. Why do you think that such stories circulate about you?’

  ‘I presume that such evil tales circulate because my brother spreads them. Who else would do so?’

  ‘So they are malicious and entirely without foundation?’

  ‘You are lucky that I am of a tranquil nature, Sister,’ smiled Aldhere, without any humour in his features. ‘I have told you that I would not sell my people. Ealdwulf may one day regret that he listened to prejudice in order to outlaw me. But he is the King and my quarrel is with him within the confines of this kingdom. I might raise a body from within this land to force him to see my viewpoint but I would not consort with any outside enemy to overthrow him.’ He paused and then said: ‘Now I fear your questions have come to an end. There is bread, meat and mead. We will eat and await the coming of Wiglaf.’

  Fidelma accepted this curtailment to her inquiries and they fell to a meal which was spent by Aldhere in asking questions about the countries they had seen and the attitudes of the people there. He was particularly interested about the pilgrimage Fidelma and Eadulf had made to Rome. His questions were posed with wit and acumen.

  Some time passed and they realised that there was no sign of the return of Wiglaf and his men. Fidelma could see that Aldhere, in spite of his bland and genial exterior, was growing concerned. It was long past the time when Wiglaf had been expected back and finally Aldhere could no longer conceal his anxiety. He stood up and apologised to them: ‘If you will permit, I shall take a couple of my men and go in search of Wiglaf.’

  Fidelma rose at once.

  ‘In that case, we will ride with you. The hour grows late and we have much to do also. With luck, we may meet Wiglaf on the way and I can put my few questions to him then.’

  Aldhere did not object and within a short time he and two of his men, along with Fidelma and Eadulf, were striking south on horseback along the woodland trail.

  They had not gone far when one of the men raised a cry.

  They did not have to look hard to see the reason.

  A body was stretched on the ground before them. They swiftly ascertained that it was one of Wiglaf’s men. There were two arrows embedded in the man’s chest and blood was staining the snow around him.

  Another cry.

  Through the trees a few yards away two more bodies were revealed. Once again, arrows showed the means of their death.

  Aldhere and his men had unslung their shields and carried their swords in their hands, glancing around nervously
at the surrounding woods.

  A few yards more and they came across the body of Wiglaf. An arrow had transfixed his throat, another had penetrated under the breast bone. Eadulf looked down and sighed sadly.

  ‘A man born to hang will never drown,’ he whispered.

  Fidelma looked at him in bewilderment. Eadulf shrugged. ‘That was his philosophy,’ he explained.

  ‘Hey!’

  They turned to where one of Aldhere’s men had dismounted and was examining one of the other men.

  ‘This man is still alive, thane of Bretta’s Ham,’ cried the man.

  They dismounted and gathered round.

  ‘I know something of medicine. Let me see,’ insisted Eadulf, pushing them gently aside. One swift glance at the arrow wounds and he turned back with a quick shake of his head. The man was beyond help.

  ‘Who did this?’ called Aldhere softly, bending down to the man. ‘Did you see who it was?’

  The dying man looked up, eyes vacant, not really seeing those bending over him. His lips were dried and bloodied. They quivered a little. No sound came.

  ‘Who was responsible?’ cried Aldhere, bending down close to the man’s ear. ‘Speak. Try to speak.’

  The lips trembled again.

  ‘The … the abbot …’

  There was a sigh and the man fell back.

  Aldhere stood up and his face was full of anger.

  ‘Cild!’ he muttered.

  ‘Lord!’ cried one of his men, who had been examining the other bodies. He came forward and held something out.

  Adhere took the object and turned it over in his hands, and then he showed Fidelma and Eadulf.

  ‘There is no doubt about it,’ he said softly.

  The object that he held was a crucifix on a leather thong which had been snapped off.

  ‘Cild is responsible for this atrocity.’

  Fidelma was surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

  “This hatred between you and your brother seems to run deep. More deeply than I think you are telling me.’

  Aldhere’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I speak of the fact that the abbot, Abbot Cild, leads his religious brethren out, armed, in order to attack you and your followers. He slays your men without compunction. You ask me to believe that it is an enmity born of the fact that your father disinherited him in favour of you. I find it hard to understand the depth of hatred that he must feel to do this simply because of a disinheritance.’

  Aldhere’s face was grim.

  ‘You do not know the depth of my brother’s soul, Sister. A soul filled with black hatred against everyone.’ He pointed around at the bodies that lay in the woods. ‘Do you need further evidence of his evil?’

  He turned and began to issue instructions to his men to gather the bodies ready for transportation back to the encampment.

  ‘What will you do now?’ he demanded, turning back to Fidelma and Eadulf. ‘Do you want to stay within the protection of my camp?’

  ‘There is little to be done,’ muttered Fidelma with a shake of her head. ‘Wiglaf was the last person to speak with Botulf and Botulf was probably the only lead we had to discover what is really going in Aldred’s Abbey. We will press on. There is little point in remaining here with you.’

  ‘Do you mean that you will return to Canterbury?’ demanded Aldhere in surprise.

  ‘Perhaps,’ replied Fidelma shortly.

  They mounted their ponies and left Aldhere and his men to their gruesome task.

  They were some distance away when Eadulf said: ‘I know you, Fidelma. I am sure that you do not mean to go back to Canterbury yet.’

  Fidelma grimaced.

  ‘Of course not,’ she pouted.

  ‘Then you still mean to go back to the abbey? Even after this example of Cild’s brutality?’

  ‘Had you any doubt of that?’

  Eadulf was silent for a moment and then he shrugged. ‘I suppose not.’ He hesitated and then added: ‘You really mean to appeal for assistance to Lord Sigeric?’

  ‘It seems as if that is our only hope of preventing the troscud. If we cannot discover what happened to Gelgéis and Botulf then we must find another way of preventing Gadra’s ritual fast.’

  ‘Would the consequences really be as serious as you say they would?’

  Fidelma looked at him and he read the answer in her face.

  ‘If they were not,’ she said, ‘then I would be on the road to a port looking for a ship bound for home and not spending one hour more in this wilderness of hate and war.’

  Eadulf blinked at the brutality of her words. She saw his reaction and immediately felt contrite.

  ‘It is no good my pretending that I like this country with its customs, Eadulf. I find it a place of violent and intemperate nature. A place of extremes, aggressive, presumptuous and inconsiderate of others.’

  Eadulf looked shocked. ‘You have hardly seen enough to come to that decision.’

  ‘Have I not?’

  ‘These are my people, Fidelma. Yes, they are sprung from a tradition more used to handling a sword than a plough but I know my people to be straightforward, ingenious and disposed to leadership in enterprises of danger. We are a combative people, that is true, but we are enthusiastic in our religion and our politics and at all times we are determined.’

  Fidelma looked at him in amusement.

  ‘You are fiercely defendant of your people, Eadulf.’ She smiled.

  ‘I fear that you do them an injustice.’

  ‘I have to comment as I find.’

  ‘Comment on the likes of Cild and Aldhere? They are not typical of my people.’

  ‘They are not the shapers of my thoughts here. I observe your customs and your laws. Withal your people seem brash and inexperienced in civilised ways of living. Perhaps the disposition to leadership you mention ought to be balanced by the desire among individuals to grow more.’

  Eadulf flushed in annoyance.

  ‘I do not find this worthy of you, Fidelma,’ he said sulkily. ‘There is war, murder, hate and jealousy in your own land, yet you do not condemn it as barbaric.’

  ‘Because we have evolved a law system, a social system, in which such things are not the normal way of life. I fear that in your land, Eadulf, even the law seems entrenched in the brutality of life.’

  Eadulf did not respond. It was clear that he was deeply annoyed. Fidelma suppressed a sigh of irritation as she saw the anger which she had provoked in Eadulf. But she knew that his temper, though quick and fretful, was all flame, burning with a sudden brightness, and dying out just as quickly, capricious and soon pacified. Eadulf was not one to bear resentment for long.

  They had ridden in silence for a while when her estimation of his character was proved.

  It was growing dark, even though the hour was not far advanced, for the day always darkened early in winter. So far as Eadulf could estimate they were approaching the area known as Hob’s Mire and he was feeling some trepidation. He attuned his eyes to watching for the wisp of blue flame. While the logical part of his mind knew the explanation behind firedrake, the ignis fatuus, he also recalled the legends of the ‘corpse fire’ as his people called it.

  ‘Beyond those trees ahead,’ he warned softly, ‘is the abbey. We must go carefully from here.’

  She nodded. ‘I think that the best way in will be to enter as we came out.’

  ‘I wish we had some daylight to see by,’ he muttered. ‘It will be difficult finding the entrance passage without a light.’

  He paused, concentrating his gaze into the gloom ahead andthen suddenly he reached forward and touched her arm. She turned to question him but saw that he had placed a finger against his lips. She waited and then he indicated ahead.

  ‘I think I saw movement there,’ he whispered. ‘There are some horsemen by the trees.’

  ‘Horsemen?’ she replied softly. ‘Can you see what manner of men they are?’

  ‘Not from here.’

  �
��A strange place for a gathering.’ Suddenly she was dismounting. ‘Let’s leave our ponies here, behind those trees, well out of sight of the track. Then we can move up towards them in order to find out more.’

  ‘Is that wise?’ Eadulf questioned. ‘There are several men who may be armed.’

  Fidelma grinned in the gloom. ‘I deem it wise and, as Phaedrus says, “wisdom is ever stronger than mere force”. Come.’

  Eadulf climbed down reluctantly, led the ponies to the shelter of the trees and secured the reins to some strong bushes. He rejoined her and together they crept cautiously forward along the track.

  ‘We should move more into the wood,’ he suggested nervously after they had progressed several yards. ‘Even though it is dusk, the snow gives us no cover.’

  She nodded quickly, appreciating the logic, and moved off the track to the right where the trees rose on the incline of a small knoll that would bring them in a position overlooking the gathering. They found shelter behind some rocks no more than five paces away from the group, from where it was easy to make out the half-dozen riders muffled against the coldness of the weather.

  The first voice they heard made Eadulf shiver. He knew the voice even though Fidelma did not recognise it.

  ‘Well, Brother Willibrod? How much longer?’

  It was Abbot Cild himself.

  Fidelma certainly recognised the voice which answered him.

  ‘They should not be long now,’ came the voice of the one-eyed dominus of the abbey.

  Eadulf leaned forward and placed his lips against Fidelma’s s ear.

  ‘Cild was the first speaker,’ he whispered, so that she would understand who it was whom Brother Willibrod was addressing.

  ‘If Brother Higbald is not here within a few minutes, then I am returning to the abbey. It is cold and it is dark and we have an important guest to attend to.’

  ‘Do not concern yourself. The lord Sigeric will be resting from his journey for a while longer.’

  ‘He is the King’s envoy. We must see that he is treated with all courtesy.’

  ‘It will be done,’ came the assurance of the dominus.

  ‘Are you sure that this is the right spot?’

  ‘Brother Higbald was most specific. He sent one of the brethren to-’