The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  Aldhere gave a bark of laughter. ‘You’ll find not insanity in me, Sister.’

  ‘We will accept your word for it … for the time being.’ Fidelma smiled icily. ‘However, that does not immediately concern us. We are concerned with Cild’s behaviour. It was growing more aberrant as time went by. When he started to see what he thought was the apparition of his wife, it merely pushed him further, more quickly, into the abyss of insanity.’

  Sigeric nodded appreciatively. ‘And then, when he had the opportunity, he struck out at the girl?’

  ‘That is so. He came across Lioba in the chapel and, in the darkness, unreason overtook him and in his fear and rage he struck her down.’ She looked around at the assembly. ‘There is one thing, however, which is the most important point.’

  ‘What is that?’ demanded Sigeric, when Fidelma paused.

  ‘Someone instigated the appearance of these apparitions. I am told that during this particular time of year, what you called Yuletide before the coming of the Christian celebrations, the dead could seek vengeance on the living. I believe that these apparitions were timed to this period. Someone meant to drive Cild insane.’

  There was a sudden hush.

  Slowly, Fidelma turned to where Brother Higbald was sitting. He saw her eyes resting on him, saw a faint smile at the corner of her mouth, and he returned her gaze with a frown crossing his features. After a few minutes he coughed nervously.

  ‘Why do you stare at me so, Sister?’ he demanded in a tight voice.

  ‘Lioba came into the abbey last night to meet someone by the chapel,’ she said. ‘She came to meet you, Brother Higbald.’

  The apothecary’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I do not think it, Higbald. I know it to be so. You knew Lioba well-’

  ‘So did many people,’ snapped the apothecary. ‘Many knew her very well. She sold her body for what she could get-’

  Brother Willibrod moved with such alacrity for one of his girth and visual handicap that most people were surprised. Only Eadulf managed to reach him before the dominus made contact with theapothecary. He twisted his arm in a tight hold and pushed him back towards his seat.

  ‘Control yourself, Willibrod,’ he hissed. ‘Our aim is to get to the truth, unpalatable or not. Sit and control yourself otherwise I must eject you from these proceedings.’

  When order had been restored, Fidelma resumed: ‘Lioba may well have sold her body but not to you, Higbald. With you she seemed to have a different relationship. Why was that?’

  The apothecary shrugged in feigned indifference. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Let me enlighten you. You persuaded Eadulf and myself to escape from the abbey by telling us a warband was marching on the abbey. It was not true. Lioba and a band of warriors were waiting at the spot where they thought we would emerge from the tunnels. You had carefully directed us. It was thanks to Eadulf’s confusion that we emerged at another place.’

  Higbald did not answer but sat scowling at her.

  ‘Lioba was also in your band of warriors when you came to what you thought was a rendezvous with Cild and Willibrod the other night. Cild had already left the appointed place. That was when you made the arrangement to meet Lioba in the abbey last night.’

  Sigeric started forward in his chair. ‘You will have to explain this, Fidelma, because it has gone far beyond my understanding. I am not following this at all.’

  ‘I will now explain very clearly,’ Fidelma assured him.

  At that moment the doors of the chapel crashed open and one of the brethren of the abbey came rushing in breathlessly. He was wringing his hands in an almost comical fashion.

  ‘It’s the abbot! The abbot has fled his chamber!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Sigeric struggled to call for order as the babble of reaction greeted the news, a new chaos ensued when Garb leapt from his seat shouting: ‘The beast is escaping! He shall not elude his responsibility so easily!’ Then, with several of his warriors at his heels, the young man hurried from the chapel, ignoring calls from Sigeric to stay where he was. Behind him, the religious and warriors were in disarray.

  Eadulf was conscious of Fidelma’s frustration. She barely concealed her anger at the turn of events as the assembly arose beyond control. Sigeric gave up the task. With Fidelma and Eadulf following, he hurried towards the religieux standing by the chapel doors.

  ‘What happened?’ demanded Sigeric loudly, trying to make himself heard above the noise.

  The religieux waved his hands in a fluttering, helpless gesture.

  ‘I am not at fault, lord …’

  ‘What happened?’ Sigeric thundered again in a tone that seemed to reverberate around him.

  ‘I was tricked,’ the man complained, in a whining voice. ‘I thought Abbot Cild had fallen asleep and so I took the opportunity to go to the defaecatorum but when I returned he had gone. I rushed to the gates and saw him heading off along the road on horseback.’

  ‘By the wounds of Thunor!’ cried Sigeric. ‘He will be well away by now. Which way did he go?’

  ‘Towards Hob’s Mire.’

  They rushed into the main courtyard of the chapel to see a group of Irish warriors clattering out of the courtyard on horseback, led by Garb.

  Sigeric turned to Werferth, who had kept close to his side.

  ‘Go after them,’ he instructed sharply. ‘See that they inflict no harm on the abbot if they retake him.’

  Gadra, who had joined them unnoticed with Brother Laisre, said softly: ‘My son will not inflict harm on Cild. He is under the constraint of the troscud. To inflict injury on the abbot now is prohibited. Sister Fidelma, tell the Saxon that what I say is true.’

  ‘Gadra is correct,’ she said at once. ‘Once the troscud is announced, no harm may be inflicted by either party until they are come to arbitration.’

  Werferth had already left, urging his horse out of the abbey gates after the others.

  Fidelma was shaking her head in frustration.

  ‘This is most vexing,’ she breathed.

  Sigeric was in agreement.

  ‘If I remember correctly, you were about to accuse one of the brethren here …’

  ‘Brother Higbald, the apothecary,’ pointed out Eadulf in excitement. ‘He was involved in a conspiracy with Lioba.’

  Fidelma suddenly turned round with a startled expression. She raced back into the chapel, the others on her heels. As she suspected, there was no sign of Higbald, nor of Beornwulf and a half-dozen other of the younger religious. She stamped her foot and turned quickly to Sigeric.

  ‘How many warriors do you have left here to rely on?’

  Sigeric was startled.

  ‘Werferth has just gone after the Irish. I only have three men left and my coachman, who is no warrior. What danger is there that you need warriors?’

  She ignored the question and turned to Gadra.

  ‘And you? How many warriors?’

  ‘Two men, my personal bodyguard. My son has taken the rest. What troubles you, Sister Fidelma’?’

  ‘Higbald,’ replied Fidelma. ‘He intends to trouble all of us. He is a warrior of Mercia and so are six, at least, of the young men who have gone with him, including Beornwulf.’

  Sigeric was bewildered.

  ‘I don’t understand. What are Mercian warriors doing in this abbey?’

  Fidelma compressed her lips momentarily.

  ‘It is easy to explain. Your neighbour, Wulfhere of Mercia, istrying to reassert the power of his kingdom. Higbald was sent here with some of his warriors because Mercia had heard of the dissensions between Cild and Aldhere. He came here to incite violence and increase the tension so that King Ealdwulf would have to intervene with force …’

  ‘Which is precisely what he is thinking of doing,’ agreed Sigeric. ‘That is why I was sent here, to answer Botulf and give Cild and Aldhere warning that if the violence did not end then Ealdwulf would end it.’

&
nbsp; ‘Higbald and his men came to this abbey pretending to be religious. It was a good disguise and the abbey a good base from which to stir up unrest. As it is an old fortress, they were able to keep their weapons in one of the disused chambers below the abbey. There are several chambers and passageways there. Botulf had discovered this but he was killed by Higbald or one of his men before he could reveal it. His body was found outside the crypt door.’

  Sigeric was still puzzled.

  ‘Are you saying that Botulf brought you to the abbey because of this?’

  ‘His discovery of Higbald’s hidden armoury was coincidental,’ explained Fidelma. ‘He had called Eadulf here simply because of the troscud.’

  ‘So when you were about to accuse Higbald of conspiracy with Lioba, this was where your accusations were leading?’ asked Sigeric.

  ‘I was hoping to make Higbald admit the conspiracy,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘The proof seems to be in his flight. When several of Aldhere’s men were slaughtered two days ago, evidence was planted with the bodies to show that it was the religious of this abbey who were responsible. Higbald had conducted several raids in the surrounding area, each time leaving evidence to incriminate either Cild and his men or Aldhere and his men. Finally, in one last act to incite King Ealdwulf to march to this region with a small force to attack Aldhere, Higbald planned to slaughter Abbot Cild and some of the brethren. He lured them with a message to a spot near here, where he intended to ambush them. As fortune had it, Abbot Cild thought he saw the ghost of his wife on the marsh and fledbefore Higbald came along. When Higbald arrived, Lioba was riding with him.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ asked Sigeric.

  ‘Because we were there, under cover, watching the event transpire.’

  ‘And what are you saying that the purpose of these slaughters was?’

  ‘To ensure that the people remained at each other’s throats. Above all, as I said, to entice King Ealdwulf to come to this area with a small force, large enough to attack Aldhere but not large enough to withstand an ambush which would have been prepared using Wulfhere’s main army from Mercia. King Ealdwulf would have been killed and Mercia would have taken over the kingdom.’

  ‘You will have to prove this,’ Sigeric said heavily.

  ‘I will. But now Higbald and his men have gone for their arms, we might be in danger.’

  Sigeric realised why Fidelma was now anxious about the number of warriors they could rely on. He glanced quickly across to Gadra.

  ‘Well, Gadra, will your men join me in defending this place against Higbald?’

  The old chieftain shook his head when Brother Laisre interpreted the request. His face wore a stubborn expression.

  ‘This quarrel with Mercia is no quarrel of mine. My quarrel is with Abbot Cild.’

  Sigeric’s face fell.

  ‘I am with you!’ cried Mul the farmer, who was now brandishing a wicked-looking sickle.

  ‘You have not asked me,’ intervened Aldhere, who had been standing nearby. ‘I have half a dozen men with me. If it was Higbald who slaughtered Wiglaf and my men the other day then I owe him a debt that must be settled in blood.’

  ‘I cannot use outlaws …’ protested Sigeric.

  ‘There is no time to quibble, Sigeric,’ Fidelma advised sharply. ‘We must find Higbald before he finds us.’

  The old man hesitated a moment and then shrugged.

  ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ he muttered. ‘We’ll search the abbey. Where first?’

  ‘The chamber where they hid their weapons,’ Eadulf suggested immediately. ‘They will have gone there to get their armour.’

  Gadra and his followers, with the rest of the religious, remained in the chapel. Fidelma and Eadulf led the way to the guests’ chambers and through the tunnel. They realised that there must be an entrance through the crypt but Higbald might have prepared an ambush for them on that direct route. With Sigeric and his men, and Aldhere and some of his warriors, pressing after them, they made their way cautiously along the tunnels. The chamber was lit but empty. However, it was clear that Higbald and his men had been there and taken what equipment they could. Discarded items lay scattered on the floor. Eadulf pointed out the Mercian emblems to Sigeric.

  ‘Have they gone back to attack the abbey?’ Aldhere asked.

  ‘I don’t think so, at least not yet,’ Fidelma said. ‘Higbald has only half a dozen men and he is probably not sure how many we can rely on. I think he will withdraw to consider his next move.’

  Aldhere laughed grimly.

  ‘Then I’ll go after him. He’ll not get far.’

  Fidelma surprised him by firmly shaking her head.

  ‘Not yet, Aldhere. He might have anticipated that and be waiting in ambush. From what I’ve seen, he had good archers among his men. Wiglaf found that out the hard way. We should make ourselves secure, that is all. Besides, we are still in the middle of bringing the story of these mysteries at Aldred’s Abbey to a conclusion. If we defend ourselves from a surprise attack we may then conclude our deliberations in the chapel.’

  The outlaw shrugged nonchalantly.

  ‘Whatever you say, Sister. The sooner this charade is ended the better. From what Sigeric has already said, it will do me no good. I am judged guilty no matter how this affair turns out.’

  Sigeric did not respond to his gibe. They made their way back to the main quadrangle of the abbey in silence. As they reached it, Garb and his men, together with Werferth, came riding back through the gate. Their faces were grim and there was no sign of Abbot Cild, only a single riderless horse.

  Garb addressed himself directly to Fidelma.

  ‘The abbot is dead,’ he said flatly.

  When Fidelma translated, Aldhere gave a strange sound, like a sharp bark. But he said no more.

  ‘What happened?’ demanded Sigeric threateningly. ‘Did any of your men lay a hand on him? I thought you said that such a thing would not happen under your law?’

  ‘My men laid no hand on him,’ snapped Garb.

  Werferth had dismounted and came with confirmation of the facts.

  ‘Lord Sigeric,’ he said, ‘we rode after the abbot, who made for the marshlands near here. We had no chance of catching up with him. He came to the marsh, flung himself from his horse and leapt into a bog.’ The man shrugged. ‘He had gone under by the time we reached it. There was nothing we could do.’

  Sigeric exhaled in a long, deep sigh.

  ‘Then Abbot Cild is dead by his own hand?’

  ‘Sunk into the bog, lord. No other man was involved in his death.’

  ‘Exactly as Gélgeis met her end,’ said Garb. ‘He has gone to join her in the shifting mud of the marsh.’

  ‘Hob’s Mire. A fitting end. A fitting end.’ It was the mournful voice of the dominus, Brother Willibrod, who had joined them unnoticed.

  ‘An end too easy for a murderer,’ replied Garb. ‘I will report this to my father.’

  He turned and strode into the chapel, followed by his companions.

  Fidelma turned to Werferth.

  ‘Are you sure that Cild has met his end in the marshlands? There is no possibility that he could have escaped from the bog?’

  The warrior glanced nervously at Sigeric, as if waiting for his permission to respond to her. Then he inclined his head.

  ‘I swear to it. I was a witness. There was nothing that could be done. I saw him jump into the mire and by the time the foreigner and I reached the spot there were but bubbles on the surface.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Sigeric. ‘You are a good tracker, Werferth. The men will remain here, but see if you can follow the tracks of half a dozen riders who have recently left here. You should pick up their trail from the back of the abbey. They are Mercianwarriors. Higbald leads them. I want to know where they are or in what direction they have gone. Be absolutely vigilant. They might be waiting in ambush or they might be planning an attack on the abbey.’

  If Werferth was surprised, he did not show it, but went quick
ly to his horse and left through the abbey gates.

  Aldhere was now standing with a forced smile on his lips. He seemed to have made a quick recovery from the news of his brother’s suicide.

  ‘So Cild has met a fitting end, eh? In which case, there is no need for my men and me to stay.’

  Fidelma eyed him coldly. ‘On the contrary, as I said before, there is every need. We have yet to finish summing up this mystery. Please, go back to the chapel.’

  He shrugged but did not argue with her orders.

  Fidelma, Eadulf and Sigeric walked slowly after him.

  ‘Does Cild’s death end the threat of this troscud by Gadra?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘No. But the truth must come out even though it is unpalatable to him,’ replied Fidelma inscrutably.

  They entered the chapel and took up their positions. There was a restlessness among the assembly that had not been there before. Gadra and his followers were talking among themselves.

  ‘Gadra!’ cried Fidelma, stilling their murmurs. ‘You have heard that Abbot Cild has taken his own life, plunging into the bog in his insanity. Do you now call off your troscud?’

  Gadra stood up. ‘While the news is greeted as a just and fitting end to a base and evil life, I am still left without a daughter. I have told you before that if Cild was unable to compensate me for her honour price then his family, that is this abbey, is responsible. The troscud goes on until I am recompensed for the loss of my daughter.’

  Fidelma sighed softly.

  ‘You are a hard man, Gadra.’

  ‘I am Gadra of the UíBriúin, chieftain of Maigh Eo!’ he replied with dignity.

  ‘So be it.’ Fidelma paused. ‘I said, when I started, that I would take matters step by step. Lord Sigeric, will you lead the way tothe crypt where the body of the girl slaughtered by Abbot Cild has been laid out?’

  The old man rose, his features expressing his perplexity, but he had long since given up any hope of following Fidelma’s argument.

  ‘Gadra, Garb — I want you both to accompany us. Also, I want you, Brother Willibrod, and you, Bother Redwald, to come. You all knew Gélgeis and the girl called Lioba.’

  Eadulf was instructed to see that no one left the chapel in their absence.