The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘We can share this one,’ Eadulf said, indicating the warm room where Fidelma was now standing before the sparking logs of the fire.

  Brother Willibrod looked shocked. ‘I have said that this is not a mixed house, nor are liaisons between religious-’

  Fidelma turned and spoke quickly to Eadulf in the language of Éireann.

  ‘For the sake of simplicity, let us obey the rules of this place until it is time to leave.’

  Eadulf was reluctant. He had to admit, however, that Fidelma was right. It seemed that they had enough problems without creating more.

  ‘While you refresh yourself from the journey, Fidelma, I will attend to the reason which brought us here.’ He turned back to Brother Willibrod and spoke in Saxon. ‘While I am waiting for my room to be prepared, I should like to see Brother Botulf.’

  Brother Willibrod’s one restless eye widened a little. ‘Brother Botulf?’

  ‘He is the steward of this abbey, is he not?’

  ‘So you know already?’ Willibrod sounded surprised.

  ‘Know?’ Eadulf frowned impatiently. Then he said, ‘I would like to see Brother Botulf right away.’

  ‘You want to pay your respects to Brother Botulf right away?’Brother Willibrod echoed, as if he was having difficulty understanding. He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘If you insist, Brother …?’

  ‘I do,’ snapped Eadulf, baffled by the other’s curious behaviour.

  ‘Follow me, then, Brother Eadulf.’

  With a quick puzzled grimace to Fidelma, Eadulf turned and followed Brother Willibrod back across the snow-laden courtyard. The abbey was almost in darkness. A few lights shone here and there but there was no sign of anyone about. It was as if the buildings were deserted.

  Brother Willibrod led the way directly through an arched door into what was obviously the antechamber to the abbey’s chapel and paused inside to shake the snow from his sandals and allow Eadulf to catch up with him. Eadulf had barely time to clean the snow from his feet before Brother Willibrod swung the inner door open and passed inside.

  The perfume of warm, musty incense almost took Eadulf’s breath, so sharp a contrast was it to the crisp, cold air outside. The dominus genuflected towards the high altar before walking forward.

  Mechanically, Eadulf did the same, wondering where he was being led. Then he halted suddenly. His heart began beating very fast.

  Before the high altar, on two trestles, lay a plain wooden box. A large candle in a tall holder stood at the head and foot of the box, the flames whipping in the draught that blew through the chapel, almost extinguishing them but never quite succeeding.

  It suddenly seemed that the violence of the wind had died away, its roaring softened to a moaning whisper. There was a dread in his soul as Eadulf allowed Brother Willibrod to conduct him forward to the box. He had already identified it as a coffin.

  Brother Willibrod halted and stood aside with his dark restless eye downcast. Eadulf looked at the dominus, trying to seek a denial of what he knew must lie in the box. Brother Willibrod’s s face was graven in respect. It offered him no comfort.

  He moved to the side of the coffin and looked down.

  As he feared, the body of his friend, Brother Botulf, lay in repose within it, hands folded on his chest, a wooden crucifixclutched in his nerveless grasp. He had already been laid out in grave clothes. Eadulf forced himself to bend down and peer at the discoloured features of his dead childhood friend.

  It needed little medical knowledge to realise that Brother Botulf’s skull had been smashed in by some heavy, blunt instrument. Eadulf knew that such wounds could only have been inflicted by someone whose strength lay in malice. His friend had been murdered, and the event must have occurred scarcely more than a few hours before.

  At that moment, the wind rose again, shrieking like a chorus of souls in torment; howling like a presage of evil.

  Chapter Three

  ‘You have arrived just in time, Brother,’ intoned Brother Willibrod softly.

  ‘In time?’ muttered Eadulf distractedly as he gazed upon the body of his childhood friend. ‘How do you mean — in time?’

  ‘We shall bury the earthly remains of our dear brother at midnight, as is the custom of the abbey.’

  ‘Midnight!’

  Eadulf twisted round and stared aghast at Brother Willibrod. The message that he had received from his friend had urged him to be at the abbey before midnight that day. Could Botulf had known …? Surely not?

  ‘You seem surprised, Brother Eadulf,’ Brother Willibrod said calmly as he returned Eadulf’s apprehensive stare. ‘I am told that it is the fashion in many lands to bury the dear departed at midnight. Why should you appear shocked?’

  Eadulf tried to calm his racing thoughts. He turned quickly back to the body, not wishing to betray his emotions further until he could find some answers, and began to examine the wounds with a careful eye.

  ‘Botulf did not commit suicide, did he?’ The question came immediately to his mind as an answer to why Botulf had urged him to be at Aldred’s Abbey before midnight. He dismissed the idea even as he voiced it, however, for the wounds could never have been self-inflicted.

  He was aware that, behind him, Brother Willibrod had quickly crossed himself.

  ‘Quod avertat Deus! God forbid, Brother. Why should you think something like that?’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Sometime this morning, so far as we can tell. His body was found in the small quadrangle at the back of the chapel, just by the entrance to the crypt. Poor Botulf. It was noticed that he wasmissing at early morning prayers and he was found soon after Matins was sung — at the seventh canonical hour.’

  ‘Just after daybreak, then?’

  ‘Just so, Brother Eadulf.’

  ‘Who found him?’

  Brother Willibrod frowned suspiciously at the question.

  ‘Brother Osred. He is the smith of our community and he was crossing the small quadrangle to his forge to start his day’s work when he found the body.’

  ‘From the wounds, Botulf was attacked from behind. Has the attacker been discovered?’

  ‘You are asking many questions, Brother,’ the dominus replied, a distrustful tone now entering his voice. ‘When you asked to see Brother Botulf, I presumed that you had come to the abbey having already heard of his death. Yet you seem surprised. Now all these questions. Who are you?’

  Eadulf was patient. ‘I have told you that I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, just arrived from Canterbury. Botulf …’ He hesitated. Perhaps he would do best not to reveal Botulf’s message. ‘Botulf was a friend of mine. We grew up together. I had not heard the news of his death until you showed me his body.’

  Brother Willibrod considered this explanation for a moment and accepted it. He grimaced awkwardly.

  ‘Then I am sorry that I did not prepare you for this sadness. I had assumed …’ He ended with an embarrassed shrug.

  ‘I asked you if the attacker had been discovered,’ Eadulf pressed. The sharpness in his voice caused Brother Willibrod to frown.

  ‘That you knew Brother Botulf does not excuse the tenor of your questions,’ he snapped back spiritedly.

  ‘I was also hereditary gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham.’ Eadulf’s voice was cutting. ‘I am a magistrate of the laws of Wuffa son of Wehha, first King of the East Anglians, who brought our people to this land from across the sea one hundred years ago.’

  He did not mean to sound so proud and arrogant but he knew his words would have an effect on Brother Willibrod. Eadulf neglected to add that his office of gerefa was negated under the old laws of his people when he accepted the tonsure of thereligious and became a brother of the faith. Brother Willibrod did not question his statement. The dominus merely bowed his head.

  ‘Forgive my lack of knowledge and courtesy, Brother gerefa.’ His tone was more respectful.

  Eadulf gave a gesture with his hand as if to dismiss the matter.

  ‘Tell me what
you know. Who killed Botulf and why?’

  ‘Abbot Cild has taken the inquiry in hand. It appears that one of our brethren saw a notorious outlaw near the abbey not long after poor Brother Botulf was found. The abbot is certain that this thief broke into the abbey and was accosted by Brother Botulf. The thief slew poor Botulf and made good his escape.’

  Eadulf’s eyes narrowed. ‘And nothing else is known other than that?’

  ‘Abbot Cild is the one to ask about the details.’

  Eadulf was silent for a moment or two. Then he looked down at the body of his friend and sighed softly. He reached forward and touched Botulf’s cold hand.

  ‘I will discover the truth of this matter, Botulf,’ he said under his breath. ‘The culprit will be found.’ Then aloud he quoted from the Gospel of Luke: ‘Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine … Lord, now let thy servant depart …’

  At the door of the chapel, he turned to Brother Willibrod.

  ‘I shall remove the grime of travel, and then Sister Fidelma and I will wish to see Abbot Cild.’

  Brother Willibrod looked suddenly nervous. ‘I will see if Abbot Cild will receive you, but he will not meet with the woman.’

  Eadulf’s brows came together threateningly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have told you that the abbot does not believe in mixed houses nor in married religious. I do not know if he will even approve of my admitting her into this abbey.’

  A look of disdain crossed Eadulf’s features. ‘Then you had best ensure that the abbot knows of my authority both as gerefa and as an emissary of Archbishop Theodore. And my companion is sister to the King of Muman in the land of Éireann.’ He felt a twinge of guilt as he said this, as Fidelma had expressly asked him not to reveal her identity. Hostage taking for ransom wasnot an unknown practice. It was often better that one’s rank was not revealed. He dismissed his disquiet and went on sharply: ‘Your abbot would do well to reflect on whose enmity he wishes to earn.’

  Brother Willibrod raised his eyebrows with an expression of resignation. ‘It shall be as you wish, Brother Eadulf, but the abbot is a man of strict faith and belief and not moved by threats … nor by other concerns,’ he added quickly to cover up his lack of diplomacy.

  Eadulf’s lips thinned for a moment and then he said: ‘Very well. You may see if he will receive me before the ceremony of burial.’

  ‘I will come by the guests’ quarters shortly with the abbot’s answer. I will also send one of the brethren to tend to your wants and make up the fire.’

  When Eadulf found his way back to the guests’ dormitory, Fidelma had washed but was sitting close to the log fire, her robes tightly wrapped around her, and she was shivering a little. She looked up as he entered.

  ‘I think I am developing a sore throat,’ she complained. ‘This cold has cut me to the bone.’

  ‘Botulf has been murdered,’ cut in Eadulf without preamble.

  She stared at him for a moment as if not comprehending.

  ‘Do you mean that your friend, the one who sent you the message, is dead?’

  ‘He has been murdered,’ repeated Eadulf, ‘and the burial ceremony is due at midnight.’

  ‘Midnight?’ echoed Fidelma. She frowned. ‘He asked you to be here before midnight. Do you think …?’

  ‘He was murdered sometime before dawn today,’ Eadulf told her. ‘How could he have known there would be any significance about midnight tonight?’

  ‘Perhaps there was another significance?’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘It is not a matter of understanding but of first trying to discover the facts.’ Fidelma suddenly sneezed. ‘This fire is not even beginning to thaw the chill in my marrow.’

  There came a knock at the door and a young religious entered. He was only a boy, scarcely out of childhood, fair of hair and skin,with blue eyes and blood-red lips. He seemed shy and nervous. He carried a tray with a steaming jug on it and two clay beakers. He kept his eyes lowered and did not look at Fidelma.

  ‘I have been asked to bring you some warming broth.’ He addressed himself to Eadulf, having glanced nervously at him before dropping his eyes again. ‘I am then to light the fire in the next room for you, Brother.’

  Eadulf took the tray from the boy’s trembling hands and placed it on a nearby table.

  ‘Thank you.’ Fidelma smiled at him. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘I am Bother Redwald, Sister.’ The boy’s manner showed that he was clearly apprehensive at being addressed directly by her.

  ‘You have no need to be nervous,’ Fidelma assured him.

  ‘The abbot …’ began the boy. Then he shut his lips firmly.

  ‘We have heard that the abbot does not welcome women into this abbey,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘Do not worry, you shall not get into trouble for doing your job.’

  The boy nodded quickly. ‘Then I shall be about that work, Sister.’

  The boy was already moving out of the door when Eadulf stayed him with a sharp question.

  ‘Did you know Brother Botulf?’

  The boy turned back quickly. There was a look almost of fear on his features and for a moment he stared directly at Eadulf before dropping his gaze once more.

  ‘Everyone knew Brother Botulf. He was the steward of the abbey and had been here when it was founded. He was a companion of the blessed Aldred whose body lies beneath the high altar in the chapel. Our abbey is named after him.’

  ‘Did you know Brother Botulf well?’

  ‘Brother Botulf was kind to me.’

  ‘Isn’t everyone kind to you here?’ asked Fidelma softly.

  Brother Redwald sniffed but did not look at her or respond.

  ‘Do you know what happened to Brother Botulf? I mean, how he was killed?’ Eadulf pressed.

  The boy shook his head without meeting Eadulf’s eyes. ‘His body was found this morning. They say someone broke into the abbey to steal from the chapel and was discovered by Brother Botulf. The thief killed him.’

  ‘What was stolen?’ inquired Fidelma.

  ‘Nothing was stolen. I heard Brother Willibrod say that Brother Botulf must have prevented the theft and the murderer fled empty-handed.’

  ‘From the fortress-like appearance of this abbey, it would seem a difficult place to break into,’ observed Eadulf. ‘Have you heard who this thief was?’

  The boy grimaced as if to disclaim responsibility. ‘They say that it was one of a band of outlaws who dwell in the marshes. They have no love for the religious. I heard that Abbot Cild was blaming the death of Brother Botulf on their leader and said that he would punish him.’

  ‘Who is their leader?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘Aldhere is his name. Now let me be about my work, please, Brother.’

  The boy left the room hurriedly. They could hear him stacking the firewood in the next room.

  Fidelma sneezed twice.

  ‘Pass me that hot drink, Eadulf,’ she asked mildly. ‘Perhaps it will give me some warmth.’

  ‘There is something wrong here,’ Eadulf said reflectively, handing her the beaker. ‘There is a curious atmosphere in this abbey which I do not like. Something very oppressive. Do you not feel it?’

  Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘I would agree with you in that the death of your friend is oppressive enough.’

  ‘I do not mean that. I grieve for him, but my grief must give way to resolving the manner of his death.’

  Fidelma sipped her broth while examining him with some concern. ‘What else can it be but a coincidence that he had asked you to be here before midnight?’

  ‘Before midnight,’ repeated Eadulf with emphasis, ‘and I then find that this is the hour in which his body is to be laid to rest. A coincidence? Why did he want me to be here at that specific hour?’

  ‘A few discreet inquiries might tell us something,’ observed Fidelma.

  Eadulf did not appear enthusiastic. ‘Much depends upon the abbot of this place as to whether I will be allowed to make thoseinquiries. I
f Brother Willibrod’s word is anything to go by, I do not think that we shall be invited to stay long.’

  Fidelma sneezed again.

  ‘I hope that I am not going to suffer a cold from the excesses of our journey,’ she muttered. Then she added: ‘Abbot Cild seems to have little charity in his heart if Brother Willibrod presents a true picture of the man. Have you planned your further intentions if we are told to leave here?’

  Eadulf shook his head. ‘We can only go on to Seaxmund’s Ham, for there is nowhere nearer to stay.’

  ‘Well, in truth, I shan’t be sorry to leave this place, Eadulf. I not only have a chill in my body but I have rarely encountered a place which strikes such a chill in my soul.’

  At that moment there was a rap on the door and it opened to allow the one-eyed Brother Willibrod to enter. He looked fidgety and concerned.

  ‘Abbot Cild will see you immediately, Brother Eadulf. Will you come with me?’

  Eadulf glanced apologetically to Fidelma. She did not even look at him but sat hunched by the fire nursing the hot drink in both hands.

  Eadulf followed Brother Willibrod through the dark brick-built corridors of the abbey until the dominus halted before a heavy oak door and knocked upon it in a discreet manner. A voice barked an order from inside and Brother Willibrod threw open the door, stood aside and motioned Eadulf to enter. When he did so, the door was closed silently behind him with Brother Willibrod waiting outside.

  The abbot sat at the far end of a long oak table on which two ornate candlesticks bore tallow candles which fluttered and hissed, sending out a curious light in the darkness of the chamber. He gave the impression of a tall man, seated upright in a carved oak chair, his hands placed palm downwards on the table as he gazed before him with dark eyes.

  The abbot’s face was long, pale of skin and with sharp, etched features. The forehead was high-domed and surrounded by long, dark hair. It was a face filled with a strength of purpose that Eadulf found unusual in a religious, although such features were often found in warriors. His nose was thin and had a high bridgeand strangely arched nostrils. The dark eyes seemed to reflect the light of the flickering candles, causing them to glow with some red aura. The effect was threatening. The thin mouth was fixed and cruel.