The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I am told that you are an emissary from Theodore, the new archbishop of Canterbury, that you are also hereditary gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

  ‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

  ‘This does not allow you to maintain special privileges. At least not in my abbey. You do not appear to have informed Brother Willibrod that your rank of gerefa was lost the moment you took your vows as a religieux.’

  ‘Perhaps Brother Willibrod assumed too much. I did use the word “was”,’ Eadulf replied spiritedly. ‘As for special privileges? I do not understand.’

  ‘To bring a woman into this abbey. To persuade my dominus to defy my cardinal rule. We are a closed house to womenkind.’ The abbot’s voice was sharp.

  Eadulf coloured hotly. ‘My travelling companion is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to the King of Muman and a famed lawyer in her own land.’

  ‘She is not in her own land and this is my abbey where I set the rules.’

  ‘If you glance through the window you will see that the weather makes it impossible for anyone to continue on a journey this night,’ Eadulf snapped back.

  The abbot was not put out by Eadulf’s attitude.

  ‘You should not have attempted any journey in the first place without being assured of a welcome,’ he replied with equal firmness.

  ‘Forgive me. I thought that in coming to a Christian house I would find Christian charity,’ Eadulf replied sarcastically. ‘This is my own country, my own people, and the steward of this abbey was a friend with whom I had grown up. I did not expect to find a Christian house that displays an inflexible, uncompassionate and mean-spirited rule.’

  The abbot regarded him without any change of expression. He did not respond to the insult.

  ‘You have been away some time, I am told. You will findmany things changed in this land. This abbey, for example, is now under my rule, mutatis mutandis.’

  ‘Things having been changed that had to be changed?’ Eadulf turned the Latin saying into a question. ‘So compassion had to be excluded from this place?’

  The abbot ignored the interjection. ‘I will show Christ’s generosity this night. But tomorrow morning, after Matins, you and the woman will leave this place. In the meantime, she must not move from the chamber in which she has been placed. You, Brother Eadulf, may attend services in our chapel.’

  Eadulf swallowed angrily. ‘I must protest that-’

  ‘The woman will not be allowed to stay longer and set my rules at naught. Now, I demand to know what business brings you here. Do you have messages from Archbishop Theodore for me?’

  Eadulf ground his teeth to control his anger.

  ‘Not for you. No,’ he replied with malicious sharpness.

  The imperturbable features of the abbot did not flicker. However, his voice rose sharply again.

  ‘Then why did you come here? You gave my dominus to believe-’

  ‘I gave him to believe nothing. I merely told him who I was. I came to see my friend, Brother Botulf.’

  For the first time the abbot’s eyes widened slightly. ‘And that is all?’

  ‘Should there be anything else?’

  There was a pause. Eadulf noticed a tiny pulse throbbing in the abbot’s temple. He wondered at the man’s state of nerves.

  ‘Are you saying that you brought a message from Canterbury to my steward? Is that the reason why you have come here?’

  ‘I have nothing further to tell you,’ replied Eadulf, feeling irritated by the interrogation.

  ‘I have been told that you have seen the body of Brother Botulf. If that is all, you may leave tomorrow morning with your purpose achieved.’

  ‘My purpose achieved?’ For a moment Eadulf found himself speechless. Then he fought to control himself again. Truly, this man was insufferable. Eadulf’s voice became tinged with an icy hardness. ‘My purpose now is to find out who killed my friend and to ensure that the culprit is brought to justice.’

  Abbot Cild’s eyelids lowered slowly, paused, and then rose. It reminded Eadulf of a hawk hooding its eyes before a kill. A faint smile now seemed to hover on those thin lips. It was, the thought came to Eadulf, like moonlight glinting on a tombstone. There was no feeling in the abbot’s voice other than that tone which implied a sinister threat. Eadulf shivered slightly as the hairs tingled for a moment on the nape of his neck.

  ‘I can tell you that the outlaw Aldhere, a marsh dweller, is to blame. And tomorrow at midday I shall take some of our brethren and go into the marshes and hunt him down like the dog that he is. If we catch him then we shall hang him. Now your purpose is achieved and you will quit this abbey as I have requested. I hope that I have made myself clear, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?’ Abbot Cild rose leisurely in one smooth movement, reminding Eadulf of the way he had seen a snake uncoil itself after basking in the sun.

  ‘Is there to be a trial of this man Aldhere?’ he ventured, trying to quell the feeling of dread which the abbot seemed to have no trouble in conjuring in him.

  ‘A trial? What need is there for a trial? Aldhere is a murderer. Trials are not for such as him.’

  ‘What was the motive and where is the evidence?’ demanded Eadulf, determined not to be put off.

  ‘The motive is theft and the evidence is that Aldhere was seen leaving the abbey shortly after the body of Botulf was discovered.’

  ‘Who saw Aldhere?’

  Abbot Cild let out a hiss of annoyance. ‘You try my patience too far, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Now be gone. I have a burial to prepare for.’

  He waved his hand in dismissal and Eadulf, in spite of protests, found himself standing outside the abbot’s door, so forceful a personality was Cild’s.

  Brother Willibrod awaited him.

  ‘I presume that you will attend the funeral ceremony?’ he asked.

  Eadulf nodded moodily.

  ‘Is it clearly understood that the foreign woman will not beallowed to attend services in this abbey?’ added the dominus. ‘I have strict instructions from the abbot.’

  Eadulf, still angered by his meeting with Abbot Cild, did not respond to the question.

  ‘What is the evidence against this outlaw, Aldhere?’ he demanded. ‘He was seen near the abbey but what ties him to the death of Botulf?’

  Brother Willibrod took a moment to adjust to the change of subject and then shrugged.

  ‘Do you doubt Abbot Cild’s word that he was seen?’

  ‘So far, I have heard nothing to make me accept or reject Abbot Cild’s word. I have no doubt that he means to hang this man, Aldhere. However, before a man’s life is forfeit it is customary to demand evidence. The abbot tells me that the motive was theft, yet I understand nothing was taken. I am told that someone saw Aldhere leaving the abbey but not who it was. Was it this Brother Osred? The one you told me discovered Botulf’s body?’

  Brother Willibrod smiled grimly. ‘You have been away among strangers too long, Brother. You have forgotten that here we live among animals. Kill or be killed. If a man covets another’s land or his wife, and he is strong, then he will take what he wants. The weak will always lose.’

  ‘The faith has reformed our pagan ways,’ protested Eadulf.

  ‘Only if we have allowed it to. For some, it is impossible to change. Naturam expelles furca tamen usque recurret.’

  ‘You may drive nature out with a pitchfork, but it will still return,’ translated Eadulf, showing that he had understood.

  ‘Our faith may alter but not our ways.’

  ‘You are supposed to follow the way of Christ.’

  ‘Only if we live long enough to do so. Those without the law, such as Aldhere, would not have this abbey survive. He is a mad dog.’

  ‘So the dog has a bad name and thus he will be hanged? His guilt or innocence is of no consequence?’

  ‘If he is not guilty of this act then he is guilty of some other. What difference does it make?’

  Eadulf was concerned that his friend’s killer should be found and punished, but any suspec
t should be tried under law. Eadulfvowed to himself that if the Abbot did indeed lead a hunting party into the marshes the next day, he would accompany them to see that justice was done. Justice, not blind vengeance.

  ‘And so by such logic we reach paradise?’ he protested sharply.

  ‘Come, dominus, I would like to see the person who appears to be the only witness in the case of Brother Botulf’s murder. This is a matter far too grave to be judged by prejudice. A mistake will reflect ill on this abbey and on anyone who has a hand in any event which may lead to a miscarriage of justice.’

  Brother Willibrod still hesitated a moment before finally relenting.

  ‘Brother Wigstan was the person who saw Aldhere. He will be at the funeral service tonight. Will you be able to find your way back to the guests’ quarters from here?’

  Eadulf nodded and Brother Willibrod turned abruptly and left at his usual rapid pace.

  When Eadulf returned to the guests’ quarters he went immediately to Fidelma’s room and found her in the middle of a coughing fit. He brought her some water. She peered up with reddened eyes.

  ‘Oh, for a good Irish sweat bath,’ she muttered. ‘A sore throat, sneezing and a cough … all because of this awful climate. I have never known weather so cold anywhere.’

  ‘It is because the country is low lying,’ offered Eadulf in explanation. ‘There is nothing to protect us from the cold northerly winds from the sea. No tall hills nor mountains shield us.’

  ‘So the result is that I have to suffer a cold.’

  Eadulf had studied medicine at the great Irish medical school of Tuaim Brecáin and was already searching one of his bags.

  ‘We have a fire and thus a means of heating water, and while we have these things all is not lost.’ He smiled confidently. ‘I will prepare an infusion of elderflowers and woodbine and stir in a little of the honey that I carry. You will soon be well.’

  As he set to preparing his mixture, Eadulf told her of his meeting with Abbot Cild. Fidelma listened attentively, asking one or two questions to clarify points.

  ‘It seems that he is exactly as Brother Willibrod painted him,’ she murmured at the end of his recital.

  ‘He brings shame on the faith.’

  ‘He brings shame only on himself,’ replied Fidelma. ‘A man of such shabby arrogance brings derision only on himself, not on the faith. Let us hope I will be well enough to travel tomorrow morning. But as for tonight, I intend to retire. I am sorry that I shall miss the funeral of your friend, Eadulf.’

  Eadulf shrugged. He did not bother to inform her that she would not have been allowed into the chapel in any case.

  ‘You cannot help Botulf. It is now more important that you recover your health. I have prepared enough of this infusion for you to sip through the night. Do not swallow it in large draughts, only small sips. Remember that.’ With a preoccupied smile, he turned for the door.

  ‘I’ll remember,’ Fidelma called after him. ‘And be circumspect with your questions, Eadulf. It seems an easy thing to cause annoyance to the brethren of this place.’

  Eadulf left the guests’ hostel as a distant bell began to toll the Angelus. He increased his pace along the dark stone-flagged corridor, trying to remember the route to the chapel. It was icy cold and through the arches that gave onto the quadrangle he could see that the snow was still slanting downward from the black night sky. Making his way through a series of covered ways he came to a smaller quadrangle, encompassed by a covered walkway. On the side that Eadulf was proceeding along, a door at the end was illuminated by a storm lantern. He could see a similar lantern lighting another door on the far side. The snow lay thick where the quadrangle was open to the elements. He realised that this was the small area at the back of the chapel where poor Brother Botulf’s body had been found. He paused. One of the doors must lead to the crypt.

  He was standing by one of the pillars, trying to reason how best to get to the other side of the chapel where the main doors were, when he noticed a movement on the far side of the quadrangle, among the shadows of the covered walkway. A slim figure in a long cloak moved from a darkened recess and strode swiftly, silently, along it. He watched the progress of the figure, frowning. There was something incongruous about it, given the surroundings. The figure paused just by the door with the lantern, hesitated and cast a quick glance around, as if to ensure that it was not being observed. Eadulf’s eyes widened a fraction.

  The shadowy light revealed the face of a young woman. Even from across the quadrangle, Eadulf had the impression of ethereal beauty, of pale skin — was it too pale? It might have been a trick of the light — and fair hair. The figure was not clad as a religieuse but in some rich, crimson gown and there was evidence of silver jewellery and glittering gemstones.

  Then, quickly, silently, the figure vanished through the door.

  Eadulf stood for a moment or two wondering who the young woman was and what she was doing in an abbey which he was assured was the preserve only of men pledged to a life of celibacy under the faith. No women were supposed to be allowed within these walls.

  When Eadulf reached the chapel, the abbot had already begun the service for the soul of Brother Botulf. He was intoning the blessing and Eadulf was forced to put his questions to one side.

  ‘May the blessing of light be on you, light without and light within …’

  There were some thirty or more brethren gathered in the chapel. Eadulf took his seat on a bench at the back, not wishing to make himself conspicuous among the assembly.

  He glanced around. Most of the congregation were young. They seemed to be sturdy men. Several had features that were harsh and would not be out of place in a battle host, seeming more suited to swords and shields rather than a crucifix and a phial of holy water.

  They followed the prayers with a song. Eadulf did not know it and so did not join in.

  Abbot Cild then came forward and had just started an adulatory soliloquy when the two great wooden doors of the chapel opened with a crash.

  Eadulf, along with the rest of the congregation of brethren, swung round startled.

  A tall man stood framed in the doorway, feet wide apart, a naked sword in one hand, his shield ready on the other arm in a defensive position. That he was a warrior was easy to see but who or what manner of warrior was more difficult to recognise. He wore a burnished helmet on which was fashioned the head and wings of a goose. The goose had its beak open in a warning; its neck was curved and low while its wingswere swept back on either side of the helmet. It was a truly frightening image. Eadulf vaguely recalled hearing that in some cultures the goose was an emblem of battle. It seemed so now, for below this helmet was a faceguard and only the bright eyes of the warrior glinted in the candlelight from the chapel, emanating a threatening malignancy.

  A long black fur cloak hid the body, although Eadulf saw the glint of a breastplate underneath. The arm that held the menacing sword was muscular. For several long seconds there was absolute silence in the chapel. Then the man spoke, or rather his voice was raised so that it reverberated throughout the building. His Saxon was stilted and accented.

  ‘Know me, Cild, abbot of Aldred’s Abbey. Look upon me and know me.’

  Chapter Four

  There was a moment of utter silence in the chapel.

  Abbot Cild must have been a man of iron control for he did not seem perturbed at all by the threatening appearance of the warrior. When he replied it was in a sneering tone.

  ‘I do not recognise men who come armed into Christ’s house with their features disguised by war helmets.’

  The warrior responded with a fierce smack of his sword across his shield. The sound was like a thunderclap.

  ‘You who pretend not to know the crest I wear on my helmet, you who pretend not to know my voice … you know me well. I am Garb son of Gadra. Tell your brethren — do I lie?’

  Abbot Cild hesitated.

  ‘If you say so, so you are,’ he responded tightly.

  ‘I am G
arb of the Plain of the Yew Trees.’

  ‘And if you are,’ rejoined the abbot, still not cowed, ‘then you commit sacrilege in the manner of your coming. Put down your sword.’

  The Irish warrior, for Eadulf had identified the man by his accent as well as the name he had given, gave a sharp laugh.

  ‘I value my life too much to put down my weapon in this place. I will keep my sword.’

  ‘Then tell us what you want and be gone.’

  ‘I will-’ The man stopped short and turned quickly to the side. ‘Cild, tell your brethren they are dead men if they come further!’

  Two men with drawn bows suddenly appeared at the Irish warrior’s sides. Eadulf, too, had noticed that several of the Saxon brethren had been edging along the side aisle of the chapel. To Eadulf’s surprise, they carried short swords in their hands. Their obvious intention was to disarm or close with the intruder. Cild rapped out an order. They halted, realising that the arrows were aimed unerringly at them.

  Abbot Cild waved them back. ‘Return to your places, Brothers. Let us deal with this madman peacefully.’

  The Irish warrior turned back to him. ‘Madman? That is good, coming from your mouth, Cild. But it is wise that you tell your men to desist for it is not my intention to join poor Botulf there in an early grave.’

  Eadulf started at the use of his friend’s name on the lips of this warrior who called himself Garb.

  ‘Don’t profane his name by uttering it!’ cried Abbot Cild, his voice filled with an angry emotion for the first time.

  ‘Botulf was a good friend to my family, Cild, as well you know,’ went on the warrior in a calm tone. ‘It is in your mouth that his name is profaned. It was convenient for you that he was killed on this day of all days. Maybe it is another debt to be added to your account?’

  Abbot Cild stared at the man woodenly.

  ‘Brother Botulf was killed by a thief,’ he finally said. ‘An outlaw breaking into this abbey. He will soon be caught and dealt with.’