‘A thief? Perhaps. I still call it convenient.’ There was irony in the man’s voice. ‘By the virtue of my sisters, I still call it convenient!’
‘What do you want, Garb?’ Abbot Cild’s eyes were suddenly furtive. His change of expression was not lost on Eadulf.
‘Ah, you have no difficulty recognising me now, eh?’ The voice of the warrior was bantering.
‘What do you want?’
‘I come from my father, Gadra; from Gadra who was also father to Gélgeis, the wife whom you put from you and killed.’
A gasp of shock rippled through the chapel. Eadulf glanced swiftly from accuser to abbot in astonishment. Abbot Cild’s face was white and now etched in sharp lines. The dark eyes were like coals.
‘I did not kill your sister, Garb.’
‘You would doubtless deny it. You have no shame. Yet shame shall be your portion, Cild. I come as an emissary of my father, chief of the Plain of the Yew and father of your murdered wife. This is not the first time he has accused you of her murder and called upon you to come to arbitration. You have refused to do so. Will you do it now?’
‘If I did not do so before, I will not do so now while you threaten me. Go back to your own country, Garb. Go back to your father. You and your people are not welcome in our Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. You cannot cow me with the threat of violence, for you will never leave this abbey alive if I am harmed.’
Garb chuckled softly. ‘You are an arrogant fool, Cild! I have merely come to perform the ritual apad. I do not threaten you.’
‘The what …?’ Cild’s voice was hesitant.
‘I give you notice that my father seeks restitution for the murder of his daughter at your hands. He undertakes the ritual troscud to compel you to accept the arbitration of the court. You have nine days, according to our law, to consider your position and then my father will begin the troscud … he will fast to the death or until you have accepted arbitration.’
Abbot Cild’s sharp features moved swiftly to relief and then broke into a sneer.
‘And if I do not accept this arbitration and your father merely dies for his mistaken belief in my guilt, what then?’
‘If you allow my father to die while fasting for justice, then the shame is yours. Not just in this world but in the next. Every man’s hand can be raised against you to strike you down without fear of punishment, for you then lose all rights as a human being.
‘I have also to say this. According to our law you are an airchinnech, a monastic superior, and so from the time of this apad you are prohibited from reciting the pater or credo or going to the sacrament of the Mass.’ The warrior turned his head slightly and whispered something to one of his companions who, relaxing his bow and replacing the arrow in his quiver, hurried forward to the altar of the chapel. From beneath his cloak he took a circlet of twisted willow branches and tossed it to the foot of the altar.
There was a mutter of concern from the brethren as the man trotted back to the side of Garb the warrior and resumed his stance with his readied bow.
‘See that withe?’ cried Garb. ‘That is symbolic of the moral prohibition that is placed on you, not to perform your priestly functions until such time as you concede justice to my father. If you ignore this, then your soul may be damned.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ mocked Cild. ‘Your laws do not apply here.This is not one of the kingdoms of Éireann but the kingdom of the East Angles.’
‘You were married to my sister in my father’s house on the Plain of the Yew. Your oaths were sworn by the Laws of the Fénechus in front of a Brehon. The same laws now hold you accountable for her death. You have nine days before the troscud starts. Now, I have fulfilled my task.’
With that the warrior stepped rapidly back. His companions reached forward and slammed the doors shut. There was a rush to the doors by the brethren nearest them but they found the doors barred on the outside.
Eadulf had not left his seat. Garb had obviously planned this confrontation well and he would have prepared his retreat with equal precision. Eadulf suspected that the warrior and his companions would have made good their escape by the time the infuriated brethren broke out of the chapel. He glanced to where Abbot Cild was still standing at the lectern where he had been interrupted. Brother Willibrod had gone to his side.
‘How did they get into the abbey?’ Abbot Cild was demanding. ‘The doors were shut and secured, weren’t they?’
‘I will find out,’ Brother Willibrod replied, almost rubbing his hands together in his anguish. ‘But what should we do?’
‘Do?’ Abbot Cild had turned and was staring at the withe lying at the foot of the altar. ‘First, you may take that and throw it on the fire. Second, you may see to the burial of Brother Botulf. Third, you may ensure that those brothers who will accompany me in the search for Aldhere and his outlaws tomorrow are properly armed. I have a feeling that these Irish bandits will be found with him.’
Eadulf rose and walked across to him. ‘Bandits? It did not sound to me as if the warrior, Garb, was a bandit. I have spent some time in his country and what he was saying was a ritual prescribed by law, although I do not understand most of it.’
Abbot Cild glowered at him. ‘This is none of your business, Brother Eadulf. I advise you not to interfere.’ Cild glanced to where some of the brethren were still banging on the secured doors of the chapel. ‘Stop that nonsense!’ he shouted.
They turned, like frightened children, and stood heads hung before the abbot.
Cild turned to Brother Willibrod. ‘Take one of the brethren through the underground passage beneath the chapel and open the doors. I should imagine that the wretches are long gone by now. It was merely a means to hold us here while they escaped.’
It seemed a long while before the chapel doors were opened. In fact it was probably no more than ten minutes.
‘Where is Brother Willibrod?’ demanded the abbot, striding forward. Eadulf noticed that it had stopped snowing and although the wind was still up it was blowing less strongly than before.
‘He went to see how they were able to enter the abbey,’ said the brother who had opened the doors, backing before the abbot.
At that moment, Brother Willibrod came hurrying up to join them.
‘They came over the wall,’ he began breathlessly. ‘I saw the marks in the snow. Three of them must have climbed up by means of a rope and grappling hook. I went outside and found signs of where half a dozen horses stood, so three others waited outside.’
Abbot Cild rubbed his chin in moody contemplation. ‘Did you notice which way the tracks led or came from?’
‘The wind was swiftly covering them. The snow is powdery and dry.’
Abbot Cild was clearly annoyed. ‘It makes no difference. I am going to my chamber. You may finish the burial rituals for I have much to do. We will deal with these villains tomorrow.’
Brother Willibrod gazed unhappily after the retreating form of the abbot, his one eye blinking rapidly. Then he saw Eadulf looking at him and shrugged.
‘At times,’ he confided, ‘I wish I had courage enough to return to Blecci’s Hill.’
‘Blecci’s Hill?’ queried Eadulf. ‘That’s on the banks of the Ouse, isn’t it?’
‘You know it?’
‘It is just over the border in the kingdom of Mercia. There was a battle there many years ago.’
Willibrod smiled, pleased that Eadulf knew something of the history.
‘That was before I was even born. It was when the Northumbrians raided our territory.’ He sighed deeply and then drew his mindback to the present. ‘One day I shall return, God willing, and set myself in a little hermitage on Blecci’s Hill. But now …’ He turned round and called several of the brethren to him.
‘Resume tolling the funeral bell. We will not insult the memory of our brother Botulf by allowing this incident to shatter the solemnity of the occasion. God willing, on the morrow, we will avenge this insult.’
Eadulf was awake well before dawn. It
was still cold, although in the hearth some ash-covered embers seemed to have retained a spark of life. There was a curious grey twilight in the room which was caused by the white reflection of the snow outside.
He arose from his bed, shivering, and moved swiftly across to the fire, making sure to put only brittle, dry twigs on the embers, waiting for them to spark into flame before stacking more substantial pieces of wood on it. It took only a few moments to set the blaze going in a more hearty fashion. Even so, he found himself so affected by the chill room that he had to blow on his hands and stamp his feet to help restore his circulation.
His toilet was perfunctory. He splashed his face and hands in a bowl of cold water, noticing, with a shiver, the tiny particles of ice that had formed around the edge of the bowl. He towelled vigorously, drew on his robes and went softly to the next room.
When he had returned from the chapel, which had been well after midnight, after the burial of Brother Botulf in the small community cemetery which lay alongside the chapel walls, he had gone to report to Fidelma about the curious Irish visitors and their claims about Abbot Cild. But Fidelma had been fast asleep, shivering slightly but sweating profusely as she tossed in an uneasy slumber. He had not disturbed her, realising that she was suffering from a bad ague. Her breathing had been sharp and rasping.
Now, as he moved quietly into the room, he found her still huddled in the bed. Her eyes were shut, although from time to time she uttered a pitiable cough and her nose was red from sneezing. He went straight to the fire and banked it up into a blaze, and then turned to heat some water.
‘I feel awful,’ came a croaking voice that did not bear any resemblance to Fidelma’s usual tones.
Eadulf turned from his task and smiled in sympathy.
‘It looks as though you have caught a bad cold from our journey,’ he observed unnecessarily.
Fidelma eased herself up slightly against the back of her wooden cot. Sweat still stood on her temples and she coughed spasmodically. Eadulf laid the back of his hand on her moist but burning forehead.
‘As soon as I have the water heated, I’ll prepare an infusion for you to make you feel better.’
‘My throat is dry.’
He handed her a beaker of ice-cold water and told her to sip it gently to ease her throat. The water set off a little coughing fit and he took it from her.
‘I will give you an infusion of betony leaf. It will help your headache. It’s a favourite herbal remedy of my people. We’ll try that mixed with some more elder and woodbine.’
‘Eadulf, I don’t care what you give me,’ she moaned. ‘I feel like death.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Eadulf responded brightly. ‘You will be back to normal in a day or two. I’ll guarantee it.’
Fidelma suddenly sneezed and looked ruefully at Eadulf. Something of her old self shone through as she tried to smile.
‘I thought that we didn’t have two days?’
Eadulf frowned and then remembered. ‘You mean the order of Abbot Cild to quit his abbey? Don’t worry about that. I will go to see him and tell him that you cannot be moved. Anyway, there has been a new development here which I must tell you about.’
He turned back to the fire, and while he was preparing the medication for Fidelma he told her about the events of the night before. Fidelma was intrigued, almost forgetting her woe.
‘A troscud? Are you sure he used that word?’
Eadulf nodded, sitting at the edge of her bed and waiting as she sipped the brew that he had prepared.
‘I know that it is some sort of ritual fast,’ he offered.
‘A very serious one,’ she confirmed. ‘It does not happen often, for most people are happy to have arbitration in cases of dispute. The law is considered of importance, so both sides will abide by it and one rarely has to force the other to accept it.’
‘But Abbot Cild is not subject to your laws here, in his own country.’
‘That is true enough,’ Fidelma agreed, interrupting herself with another coughing spasm.
Eadulf handed over another beaker of the infusion. She sipped for a moment.
‘But you say that this man — Garb was his name? — you say that he claimed that Abbot Cild was at the Plain of the Yews when he married his sister?’
‘A girl called Gélgeis,’ confirmed Eadulf.
‘And he married her according to our Laws of the Fénechus?’
‘That is true.’
‘Plain of the Yews? Garb was speaking in Saxon and he translated this name into Saxon?’
Eadulf nodded.
‘Maigh Eo — Plain of the Yew. It is a place in the kingdom of Connacht. I can see why it would be claimed that Cild should submit to the Law of the Fénechus if he married under it at that place. Is it possible for you to find out any further details about this matter?’
Eadulf grimaced sourly. ‘Not from Abbot Cild.’
‘Then you must find out where the father of Garb is planning to hold his ritual fast.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I think so. In my country, the ritual fast is usually carried out within sight of the door of the person against whom it is directed. It would be sacrilege and a crime for any man to harm the faster while engaged in the troscud. But here, in your country … I do not know how such a fast could be carried out for, to be brutal, your people would not respect our custom and probably do harm to the person who was fasting.’
‘This is a fact,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘The fast would be a useless gesture among our people.’
Fidelma sank back onto her pillow. She was having difficulty breathing and her cough was irritating her. She caught Eadulf’s hand.
‘Try to find out something more. I think Garb’s father must have realised this and made some other plan to safeguard himself. But something as serious as a troscud could lead to war.’
Eadulf smiled reassuringly at her. ‘I will make some discreet inquiries. First, though, I have to tell Abbot Cild that we cannot move from the abbey today. Meanwhile, I will ensure you have enough medication to ease your discomfort.’
After he had prepared more of the infusion from the herbs that he always carried with him, Eadulf left Fidelma fitfully dozing and made his way to Abbot Cild’s chamber
The abbot greeted him sourly. ‘I suppose that you have come to bid farewell? You need not have bothered.’
Eadulf controlled the flash of irritation he felt at the abbot’s abrupt manner.
‘My companion and I cannot leave the abbey this morning-’ he began.
He was interrupted by a look of anger which formed on the abbot’s features.
‘You dare attempt to disobey my orders?’
Eadulf raised a hand, palm outwards, to quell his rage.
‘I regret to say that my companion, Sister Fidelma, has been taken ill. She cannot be moved in this weather. She has to stay in bed in the warm with some medications that I have provided for her.’
Abbot Cild regarded him with narrowed eyes. ‘I am not accountable for her health. I did not invite you or her into this abbey.’
Eadulf was shocked at the callousness of the man.
‘It is your Christian duty to provide visiting religious with hospitality. What manner of holy man are you that you would depart from the rule of the faith in this way?’ Eadulf’s voice was cold as he sought to control his own temper. ‘You refuse hospitality to a member of the faith on the claim that this is a house for males only but you seem to accept women guests who are not members of the religious. By the holy rood, I will ensure Archbishop Theodore learns of it.’
Abbot Cild’s face had paled a little as Eadulf swung away.
‘Wait!’
Eadulf was forced back by the sharpness of the man’s command.
‘What do you mean? What are you talking about … women guests who are not members of the religious?’
Eadulf smiled maliciously. ‘I caught sight of the lady when I was on my way to the chapel last night. Is it some secret that she is here?�
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The muscles on Abbot Cild’s pale face were suddenly twitching. It seemed, for a moment, that all his aggression had suddenly left him. He sat down and stared up at Eadulf with an almost pathetic expression.
‘Tell me exactly what you saw,’ he said quietly. The tone was pleading. Eadulf heard a curious catch in his voice.
Tersely, he told the abbot of seeing the young woman in the quadrangle behind the chapel. He suddenly realised that the abbot was trembling slightly.
‘Fair, you say, and clad in a red dress with jewels?’
‘That is what I said,’ confirmed Eadulf, wondering what had produced this astonishing change of attitude.
‘You are not lying to me?’ The question might have been insulting but the abbot’s voice was almost entreating. ‘You swear to me that you actually saw this woman?’
Eadulf was about to retort harshly, but the man seemed too pitiful.
‘Of course I did,’ he replied gruffly. ‘I am not in the habit of recounting things I do not see. But enough of this. What I say is that you cannot claim to adopt one set of principles and disguise the fact you do not keep them. I promise that Archbishop Theodore shall hear of your ill treatment of Sister Fidelma. Woe betide you if harm falls on her by your callous indifference to her illness.’
Eadulf turned for the door again and again Abbot Cild halted him. He still seemed nervous, ill at ease, and Eadulf put it down to his threat to inform the archbishop.
‘I will send the apothecary of the community to examine this … this Sister Fidelma. If he confirms what you say, you may stay here until she is well enough to travel.’
Abbot Cild reached forward and picked up a small bronze handbell. Brother Willibrod appeared almost immediately.
‘Send Brother Higbald to see Sister Fidelma and ascertain her condition. Tell him to report directly to me as to the extent of her illness.’
Brother Willibrod looked startled. ‘Illness, Father Abbot?’ Heglanced nervously at Eadulf. ‘Is she ill?’ he whispered fearfully. ‘It is not … it is not the Yellow Plague?’ He crossed himself quickly.
The Haunted Abbot sf-12 Page 6
