The Haunted Abbot sf-12

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘I was thinking of Aldhere.’

  Sigeric was astonished. ‘The former thane of Bretta’s Ham? The outlaw? You would call him here? He is guilty enough to hang for his other deeds.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I would want him here and under safe conduct. He and his woman, Bertha.’

  Sigeric hesitated again. It was clear that he was having difficulty with the decision he was having to make. Then he raised his arms slightly in resignation.

  ‘You have my word. I accept your conditions.’

  ‘And, of course, we must ask Gadra and his followers to attend. That is essential. Your King may not welcome them into this kingdom. Yet here they are and they must also have safe conduct to come and go.’

  ‘Is there anyone else whom you would like to bring here? Perhaps we should invite Sigehere of the East Saxons? Perhaps, Wulfhere of Mercia?’ asked Sigeric sarcastically. ‘I suppose safe conduct will apply to all who are guilty of anything.’

  ‘I must tell everyone that they may come freely, but if murder and treasonable conspiracy against this kingdom can be charged at their door, then they may not go freely. If they do not come under those conditions, if they choose to stay away, then their absence may be interpreted to their detriment.’

  Sigeric’s eyes narrowed for a moment and then he suddenly burst out laughing.

  ‘By Woden’s sword, Fidelma, you are a clever woman. I am sorry that I did not listen to you sooner.’

  ‘Do I have your agreement on this?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Then I shall want riders to go out to find Aldhere and Gadra.’

  She glanced at the frowning face of the apothecary hovering in the background and called him forward.

  ‘Brother Higbald, I want you to make contact with Brother Laisre’s man outside the abbey …’

  The apothecary’s jaw dropped.

  ‘You know?’ he gasped.

  ‘I know that you are the unwilling means of communication with Gadra, Garb and Brother Laisre. I want them to be here in the chapel at noon tomorrow. Tell them that I can assure their safe conduct.’

  Brother Higbald stood hesitating.

  Sigeric was undoubtedly full of questions but he merely gestured impatiently at Brother Higbald.

  ‘Do as she says. You may add my guarantee of safe conduct to Sister Fidelma’s.’

  ‘Now if we could find Mul …’ Fidelma said, as the apothecary hurried off.

  ‘Mul the farmer? The one who is called, locally, Mad Mul?’

  Fidelma turned to Sigeric in surprise. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘My men picked him up at dusk trying to find a way into this abbey. I will have him released immediately.’

  Fidelma glanced at Eadulf in bewilderment.

  Sigeric was smiling. ‘It seems that when you did not contact him at the appointed hour at the smithy, he felt that harm had befallen you and attempted to enter the abbey to rescue you. A foolhardy man. But one, it seems, who is loyal to you both. You may instruct him as you wish.’

  ‘Mul’s coming here is certainly fortuitous,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Tomorrow at noon, we may gather everyone here in the chapel of the abbey and unravel a strange mystery. But before we do so there is more one question that I would like to ask you.’

  The old man gave a little bark of laughter.

  ‘How can I refuse you now? Ask away, Fidelma.’

  ‘What is the purpose of your visit to this abbey? What brings the high steward of the kingdom to this remote corner of it?’

  Sigeric grinned. ‘A good question and one that I expected to be asked.’

  ‘And will it receive an answer?’

  ‘It will. I came here in answer to Brother Botulf’s pleas to King Ealdwulf to hold a new inquiry into Aldhere’s sentence of outlawry.’

  ‘And was there to be a new inquiry?’

  Sigeric shook his head. ‘The sentence was to stand. Similarly, there were complaints by Abbot Cild who argued that he should be made thane of Bretta’s Ham.’

  ‘And what were you to say to him?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘I was to advise Cild to accept his King’s justice. King Ealdwulf was growing weary of his complaints.’

  ‘He had refused to accept the King’s original judgment,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Why would he accept it now?’

  ‘That is what probably drove the devils in him.’ Sigeric reflected for a moment. ‘I am not a Christian but I am old enough to see the devils in a man. I think the King made a mistake in confirming him as abbot in this abbey. I shall request that he discuss the matter with his bishop on my return. Cild is not suited to remain here.’

  ‘It seems strange that the King would send his high steward all the way here to state this,’ observed Eadulf. ‘It could be done by a messenger of lesser rank.’

  Sigeric smiled at him, his bright eyes sparkling.

  ‘You are an observant fellow, Eadulf. It was not the only reason I was sent. Very well, I will tell you. Brother Botulf may have been mistaken in his support of Aldhere but he was a good man. He had reported that in the last few months there had been an increase in raids by warbands in this area which he believed were not to be blamed on Aldhere. He believed that Cild was responsible for them but could not prove it. I came here to make inquiries into this matter.’

  ‘And what of Aldhere?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘Aldhere? He is safe for tomorrow. Whether the raids and burnings are due to him or to his brother, and I will find out, as an outlaw, Aldhere is still beyond the King’s pardon.’

  ‘Do you think that his judgment was just?’

  Again Sigeric smiled thinly. ‘You have spoken to Aldhere, no doubt.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He is a personable and persuasive man. But let us say thatthe King’s judgment was just according to the facts placed before him. The King’s justice will not change.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, now we can pursue the main purpose and attempt to resolve the evil that seems to permeate these walls.’

  The chapel was packed to capacity not only with members of the abbey’s religious community but with Gadra and Garb and their followers, with Brother Laisre and his co-religionists, and with the cynical Aldhere, his woman Bertha, and some members of his outlaw band, whom he insisted on including for his personal protection. The farmer, Mul, was also present, having acted as Fidelma’s messenger that morning. The lord Sigeric had taken the abbot’s usual seat before the congregation. He wore a chain of office and carried his official staff.

  As Fidelma entered the chapel with Eadulf at her side, she had noticed that there was no sign of Abbot Cild and she had turned directly to Sigeric with the obvious question.

  ‘The man is out of his mind, Sister. He is no longer in this world,’ the high steward explained. ‘The slaughter of what he deemed to be the ghost of the wife he thought long dead has unhinged his mind. He sits in his chambers mumbling and chuckling, shut in his own world. It would be pointless to bring him before this assembly.’

  The news did not surprise her. She had seen the state of Abbot Cild when he had been led away to his chamber. It was a condition from which she felt that he would not recover immediately, if at all. It was justice in a sort of way, although it would have been better had he been able to answer before the assembly for his sins.

  She glanced around the gathering and saw Brother Willibrod seated prominently. He was now composed and sitting straightbacked, his one restless dark eye red from weeping. Beside him was young Brother Redwald, still with drawn, white face and shivering now and then.

  Sigeric cleared his throat to attract Fidelma’s attention and whispered, ‘Are you now ready to proceed to enlighten us about this matter, Sister?’

  ‘I am,’ she replied firmly.

  Sigeric immediately rose from his seat and an expectant hush descended in the chapel. Although there was no need, he tapped the butt end of his staff of office on the ground.

  ‘Mo
st of you know me,’ he began in a harsh tone which compelled their obedience. ‘I am the lord Sigeric, high steward to Ealdwulf, King of the East Angles. I am come to this place to dispense the justice of the Wuffingas. You are all come safely here at my pleasure and will go safely unless there be any here that are guilty of the crimes connected with the deaths that have occurred in this abbey, or of treason against this kingdom. I trust that I have made myself clear on this matter?’

  He paused and when no one answered him he indicated Fidelma with a motion of his hand.

  ‘You may all know that this is Fidelma, sister to the King of Muman in the land of Éireann. I am told that she is a lawyer of some repute in her own land. Even beyond the boundaries of her own country, she has been consulted by King Oswy of Northumberland and by the head of your religion of Christ who dwells in far-off Rome. Though I represent the law of the Wuffingas which accords no place of authority to women, even though I be of the ancient faith, I have accepted that Fidelma of Cashel may have authority under me to pursue the truth of the events that have taken place here. Let none among you deny her authority, for in doing so you deny my authority and that of your King whom I represent. Is this understood?’

  Again there was a silence, while the congregation looked at one another in surprise but said nothing. The Angles and Saxons were momentarily shocked at what Sigeric was suggesting. That a woman argue law before them was beyond their experience. Sigeric simply took their stunned silence as a sign of assent. He returned to his seat and motioned for Fidelma to take his place before them.

  Fidelma had argued before bigger and grander gatherings and had no fears of addressing an assembly that was both surprised and hostile. It seemed that only Gadra’s party and the Irish religious were not perturbed by Fidelma’s being asked to officiate. Many of them were smiling, pleased that one representing their own legal system was to argue the case before them.

  ‘There is a saying among my people,’ Fidelma began, ‘that evil enters like a needle and grows like an oak tree. Truly, there was a great evil within these walls.’

  Her flat opening statement caught their attention and the whispering that had begun among the Angles and Saxons as she stepped forward to address them slowly faded. There followed a silence, broken only by the murmuring of Brother Laisre who had taken it on himself to interpret from Saxon into Irish for the benefit of Gadra. Garb seemed to have enough command of the language to follow the proceedings.

  ‘It is appropriate that we are gathered here in this place today on the Feast of the Holy Innocents. This is the day when we remember the infants of Bethlehem who were killed by the order of King Herod in an attempt to be rid of the child Jesus. This is the day we commemorate the shedding of innocent blood. What better day to ask account of the innocent blood that has been shed here?’

  She paused to gather her thoughts.

  ‘There have been several killings within these walls and even emanating from these walls. Blood almost saturates them. That is not right for a house of religious devotion. Since coming here I have heard how the original brethren were chased out and some were executed. Brother Pol, for example, was hanged outside the gates as a heretic. We have heard that the abbot’s wife, unhappy and alone, also met her death. Some claim she met that death by her husband’s own hand, others say that she wandered into a nearby mire to meet her tragic end.

  ‘We have heard that local people, during the last six months, have come to expect raids on their farms and homesteads. Mul, a local farmer who is present, lost his wife and two children to the swords of these raiders.

  ‘Brother Eadulf’s friend, Brother Botulf, asked us to come to this place because he needed help. The morning of the day we arrived, he was murdered. Two days ago, Botulf’s cousin, one of Aldhere’s outlaws, and several more of his men were slain. The evidence indicated that they were slain by the brethren of this abbey and, indeed, Mul will tell you that the evidence at his farmstead points to the raiders’ being the religious of this abbey.’

  This brought forth gasps of astonishment from many of the brethren, while the men of Aldhere and Gadra cast angry and threatening glances towards the abbey’s religious.

  Fidelma held up a hand to quiet them.

  ‘Throughout all these troubles, the abbot claimed that he was haunted by the ghost of his wife, Gélgeis.’

  ‘God’s justice!’ sang out Brother Tola from the ranks of the Irish religious. ‘The shade of a wronged woman, murdered. May she haunt him to hell!’

  An uneasy muttering broke out and Fidelma had to hold up her hands to still it once again.

  ‘So obsessed was Abbot Cild that he even accused me of conjuring this wraith that seemed to haunt the abbey grounds. Last night he came across a young woman who he thought was that shade and in his madness he struck out with a knife and slew her.’

  She saw Brother Redwald sitting shivering.

  ‘It was her,’ he whispered, loud enough to be heard. ‘It was the lady Gélgeis. I saw her.’

  Gadra had sprung up, his face contorted by anger, when the statement had been interpreted.

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ he demanded. ‘My daughter was murdered by Cild months ago. Who says that she was slain last night?’

  ‘Peace, Gadra of Maigh Eo,’ instructed Fidelma. ‘Things will be revealed but all in their time. This mystery has several strands — separate strands that, in some predestined pattern, seem to entwine and meet together in this gloomy spot. I will unravel each in turn, or make the best attempt I can. I have the word of the high steward Sigeric that no one need fear this process unless they are directly connected to treason or an unlawful death.’

  Sigeric nodded from his chair.

  ‘I have made clear my intentions,’ he announced firmly. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Let us start firstly with an area in which I have some expertise. Gadra’s troscud. Gadra.’ She turned towards him.

  The elderly chieftain from Maigh Eo rose again from his seat.

  ‘You know well the conditions of the ritual fast, Sister Fidelma. You will not dissuade me from it.’

  ‘Indeed. But you have heard that Abbot Cild is insane. The law in the text Do Brethaibh Gaire, which is designed to protect society from the insane, and likewise protects the insane from society, states that you cannot fast against someone who is insane.’

  She had begun speaking to him in Irish while Eadulf interpreted for those who did not understand the language.

  Gadra was not perturbed.

  ‘Should it be that Cild is proved to have gone insane — and proof is required under the law — then it does not affect the outcome of my search for justice.’

  ‘How so?’ replied Fidelma, knowing full well but wishing him to explain the law to the assembly.

  ‘Because the crime against my daughter, Gélgeis, was committed when he was sane. Therefore, he was still legally responsible and the matter of compensation for my daughter’s death is still payable.’

  ‘But a dásachtarch,’ Fidelma resorted to the legal term for an insane person subject to violent and destructive moods, ‘is not liable.’

  ‘No, but his kin are,’ replied the old chieftain sourly. ‘In this case, as a religieux, the community of this abbey are his kin and must recompense me for the death of my daughter. If they do not, my ritual fast becomes a fast against this abbey and I will maintain it to the death.’

  Fidelma shook her head sadly.

  ‘Never have I seen a man pursue death so eagerly, Gadra,’ she murmured.

  Aldhere arose and was smiling his usual cynically amused expression.

  ‘At least my brother, Cild, did one good thing, Sister. He went into the church and the church became his family. So I am absolved, under your laws, from paying compensation for his deeds.’

  ‘The law is as Gadra says,’ she agreed. ‘So, Gadra, you are determined to continue with the troscud and all that will come of it?’

  Garb was on his feet in support of his father.

  ‘My
father has said so,’ he snapped. ‘Just because the murderernow seeks asylum in the dark reaches of his mind it does not abrogate his responsibility.’

  ‘But what if the girl whom the abbot stabbed to death in his torment last night was Gélgeis, what then?’ Eadulf intervened, much to Fidelma’s disapproval. ‘That would mean that Gélgeis had fabricated her death some months ago and was playing some game of her own devising.’

  There was a shocked silence for a moment. Then Garb chuckled.

  ‘If such a ridiculous claim were true, are you trying to tell us that Cild would not be responsible under law?’

  Before Fidelma could intervene, Eadulf spoke again, having caught sight of her disapproving features.

  ‘I was hypothesising, Garb.’

  An angry murmur began but Garb’s voice rang out: ‘A cruel hypothesis, when we know the facts! But I will answer. It would still mean that Cild murdered my sister whether that act took place last year or last night! Recompense would still be due.’

  There was a growing unrest.

  ‘Is this your argument?’ intervened Sigeric. ‘Are you claiming that Gélgeis was still alive until last night and part of some plot? What was its purpose? To drive Cild insane?’

  ‘I intend to prove that a real person was haunting this abbey and not a ghost,’ replied Fidelma calmly. ‘What I cannot yet prove is who this person was. I believe that Cild, whether in his madness or in reality, thought that it was his wife. The next step in the process is to find out who the dead girl was.’

  Sigeric looked bewildered. Fidelma continued.

  ‘Certainly, the abbot was seeing a person who he thought was the ghost of his wife and that encouraged his dementia,’ she explained. ‘Cild was of an abnormal mentality right from the start of his life. Aldhere was telling the truth about his brother’s fits and rages as a young man, which was why his father dispossessed him. He knew that his eldest son was insane. How that insanity began I do not know. What evil possessed him is difficult to say. A single leaf of the oak does not go brown, wither and fall on its own account. It does so with the knowledge of the whole tree. In search of that reason, we should examine Cild’s family.’