The Haunted Abbot (13 page)

Some way ahead he saw a small outcrop of land, a grassy knoll like a tiny headland jutting from a fairly thick-wooded area and rising to a high point from which the land dropped away like miniature cliffs into the sea on all sides except its landward connection. It formed a tiny little peninsula. Eadulf realised that it was a vantage point from which he would probably be able to see a fair distance across the marshlands and he might be able to spot the abbot and his brethren.

He urged the little mule forward towards the wood. He had decided that if he could see no sign of Abbot Cild and his companions from this vantage point then he might as well make his way back to the abbey. He had wanted to be with Abbot Cild if he caught up with Aldhere to find out what the outlaw had to say in answer to the accusation of causing the death of Brother Botulf. He had wanted to make sure that justice was upheld. But he had missed his opportunity, and he was positive that the abbot would not welcome any interference from him.

He made his way through the trees towards the small headland. When he emerged from their cover he saw something which caused him to draw rein sharply so that his small mount grunted in protest as it halted and stamped its forefoot in temper. In the lee of the headland was a Saxon longship. It was close inshore, and there were a score of men milling around it. Its design and pennants showed that it was not from the land of the East Angles but from the East Saxons. The great sail carried the solar symbol associated with the god Thunor, the cross with the broken arms.

Someone among them gave a cry as Eadulf was spotted and several of them, swords unsheathed, came bounding up the rocky incline towards where he sat in momentary surprise. Before he could react, he was aware of a hissing sound in the air. Several arrows sped by him but were not aimed at him. They had been fired from behind him and two found their targets in the oncoming warriors. The men dropped with cries of pain while the others came to a ragged halt.

Eadulf was confused. He suddenly found himself surrounded by several warriors, whose bows rained down deadly missiles on the men from the longship. One of the newcomers grabbed his mule’s reins, a thick-set man with a mane of wild yellow hair and a black-toothed grin.

Eadulf was aware of the men below running for their longship, carrying or dragging those who had been hurt, while others were frantically pushing it into the waves. More arrows were unleashed by those around him but they found no human target, although several embedded themselves in the timbers of the boat. The retreating Saxon warriors scrambled into it, hauling themselves over the sides as it began to ride up and down on the waves. Men were swiftly adjusting the lines and ropes, shouting and cursing to each other, causing the big sail to move slightly in order to catch the offshore winds.

Away it went, dancing swiftly over the water and out of sight round the end of the headland.

A tall warrior who appeared to be the leader of the band who had launched the attack on the Saxons had sheathed his sword and was now examining Eadulf in some amusement. He was more wiry than muscular and carried a great scar across one cheek. His eyes were black and held an inner fire, dark and flashing. His lips were thin and the scar had twisted them into a permanent sneer. There was something about the cast of his features that seemed familiar to Eadulf but he was sure that he had not seen this man before. He was swarthy of skin, a man used to the outdoor life. He was dressed in dark clothes, woollen garments dyed black. Only his leather jacket was studded with polished steel roundels in the manner of body armour. He carried a round burnished shield and his helmet was simple, conical without adornment.

‘And who have we here? One of Cild’s evil brood, no doubt?’

Eadulf frowned in annoyance.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘Do you raise your hand against a religious?’

The warrior chuckled and gestured with a nod at his companions.

‘I would have thought that a man of such noble learning as yourself might have deduced that we have just saved your holy life from the East Saxons. You do not appear to be grateful.’

‘Why would the East Saxons want to take my life?’ Eadulf demanded, trying to match the other’s bantering tone but not succeeding. ‘And why would you want to save it?’

The tall man’s eyes narrowed as he examined Eadulf more closely. The smile did not leave his features.

‘What is your name, Brother? I cannot recall seeing you in Cild’s festering pile of stones before. Are you a newcomer to this district?’

The man spoke with an easy familiarity which irritated Eadulf.

‘I am but recently come from Canterbury and before that I was over a year abroad. However, I am—’

‘He’s Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham!’

One of the band interrupted with a shout of recognition as he stepped forward.

The tall man turned to him, as did Eadulf, trying to place the scruffily dressed ruffian.

‘Do you recognise this man, Wiglaf?’

The short, sturdy-framed, brown-haired man nodded eagerly.

‘He was the
gerefa
of Seaxmund’s Ham. I recognise him well. He once ordered that I should have twelve strokes of a birch stick for thieving.’

The tall leader turned back to Eadulf with mock seriousness.

‘Is this true? You ordered the punishment of poor Wiglaf here?’

Eadulf’s mouth tightened.

‘I cannot say one way or another,’ he said defensively. ‘I do not recognise the man.’

The man called Wiglaf moved closer and stuck his grinning features in front of Eadulf.

‘I did not have a beard then,
gerefa
, for I was very young, but the birch stung and marked me for some years.’

‘Was the sentence just, Wiglaf?’ interrupted the tall leader, with humour still in his voice.

The brown-haired man chuckled. ‘That it was. I did thieve a pot of honey from an old widow. The
gerefa
was just.’

Eadulf gave up trying to identify the erstwhile honey thief. He had ordered many such punishments when he had been a
gerefa
.

‘Now you know me, but I do not know you,’ he ventured defiantly to the tall leader. The man continued to smile.

‘I am called Aldhere and these are some of my men.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened. The tall warrior saw the expression of surprise and grimaced in amusement.

‘I see, by your reaction, that you have heard of me, holy
gerefa
.’

‘That I have,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘From Abbot Cild.’

Aldhere laughed uproariously as if Eadulf had said something really humorous.

‘I doubt that you have heard any good of me from that son of a she-devil. Have you become a member of Cild’s noxious little brood?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I am staying at Aldred’s Abbey with my … with a companion for a few days before travelling on to Seaxmund’s Ham. I have been away from these parts for several years.’

The outlaw leader continued to appear relaxed and almost friendly as he digested this news.

‘Then, holy
gerefa
, I would advise you to leave that putrefied rats’ nest at Aldred’s Abbey sooner rather than later.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because it is an evil place; a place which should be shunned. Abbot Cild is an evil man.’

A frown crossed Eadulf’s brow as he suddenly remembered the words of ‘Mad’ Mul. He, too, had called the abbey a place of evil. It was time that some explanation was given.

‘I would have a word alone with you, Aldhere.’

‘Then you will ride with us back to our camp and we will talk on the way.’

Eadulf hesitated and then decided that he had to be honest.

‘Do you realise that Abbot Cild and several of his brethren are scouring these parts to take and hang you?’

Aldhere raised an eyebrow but the smile did not leave his features.

‘I am glad that you have warned us, holy
gerefa
, for it shows me that you are a man of integrity. That is more than I can say of Abbot Cild. However, we watched Cild entering the marshes earlier, and he has returned to the abbey long since. It was no more than a show to impress someone. What could his half-dozen men do against my war band?’

Eadulf suddenly realised that Aldhere had a score of men with him. Cild must have known that he was no match for them. Why would he have put on this show? Whom did he want to impress? Eadulf himself? The community? Garb and his Irish warriors? Or was this just another manifestation of Cild’s irrational moods?

They had all mounted horses brought to them by men who had obviously held them in the thickness of the wood while the attack was taking place. Two of Aldhere’s men took the lead, riding some little way ahead as scouts, while Eadulf and Aldhere followed. The others brought up the rear.

Aldhere rode in a relaxed position, stretched back in the saddle. It was clear that he had been raised on horseback.

‘Now, what is it that you wish to say that you feel is for my ears alone?’ asked the tall outlaw as they began to move forward.

‘Abbot Cild believes that you killed Brother Botulf.’

The sardonic snort told Eadulf that Aldhere did not think much of Abbot Cild’s belief. But Eadulf’s eyes narrowed at the implication.

‘So you knew that Brother Botulf has been killed?’

‘I knew,’ Aldhere replied grimly. ‘And if you are looking for a culprit you must speak to Cild.’

‘Are you making a counter-claim that Cild was the murderer and not you?’

‘Did I not make myself clear?’

‘Tell me how you knew that Brother Botulf was dead.’

For the first time, Aldhere’s features had become grave.

‘What does this matter to you, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham? You tell me that you have only just arrived at Aldred’s Abbey and, as I have said, if you have sense then you will leave it without delay.’

Eadulf decided to speak plainly.

‘It matters a great deal to me, Aldhere. Botulf was a close friend of mine. He was the friend of my childhood and youth. While I was at Canterbury a few weeks ago he sent a message to me asking me to come to the abbey and requesting that I endeavour to get there before midnight last night. I did so, only to find out that he had been killed shortly before I arrived. In support of Cild’s accusation of your complicity, one of the brethren insists that he saw you at the abbey about the same time.’

Aldhere was silent for a moment.

‘That would have been Wigstan, returning from his journey to the fishing village with fish for the abbey. I saw him. He was right. I was there.’

Eadulf glanced at him sharply. ‘Are you now admitting … ?’

‘Don’t make yourself out to be a fool, holy
gerefa
. Of course I am not. Did Botulf tell you why he wanted you to come to Aldred’s Abbey? Or why you had to be there by that particular time?’

Reluctantly, Eadulf shook his head.

‘I did not kill Botulf,’ Aldhere said abruptly, with a controlled passion. ‘He was a friend of mine, too. I had come to the abbey to meet him in secret - also being instructed, like you, to come by an appointed hour at dawn yesterday.’

‘And so Brother Wigstan saw you?’

‘I have not denied it.’

‘But you did not see Botulf?’

Aldhere shook his head firmly. ‘While I was waiting for him in the shadow of the copse by the side of the abbey, I heard an outcry. I decide that I would not wait around to discover its meaning.’

‘So how did you learn that this outcry was due to the fact that Botulf had been found dead?’

‘Through Wiglaf. He had a contact in the abbey and found out that, thanks to Wigstan, Cild was claiming I was responsible.’

‘Why does Abbot Cild hate you?’

Aldhere gave a long deep sigh. ‘It is a long story. A tale with an even longer preamble.’

‘I have plenty of time,’ replied Eadulf without humour.

‘Then have patience until we reach the camp and then, over a dish of hot soup, I shall tell you that story.’

Eadulf relapsed into silence for a while. He was disconcerted by Aldhere. This was not exactly the image of the marsh outlaw that had been conjured by Cild. In spite of his appearance, which initially fitted Eadulf’s concept of a robber, Aldhere was a pleasant-mannered, educated man, with the quiet authority of a thane rather than an outlaw. Eadulf was bursting with questions but he decided to keep his natural impatience in check. As Fidelma was so fond of saying, they succeed who are patient.

They were riding northwards, parallel to the seashore but keeping to the shelter of the woods which grew thick where they were protected from the corrosive sea-salt air. Eadulf began to recognise his surroundings and he felt a slight pang of homesickness as he realised that they were not very far away from his birthplace.

Away to their right lay the shingle seashore and sand dunes marking the extremity of the land but to their left was a landscape of small lagoons, freshwater reedmarsh, and mixed woodland and heath. Then, as they moved through a thick belt of aspen, birch and oak that had seemed impenetrable, Eadulf suddenly found that they had arrived in a clearing with makeshift huts where several people were moving about, men and women and even children.

‘Welcome to my camp,’ smiled Aldhere, halting his mount and sliding off it.

Eadulf followed his lead and the outlaw conducted him towards one of the huts. Before they reached it, the door was opened and a woman came forward to greet Aldhere. She was slim, and flaxen hair showed beneath a headscarf that covered most of her features. She halted and frowned at the sight of Eadulf.

‘Who is he? A prisoner? One of Cild’s men?’ she demanded in an unfriendly tone. She spoke Saxon with a foreign accent which Eadulf could not place for the moment.

Aldhere shook his head, smiling.

‘No, my sweet, this is a guest. This is my woman, Bertha. This is Brother Eadulf, Bertha. Now bring us mead and hot soup and leave us to talk.’