The Haunted Abbot (29 page)

Fidelma screwed her eyes against the sleeting cold as she made an effort to keep up with Eadulf. She was unaware of her surroundings for they were entirely shrouded in the white gloom. But it was not long before she realised that Eadulf had halted and slid from his horse. He was standing looking up at her.

‘Here we are,’ he called.

She glanced up, trying to focus through the icy pellets.

The vague outline of a building emerged through the snow in front of her. And she could hear the sound of a dog barking.

Eadulf held her pony’s head while she dismounted and then he hitched the reins to a post before going to the door. Before he could knock on it, the door swung open and a burly figure stood framed in it, one hand holding the collar of a straining hound who barked and snarled at them. Behind them shone the faint illumination of a welcoming fire.

‘Who are you and what do you seek?’ demanded a familiar rasping voice.

‘Peace on your house, Mul,’ replied Eadulf. ‘You remember us? The travellers whom you took to Aldred’s Abbey.’

Mul stepped forward and examined him and then glanced at Fidelma.

‘I remember you well enough,
gerefa
, though I did not expect to see you again after you entered the portals of that accursed place!’ He turned to his hound and struck it sharply on the nose. ‘Peace, Bragi, peace! Go to your spot!’

The hound gave a soft growl but Mul tapped him sharply on the nose again and he put his head down and went inside.

Mul turned to them.

‘What do you seek here?’ he demanded again.

‘Shelter from the elements,’ replied Eadulf.

‘I see you have acquired ponies since last we met. Take them into the barn. There is fodder and water inside.’ He indicated a building close by and, as Eadulf obeyed the instruction, Mul turned to Fidelma. ‘Come inside and warm yourself by the fire. These blizzards are as bad as any I have seen.’

Fidelma followed the farmer inside and Mul closed the door behind her. The hound glanced up and growled softly but made no move.

‘Bragi will not harm you while he sees that you are no enemy to me.’

Fidelma smiled softly and removed her double-cloak before edging near the fire and bathing in its warmth.

There was a big metal cauldron hanging from a spit over the leaping flames filled with some aromatic stew. Its fragrance permeated the tiny two-roomed stone farmhouse. Mul moved to it and took down a ladle, stirring it and examining the contents.

‘Pork stew,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘It will be ready soon.’

Mul was as she remembered him, with thick-set shoulders, a muscular torso, a coarse ruddy face and a thick pug nose. He was, in a word, ugly, but even with his close-set eyes and beak of a nose, and the glimpse of broken, yellowing teeth, there was something amiable about his attitude.

She glanced round the room. It was the usual living room with a central hearth for cooking. It was grey and smoky from the fire but the warmth was welcome even though the smoke tickled her sore throat. The second room bespoke a wealth not many such farmers had. This second room did not extend all the way to the roof but was capped by boards creating a third room, open on one side to the main living room from which a ladder gave access.

It seemed clear that Mul used neither this loft room nor the second room for there was a wooden cot on the far side of the hearth which appeared to be his bed. Most people would sleep next to the hearth during the winter months for it was the logical place to keep warm. It was gloomy, for the place was only lit by the light of the fire. As if reading her thoughts, Mul bent to the fire and lit a taper. Then he moved to a lamp and set its wick alight.

‘A cup of cider to warm the spirit?’ he inquired, setting the lamp on the table.

She nodded silently as she rubbed her arms to restore the circulation.

Mul went to a wooden cupboard and took out some clay beakers which he filled from a flagon.

‘The God of the Christians could only create water,’ he smiled as he handed her a beaker, ‘but Aegir, the god of the Saxons, created cider, and provided the Aesir with their sacred drink at the autumnal equinox.’

Fidelma frowned. She had forgotten that Mul was a pagan. No wonder she saw none of the symbols with which a Christian would usually festoon the house to mark this day. She still had to remind herself that this was the day of the birth of Christ.

‘So you still believe in your old gods, Mul?’

Mul grinned broadly. ‘When I have need to, woman.’

She paused for a moment and took a sip at the cider that he had given her. It was sweet, strong and good in her aching throat.

‘You have a large house, Mul.’ She decided to ignore his implied invitation to engage in an argument on religion. She noticed a shadow cross his face.

‘Aye,’ he said shortly.

‘You have not married?’

Mul shifted his weight from one foot to another.

‘I was married … once.’

‘What happened?’

‘You ask many questions for a woman,’ snapped Mul.

‘I am of an inquisitive nature,’ replied Fidelma solemnly. Then she suddenly remembered. ‘Ah, but I recall now. In your culture, you do not think it is fitting that women assert themselves as equals to men and ask questions.’

Mul glowered a little and it was clear that he was somewhat at a loss to know how to deal with her self-assertive and assured manner.

‘I have come across religieuses of your nation before. I find it strange that your menfolk have allowed you this much freedom.’

The door opened suddenly. The hound leapt up and only a sharp command from Mul stopped it from springing forward. Eadulf stood in a flurry of snow before turning and pressing the door closed behind him.

‘Sit, Bragi! Sit!’ ordered Mul. Then he turned to Eadulf with a scowl. ‘You had best be more cautious,
gerefa
,’ he admonished. ‘I do not keep the hound as a pet. Bragi is a guard dog.’

Eadulf replied with a noncommittal grunt, removed his cloak and sat down.

‘The weather seems to be worsening,’ he said, after accepting a cup of cider from Mul.

The farmer sat by the fire and the hound placed its head on one of his feet.

‘You are right,
gerefa
. This winter has seen more blizzards than I recall. Many beasts have perished around these parts. We poor farmers suffer as always, and when the King’s men come to demand the King’s taxes, it will be spring and the winter damage will be forgotten. We will have to pay or suffer confiscation. But that is the way of things. They will not alter. The King’s men come down like thieves and take almost everything apart from that which allows us to survive until the next time of shearing.’

Fidelma smiled sympathetically.

‘A learned man called Suetonius wrote that it is the part of the good shepherd to shear his flock, not to flay it.’

Mul glanced at her with sudden appreciation.

‘Your woman has a good mind,’ he confessed to Eadulf, ‘but she does not know the King’s tax gatherings. They would, indeed, remove the skin from the body if it was worth anything to them.’

‘But, surely, such a winter as this would be borne in mind?’ Eadulf argued.

‘We have had bad winters but this is the worst I recall. You are from these parts,
gerefa
. You must bear witness to what I am saying.’

‘You are right that I cannot recall a winter so cold and foul, and for giving us hospitality from the inclement elements we must thank you,’ Eadulf replied.

Mul put his head back and roared with laughter.

Eadulf exchanged a glance with Fidelma and frowned.

‘What amuses you?’

‘That you presume that I am
giving
you hospitality.’ He emphasised the word ‘giving’.

‘I do not understand,’ Eadulf rejoined.

‘I’ll give you shelter and food but for a price.’

Eadulf’s features tightened in annoyance.

‘I remember that you charged to drive us to the abbey. I should have suspected that you would not bring people out of a blizzard and allow them to share your home for nothing.’

Mul was grinning. ‘As a farmer I have learnt that money is like dung. It does no good unless it is spread,
gerefa
. I perceive that you have some to spread and that will help me survive the losses I will endure this winter.’

‘That is not a Christian idea of charity …’ protested Eadulf.

‘As the woman will remind you,’ returned Mul, ‘I am not a Christian.’

‘Eadulf,’ Fidelma interrupted softly, ‘the man has a point. A
quid pro quo
- something for something.’

Mul nodded towards her.

‘A good philosophy, woman. Two things that are important, a good mind and the ability to use it. I am sure that you will not begrudge me a penny for this night’s lodging, for the blizzard is set in now. You will not be able to leave here until tomorrow morning.’

Eadulf was disapproving.

‘I fear that you have many faults, Mul.’

Mul grinned back.

‘Is it not said that money will hide many faults?’ he countered.

‘Very well, Mul,’ sighed Eadulf. ‘But as you did not receive your fee until you had delivered us to the abbey, nor shall you receive your fee until we are about to depart.’

Mul grinned without rancour.

‘It is agreed,
gerefa
. And now I think my stew is ready. It is a sparse meal, for I was not expecting guests, but there is plenty of cheese and bread to follow. Seat yourselves,’ he added, indicating the table.

‘Can we do anything?’ inquired Fidelma politely.

Mul hesitated and then grimaced.

‘No, thank you, woman. I have grown used to my own company and way of doing things.’

He fetched platters and spoons and soon set before them wooden bowls of the steaming pork to which some root vegetables had been added. Bread and cheese were also placed on the table along with more cider.

The hound gave the appearance of sleeping by the fire but once, when Eadulf moved too quickly, the eyelids flickered open. The lips of the animal drew back across the teeth in a silent growl.

Mul snapped an order and the dog closed its eyes again.

Fidelma waited until the remains of the stew had been cleared away before turning to the subject that had been in her mind ever since Eadulf had told her that they were at the farmhouse of Mul.

‘I recall, Mul, that on the night you left us at Aldred’s Abbey, you had little good to say about it. Was that a general indictment of Christians or specific to the inhabitants of the abbey?’

Mul fixed her with his piercing bright eyes.

‘You will find few in these parts who have anything good to say about that place,’ he replied.

‘If I recall,’ Fidelma pressed, ‘you felt that the devil dwelt in that place.’

‘You have a good memory, woman,’ the farmer said, helping himself to more cider. ‘I said that the devil had cast his shadow over Aldred’s Abbey. I still say it.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘You have met the abbot?’

‘Abbot Cild. I did not see him, for I fell ill when we arrived, but Eadulf met him several times.’

Eadulf nodded.

‘I would say that he might be described as a devil but not
the
devil,’ he affirmed, taking another piece of cheese.

Mul looked at him wryly.

‘Even though you be Christians, I would not have thought that either of you would have had much good to say about Abbot Cild.’

Fidelma heard some underlying meaning in his tone. She stared at him, trying to get beyond his bright, piercing gaze.

‘Why would that be, Mul?’ she asked softly.

Mul leant back smiling.

‘Your companion, the
gerefa
Eadulf, is a person who reacts first and thinks afterwards,’ he said. ‘I have noticed it and so has Bragi there.’

The hound raised his head at the sound of its name.

Eadulf had stiffened slightly.

‘Explain yourself, Mul,’ he snapped.

‘I just want to warn you not to move suddenly.’ Mul continued to smile. ‘Bragi does not like it. He also reacts and, poor animal, has no mind to reason whether the movement has an evil intent or not. I would not like you to respond physically to what I am about to say.

Eadulf’s scowl deepened.

‘Go on,’ demanded Fidelma. ‘What do you want to tell us that may cause consternation?’

‘A rider from the abbey has been going around the surrounding farms and villages announcing that the abbot has placed a reward of three gold pieces on your heads. He urges anyone who encounters you to either take you captive or send to the abbey to report your whereabouts. Three gold pieces seems a great fortune. Especially to the poor farmers of this area.’

Fidelma glanced anxiously at Eadulf. He had gripped the edge of the table with his hands. His jaw was clenched but he did not otherwise move.

‘And what reason does Abbot Cild give for announcing this reward?’ Fidelma asked evenly.

Mul returned her composed stare.

‘You probably know that well enough, woman. You are accused of witchcraft and the
gerefa
here is accused of aiding and abetting you.’

Eadulf had still not moved but now he said quietly, ‘As you say, Mul, three gold pieces is a lot of money.’

The farmer nodded complacently. ‘More than I will earn this year and even next year put together with this year. Aye, it is indeed a lot of money. More than I could ever hope to have at one time.’

‘And we know how you like money,’ muttered Eadulf, his eyes darting here and there in search of some means of self-defence.

The hound’s head had risen and its eyes were wide open and alert. It had that amazing canine ability to detect atmosphere in the slight nuances of the human voice.

Mul was sitting back in his chair, a slight smile on his face, the cup of cider in his hand.