The Haunted Abbot (4 page)

‘He would guess that if I was at Canterbury, then I would be travelling to my home at Seaxmund’s Ham. He would assume that my path would lie by his door,’ replied Eadulf defensively. ‘My home is only six miles further on from the abbey.’

‘A strange friend, that is all I say,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘Is he the abbot of this abbey?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘He is the steward. I was told at Canterbury that someone called Cild is the abbot, but I have never heard of him.’

Cynric re-entered, bearing a tray with a hot meat pie on it which he set down at a nearby table.

‘If you will be seated at the table, I shall fetch more cider with which to wash your meal down.’

The pie looked and smelled good and soon the howling wind outside was forgotten as they savoured the meal. Eadulf explained something of what Cynric had told him about the conflict between the Christians and pagans. Sister Fidelma looked at her companion with some sympathy.

‘It must be difficult for you to hear this. However, it is surely balanced against the pleasure of seeing your home again.’

‘It is a long time since I was last at Seaxmund’s Ham. I am indeed looking forward to seeing it again.’ He glanced anxiously at her. ‘I am sorry if I seem selfish, Fidelma.’

Her eyes widened for a moment. She was thinking that
she
was being selfish. She had suddenly realised just how much she was missing her home in Cashel. This land of the South Folk was bleak, cold and inhospitable. When she had agreed to accompany Eadulf to Canterbury and had left the shores of her homeland, it had not occurred to her that he would want to proceed further and journey on to the place of his birth. But that, she realised, had been a silly and egocentric assumption on her part. Of course, after the time in Rome and then nearly a year in her brother’s kingdom of Muman, it was obvious that Eadulf would want to spend some time at his birthplace.

She tried to suppress the apprehensive feeling that came over her. She hoped that he would not want to spend any great length of time at that place … Seaxmund’s Ham. She felt guilty for the selfish thought. Why should she expect him to want to return to her own country? But she did miss her homeland. She had travelled enough. She wanted to settle down.

She realised that Eadulf was smiling at her across the table.

‘No regrets?’ he asked.

She felt the hot blood in her cheeks.

‘Regrets?’ she parried, knowing full well what he meant.

‘That you came with me to my country?’

‘I have no regrets at being in your company,’ Fidelma replied, choosing her words carefully.

Eadulf examined her keenly. He was still smiling but she saw the shadow cross his eyes. Before he could say anything more, she suddenly reached forward and grasped his hand.

‘Let us live for the moment, Eadulf.’ Her voice was earnest. ‘We have agreed to follow the ancient custom of my people - to be with one another for a year and a day. I have agreed to be your
ben charrthach
for that time. With that you must be content. Anything more lasting requires much legal consideration.’

Eadulf understood that the people of the five kingdoms of Éireann had a very complicated law system and there were several definitions of what constituted a proper marriage. As Fidelma had explained to him, there were nine distinct types of union in Irish law. The term which Fidelma had used,
ben charrthach
, literally meant the ‘loved woman’, not yet a legally bound wife but one whose status and rights were recognised under the law of the Cáin Lánamnus. It was, in fact, a trial marriage, lasting a year and a day, after which, if unsuccessful, both sides would go their separate ways without incurring penalties or blame.

The decision had been made by Fidelma not because they were members of the religious. It would not have entered her mind that this was a bar to marriage. No religious, neither those who followed the way of Colmcille, nor those who followed the Rule of Rome or any of the other Churches of Christ, regarded celibacy as necessary to the religious calling. However, there was a growing minority who had begun to denounce married clergy and proclaim celibacy as the true path of those who were committed to the new faith. Fidelma, in fact, was more concerned that a marriage with Eadulf would be deemed a marriage of unequals … if her brother, Colgú, King of Muman, even gave his approval for it. Such a marriage, while recognised in law, meant that Eadulf, as a stranger without land in Muman and not of the same princely family rank as Fidelma, would not have equal property rights with his wife. Knowing Eadulf’s character, Fidelma thought it would not be a good prescription for happiness if Eadulf felt less than her equal.

There were other forms of marriage, of course. A man could legally cohabit with a woman at her home with the permission of her family, or she could go away openly with him without the consent of her family and still have rights under the law. The problem was that, having reached the stage of seriously considering marriage to Eadulf, Fidelma was in a quandary about what path to proceed along. Moreover, she had assumed that any future together would be a future in Cashel. The last few weeks with Eadulf in the kingdoms of the Angles and the Saxons had begun to raise doubts in her mind.

She found her thoughts interrupted as Eadulf was speaking again.

‘Did I say that I was not satisfied, Fidelma?’ Eadulf’s smile was a little forced now as he saw the changing expression on her face.

The door opened abruptly with a crash and for a moment it appeared that some strange figure from the netherworld stood framed against the swirling cloud of snow that pushed into the inn. An ice-cold breath of air threatened to blow out the lanterns that lit the main room of the inn. The figure, looking like some gigantic, shaggy bear, turned and had to lean against the door to push it shut against the pressure of the blustery wind. The figure turned again and shook itself, causing cascades of snow to fall from the thick furs which encased the body from head to foot. Then one arm appeared through the furs and began unwrapping part of the head covering. A bearded face emerged from under the wrappings.

‘Mead, Cynric! Mead, for the love of the mother of Balder!’

The figure stamped forward into the inn, showering snow about him from his fur wrappings. He dropped his outer garment unceremoniously on the floor. He wore a leather jerkin over a muscular torso and strips of sacking were wrapped around his giant calves and tied with leather thongs.

‘Mul!’ exclaimed Cynric, the innkeeper, in surprised recognition as he came forward to greet the newcomer. ‘What are you doing abroad and in such inclement weather?’

The man addressed as Mul was of middle age, broad-shouldered, with flaxen hair and a skin that seemed tanned by the elements. He had the build of a farmer or a smith. His thick-set shoulders and arms seemed to bulge through his leather jerkin. He had a coarse, ruddy face with a bushy beard. His features made it seem that he had been beaten about the face and never recovered. His lips were constantly parted and showed gaps in his yellowing teeth. He had piercing bright eyes set close to his beak-like nose, which gave him a permanent look of disapproval.

‘I am on my way home,’ the newcomer grunted. ‘Where should a man be on this night of all nights?’ He suddenly caught sight of Fidelma and Eadulf, seated across the room, and inclined his head in greeting.

‘May the spear of Frig and the Desir be ready to smite your enemies!’ he thundered in the ancient fashion.

‘
Deus vobiscum
,’ replied Eadulf solemnly with a hint of reproof in his tone.

The man, whom the innkeeper had called Mul, grabbed the tankard of mead from Cynric’s hand and sprawled in a chair near the fire, downing half of it in one great gulp. Then he uttered a loud belch of satisfaction.

Fidelma looked a little shocked but said nothing.

‘God look down on us,’ muttered Eadulf, his face showing his disapproval of the man’s lack of manners.

‘Christians, eh?’ frowned the newcomer, regarding them with curiosity. ‘Well, I am an old dog and cannot be taught new tricks. The gods who protected my father are good enough to protect me. May all and any of the gods protect all travellers this night.’

The innkeeper placed another tankard of mead ready for the newcomer.

‘Shall I prepare a bed for you, Mul?’

The big man shook his head almost violently. The gesture reminded them of a big shaggy dog, shaking itself. His hair and beard seemed to merge into one tangled mane.

‘Woden’s hammer, no!’

‘But your farm is six or more miles from here!’ exclaimed the innkeeper. ‘You’ll not make it in this storm.’

‘I’ll make it,’ the burly farmer said with grim confidence. ‘I would not let a little blow like this prevent me from going home. Anyway, tonight is the Mothernight and I intend to raise a tankard of mead to Frig and the Desir at the appointed hour. I shall be back on my farm before midnight, friend Cynric. Apart from anything else, I have animals to see to. If I am not there to tend to them, then they go without. I have been away all day to sell some cheese at the market at Butta’s Leah.’

Eadulf saw the perplexity on Fidelma’s face and explained in a whisper: ‘Tonight is the Winter Solstice, the start of the old pagan feast of Yule which lasts for twelve days. We celebrate with the feast of the goddess Frig and the Desir, the Fore-Mothers of the race. The main feast is dedicated to Woden, the Yule One.’

Fidelma was just as perplexed as before.

‘It is a time when we are in darkness and must offer gifts to the gods and goddesses to ensure the rebirth of the sun.’

He did not notice Fidelma’s disapproving look, for he had begun to regard the newcomer with some interest.

‘Might I ask, my friend, in what direction is your farm? I heard the innkeeper call you Mul. There was a Mul who used to farm Frig’s Tun before I left on my travels. Are you he?’

The burly farmer examined Eadulf keenly. A frown crossed his brows.

‘Who are you, Christian?’ he demanded.

‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, where I was
gerefa
before I joined the religious.’

‘Eadulf? Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham? I knew of your family. I had heard one of them had converted to the new faith. You are right. I am Mul of Frig’s Tun and, as I told Cynric, I mean to sleep in my own bed this night.’

‘Surely the roads are impassable?’ intervened Cynric the innkeeper.

The farmer laughed harshly. ‘Impassable to people without courage. Another tankard of mead, Cynric, and I will be on my way.’

Fidelma tapped Eadulf on the arm.

‘
Virtutis fortuna comes
,’ she whispered in Latin. Good luck was, indeed, the companion of courage, but what was meant, and understood by Eadulf, was that one must grasp opportunity when it came one’s way.

Eadulf sought to frame the question in a way which might appeal to Mul.

‘Your journey must lie in the direction of Aldred’s Abbey, must it not?’

Mul paused with his tankard to his lips and regarded Eadulf speculatively.

‘And if it does?’ he countered.

‘My companion and I are anxious to reach the abbey this evening. If there is room on your wagon, then I would make it worth your while to pass the gates of the abbey.’

Cynric, the innkeeper, was disapproving.

‘I advise you against journeying on. It is too dangerous. We have not had a blizzard like this in ten years. Why, the dry snow is being driven by this bitter wind and banking up behind walls and hedges and ditches and filling the hollows. You could even miss the path and fall into a lake or frozen stream; break a leg or worse. And there is the marsh to consider.’

Mul drained his mug and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He fingered his thick, coarse beard for a moment as if in speculation. Then he sighed and turned to the innkeeper.

‘You are an old woman, Cynric. I know the roads like the creases on the palms of my hands.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘My path takes me right by the gates of the abbey. May the gods curse that place of evil. If you can pay, I will take you. But I only have an uncomfortable farm wagon drawn by a team of mules.’

Eadulf exchanged a quick glance with Fidelma.

‘I do not approve of your calling a house of the Christian faith a place of evil, friend, nor calling on idolatrous gods to curse it.’

Mul grinned sourly. It made him more ugly than before.

‘It is evident that you do not know Aldred’s Abbey or what it has become these days. But your opinions are no concern of mine.’

Eadulf hesitated and then said: ‘By payment, what had you in mind?’

‘If you decide to come with me, then I am sure that you won’t begrudge me a penny for my labour.’

Eadulf turned to Fidelma who nodded quickly.

‘It is agreed, my pagan friend,’ Eadulf exclaimed in satisfaction.

The farmer rose to his feet, grabbing his fur outer garments.

‘How soon can you be ready?’ he demanded as he began to pull them on.

‘We are ready now.’

‘Then I will go and see to my rig. Join me outside as soon as you are prepared.’

They were already putting on their woollen cloaks before the burly farmer had disappeared through the door.

Cynric regarded them anxiously. ‘Please reconsider. It is a dangerous road. Only an idiot like Mul would attempt the journey. You should know that he is named Mad Mul in these parts. You are much safer waiting to see if the storm breaks tomorrow.’

‘And if it does not?’ smiled Eadulf as he placed some coins in the hands of the innkeeper to pay for the meal. ‘At least we will make the effort this night.’

‘It is only your lives that you risk,’ shrugged the innkeeper, realising when to accept defeat.

Outside, they found Mul already seated in his wagon, with a team of two patient mules in the shafts, heads slightly bowed against the bitter, moaning wind. The winter night had begun but the farmer had lit two storm lanterns which hung on either side of his wagon and there was light enough by the shadowy reflections on the snow to see by. Great banks of snow were piling up in the gusting winds. Eadulf helped Fidelma climb up onto the wagon, then threw up their travelling bags, before climbing up himself.