Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘I hope that I am not going to suffer a cold from the excesses of our journey,’ she muttered. Then she added: ‘Abbot Cild seems to have little charity in his heart if Brother Willibrod presents a true picture of the man. Have you planned your further intentions if we are told to leave here?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘We can only go on to Seaxmund’s Ham, for there is nowhere nearer to stay.’

‘Well, in truth, I shan’t be sorry to leave this place, Eadulf. I not only have a chill in my body but I have rarely encountered a place which strikes such a chill in my soul.’

At that moment there was a rap on the door and it opened to allow the one-eyed Brother Willibrod to enter. He looked fidgety and concerned.

‘Abbot Cild will see you immediately, Brother Eadulf. Will you come with me?’

Eadulf glanced apologetically to Fidelma. She did not even look at him but sat hunched by the fire nursing the hot drink in both hands.

Eadulf followed Brother Willibrod through the dark brick-built corridors of the abbey until the dominus halted before a heavy oak door and knocked upon it in a discreet manner. A voice barked an order from inside and Brother Willibrod threw open the door, stood aside and motioned Eadulf to enter. When he did so, the door was closed silently behind him with Brother Willibrod waiting outside.

The abbot sat at the far end of a long oak table on which two ornate candlesticks bore tallow candles which fluttered and hissed, sending out a curious light in the darkness of the chamber. He gave the impression of a tall man, seated upright in a carved oak chair, his hands placed palm downwards on the table as he gazed before him with dark eyes.

The abbot’s face was long, pale of skin and with sharp, etched features. The forehead was high-domed and surrounded by long, dark hair. It was a face filled with a strength of purpose that Eadulf found unusual in a religious, although such features were often found in warriors. His nose was thin and had a high bridgeand strangely arched nostrils. The dark eyes seemed to reflect the light of the flickering candles, causing them to glow with some red aura. The effect was threatening. The thin mouth was fixed and cruel.

‘I am told that you are an emissary from Theodore, the new archbishop of Canterbury, that you are also hereditary gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

‘I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’

‘This does not allow you to maintain special privileges. At least not in my abbey. You do not appear to have informed Brother Willibrod that your rank of gerefa was lost the moment you took your vows as a religieux.’

‘Perhaps Brother Willibrod assumed too much. I did use the word “was”,’ Eadulf replied spiritedly. ‘As for special privileges? I do not understand.’

‘To bring a woman into this abbey. To persuade my dominus to defy my cardinal rule. We are a closed house to womenkind.’ The abbot’s voice was sharp.

Eadulf coloured hotly. ‘My travelling companion is Fidelma of Cashel, sister to the King of Muman and a famed lawyer in her own land.’

‘She is not in her own land and this is my abbey where I set the rules.’

‘If you glance through the window you will see that the weather makes it impossible for anyone to continue on a journey this night,’ Eadulf snapped back.

The abbot was not put out by Eadulf’s attitude.

‘You should not have attempted any journey in the first place without being assured of a welcome,’ he replied with equal firmness.

‘Forgive me. I thought that in coming to a Christian house I would find Christian charity,’ Eadulf replied sarcastically. ‘This is my own country, my own people, and the steward of this abbey was a friend with whom I had grown up. I did not expect to find a Christian house that displays an inflexible, uncompassionate and mean-spirited rule.’

The abbot regarded him without any change of expression. He did not respond to the insult.

‘You have been away some time, I am told. You will findmany things changed in this land. This abbey, for example, is now under my rule, mutatis mutandis.’

‘Things having been changed that had to be changed?’ Eadulf turned the Latin saying into a question. ‘So compassion had to be excluded from this place?’

The abbot ignored the interjection. ‘I will show Christ’s generosity this night. But tomorrow morning, after Matins, you and the woman will leave this place. In the meantime, she must not move from the chamber in which she has been placed. You, Brother Eadulf, may attend services in our chapel.’

Eadulf swallowed angrily. ‘I must protest that-’

‘The woman will not be allowed to stay longer and set my rules at naught. Now, I demand to know what business brings you here. Do you have messages from Archbishop Theodore for me?’

Eadulf ground his teeth to control his anger.

‘Not for you. No,’ he replied with malicious sharpness.

The imperturbable features of the abbot did not flicker. However, his voice rose sharply again.

‘Then why did you come here? You gave my dominus to believe-’

‘I gave him to believe nothing. I merely told him who I was. I came to see my friend, Brother Botulf.’

For the first time the abbot’s eyes widened slightly. ‘And that is all?’

‘Should there be anything else?’

There was a pause. Eadulf noticed a tiny pulse throbbing in the abbot’s temple. He wondered at the man’s state of nerves.

‘Are you saying that you brought a message from Canterbury to my steward? Is that the reason why you have come here?’

‘I have nothing further to tell you,’ replied Eadulf, feeling irritated by the interrogation.

‘I have been told that you have seen the body of Brother Botulf. If that is all, you may leave tomorrow morning with your purpose achieved.’

‘My purpose achieved?’ For a moment Eadulf found himself speechless. Then he fought to control himself again. Truly, this man was insufferable. Eadulf’s voice became tinged with an icy hardness. ‘My purpose now is to find out who killed my friend and to ensure that the culprit is brought to justice.’

Abbot Cild’s eyelids lowered slowly, paused, and then rose. It reminded Eadulf of a hawk hooding its eyes before a kill. A faint smile now seemed to hover on those thin lips. It was, the thought came to Eadulf, like moonlight glinting on a tombstone. There was no feeling in the abbot’s voice other than that tone which implied a sinister threat. Eadulf shivered slightly as the hairs tingled for a moment on the nape of his neck.

‘I can tell you that the outlaw Aldhere, a marsh dweller, is to blame. And tomorrow at midday I shall take some of our brethren and go into the marshes and hunt him down like the dog that he is. If we catch him then we shall hang him. Now your purpose is achieved and you will quit this abbey as I have requested. I hope that I have made myself clear, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham?’ Abbot Cild rose leisurely in one smooth movement, reminding Eadulf of the way he had seen a snake uncoil itself after basking in the sun.

‘Is there to be a trial of this man Aldhere?’ he ventured, trying to quell the feeling of dread which the abbot seemed to have no trouble in conjuring in him.

‘A trial? What need is there for a trial? Aldhere is a murderer. Trials are not for such as him.’

‘What was the motive and where is the evidence?’ demanded Eadulf, determined not to be put off.

‘The motive is theft and the evidence is that Aldhere was seen leaving the abbey shortly after the body of Botulf was discovered.’

‘Who saw Aldhere?’

Abbot Cild let out a hiss of annoyance. ‘You try my patience too far, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. Now be gone. I have a burial to prepare for.’