Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

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 onthe 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?’ Eadulfdemanded, 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?’