Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘How did she die? Do you know?’

A curious expression crossed Aldhere’s features.

‘What makes you interested in Gélgeis, holy gerefa ?’

Eadulf told him of the events of the previous night in the chapel.

Aldhere sat back with a soft smile.

‘If I have understood you well on this business of ritual fasting,’ he finally said, ‘then these poor fools do not stand any chance of forcing justice upon Cild at all. Who understands this ritual among us? They will simply be killed by my brother’s men if given the opportunity.’

Eadulf leaned forward. ‘Do you think Gélgeis was murdered by your brother?’

Aldhere hesitated. ‘It is possible. I cannot say. She disappeared while crossing the marshes near the abbey one day.’

‘Did Botulf ever speak of the matter? I am told that he knew the girl well.’

‘Botulf? He never spoke of it to me.’

Eadulf sat back in disappointment. ‘What do you know about her death?’

‘I know little enough. When I heard that Cild had returned from Connacht, I was prepared to greet him as a long lost brother. As I said, I came to the abbey. Cild’s wife showed more friendship and courtesy to me than he did. She was very sweet and charming but frail and gentle. I could not believe that my brother had been able to attract such a creature …’

He paused for a minute in his remembrance, then continued. ‘As soon as I saw my brother and realised the enmity that he still held for me, I resolved to have no more to do with him. Then came the battle and my downfall. When I was outlawed, mybrother went to King Ealdwulf to claim my rank and possessions. Ealdwulf is a wily monarch. He sympathised, approved of my brother’s appointment as abbot but said he could not also make him thane of Bretta’s Ham nor give him all my possessions. In truth, Ealdwulf wanted them for himself, but he gave Cild one eighth share of my father’s treasure. This did not mollify Cild but he could not argue further with the King.’

Aldhere paused and reached for the flagon of mead which stood on the table and poured himself a beaker, draining it with two swift gulps.

‘That, holy gerefa, is my unhappy story, and indeed the unhappy story of my brother.’

They sat in silence for a moment or two.

‘It does raise some further questions,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘Which are?’

‘Was it Cild or Botulf’s presence in the abbey that caused you to set up your base in these marshes?’

Aldhere grinned. ‘In truth, it was a mixture of both.’

‘How would one set about finding this man, Garb, and his father, Gadra of Maigh Eo? For Garb to come to the abbey in the snowstorm last night and proclaim this ritual would indicate that these Irish warriors must be dwelling in the vicinity. I would like to speak with them and maybe save them from Cild’s wrath.’

The outlawed thane pursed his lips in thought.

‘A band of Irish warriors would find it hard to conceal themselves in this country. But there are still a few religious houses where the Irish missionaries have refused to abandon them to Roman clerics. That may be your answer.’

Eadulf was suddenly hopeful.

‘Do you know where there are such houses?’

Aldhere nodded slowly.

‘But I fail to see your interest in this, holy gerefa,’ he countered. ‘You are surely a stranger to all these matters — what are you interested in?’

‘I am interested,’ returned Eadulf, ‘in bringing to justice the murderer or murderers of my friend Botulf. If I have to unravel a ball of twine to reach that end, then so be it. I will do so.’

‘You sound a determined man, my friend. Are you such a man? And are you without fear?’

‘You may rest assured that I am determined and you may judge whether I am without fear or not.’

‘It is not I who will judge that. I think you are up against some strange mysteries, my friend. Strange mysteries and evil people. Be warned.’

‘The nearest houses of Irish missionaries — you were about to tell me their whereabouts?’

‘I am told there are a few elderly missionaries from Éireann in Domnoc’s Wic to the north of here, but that might be too far away …’ Aldhere paused, then smiled. ‘There is the forest of Tunstall, the place of the farmstead, that is much closer, just south of the river. I heard tell that a monk named Laisre and some of his brethren were hiding there.’

Eadulf was eager.

‘I know the forest of Tunstall. It is close enough to the abbey to be accessible but it is large and would be impossible to search single-handed. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

‘There is only one place in that forest where Laisre would be, and that is the old farmstead itself. That is easy to find. But there is no guarantee that these Irish warriors are there. However, it is the nearest place where they might receive refuge.’

‘It is worth a try,’ agreed Eadulf, feeling positive. ‘I think that this Garb and his father might know much of the mystery of your brother’s wife. And I believe it is linked to the murder of my friend, Botulf.’

‘Will you tell my brother that you have seen me?’

‘There is an old proverb,’ reflected Eadulf. ‘Let not your tongue cut your throat.’

Aldhere smiled wanly. ‘You are right. And I will give you another old saying of our people that you would do well to remember while you reside at my brother’s abbey — be afraid and you’ll be safe.’

Eadulf glanced towards the sky beyond the open window. Darkness came early in these winter months and he estimated that it would be less than an hour before it was dusk.

‘Speaking of safety, it is time that I returned to the abbey.’

He rose and Aldhere rose with him.

‘I’ll send Wiglaf to put you on the right path. At least the skyis clear and the snow has stopped falling. Your journey back will be easy.’

‘Should I want to get in touch with you again …?’ Eadulf left the question unfinished.

Aldhere smiled. ‘There is a clump of trees a few hundred yards upriver from the abbey. I will have Wiglaf there who will know how to find me. That was how we used to keep in touch with poor Botulf. The copse was where I was due to meet with Botulf yesterday.’

Eadulf thrust out his hand. He found himself liking and trusting the outlaw.

‘God be with you, thane of Bretta’s Ham.’

‘And luck follow your path, holy gerefa.’

The journey back was longer than Eadulf expected and Wiglaf, the former honey thief, was a loquacious travelling companion. He chattered constantly. In desperation, and trying to convert the conversation to something more positive than just idle gossip, Eadulf interrupted to ask him how he had joined up with Aldhere.

The man laughed uproariously and leaned forward towards Eadulf, pulling down his collar. There were faint red marks around his neck.

‘See that? Marks of a slave collar, gerefa. That was the price of the path I started on in my youth. I’m afraid your birching did not persuade me to alter my ways. I progressed, was caught and became a slave. It so happened that when Aldhere raided the King’s fortress at the mouth of the Yar, in search of his men, I was there and chained to one of them. That is why I am now here. He couldn’t take his man without taking me.’

Eadulf looked at him suspiciously. ‘And you have not repented of your ways? Are you still a thief?’

The man smiled broadly. ‘And still a good one. Aldhere does not need the religious, he needs thieves to help him stay alive in this marshland. It is all very well taking a stand against injustice, but when one is still declared outlaw, then one must live without the law.’

He roared with laughter at his own joke.