Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘And you went into the chamber. What then?’ coaxed Eadulf as the boy hesitated.

Redwald raised a horror-stricken face to his.

‘That was when I saw … her!’

‘Go on. Who was this woman who has terrified you?’

‘It is the lady Gélgeis. I swear it. I came to the abbey when she was still alive. I know what she looked like. It was she who nursed me when I had the ague. That was why I knew that I should try to help the Irish sister.’

‘I see.’ Eadulf waited patiently as the boy gathered his thoughts. ‘And you thought that the lady Gélgeis was in the room with Sister Fidelma?’

The boy was adamant. ‘I did not think. I saw her. As I entered she was bending over Sister Fidelma and bathing her forehead … exactly as she used to do with me.’

‘Describe her.’

‘She is young and pretty.’

‘Yes? Go on? Describe her hair.’

‘She had red hair, more gold than red, and her skin was pale, very pale even by the candlelight. She was clad in a rich, crimson gown with jewels — glittering jewels. I stood there and … and she raised her head and looked at me. Holy Mother of God! Her face was exactly as I remembered it — but she is dead, Brother! She is dead! Everyone says she is dead. It must be so.’

‘Calm yourself, Redwald,’ Eadulf said, patting the boy’s shoulder. ‘Just tell me what happened then. She looked at you. Did she say anything?’

‘Forgive me, Brother, but I raised a cry and fled the chamber. I spared no thought for the Irish sister lying on the bed. I ran. I ran straight to Brother Willibrod who insisted that I go with him back to the room. We went back …’

‘What did you find?’

‘The room was deserted except for the Irish sister. There was no sign of Gélgeis.’

‘What then?’

‘I told Brother Willibrod the details of what I had seen. He insisted I tell the abbot. I believe that Abbot Cild was very displeased. My nerves were all to pieces and Willibrod gave me strong liquor to calm them and brought me here to rest. That is all I know.’

Eadulf leant against the wall and rubbed the side of his nose with a forefinger.

‘When you returned, there was no trace of this woman you saw?’ he asked finally.

‘How could there be? It was an apparition, a ghost.’

‘You are convinced that it was the lady Gélgeis?’

‘It was no one else but the lady Gélgeis as I knew her. She has been dead this long year or more.’

‘I see. But tell me this, Brother Redwald: did you ever see the lady Gélgeis dead?’

The boy frowned. ‘It is well known that her body was never recovered from the marsh. It rests in a quagmire not far from here. Some of the brethren said that she missed the path coming back alone to the abbey one evening and wandered into it. It is an evil place that has claimed several animals who have been caught in its muddy maw. They call it Hob’s Mire.’

Eadulf was frowning. ‘Not far from here, you say?’

‘Aye, there is a track to a little copse and then beyond it stretches the marshes and that’s where Hob’s Mire is.’

Eadulf suppressed a shiver, suddenly remembering the blue fluorescent light that he had seen about the very place the boy was describing. He found his hand shaking and tried to stop it by a surge of anger. Fidelma would not approve of the thoughts that were streaming through his mind at that moment. He had been brought up in this land worshipping the old gods, the old ways, and was not converted to the new faith until he was well into his maturity. But the blessed water with which the Irish hermit who had converted him to the faith of Christ had baptised him had not been powerful enough to wash away all his pagan beliefs.

The wraith of Gélgeis — which he, too, had seen that first night near the chapel; the blue flame — whether it be the firedrake or not — and now the story Brother Redwald was telling him drew him back to the ancient beliefs of his people like tentacles reaching out and drawing him back into the tenebrous ways of the shadowy religion from which he had fled.

He set his jaw firmly. In his mind he could hear Fidelma’s s chiding tones.

‘What is the supernatural but nature that has not yet been explained?’

As soon as he said it, Eadulf realised that he was merely repeating something Fidelma had said. She would doubtless argue that if people of sound reason had seen the woman and she had been clearly recognised as a woman thought to have been dead, then there were two possibilities. Either the woman was alive or someone was impersonating her. Wraiths and spirits of the dead would not enter into her reasoning. It was as simple as that. Yet this was not her country nor her culture.Eadulf even felt a momentary resentment. How would Fidelma be able to understand the brooding evil that shrouded the dark Saxon winters? Then he felt disloyal for the thought.

The boy did not seem convinced by his argument.

‘It is Yuletide, Brother. You remember what that means?’

He knew well enough. During the twelve days of the feast of Yule the pagan deities of the Saxons came closest to Midgard, the middle world in which humankind dwelt. This was when the dead were free to seek out those who had wronged them in life, when trolls and elfin people were sent to punish the wrongdoers. Eadulf felt guilty at even thinking it, but a culture one has grown up with is hard to discard.

He leaned forward to the boy and patted him on the shoulder again.

‘There is nothing supernatural here, son,’ he assured him confidently, although he felt he was an outrageous liar and that it must show. ‘It is just some mystery that we will get to the bottom of. Believe in your faith and be firm in the protection of the Christ.’

He left the boy in the small cell and made his way back to the main quadrangle. From there he followed the route which he knew would lead him to the abbot’s chambers. Abbot Cild was waiting for him, seated at his table, his hands spread palm downwards and an angry scowl distorting his features.

‘Did you not understand that I had sent for you to come to me immediately you returned to the abbey?’ he demanded belligerently.

‘I had more pressing matters to attend to,’ Eadulf replied coldly, his demeanour showing that he was not browbeaten by the abbot.

Abbot Cild’s scowl deepened.

‘Your lack of respect to me has been noted before, Brother Eadulf. Your duty is obedience to me as abbot.’

‘I have other duties,’ Eadulf responded. ‘My duty is to Archbishop Theodore, your superior in the faith. I have been appointed his emissary and may speak on his behalf. That is my sole area of obedience.’

As he spoke, Eadulf crossed his fingers superstitiously. What he had said was true in that this had been his role when Theodorehad appointed him as emissary to King Colgú at Cashel, but it was his role no longer. Eadulf, however, suspected that Abbot Cild was not going to challenge him outright and send to Canterbury to ask Archbishop Theodore for verification. By all accounts, Cild himself was not one to stick to the truth. Within a few days, Eadulf hoped that he would have resolved the matter and he eased his conscience by remembering an old saying of his people — falsehood often goes further than truth when dealing with a liar, and such a lie will eventually pass away while only the truth remains.

Abbot Cild regarded him with mixed emotions. A tiny muscle twitched at his temple; his lips thinned.

‘Are you claiming to have superior authority to me?’ he demanded threateningly.

‘I am simply pointing out that you have no power over me, Cild,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘Now, Sister Fidelma is ill. The crisis is close; her fever either breaks or she worsens. I shall be her nurse this night. So remove your guard on her chamber door.’