Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

The first sentence Eadulf saw was from the Book of Samuel. ‘The Lord sees not as a man sees; for man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.’

Eadulf frowned. There seemed something familiar about this admonition and he could not recall why.

The next line he did not recognise but Botulf had written thename Lucretius beside it: ‘Whenever a thing changes and quits its proper limits, this change is at once the death of that which was before.’ Then added and underscored: ‘The change is definite — how long before the death?’

Then there followed a passage almost revealing but totally perplexing. ‘God willing, my friend will be here soon. Is it not written that mercy is the support of justice? Not so in the man of Merce. We will be destroyed by the people of the …’ Eadulf paused, trying to make out the word, which was distorted by an ink blot. It looked like ‘marshes’. He thought of Aldhere and his marshland outlaws and shivered slightly. ‘God willing, my friend will be here soon.’ It could only be a reference to Botulf’s wait for Eadulf’s arrival, and he had arrived too late to help his friend.

The final note was also curious and again Brother Botulf had noted its provenance. ‘Can a man carry fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? Or can one walk upon hot coals, and his feet not be scorched? Proverbs.’ Added was the line: ‘Thus is it with Bretta’s son.’

Eadulf sat back frowning and trying to make sense of these notes by his dead friend. What was going on in Botulf’s mind? The only thing that made some sense was the comment about Bretta’s son. As he had learnt, Aldhere and Cild were Bretta’s sons and both certainly had ‘fire in his bosom’, but nothing else made sense. He put the paper back in his sacculus .

He stood up thoughtfully and walked to the bed to have another look at Fidelma. There was no change. Perhaps Higbald was right. His wisest course was to leave the abbey with Fidelma as soon as she was able.

He returned to his seat and tried to relax.

What choice would Fidelma make in the circumstances? He knew that she would want to get to the bottom of the mystery which permeated this dark, brooding abbey. He also knew that safety must come first. It was evident that Abbot Cild had no compunction about fulfilling his threat. Rank or station did not cause him a second thought.

Eadulf had come back to the abbey intent on going to find Garb and his men. He had learnt that the most likely place would be among a community in the forest of Tunstall which lay south of the abbey. That had been his intended goal. Perhaps that oughtto be where he should take Fidelma when she was sufficiently recovered? At least, she would be with her own kind who would protect her because of her rank and office.

Eadulf’s thoughts seemed to be becoming slower and slower in registering, drifting, diverging; and then he was sleeping an uncomfortable slumber full of apprehensive visions, jumbled images which made no sense at all.

He was aware of someone shouting at him; angry, demanding.

He awoke with a start. He was slumped uncomfortably in his chair. A foot or so from his face were the scowling features of Abbot Cild. Eadulf started up.

‘What is it?’ he demanded, trying to gather his wits.

‘Do you claim that you have been asleep here?’

Eadulf was still trying to shake the fuzziness from his head. He saw an anxious-looking Brother Willibrod hovering behind the abbot, wringing his hands in his anxiety. To one side stood the implacable Brother Beornwulf.

‘It is as I said, Father Abbot,’ Brother Willibrod intoned, ‘neither the woman nor the man has left this chamber. Brother Beornwulf has been outside the door all night.’

Eadulf was now wide awake and he rose, causing the abbot to step backwards, for he had been leaning right over the chair.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Eadulf, his voice strong but hushed. He glanced towards Fidelma and then, frowning, he went to her side and felt her forehead. A surge of relief rushed through him.

‘Good! The fever has broken. She is on the mend.’ Eadulf swung round to the surly abbot. ‘Let us leave her to a natural sleep.’

By force of personality, he was able to push the abbot, the dominus and the bodyguard out of the chamber into the corridor outside. After he closed the door he turned his scowling features on them. His voice rose sharply.

‘I hope you have some good explanation for bursting into a sickroom in the middle of the night?’

Abbot Cild was not abashed.

‘Have you and your companion been in that room since the time you left me last night?’

Eadulf was aware of a soft light permeating the windows. He suddenly realised that it was not far from dawn. There came the distant sound of waking birds. He must have been asleep for several hours.

‘Where else would I be?’ he countered brusquely. ‘And certainly Sister Fidelma is incapable of leaving her bed.’

‘It is as I have said, Father Abbot,’ repeated Brother Willibrod sulkily. ‘Brother Beornwulf has been outside the door all night.’

‘What are we supposed to have done now?’ challenged Eadulf. ‘Have you invented some new claim against us?’

Abbot Cild looked ready to explode with anger but Brother Willibrod reached forward and laid a restraining hand on his arm.

‘Come with me, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham,’ Abbot Cild finally said, turning and leading the way at a swift pace along the corridor and through the quadrangle towards the chapel of the abbey. There were a few of the brethren about who passed with lowered heads and hands folded before them. Eadulf was conscious of their eyes watching as he followed the abbot. Behind him came Brother Willibrod. Brother Beornwulf had been ordered to remain behind at his post outside the guests’ chamber.

Abbot Cild made his way directly to the chapel and entered. Inside, he did not pause but marched straight towards the high altar. Then he halted. He threw out one hand in a gesture towards it.

He did not speak. He did not have to, for what he had brought Eadulf to see was plain and its implications were obvious.

On the centre of the high altar was a dead cat. Skewering the animal to the altar was a bone-handled knife. Eadulf had seen such knives before. In the old days, before the new faith had reached the people of Wuffa, in the land of the East Angles, the priests of Woden and Thunor had carried such implements, with the elaborately carved sacred symbols on their bone handles. They were sacrificial knives.

‘It is the sign of the pagan worship,’ whispered Brother Willibrod, genuflecting. ‘We all know this is the feast of Yule.’

In spite of himself, Eadulf could not prevent a shudder catchinghim. He tried hard to recall where he had recently heard about a black cat being sacrificed on an altar.

‘The conjuring of a spirit and now … this!’ muttered Abbot Cild.

Eadulf glanced quickly at him.

‘You appear to link the two things together?’

‘They both smell of the evil arts!’ cried the abbot.

‘They smell of an evil mind,’ retorted Eadulf. ‘The question is … whose mind?’

‘My answer is not altered. Nothing like this happened at Aldred’s Abbey until you and the foreign woman came here.’

‘And I have said, that is no answer at all. What would an Irish religieuse know of pagan Saxon gods and practices? We are not responsible for this’ — he gestured towards the high altar — ‘this desecration any more than we are responsible for any of the evil acts that have take place in this abbey.’

‘That you will have to prove,’ snapped the abbot. ‘Brother Willibrod, you will see to it that this is cleared away. I shall have to bless and reconsecrate the altar.’