Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘Merciful God!’ he breathed as he examined it.

Fidelma stood impatiently at the door. ‘What is it?’

He turned and held it out so that she could see it in the light.Burned onto the leather below the patterned symbol, probably by means of a red hot needle or similarly pointed object, was a name. The name was ‘Botulf’.

‘It is empty,’ she observed, quickly peering inside. ‘What is your friend’s purse doing here?’

Eadulf had been looking closely around the spot where he had found it. There were dark stains there. He followed a splattering of them to where some steps led upwards to be blocked by an old, wooden door, bolted on the inside.

Fidelma had recognised the stains.

‘Blood. I think your friend Botulf might have met his death here?’ she observed softly.

Eadulf shivered and not with cold. He was aware that she was coughing again.

‘I’ll wager that door leads through the crypt to the small courtyard by the chapel. Poor Botulf’s body was found there. I’ll keep this,’ he said, putting the purse in his sacculus. ‘We’d best move on. We can consider this matter later.’

The passage seemed to continue for ever and he was coming to the awful conclusion that he had mistaken the directions. Perhaps it had been two left turns after all, instead of two right? He was about to suggest that they turn back when he saw some light up ahead.

It was the end of the tunnel. The exit was covered with creepers. Trailing growths hung over it like a curtain. Eadulf had a little difficulty in pushing them aside, halting to draw back the foliage for Fidelma to squeeze though. Clearly no one had been through this way in some time.

Cautiously he moved forward. The dankness and cold of the passage had prepared them for the chill of the day outside. Although the sky was clear and blue, the snow lay like a crisp covering over every exposed place.

They had actually emerged twenty or so paces from the abbey walls, in the shelter of a hillock where trees provided a thin screen from watching eyes.

Eadulf peered cautiously round.

‘Down!’ he suddenly hissed.

Fidelma obeyed him without question.

Close by the south wall of the abbey were gathered half a dozenmen. With them, seated on horseback, was a slim figure with long red hair. It appeared to be a girl. One of the men was talking to her. Then she raised her hand in acknowledgment and urged her horse forward, straight towards their hiding place. The track brought her very close to where they were concealed, but the black mare she was riding raced by without their being spotted. Eadulf was frowning as he gazed after her vanished form.

‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma, noticing his curious expression.

‘I could swear that was the same woman I saw the other night — the one everybody is making such a fuss about.’ He looked back towards the men by the abbey walls. ‘I wonder what they are doing?’

Fidelma followed his gaze.

‘Men from the abbey preparing for this Saxon attack?’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘A strange place to set up a defensive position,’ he said. ‘Any attack from the sea is going to come from the east.’ He paused and listened. There was no sound of any approaching warband, nor of any personal pursuit. He looked around cautiously. ‘I am afraid that it is going to be a fair walk to Tunstall. I wish we could have procured some horses.’

Fidelma, feeling much better since leaving the dark, damp confines of the tunnels, was mischievous.

‘I thought that you did not enjoy riding?’

Eadulf smiled briefly. Her humour was a sign that she was returning to her old self.

‘I am worried for you. It is a long way to trudge through the cold snow in your condition.’

‘Don’t worry, Eadulf. It is true that I would prefer to be seated before a good fire with a hot drink but beggars cannot choose. The sooner we start, the sooner we will arrive.’

Eadulf nodded but he insisted on carrying both their travelling bags so that Fidelma would not be burdened with hers. They moved deeper into the woods and Eadulf tried to find tracks that were clear of snow and so would not leave a trail that could easily be seen by those wishing to pursue them. He kept a slow but steady pace but, even so, Fidelma had to rest now and then for her breathing was fast and shallow. It was obvious that she was not entirely recovered from the illness.

Picking his way carefully, Eadulf led the way through the forest and undergrowth. After some time he glimpsed what appeared to be a woodsman’s cottage through the trees. It was a short distance above them on the slopes of the hill. A thin blue wisp of smoke was curling from the chimney. Although they had not come very far from the abbey, Eadulf felt it might be a suitable place for Fidelma to rest in comfort for a while. He turned to Fidelma who was only just catching up with him.

‘I am going to see if we can claim hospitality at that woodsman’s hut,’ he told her. ‘Why don’t you sit down on that log for a moment while I go up there?’

Fidelma sank down thankfully onto the log to recover her breath. She glanced up towards the hut.

‘Aren’t we too close to the abbey to rest for a while? If the abbey is attacked then the attackers may well march in this direction.’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I think we will be safe for a while yet.’

‘I would prefer to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the abbey, but …’ She shrugged. She was too weak to argue with him.

Eadulf left her and made his way towards the woodsman’s hut. From the outside it appeared deserted as there were no dogs or other animals about. But the wisp of smoke indicated there was a fire lit inside and where there was a fire there must be someone to stoke it. He walked confidently to the door. Then he saw a horse, still saddled, with its reins hitched to a nearby post. It was blowing a little as if it had just had a hard ride. It was a black mare.

He drew near and was about to raise his fist to the door to announce his presence when a scream stopped him. It was a female scream which ended in a peal of laughter. Then a voice, a woman’s voice, began to speak. The words were punctuated with squeals and groans.

‘Come, lover … oh, it is good … good … oh …’

It was obvious what was taking place inside and Eadulf dropped his arm. He felt a surge of embarrassment. Then he suddenly realised, with some shock, that the voice was speaking in the language of Éireann.

He hesitated, wondering what to do. Half of him wanted to turn away and the other half of him was curious to know who was speaking in such a fashion.

He suppressed his embarrassment and moved cautiously along the wall to where he had seen a window. There was no glass in it and the piece of sacking was torn. He edged near and took a quick glance into the hut. Then, ascertaining that he was not being observed by those inside, he took a longer look, feeling like some heteroclite; like some perverted peeper.

He saw what he had expected to see: a man and woman making love. It seemed that the woman was more active than the man, talking and moaning all the time. She was young and slim, with a shock of reddish-blonde hair. Above her naked body was a thick-set man of middle age. The first thing that Eadulf noticed about him was that he wore the tonsure of St Peter. Then the man raised his face but, fortunately for Eadulf, his good eye was tight shut in his ecstasy. The other was still covered by its leather patch.

It was Brother Willibrod, the dominus of Aldred’s Abbey.

Eadulf turned swiftly away, swallowing hard. He paused for a moment, gathering his breath, and then went back down the hill and through the woods to where Fidelma was patiently waiting.