Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘This is true,’ agreed Garb. ‘Brother Laisre, however, has lived under such a threat ever since the decision at Whitby was endorsed by King Ealdwulf of East Anglia. Ealdwulf went further and ordered all the religious who held to the Rule of Colmcille to quit his kingdom. Brother Laisre and his small band have survived in spite of all attempts to eliminate them.’

‘But now the stakes are higher,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘Cild must know that you and your father would be hiding with Laisre.’

Garb gestured with one arm sweeping the clearing.

‘Observe the trees, Sister. They are good sentinels.’

‘I have already done so. Good as they are, there are paths through them and along paths men and arms may travel.’

‘That is why Laisre has a series of lookouts along the trails and why there are escape routes already planned. Do not worry, Sister. This is not an easy encampment to take by surprise. Now, let me show you these ponies.’

He led the way to one of the barns where there were several native ponies of the type she knew well. Sturdy, short little animals. She eyed them professionally, having grown up with horses and ridden almost before she could walk.

‘I’ll take the dun-coloured one, that one with the oatmealcoloured muzzle.’

Garb nodded approvingly. ‘A good choice. She is strong and will not tire easily. And you, Brother? What is your choice?’

Eadulf looked uncomfortable for he was no horseman.

‘I see you looking at the bay,’ intervened Fidelma diplomatically. ‘I think you have made a good choice there.’

Eadulf expressed his gratitude in a swift smile. He knew almost nothing about horses and was not a brilliant rider.

Garb had turned to one of his men and ordered him to saddle the two ponies.

‘How long will you be away? Will you need provisions?’

‘It may be best to take some although I am not intending to be away more than a few days. I will be back here long before the troscud is due to start.’

Garb appeared to be in charge in spite of Brother Laisre, issuing orders without deferring to the leader of the community. One of the brethren went hurrying to oversee the task of preparing some provisions for the journey without questioning Garb’s authority.

Fidelma made a point of seeking out Brother Laisre and paying her respects as one religious leaving the hospitality of another. Brother Laisre appeared to have overcome his irritation of earlier that morning and was polite enough in accepting her assurances that she and Eadulf would return soon.

A little while later, astride their sturdy little ponies, Fidelma and Eadulf left the clearing and the community of the religious of Tunstall, and began to trek eastward through the forest. The woods immediately enshrouded them, almost as if a dark veil had been drawn around them. There was only room for one horse to move at a time along the path and because of this, Fidelma had let Eadulf take the lead for the obvious reason that he knew the country.

‘I presume that we should head for Aldhere’s encampment?’ Eadulf called over his shoulder as soon as they left the community.

‘That is the intention,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Then we will strike east through these woods. The sea is no more than four or five miles away but before that there is a little settlement which lies by a stream. It used to be called the South Stream. Beyond it is an easy path which may lead us north, via a ford across the river, working our way around the abbey without having to go near it.’

‘I leave the choice of path to you, Eadulf. It is your country,’ she replied gravely.

They continued on in silence for a while. It was still fairly cold and Fidelma thanked the foresight she had in borrowing an extra cloak from Brother Laisre before setting out. She realised that in spite of her recovery, she was still weak.

She decided to let her pony have its head, following Eadulf, and sat easily in the saddle, letting her thoughts formulate into the dercad, the act of meditation which was both restful and less stressful than trying to dwell on the problems that faced them. It was almost like dozing, falling gradually asleep, until …

She found herself slipping and caught herself just in time to prevent herself from falling from her pony. It snorted in protest as she snatched at its mane.

Eadulf glanced back.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked solicitously.

‘Of course!’ she snapped back in irritation. Her bad temper was merely to hide her feeling of anger with herself. She had been falling asleep. That was not what the act of meditation was about; it was to refresh the mind without plunging it into sleep where dreams might equally destroy its equilibrium. She had never done that before. Perhaps it was a sign that her illness had weakened her. She felt contrite about her response to Eadulf’s concern.

‘I am sorry,’ she called to Eadulf.

Eadulf half turned in his saddle.

‘For what?’ he asked blandly. He knew her too well to take exception to her irritation.

She did not reply for the moment and then said: ‘I did not mean to snap at you.’

He shrugged and turned back. Ahead of them, she could hear a rushing sound of water, water gushing over rocks.

‘Is that the South Stream of which you spoke?’ she demanded.

‘It is and soon we shall come to a clearing where we will find a few houses clustered together. If I remember correctly, there is a farm there. Do you want to skirt round it? Do you want to avoid it?’

‘Might we be able to get a hot drink there without encountering trouble?’ she asked.

She felt thirsty, but the chill of the winter morning was penetrating and she wanted to ensure that she did not sickenagain. Cold water would not suffice for her needs.

‘I am sure that the farmer will provide hospitality,’ replied Eadulf.

‘Let’s go there then.’

Eadulf continued to lead the way through the woods in the direction of the sound of the gushing torrent. Within a few moments they had reached the bank of a moderate-sized stream, bubbling and hissing over stones and pebbles, and the woods suddenly gave way to strips of undulating cultivated farmland. There was the distant glimpse of the sea some way beyond to be had from the elevation on which they emerged.

Not far away, in the cleft of the hills, was a curl of smoke and soon they could see the roofs of buildings.

‘That’s the farm,’ called Eadulf.

Suddenly the sound of people shouting came to their ears and figures began to run here and there.

‘What’s up?’ demanded Fidelma.

Eadulf pulled a face.

‘They have seen us, that is all,’ he replied. ‘We are near the coast and if the East Saxons do raid the land from time to time, then these people are right to be wary of approaching strangers.’

A thick-set man was striding down the path towards them.

‘Halt, strangers, and identify yourselves!’ demanded a gravel voice as the man suddenly stopped and stood, feet apart, hands on hips, although one of the gigantic hands gripped a long-hafted hammer.

‘Peace, my friend,’ cried Eadulf, pulling up his pony. ‘I am Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, travelling with my companion. We bring you blessings of Christ on this holy day.’

Fidelma noticed that Eadulf did not identify her. Maybe it was best not to let on that she was a foreigner.

The attitude of the man seemed to unbend a little.

‘Of Seaxmund’s Ham, you say?’

‘I do.’

‘Whither do you go now?’

‘We come merely to ask for some hot drink to refresh ourselves this winter day and then we will be on our way north again.’

The burly man’s eyes glanced from Eadulf to Fidelma and back again.

‘Then we return your blessings on this feast of our Saviour. Forgive us our wariness, Brother Eadulf, but, as you know, we live in troubled times.’