Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘There is one thing that you appear to have overlooked, or perhaps do not realise, about the troscud, the ritual fast. Gadra is a chieftain of Maigh Eo. He is a descendant of the Uí Briúin kings of Connacht, and they in turn are related to the Uí Néill High Kings. If Gadra dies, as it is like he will, and Cild does not compensate his family, as it is like he will not, then therewill begin a blood feud which will encompass the Uí Briúin and perhaps the Uí Néill, which will spread from Cild to the whole kingdom of the East Angles, and soon, perhaps, every kingdom on these islands might be taking sides. From this incident, there might grow a terrible warfare.’

Eadulf was astounded. ‘Do you really think that it could lead to that?’

Her features told him how earnest she was.

‘As soon as I realised that Gadra was one of the Uí Briúin I knew that we were not dealing with some petty chieftain but one with powerful connections. That is what stirs me to find a solution to this matter.’ She paused and added: ‘What were the thoughts that occupied you when Mul suggested that Aldhere or Cild might be in league with neighbouring kings for their own aggrandisement?’

Eadulf grimaced. He had thought she had not noticed his apprehension when Mul spoke of the gossip in the market places. In fact, he had almost forgotten the subject now that they had left Mul’s farmstead.

‘I was merely thinking that Cild was once a warlord in this land. I remembered how strange it was, the morning after we arrived here, that he and some of the brethren rode out in search of Aldhere almost as if they were warriors in battle array rather than religious.’

‘I recall that you told me about that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘However, as you said, he was once a warrior and warriors’ traits never leave them.’

‘That was my reasoning.’

‘There is something else worrying you?’

‘Not worrying me, just irritating me. On our way out from the abbey, we passed a room full of warriors’ equipment. Remember?’

Fidelma pursed her lips. She had forgotten.

‘I confess that I was not feeling well enough to take that in. Perhaps Cild likes to retain that link with his past life.’

‘If it is truly past. It was what Mul said that makes me think that it is not.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Maybe the rumours are true. Cild might well be in leaguewith Wulfhere of Mercia — involved in some plot to betray the South Folk to his kingdom.’

‘Why Mercia?’

‘Because the thing that has been worrying me is that the shields in that chamber each bore the battle emblem of the Iclingas. I had started to mention it to you when we found Botulf’s purse and the discovery drove it from my mind.’

‘Iclingas? What might that be?’

‘The Iclingas are Kings of Mercia.’

They rode on in silence for a while, allowing the ponies their heads to find their own way through the snowdrifts — a task for which the animals’ natural senses were far better fitted than the guidance of their riders.

‘We should be at Aldhere’s camp within the hour.’ Eadulf eventually broke the silence.

‘I shall look forward to meeting him after the conflicting reports of his character given by you and Mul.’

Eadulf snorted indignantly. ‘What does Mul know? Yet again, he repeats only the local gossip. I simply say that I prefer Aldhere to his dour brother Cild.’

‘There is often some truth to be found in gossip. Not so much fact but attitudes. I have known many ruthless men and women who are possessed of the sweetest temperaments until their plans are thwarted. It is often enlightening to listen to gossip.’

Eadulf looked disapproving.

‘You are fond of quoting Publilius Syrus,’ he rebuked her. ‘Did you not once quote him, and quote him approvingly, that it was wrong to take notice of gossip?’

Fidelma smiled. ‘You did not quote the exact words of Publilius Syrus, Eadulf, but the meaning is probably the same. However, what I said was to listen to gossip for attitudes and not for facts. In this instance the importance of the gossip lies in the context.’

‘And have you been led to any conclusion?’ Eadulf asked. He could not restrain the note of irony in his question.

Fidelma’s features grew serious.

‘I will admit to you, Eadulf, that nothing I have heard so far makes me see any solutions. In fact, this is the most frustrating conundrum I have ever encountered. We only know for certain of one crime. The death of your friend Botulf. We hear accusationsof another crime … the abbot’s wife … but is it a crime? We do not know, for accusations do not constitute facts, as you endeavoured to point out at Tunstall. But how are we to proceed? There are no witnesses to these events, only rumours and gossip.’

‘There is another point to be considered.’

Fidelma glanced across at him, frowning at his doleful tone. ‘Which is?’

‘That even if we could miraculously find the truth of what is happening, through what means could we reveal it and force a mediation on those concerned? You have no legal authority in this land. At least in Dyfed, the Welisc king gave you an authority. But here among the Angles and the Saxons, you have none. No authority at all.’

‘That is true,’ she agreed gravely. ‘But this is your country, Eadulf. These are your people. You are a gerefa here.’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘I was a gerefa here, extolling the laws of the Wuffingas. Once I went into the religious my authority as a gerefa ceased to be.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘Do you mean that a religious in this land cannot be an advocate of the law?’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘It is with irony that Mul addresses me as gerefa. It is because as a non-Christian he refuses to call me Brother. Neither, if you noticed, does he call you Sister. I have found many in the religious who have sought my advice because of my legal background but, in truth, I no longer have authority in this kingdom and these people know it.’

Fidelma reflected for a moment. Somewhere in her memory she must have known. It must have been explained to her when she had first met Eadulf at the great council at Whitby. Yet she had in recent times emphasised his legal standing to her people as it gave him a moral authority to help her in her own investigations.

‘Well, we will have to find some other way of exerting influence on matters,’ she said. ‘I believe Gadra and Garb will take notice if I can demonstrate that there is no need to undertake the ritual fast.’

‘But in the meantime,’ Eadulf sighed, ‘we have to keep out of the hands of Abbot Cild. I wonder how he can afford three gold pieces for our capture? It is a large sum to offer and you cannot doubt that many will be tempted by it.’

Certainly Fidelma did not doubt it.

‘More to the point, why is he so concerned to have us caught and silenced?’ she said. ‘He must surely know, as we do, that there is no way we can prove anything against him …’

‘Unless we are overlooking the obvious,’ muttered Eadulf.

Fidelma examined him thoughtfully. She could see his brows drawn together, his lips compressed, as if he were struggling to remember some forgotten information or event that had happened during the time that she lay in her fever.

‘You noticed that the crucifix Mul found was not one usually worn by a religious?’ she asked, after a while.

Eadulf nodded.

‘It was made for a person of wealth, doubtless a woman,’ he replied. ‘It seems logical that it was Gélgeis’s cross.’

‘Logical, but its ownership is not certain, nor is the reason why it came to be at Mul’s farmstead.’

A silence fell between them again before Fidelma broke it once more: ‘You have had conversation with Cild. Tell me, is he truly unbalanced in the mind? If so, have you learnt the cause of it?’