Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

Eadulf shrugged. ‘I would say that Cild is unstable to the point of being deranged. What caused his dementia? I do not know.’

‘The death of his wife and the strange apparitions at the abbey?’

To her surprise, Eadulf shook his head.

‘I think there is more to it than that. Aldhere claims his brother was demented and cruel from childhood and this was why he was disinherited. Perhaps he was born evil.’

Fidelma made a face.

‘Children are not born evil, Eadulf. They are usually created so.’

They had been travelling through a stretch of woodland, mainly of bare, gaunt trees with a few clumps of evergreens here and there. It was flat country close to the sea, so close that they could hear the distant whisper of the waves sliding towards the shore and then receding. Now came the sound of something else.

Fidelma drew rein and reached out a hand to touch Eadulf upon the arm. He glanced up from his reverie and halted too.

It had been the crack of a whip that had warned her and now came two more cracks in sharp succession. There was a soft rumbling sound and the clink of metal upon metal. A nearby voice shouted.

Fidelma looked quickly towards the direction of the sounds. They were coming from the track ahead, which seemed to twist out of sight through the woods.

Eadulf was examining the landscape in order to identify some place of concealment.

He nudged her arm and pointed inland beyond the tall sessile oaks which bordered the path to a nearby clump of evergreen trees and bushes, perhaps holly and polypody ferns, he was not sure. All he knew was that in this wilderness they offered the only hope of cover. There was no time to question the decision. They turned from the path and urged their ponies swiftly through the trees to ride around the meagre protection offered by the evergreens. As soon as they were behind the shelter, they both dismounted and held tight to their ponies’ reins. Only then did Eadulf realise that in the snow that lay about, their tracks could plainly be seen.

It was too late, however. Around the corner, along the track, swung a light carriage drawn by two strong mares. It was a rich, ornate carriage, and highly decorated. A symbol was painted on the door but they could not discern what it was. Curtains at the window of the carriage flapped in the breeze caused by its momentum. Someone of substance was seated inside. But what astonished them both was the driver.

He was a young man, obviously used to driving a carriage and pair. He held the reins effortlessly in one hand, striking the air with a whip held in the other and crying encouragement to the beasts in their mad headlong plunge through the woods. What astonished them was that he was clad in the robes of a religieux.

Within one horse’s space behind the carriage came four mounted warriors, one carrying a square of silk on a lance which flapped in the wind. They were all well dressed and well armed and were clearly the escort to the carriage.

Such was their momentum that no one noticed the disturbedsnow where Eadulf and Fidelma had turned from the path. The carriage and its escort thundered on through the wood and they could hear the sound of its passing diminishing in the distance.

Eadulf straightened up with an exhalation of relief.

‘Did you recognise the emblem on that coach?’ Fidelma asked as she also straightened up and patted the muzzle of her pony in gratitude for its silence.

‘Not on the coach,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘But the symbol on the flag carried by the escort was plain to see.’

‘Which was?’ prompted Fidelma, climbing back onto her mount.

‘That was the wolf-symbol of the Wuffingas, the kings of the East Angles. Only the King’s elite bodyguard may use it.’

Fidelma digested this in silence while he remounted his pony and they set off again slowly, retracing their path back to the main track.

‘Are you saying that it was probably the King of the East Angles who passed us just now?’ she finally asked. She suddenly smiled. ‘Maybe there was truth after all in the gossip about your King journeying southwards.’

‘Perhaps.’ But Eadulf seemed reluctant and when she pressed him he added: ‘I did not recognise the same symbol on the coach, nor do I understand why King Ealdwulf would be driven by a religieux. It is unusual.’

She was inclined to agree.

‘And with only four warriors to protect him, it would seem strange that this King would ride into the territory of your friend Aldhere?’ Fidelma pointed out.

Eadulf shook his head in bewilderment.

‘Yet another mystery along the road to truth.’

‘If truth can be found along any road here,’ muttered Fidelma.

They rode on for a further hour or more before Eadulf spotted some familiar landmarks.

‘I think we are near Aldhere’s lair,’ he said, sounding more cheerful than he had in a while. ‘Perhaps we will be able to begin to clear up some of these matters.’

Fidelma did not reply and together they continued silently on in the direction he had indicated.

The sound of a ram’s horn wailing nearby made them halt their ponies in momentary confusion.

There came a movement along the edges of the path and abruptly a half-dozen warriors appeared at their sides with weapons ready. At their head, Eadulf immediately recognised Wiglaf. He saw Eadulf and grinned broadly, telling the others to put up their weapons.

‘Two more outlaws come to join us, eh, gerefa ?’ he greeted them. And when Eadulf replied with a puzzled expression he chuckled. ‘Everyone has heard of the reward that the abbot has set on your heads so I suppose that you have come to take shelter with us. You should have tried to meet me as we arranged and we might have made your journey easier.’

Eadulf had forgotten that he had arranged to meet Wiglaf outside the abbey, as Botulf had done before him, if there was any urgency.

He was introducing Wiglaf to Fidelma when another rider came cantering along the path. It was a slim figure with a heavy cloak and hood drawn so well around it that they had no glimpse of the person’s features. Eadulf had the impression of a youth or a woman. The outlaw band must have known who it was for they drew their horses to the side of the track to allow an unimpeded passage for the rider.

Wiglaf noticed Eadulf’s curiousity and chuckled lewdly.

‘That’s an old friend. Lioba often comes for a visit to our camp. And now …’ He jerked his head in the direction the rider had come from. ‘I’ll escort you there. Come, I will lead the way.’

He turned his horse, issuing orders to his men to take up their positions again. They were clearing sentinels, lookouts protecting the outlaw camp.

As they rode along Fidelma said: ‘I understand that you were Botulf’s cousin and in contact with him at the abbey?’

‘That I was, Sister,’ Wiglaf replied solemnly.

‘I would like to ask you some questions.’

‘Those must wait, then, for Aldhere’s camp is just ahead and I have to return immediately to my men. I will come back to the camp for the midday meal, then you may ask of me what you will.’

The encampment was but minutes away and Aldhere hadalready been warned of their coming, for Wiglaf had taken out his ram’s horn and blown another short, sharp blast on it. Aldhere stood before his hut, hands on hips, smiling slightly. As they halted their ponies and began to dismount, he came forward with an outstretched hand.

‘Greetings, holy gerefa ! I did not doubt that I would see your face again. And this time you have brought the Irish witch?’

He roared with laughter at Fidelma’s disapproving features.

‘Have no fear, good Sister, for my humour is unlike that of my brother. I doubt not your piety. I am Aldhere, sometime thane of Bretta’s Ham, but now a simple outlaw. You are welcome to my encampment. Come away into my hut. It is a poor inhospitable place but it will shelter you from our fierce winter.’