Peter Tremayne - The Haunted Abbot

‘Wiglaf. The man who brought us here.’

Aldhere’s eyes narrowed for a moment.

‘What can he tell you that I can’t?’ he demanded suspiciously.

‘Perhaps nothing. None the less, he was in personal touch with Brother Botulf at the monastery until the other night when Botulf asked to meet you.’

Aldhere nodded slowly. ‘That is correct.’

‘So he might have something to add which may be useful.’

‘Well, as you know, he is posted as a lookout but he should be returning to camp shortly. I trust you will join us in the midday meal?’

‘It will be a pleasure.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Will your Frankish friend be joining us?’

Aldhere hesitated for a moment and then smiled back.

‘Bertha has other matters to attend to for the moment, Sister. Perhaps she will join us later.’

‘And Lioba?’ asked Eadulf, with a sudden burst of mischievousness. ‘Is she often a guest here?’

Aldhere’s face reddened a little. His jaw came up defensively.

‘What do you know of Lioba?’

‘I am told that she is rather a wilful girl, well known at the abbey … and at your camp.’

Aldhere thought for a moment and then he shrugged.

‘You have a good ear for gossip, holy gerefa. The girl is alocal peasant’s daughter who needs must make a living. She has contacts at the abbey and so she comes to my camp to supply me with news that I might not be able to gather in other ways.’

It was clear that Aldhere was not interested in amplifying the subject. Fidelma changed it, for there was something else on her mind.

‘Have you heard of rumours of attacks made by East Saxon warbands recently?’ she asked abruptly.

Aldhere smiled and looked at Eadulf.

‘Your friend, the holy gerefa, should be able to give you information on that. He was nearly killed by an East Saxon longship’s crew the other day.’

‘Ah, that I know about. I meant a major attack by several ships.’

Aldhere expression was one of derision.

‘Are you talking about Sigehere and his warbands? They have not the capability to invade in force. The kingdom of the East Saxons is too divided. Sigehere and Sebbi are at each other’s throats. Individual longboats may strike here and there from time to time and there have been a few attacks along the border but never a major attack. The men of Sigehere are like gnats, darting over a summer’s marshland. Pinpricks of irritation but no more. What makes you ask such a question?’

It was what she had expected to hear.

‘Someone said that there had been such an attack two days ago. I suppose they were mistaken?’

Aldhere nodded emphatically. ‘When people are fearful they imagine all manner of things. I would know of such an attack.’

‘I was wondering,’ Fidelma adopted a musing tone, ‘as you are in enmity with your own King, whether you might welcome the King of the East Saxons in this land?’

Aldhere drew himself up with an angry scowl.

‘I might be an outlaw but no traitor am I,’ he snapped. ‘From a man, those words would invite me to draw my sword.’

‘Then it is lucky that I am merely a woman,’ replied Fidelma without contriteness. ‘You see, there are those who would say it would be logical that in your anger against Ealdwulf you might turn to Sigehere.’

‘Show them to me and I will test their truth against mine with a sword blade,’ growled Aldhere.

Fidelma smiled faintly. ‘All that you would test would be who is the better swordsman. Why do you think that such stories circulate about you?’

‘I presume that such evil tales circulate because my brother spreads them. Who else would do so?’

‘So they are malicious and entirely without foundation?’

‘You are lucky that I am of a tranquil nature, Sister,’ smiled Aldhere, without any humour in his features. ‘I have told you that I would not sell my people. Ealdwulf may one day regret that he listened to prejudice in order to outlaw me. But he is the King and my quarrel is with him within the confines of this kingdom. I might raise a body from within this land to force him to see my viewpoint but I would not consort with any outside enemy to overthrow him.’ He paused and then said: ‘Now I fear your questions have come to an end. There is bread, meat and mead. We will eat and await the coming of Wiglaf.’

Fidelma accepted this curtailment to her inquiries and they fell to a meal which was spent by Aldhere in asking questions about the countries they had seen and the attitudes of the people there. He was particularly interested about the pilgrimage Fidelma and Eadulf had made to Rome. His questions were posed with wit and acumen.

Some time passed and they realised that there was no sign of the return of Wiglaf and his men. Fidelma could see that Aldhere, in spite of his bland and genial exterior, was growing concerned. It was long past the time when Wiglaf had been expected back and finally Aldhere could no longer conceal his anxiety. He stood up and apologised to them: ‘If you will permit, I shall take a couple of my men and go in search of Wiglaf.’

Fidelma rose at once.

‘In that case, we will ride with you. The hour grows late and we have much to do also. With luck, we may meet Wiglaf on the way and I can put my few questions to him then.’

Aldhere did not object and within a short time he and two of his men, along with Fidelma and Eadulf, were striking south on horseback along the woodland trail.

They had not gone far when one of the men raised a cry.

They did not have to look hard to see the reason.

A body was stretched on the ground before them. They swiftly ascertained that it was one of Wiglaf’s men. There were two arrows embedded in the man’s chest and blood was staining the snow around him.

Another cry.

Through the trees a few yards away two more bodies were revealed. Once again, arrows showed the means of their death.

Aldhere and his men had unslung their shields and carried their swords in their hands, glancing around nervously at the surrounding woods.

A few yards more and they came across the body of Wiglaf. An arrow had transfixed his throat, another had penetrated under the breast bone. Eadulf looked down and sighed sadly.

‘A man born to hang will never drown,’ he whispered.

Fidelma looked at him in bewilderment. Eadulf shrugged. ‘That was his philosophy,’ he explained.

‘Hey!’

They turned to where one of Aldhere’s men had dismounted and was examining one of the other men.

‘This man is still alive, thane of Bretta’s Ham,’ cried the man.

They dismounted and gathered round.

‘I know something of medicine. Let me see,’ insisted Eadulf, pushing them gently aside. One swift glance at the arrow wounds and he turned back with a quick shake of his head. The man was beyond help.

‘Who did this?’ called Aldhere softly, bending down to the man. ‘Did you see who it was?’

The dying man looked up, eyes vacant, not really seeing those bending over him. His lips were dried and bloodied. They quivered a little. No sound came.

‘Who was responsible?’ cried Aldhere, bending down close to the man’s ear. ‘Speak. Try to speak.’

The lips trembled again.

‘The … the abbot …’

There was a sigh and the man fell back.

Aldhere stood up and his face was full of anger.

‘Cild!’ he muttered.

‘Lord!’ cried one of his men, who had been examining the other bodies. He came forward and held something out.

Adhere took the object and turned it over in his hands, and then he showed Fidelma and Eadulf.

‘There is no doubt about it,’ he said softly.

The object that he held was a crucifix on a leather thong which had been snapped off.