The Haunted Abbot (18 page)

‘Are you claiming to have superior authority to me?’ he demanded threateningly.

‘I am simply pointing out that you have no power over me, Cild,’ snapped Eadulf. ‘Now, Sister Fidelma is ill. The crisis is close; her fever either breaks or she worsens. I shall be her nurse this night. So remove your guard on her chamber door.’

Abbot Cild appeared stunned by Eadulf’s assertive manner. He was obviously totally unused to anyone challenging his power.

Eadulf continued, unperturbed: ‘Next, remove this stigma of black magic and evil doings from her name. That a man intelligent enough to claim the position of abbot of this house should give credence to such tales of witchcraft is beyond belief.’

Abbot Cild rose rapidly from his chair.

‘I shall not! I am abbot here, not you, and let Archbishop Theodore come here in person if he would challenge me.’

Eadulf had not really expected his demand to be accepted immediately and without trouble.

‘That he might well do, for many things have come to his attention about this house.’ Eadulf realised that he was going out on a limb here by departing from the facts.

Abbot Cild’s eyes narrowed.

‘Explain your meaning,’ he demanded.

‘I intend to. But questions first. Why are you so afraid of this reported apparition?’

The question was unexpected and Cild blinked and sat down again with abruptness.

‘What … what makes you think that I am afraid?’

Eadulf merely smiled. ‘I saw a lady near the chapel last night. You were afraid when I described her. Tonight, Brother Redwald saw the same woman in Sister Fidelma’s room. This time, Brother Redwald claimed it was your wife who, it is reported, is dead. Is she dead?’

Abbot Cild’s expression became angry. ‘Dare you call me liar?’

‘I am asking a question.’

‘She is dead. And only a person who practises the black arts could conjure up her image. Nothing happened until you arrived here with the foreign woman.’

‘But I am told that this wraith was seen before we came to the abbey,’ protested Eadulf.

‘The spirit appeared as soon as you entered this kingdom. The foreign woman’s witchcraft must be powerful to conjure the spirit at a distance,’ replied Cild, unabashed. ‘You forced your way in here and demanded hospitality. I should have expelled you both at that very moment. I relented and let you stay. Immediately, the wraith appears. And I have not forgotten that your coming heralded the arrival of Garb and his men who make such vile claims against me. I have not overlooked the fact that Garb and your companion are from the same country. Perhaps they are kin and in conspiracy? I am a logical man. It was your coming that brought this evil into Aldred’s Abbey. Nothing evil had happened until last night, when you both demanded the hospitality of this abbey.’

Eadulf heard him out quietly and then smiled sadly.

‘But it did, Cild. Yesterday morning my good friend Botulf was murdered. And it was by his wish that we came here - too late!’

Eadulf saw no reason to withhold this information any longer. He judged that now was the moment to use it, and he was right, for Cild was quiet for some time, trying unsuccessfully to make his face an expressionless mask.

‘Why did Botulf ask you to come here?’

Eadulf smiled knowingly. He would play mind games with the abbot now.

‘Did someone in the abbey know that he had sent to Canterbury to request my presence at this place?’ Eadulf made his voice reflective.

‘I certainly did not know.’ Abbot Cild’s voice was tight with suppressed anger.

‘I realise that Botulf and you were not the close associates that you would have had people believe at the funeral service. What enmity lay between you?’

‘Did Botulf tell you that there was enmity between us?’ demanded the abbot.

‘Do you deny it?’ countered Eadulf.

‘I do not. I point out that your friend Botulf was forced upon me by the wish of King Ealdwulf. If you must know the truth, Botulf tried to defend a traitor and coward and was ordered by the King to remain in this community, moving no more than a mile from it, until he had expiated his crime. I did not like the arrangement but accepted the order of the King.’

Eadulf nodded slightly. This agreed with the version which Aldhere had told him.

‘Yet you must have found Botulf a useful member of the community to allow him to remain as steward of the abbey?’

‘He had his uses,’ Cild reluctantly agreed.

‘So my friend, Botulf, who helped Aldred found this abbey some years ago, was returned here to serve you as the new abbot?’

Abbot Cild pursed lips thoughtfully. ‘Botulf was one of Aldred’s first community here. But then he was sent to a western part of the kingdom to preach and it was there he fell in with the man who was to be a coward and traitor to the King …’

‘Aldhere?’ The question was swift and caused Cild’s eyes to widen a fraction.

‘How did you know that? From Botulf?’

‘No. I happened to fall in with your brother earlier today.’

There was a silence while Abbot Cild digested this information.

‘You are trying to play games with me, Brother Eadulf,’ he said quietly. ‘And what lies has my young brother been telling you?’

‘Should he be telling any lies?’

‘He doubtless justified to you why he lives outside the law.’

‘He claimed to be innocent of the murder of Botulf for which, as I remember, you were insistent upon hanging him had you caught him earlier today. I seem to recall that Aristotle wrote that the strife between brothers is bitter and cruel. Would Aldhere have done the same to you, I wonder?’

Cild glowered in annoyance. ‘He has done worse to me by using guile to rob me of my inheritance.’

‘Was that not your father’s decision?’

‘My father was in his dotage and was influenced by Aldhere.’

‘But you went into the Church. Surely that is an end of the matter?’

‘I did not make Aldhere a traitor and coward. Shortly after I returned here, Aldhere came under sentence of outlawry from the King. I merely attempted to regain what was mine by right.’

‘And King Ealdwulf did not agree with you?’

‘He agreed on the principle but not on the practicality, for he decided that there should be no future thane of Bretta’s Ham.’

‘Do you hate your brother to the point where you would personally encompass his death? That is hardly in keeping with the cloth you wear.’

‘Where is it written that I should forbear from vengeance?

Eadulf interrupted the abbot’s quotation with a sharp gesture.

‘I would have thought that you might have considered the story of Cain from the text of Genesis. Cain murdered his brother, and when God came to pass judgment on Cain, Cain fully expected that his life would be forfeit as vengeance. But God told him “No; if anyone kills Cain, Cain shall be avenged sevenfold.” God merely set a mark on Cain so that anyone meeting him should not kill him. For vengeance begets vengeance.’

Cild smiled thinly. ‘Brother Eadulf, I should advise you to read Exodus as well as Genesis - “then shall thou give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning …”’

‘I know the lines, Abbot, but blood cannot wash out blood. Vengeance will prove its own destroyer.’

‘Then, Brother Eadulf, am I to understand that you will disobey the words of the Scriptures?’

‘Are they there to be obeyed without question?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘They are the words of the holy men inspired of God.’

‘They are the words of men who set them forth for the obedience of fools and the guidance of the wise.’

‘Now I see why you travel with a witch. You have no religion!’ snapped the abbot.

Eadulf was forced into silence by the cold illogic of the man. Finally, he found his voice, but he realised that Abbot Cild was a man of narrow mind and total self-absorption. And it brought him back to the main purpose of his argument with the abbot.

‘How can you believe that Sister Fidelma is capable of that which you accuse her of?’ he asked softly, realising, as he asked the question, that it was a weak argument.

‘I have given my reasons. They are plain enough. And it seems that your irreligion makes you blind to her guilt. These mysterious happenings only occurred after you both arrived in this kingdom. That is the reason I accuse her. I believe that she is one who works for the devil, or by some devilish and curious art has conjured images which the devil has devised to entangle and ensnare the souls of the pious brethren in this community. It is my responsibility to save them from damnation!’

‘Without the trial of her whom you accuse? While she lies ill and in no position to defend herself?’ Eadulf was seething with anger. ‘I tell you, Cild, you exceed your authority. You believe in an eye for an eye. So be it. Should harm befall Sister Fidelma, you will truly know what vengeance is. I swear it.’

Abbot Cild sat back and examined Eadulf’s angry features. His mouth turned down.

‘One thing you do not lack, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, and that is courage. You threaten me in the sanctuary of my own abbey? I could have you taken out and flogged, aye, and even burnt as a pagan heretic for daring to ignore the holy words of the Scriptures. I have armed brethren within call. What do you think I should do in the face of your threats, Brother Eadulf?’

Eadulf stared back defiantly.

‘I do not know what you will do, Cild. I cannot predict what you will do, for you do not seem to be answerable to anyone for your actions. I will tell you this, though. If anything happens to Sister Fidelma or to me, then the retribution that you will bring down on yourself might be more than you bargain for.

‘Sister Fidelma is blood sister to the King of Cashel. She is highly respected in the faith having been a delegate at Whitby. She attended the Lateran Palace at Rome, and is a lawyer of her people. Do you think that you can act against her with impunity? I, an emissary of Archbishop Theodore, am as of no consequence compared with her. However, of little worth as I am, Archbishop Theodore will want an accounting of King Ealdwulf if harm befalls me, and Ealdwulf will want to know why his tranquillity is disturbed by Canterbury.’

There was a lengthy silence after Eadulf stopped speaking.

Then Abbot Cild actually smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

‘You have put your case very well. I shall now tell you what I shall do. I shall wait until Sister Fidelma is recovered from her illness and then we shall have a formal hearing about the matter. If it is proved that she has had no hand in conjuring spirits in this abbey, then you may continue on your journey. Whatever whispers of the dead brought you hither can be consigned back to the dead. Do you understand me?’

‘How can one defend oneself against such an intangible accusation as conjuring images of the dead?’ demanded Eadulf.

Abbot Cild spread his hands. ‘That is not my concern. If she is innocent then let her prove it.’

‘And who will decide her innocence or guilt?’

‘I will,’ returned the abbot blandly.

‘And if you decide that she is guilty?’

‘The punishment is prescribed by the laws of the Wuffingas, the laws of our people handed down to us by Wuffa son of Wehha.’

A coldness went through Eadulf. As a
gerefa
he knew the laws well, but what was more terrifying was the fact that it was obvious that Abbot Cild was demented, and in his state of mind the man was without mercy.

‘As amended by the ministration of the new faith?’ he asked hopefully.

Abbot Cild shook his head. ‘I see no reason why the laws of the Wuffingas should be amended. The penalty for conjuring demons and ghosts is clear … the guilty woman is placed face downwards in a grave and buried - alive!’

As Eadulf was leaving the abbot’s chambers he encountered the flaxen-haired Brother Higbald, the abbey’s apothecary. Higbald greeted him in a concerned but friendly fashion, still wearing the bright and humorous appearance he had that morning. Humour seemed a natural attitude to him. He had that ease of manner which reminded Eadulf of Aldhere’s jocular attitude to the world.

‘So, Brother Eadulf, you have heard that mass hysteria has taken over our poor community?’

Eadulf halted, frowning. It took him a moment to realise what the apothecary was referring to. His eyes lighted.

‘Then you do not believe in this ghostly apparition?’ Brother Higbald shook his head. If anything it seemed his smile broadened.

‘I cannot believe we have a wraith or phantom wafting through these dismal corridors. I believe that young Redwald was imagining things. Yet I have to point out that it was you who first raised the image of a woman who, by poor Brother Willibrod’s account, bore a striking resemblance to the dead wife of the abbot. Perhaps young Redwald overheard you talking about the matter and then, with an overfull imagination, he embroidered something he saw in the shadows. That’s all.’

Eadulf put his head to one side reflectively.

‘That is a possibility, though I have spoken to young Redwald and his fear is genuine enough.’

‘It might well be. It is possible to convince yourself that you have seen something when you have not. Youth is impressionable.’

Eadulf smiled grimly. ‘Granted that is so. Can the same explanation be ascribed to my sighting of the lady?’

Brother Higbald chuckled. ‘I do not know you, Brother, and therefore I cannot say. All I know is - as I told you this morning - we are a small community and I would know if there was a woman in this place.’

‘But would you know if it were a shadow, an image from the Otherworld?’ demanded Eadulf.