The Haunted Abbot (27 page)

Fidelma smiled. ‘You are wise, Brother Laisre. It is advice that I will gladly accept. However, had you forgotten that this is the day of Aoine - the day the Saxons call Frig’s Day, which is meant as a day of fasting and abstinence before tomorrow’s Sabbath?’

‘Yet it is also Christ’s birthday and we are allowed to celebrate as well.’

Brother Laisre led the way to the small refectory building.

As they fell to eating, the leader of the Irish community of Tunstall asked: ‘What is your plan now that you have escaped from Aldred’s Abbey? Do you intend to travel back to Canterbury?’

Fidelma shook her head quickly. ‘I should have made my intentions clearer last night. A
dálaigh
cannot walk away from a situation where a chieftain has embarked on the ritual of the
troscud
leaving no other legal witness present.’

Eadulf noticed with relief and satisfaction that she now appeared to have recovered all her former strength and determination. She was her old assertive self.

‘Does that mean that you will stay here?’ asked Brother Laisre.

‘I have tried to dissuade Gadra of Maigh Eo from the course on which he has embarked. He is determined. So I must remain and see that the ritual is carried out in legal fashion. My honour as a
dálaigh
is at stake.’

Eadulf regarded her in some surprise but it was Brother Laisre who articulated his thoughts.

‘But what of Cild? He will not be happy with you since you absconded from the abbey. He will be determined to destroy you.’

Fidelma’s chin raised a fraction.

‘Better men and women than Cild have tried,’ she said almost under her breath. Then she spoke normally. ‘It is true that we must be careful of Cild. However, there is a mystery at that abbey which involves not only the fate of Gadra and this
troscud
but also the death of Eadulf’s friend, Botulf. We cannot walk away from it without attempting to bring the truth to light. So we must stay and attempt to find that truth.’

Brother Lasire shook his head in bewilderment.

‘But the truth lies in the abbey. You cannot return to it in order to question those who might lead you to it. So how can you find what is the truth?’

Fidelma smiled quickly. ‘You have an astute mind, Brother Laisre.’

Brother Laisre waited for a moment and when she made no further comment he rose, frowning.

‘Well,’ he said irritably, ‘you do not have to tell me your plans.’

Fidelma nodded as if in agreement. ‘The less people know of them, perhaps, the better.’

Brother Laisre clearly felt that he should be included in her designs but now he left them showing his wounded pride.

Eadulf grimaced at Fidelma. ‘He feels upset.’

‘But I am right. The less people know, the less they can tell.’

‘But you must have a plan. I know you.’

Fidelma glanced at him. ‘Laisre was pointing to the obvious when he said that I could not go back to the abbey to find the truth which is buried there.’

‘That is basic logic,’ agreed Eadulf.

‘So basic that everyone would think it. That is why I am going back to the abbey. After all, we know a secret way inside through those curious tunnels.’

Eadulf stared at her, horrified.

‘Go back into the abbey?’ he stuttered. ‘I don’t believe you can be serious.’

‘On the contrary, I am perfectly serious. I do not like having my life threatened and I do not like leaving behind unsolved crimes and mysteries. I am determined to resolve this.’

‘But how … ?’ Eadulf raised his arms in an almost hopeless gesture.

‘If one woman can traverse the corridors and chambers of the abbey undetected then so can I.’

‘But …’ Eadulf began to protest.

Fidelma looked at him with disdain. ‘Come now, Eadulf, you do not believe in apparitions and phantasms? ’

Eadulf flushed, for deep within him he had to admit that he did believe in such things.

‘I say that to return is to court an unnecessary danger,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Yet to do nothing is to let matters take an inevitable and tragic course. You do not have to come back with me,’ she added mischievously, knowing full well that her words would goad him.

Eadulf rose to the bait.

‘If you go, of course I will come.’

‘Then it is decided,’ smiled Fidelma sweetly. ‘But first we have some other matters to deal with.’

Eadulf looked nervous. ‘Other matters? What matters?’

‘Do you think that Brother Laisre and his community might provide us with horses?’

Eadulf’s nervousness increased.

‘Why would we need horses?’ he ventured. ‘If you mean to return to the abbey, then it is best to come upon it on foot so that we are not observed.’

‘We have a journey or two to make before that event and it is best if we can do it with relative comfort and more quickly than merely walking in this inhospitable weather.’

‘Journeys to where?’

‘I want to meet Cild’s brother, Aldhere. You have given me an excellent report of matters, but I would like to make some personal assessment of him before I reach any conclusions.’

Eadulf exhaled deeply in resignation.

‘That presupposes I can find my way back to his hideout and that he has not moved from it since.’

‘I am sure you can, Eadulf. You said that you knew the countryside here like the back of your hand.’

Just then Garb entered and greeted them gruffly. He dropped to a bench and reached for the jug of mead that was still on the table, draining a beaker in one swift gulp.

‘Any news?’ asked Fidelma.

‘There is still no sign that anyone from the abbey followed you, if that is what you mean,’ replied Garb ungraciously.

‘I was fairly certain that if we had been followed, we would have known about it before now,’ agreed Fidelma, keeping her tone pleasant. ‘What I was wondering about was whether you had heard any word of raids along the coast?’

Garb shook his head. ‘The countryside is quiet enough. I think you may rest assured that the only dangers that threaten lurk within the walls of the abbey.’

‘You are doubtless correct,’ she replied. ‘Tell me, Garb, is it possible to obtain two horses here? Brother Eadulf and I need to make some short journeys which we can do better and more quickly on horseback than on foot.’

Garb regarded her speculatively.

‘If you can ride the tiny wild ponies that are bred in this country, then we have some to spare. We could not bring our own horses with us and so we purchased several of the native ponies, short-legged and broad-chested and not high at all.’

‘If it resembles a horse, then I can ride it,’ Fidelma replied determinedly.

Garb seemed amused. ‘These are not fast mounts but sturdy little animals just right for this weather, with a thick wiry coat that insulates them. I can certainly give you the loan of two of them.’

‘That is excellent.’ She hesitated and added, ‘How is your father today?’

Garb regarded her for a moment with interrogation in his eyes.

‘If you mean, is he still determined to carry through the ritual, then - he is so determined.’

Fidelma sighed softly. ‘I supposed that I had little doubt of it.’

‘A chieftain’s word is the binding of his honour. It is not made lightly. As his
tánaiste
, his heir-apparent, my sad duty is to ensure that he carries out his intention or be dishonoured in Maigh Eo and beyond.’

Fidelma frowned abruptly. ‘I had forgotten that part of the ritual, that the heir-apparent needs to be present at a chieftain’s
troscud
. Tell me, who governs in Maigh Eo while you and your father are here?’

‘My younger brother.’

‘Do you have a large family?’

‘My father bore three sons and three daughters.’

‘And with the exception of Gélgeis, are all living?’

Garb shook his head. ‘One son died in the war against the Uí Néill of the north and my sister Mella was taken in a Saxon slave raid.’

Eadulf coughed, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. Fidelma ignored him.

‘Mella?’ She was thoughtful. ‘Wasn’t she the sister who tried to persuade Gélgeis not to marry Cild?’

‘She was indeed. You have a good memory, Sister. Mella was a few hours younger than Gélgeis, and—’

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘A few
hours
? You mean that Mella and Gélgeis are twins?’

Garb nodded briefly.

‘They were so.’

‘Tell me what happened to Mella,’ Fidelma pressed.

‘A sad story but one that becomes common among the communities that dwell by the sea these days. There was a raid by a Saxon longship and a dozen young women were carried off that day. Mella was among them.’

‘Did you make an attempt to discover where this Saxon slave ship came from?’ demanded Eadulf.

Garb turned to him. ‘That we did. It was a ship from Mercia.’

‘And did you attempt to discover her fate?’

‘Merchants trading with Mercia were asked to make inquiries and it was put about that Gadra, as chieftain of Maigh Eo, would pay the honour price for the return of his daughter unharmed. Alas, we learnt nothing.’

‘When did this happen?’ asked Fidelma, thoughtfully.

‘About the same time as we heard of the death of Gélgeis, perhaps a little before.’

‘And you have heard no more of her?’

‘We did. The captain of the ship bringing us hither reported the gossip of the ports of Mercia. This slave ship, which was apparently identified by its sail markings, was claimed to be the ship of Octha. It was reported to have foundered on the journey back from Éireann and everyone lost.’

Fidelma was quiet for a moment and then she asked: ‘Was that ever confirmed?’

Garb shrugged. ‘There would be little point in making the story up. If this Octha were alive, then he would have learnt that my father was offering ransom for the return of Mella. It would have been worth his while to return her for her honour price. But the only word we ever had was that Octha and his men, and all the prisoners he had taken, went down in the cruel seas.’ He sighed. ‘So we lamented and mourned poor Mella. It reinforced my father’s determination to seek reparation for the death of Gélgeis.’

‘Have you mentioned the story of Mella’s fate to anyone since arriving here?’

‘Botulf actually raised it with us.’

‘How did Botulf know about Mella?’

‘He said that on the night Gélgeis died, he met her outside the abbey looking pale. She said that she had just met a wandering religieux who had told her what had happened. She went off into the night and Botulf never saw her again.’

‘So Gélgeis knew about Mella before she disappeared?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Did you ask Botulf if he had mentioned this news to anyone else?’

Garb gestured negatively. ‘Botulf told us that with Gélgeis’s death, he had forgotten the story of her sister until we arrived. Only then did he remember it.’

‘I see.’ Fidelma was still thoughtful. ‘Were your sisters much alike? Being twins, I mean?’

There was a faraway smile on Garb’s features.

‘Some people could not tell them apart. They were like two peas from the same pod. Only close family could tell which was which.’

‘I understand. It seems that your family has suffered much hardship and grief.’

‘It may be so. Yet there is a saying in our country that the wood will renew the foliage that it sheds.’

‘There is wisdom in that, Garb. One must not give way to despair for after every tempest comes sunshine.’

They had been speaking in their common language and Eadulf, following the conversation, for he was, of course, fluent in the language of Éireann, fell to reflecting that there was more hyperbole and embellishment to their speech than the basic forms of expression in his own language.

They were silent for the moment before Fidelma slowly rose and looked meaningfully at Eadulf. Then she turned back to Garb.

‘There are now five nights until Gadra begins his ritual fast. This does not give us long.’

Garb sat back, shaking his head.

‘Do you really mean to make Cild admit his guilt and recompense my father?’

‘Only if Cild is guilty,’ replied Fidelma.

‘And how could you prove that he is not guilty?’

‘That is a question that cannot be answered until it is answered,’ Fidelma remarked without humour. ‘Now, let us examine these ponies of which you spoke. The sooner we start out, the sooner we shall return.’

Outside, with the sun having risen, though still extremely pale and almost translucent in the pastel skies, Fidelma and Eadulf were able to take in their surroundings for the first time. They had arrived at dusk on the previous day and had seen little before nightfall.

Tunstall lay in a large clearing amidst a forest that many years had done little to disturb. Even in their winter guise the trees grew thick and close together and being mainly evergreens they formed a bulwark against the outside world which was even more impenetrable than the stone blocks of Aldred’s Abbey.

There were half a dozen buildings in the clearing, large wooden constructions similar to those Fidelma knew in Éireann and therefore, she estimated, built by the religious of her own land. Living quarters, a refectory and store houses, a chapel, more store houses and barns for the livestock which she could see grazing around them.

Apart from the central area where the activities of men and beasts had ground the snow and earth into mud, a thick covering of snow still lay across the buildings and the clearing. In spite of the pale sun and sky it was not warm enough to melt the snow which lay crisp on the ground. Indeed, everywhere men and beasts were, great clouds of warm breath appeared like clouds of steam; they stood out momentarily before evaporating into the cold morning air.

She estimated, from what she had seen at the midnight Offering and now that she was able to view the settlement, that there must be a dozen religious and half a dozen warriors now comprising the community.