The Haunted Abbot (32 page)

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 disturbed snow 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 had already 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.’

Like Eadulf before her, Fidelma found herself swept along by his mixture of joviality and domineering. She followed the large man almost meekly, without saying anything, but her eyes swiftly took in the surroundings; the men, the women and the children who populated this small forest glade. Wiglaf had apparently gone back to his duties as lookout but she saw that there were plenty more armed warriors about the place.

‘And do you approve, good Sister?’ Aldhere asked, pushing the hut door open with one hand while standing back to allow her to enter first. His keen eyes had not missed her appraisal of the camp.

‘Approve?’ She was caught off guard.

‘Of my camp, of course. My men bring their women and children for safe-keeping here. We are not expecting an attack from King Ealdwulf until the thaw comes. If this winter continues as it has, that might not be until the spring, please God. Ealdwulf does not like to fight with mud on his boots. He’ll wait until there is dry weather.’

He motioned them to the stools. The room had not changed since Eadulf’s visit a few days ago. He looked round for the Frankish woman, Bertha, but there was no sign of her. Aldhere caught his glance and smiled again.

‘My woman, Bertha, has gone with one of my men to get provisions at the market at Seaxmund’s Ham. You see, we do not rob and steal but purchase goods from the traders.’

‘And where does the money come from to pay the traders for those goods?’ queried Eadulf innocently.

‘By the holy wounds of Christ!’ cried Aldhere with a bark of laughter. ‘You are possessed of a sharp mind, holy
gerefa
.’

Fidelma had seated herself.

‘So you do expect an attack from King Ealdwulf?’ she asked abruptly, picking up on Aldhere’s previous statement.

Aldhere was not put out by the question.

‘Naturally,’ he replied. ‘He is not going to leave me as a thorn irritating this land of the South Folk.’

‘Why do you stay here, then? If you expect an attack, I would have thought you might move to any of the other kingdoms and sell your swords to - say, Sigehere?’

‘You shock me by your mercenary attitude, good Sister,’ grinned the outlaw. ‘I think some mead is called for.’

He turned and brought a flagon to the table and poured the drinks.

Fidelma suppressed a sigh of resignation. She realised that the provision of strong drink was an essential part of the ritual of hospitality to strangers.

‘Since I have been in your country, I have come to the conclusion that drinking is a main pursuit of your people, Aldhere.’

Eadulf was looking uncomfortable and he cleared his throat noisily.

‘Perhaps it is best if I ask the questions …’ he said with a meaningful look at Fidelma. When she stared in annoyance at his intervention, he said softly: ‘I have mentioned before that the people of this land are unused to what is seen as forwardness in women. The role of women among the South Folk is very different from the benefits that you enjoy …’

Aldhere interrupted him with a disapproving glance.

‘Tush, holy
gerefa
! Would you make me out to be a barbarian? I have mixed with the Irish missionaries and know the different ways they have. They might not be our ways nor do we need approve of them. But one of the missionaries instructed me in the words of the Blessed Ambrose:
Quando hic sum, non jeiuno Sabbato; quando Romae sum, jeiuno Sabbato
.’

‘When I’m here, I do not fast on the sabbath, when I am in Rome, I fast on the sabbath,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘Perhaps it is badly expressed,’ apologised Aldhere, ‘but what I am saying is that since you are used to being treated equally, then I shall treat you equally. Now what were you saying … ?’ Abruptly, the erstwhile thane of Bretta’s Ham slapped a hand against his thigh and uttered a bellow of laughter.

‘By God! Yes! Drink. In you, Sister, I find not only a pious religieuse but one with a sense of humour. Indeed, much is accomplished by drinking here for drink unlocks secrets, it confirms our hopes, lifts burdens from anxious minds, teaches us new arts and urges the timorous into battle. For a bad night, there is always the soft mattress of mead, and many a friend and many a lover have met over a jug.’

Fidelma was amused by his response.

‘You sound like a philosopher, Aldhere.’

The outlaw put his head to one side and winked.

‘Only one who has borrowed his learning.’

‘Yet we have a saying in my country - when the cock is drunk, he forgets about the hawk.’

Aldhere shook his head. ‘I do not forget about my brother, Cild, nor about King Ealdwulf. My lookouts keep me posted.’

‘And did they keep you posted about the passage of warriors of Ealdwulf’s bodyguard through your forests?’ asked Eadulf cynically.

To their surprise, Aldhere nodded.

‘Escorting a coach? Oh yes, we knew about them.’

Eadulf shook his head disbelievingly. ‘If you knew that, why did you not stop it?’

‘For what reason, holy
gerefa
?’ he asked as if amused. ‘It was only the lord Sigeric, who was being escorted to Aldred’s Abbey. He is too elderly to be a threat to anyone. And, really, holy
gerefa
, why would I want to attack him or his escort? Do you think I am as black as my brother Cild paints me?’

‘Lord Sigeric?’ Eadulf was astonished. ‘He is the high steward to King Ealdwulf,’ he explained quickly to Fidelma.

‘Then you have good reason to attack him,’ Fidelma pointed out.

‘He would have advised on the matter of your outlawry, ’ Eadulf agreed. ‘One might think that you would enjoy visiting vengeance on him.’

Aldhere shook his head. ‘Did I not tell you that Botulf was going to send an appeal to him about my sentence of outlawry? It may well be that he has come to hear the matter,’ he told them.

‘I recall that you did say that,’ confessed Eadulf almost reluctantly.

‘It seems, holy
gerefa
, that you do not accept my good faith. Why should you be so sceptical of my intentions?’

‘There are some people who think you are just as bad as your brother,’ intervened Fidelma as Eadulf hesitated, not knowing how to answer.

Aldhere swung back to her, favouring her with a swift scrutiny although his expression was still one of humour.

‘I don’t doubt it. There are many who would take the word of Cild and paint me as black as Satan. Some more mead?’

‘You did not finish answering my question,’ Fidelma responded.

‘Finish?’

‘I asked you why it was that you remain in this country and so near Aldred’s Abbey when it endangers you and your followers and you could easily find a safer haven elsewhere.’

Aldhere sat down for the first time, poured a large measure into his goblet and sipped it thoughtfully.

‘It is a good question,’ he mused.