The Haunted Abbot (5 page)

‘Sit yourselves down there,’ cried Mul, above the howling of the wind, pointing down into the shelter of the wagon behind the driver’s seat. ‘Those woollen cloaks will be scant protection against the cold. There’s some furs there. Put them around you and you’ll be out of the worst of it.’

Cynric had come to the door of the inn. He raised his hand in farewell.

‘I think that you are all crazy,’ he called, his voice blurring in the whistling of the blizzard. ‘However, as you insist on going, may God be on every road that you travel.’

‘God be with you, innkeeper,’ replied Eadulf, solemnly, before tucking himself down under the furs beside Fidelma. They heard Mul crack the reins and shout and then, with a jerk, the wagon began to roll forward.

Once they had passed out of the yard of the inn, beyond the surrounding trees, the wind drove at them bringing the snow like icy pellets, dry and hard and painful where they hit the flesh of the face. It was a bitter wind that groaned around them and now and then rose to a shriek like someone in anguish. Eadulf was glad of the furs in the wagon which guarded them from the full rancour of the icy storm.

Heads down, the sturdy little mules strained and tugged as they pulled the wagon through a low snowdrift, the big wooden wheels crunching on the crispy surface while the wagon swayed and tilted as Mul tried to keep it on the hidden track which lay underneath the drifting snow. For a moment it seemed that the wind was receding and then it suddenly came back with a vengeance from another quarter, causing the wagon to shake as if it had been given some life of its own. Then the wheels suddenly went into a skid as they encountered a patch of solid ice.

They heard Mul cursing but whatever he did brought the heavy wagon to a halt. He jumped down and Eadulf, peering over the side, saw him leading his team through a larger snowdrift. The farmer stayed at their heads until they came to the shelter of a stretch of forest through which the roadway was barely coated with white snow. The wind, sweeping through the trees, was like a curious whispering chorus of sighing voices.

Mul climbed back onto the wagon.

‘Are you all right, down there?’

His voice was almost obliterated by the sighing wind, but Eadulf heard him.

‘We are,’ he called in reply. ‘Are you sure that it’s safe to continue?’ Eadulf himself had begun to have second thoughts as they had driven through the unprotected countryside. At least the forest afforded some shelter from the harsh elements. But he knew its protection would not last long.

‘Woden’s hammer! Of course it’s safe. I’m driving, aren’t I?’ Mul roared with laughter at his own sense of humour.

Eadulf did not reply but turned back to Fidelma. He could not see her face through the slanting snow and gloom.

‘How are you?’

‘I’ve been through worse,’ came her calm response.

She was about to say something else when the wagon suddenly jolted and came to a halt again. The heavy wheels were slipping, turning on the surface of the icy track without finding a purchase. The animals strained hard to keep the wagon moving forward but to no avail.

‘I’ll have to get down and find some branch wood to put under the wheels,’ shouted Mul.

He was about to do so when from somewhere nearby came the mournful howling of a wolf. Eadulf felt Fidelma stiffen suddenly beside him. Wolves were common and dangerous in her country and Eadulf knew that she had good cause to be apprehensive of them. So had he, if it came to that. He looked over the edge of the wagon again and stared hard in the direction of the sound. Some grey-white shadows were moving among the trees.

Mul noticed the concern of his passengers.

‘Don’t worry. It’s an isolated male and his mate roaming these woods with their cubs. There are no packs here, so far as I know. The wolves are dying out in this country. They won’t harm us.’

Fidelma and Eadulf, having had encounters with wolves, were not so sure. Even through the driving snow they could spot the male - a great beast who must have been a full metre high at the shoulder. It had paused on a rock among the trees and was staring at them, its bright sharp eyes glowing red. Fidelma shivered as she observed its massive frame and heavy, slate-grey coat.

Below this majestic form, even in the twilight, they could make out the vixen keeping restless guard over her two leggy, yelping cubs, now and then snapping a reprimand at them with her long, white fangs.

The head of the male wolf went back and a long, mournful wail of hunger echoed through the deep forest. Then the animals turned and seemed to disappear, vanishing among the darkness of the trees. For some moments they could still hear the cry of the wolf as it gradually faded.

To their surprise, they found that Mul had already clambered off the wagon while they had been concentrating on the wolves, and was placing several branches of wood under the wheels to create a purchase for them. A moment later, he was back on his seat and the wagon jolted forward again, but in a skid that swung them into an embankment from which a pile of snow cascaded into the vehicle, almost burying them. They spluttered as they tried to clear it, some of the cold pellets finding their way into the furs and into their noses and mouths and eyes.

The wind dropped a fraction and Mul turned his head and shouted down.

‘There are too many snowdrifts along here. I am going to try the marsh road. The wind will be harsher there but there are no hollows for the snow to drift into and hold us up.’

Eadulf raised his hand to show he had understood.

‘Are you all right, Fidelma?’ he asked again, leaning close to her.

Fidelma grimaced sceptically. ‘If you keep asking, I shall suspect that you are worried. Do you know how far off we are from this abbey now?’

‘Not far. The marsh road takes us through low-lying country to a river, and the abbey is just the other side.’

‘Do we have to try to ford a river in this weather?’ Eadulf shook his head. ‘As I recall, there is a bridge, thanks be to God.’

‘At least that is comforting news.’

The swinging lanterns illuminated the misty flurries of snow sweeping diagonally this way and that as the wind veered in short staccato bursts. Had it not been so cold, had there been some respite from the raw elements of nature, it would have been a beautiful sight. If anything, the snow-laden gale seemed to be increasing as swirling whorls of icy pellets blinded them.

Abruptly, they felt the wagon slipping again and suddenly it came to yet another halt.

Eadulf saw the figure of the farmer rise on his seat and heard him swear, invoking all the gods of his father. Eadulf pretended not to notice the pagan profanities.

‘What is it?’ he demanded.

‘I’ll need to dig her out this time,’ Mul responded gloomily.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ volunteered Eadulf. He turned to Fidelma and added unnecessarily, ‘Stay where you are and keep yourself warm.’

‘I don’t think I shall ever be warm again,’ returned Fidelma without humour.

The wagon had slid sideways into a great bank of snow and almost buried the back wheels above the axles. Mul had seized a spade from the side of the cart, where it had been strapped, and was already digging furiously. Great chunks of snow flew from the blade. He paused, straightened and pointed to where a hedge could be seen on the far side of the track. The driving wind had actually cleared the hedge, heaping the snow on the side where the wagon had become bogged down.

‘Try to find some dead wood that we can pile under the wheels.’

Eadulf acknowledged the instruction with a gesture of his hand and set off to fulfil the task.

It was some time before the heavy wagon had been hauled out by the patient animals, with some pushing and yelling from both Mul and Eadulf. Eadulf returned to his perch with his clothing soaked, for he had been up to his waist in the drift and the chill was cutting like a knife through his body.

They had reached the crest of a hill and the force of the wind was almost unbearable as the tiny ice pellets drove against the wagon like diminutive stones beating a rapid tattoo on the wooden boards. Eadulf raised himself and stared over the seat, beyond Mul, along the track ahead. Mul noticed him and indicated with a jerk of his hand.

‘Around those trees and we’ll turn on the marsh road,’ he said encouragingly. ‘From that point, were it not for the snowstorm, you would be able to see the River Alde in the distance. The marsh road will take us to the bridge and the abbey is not far beyond.’

‘Another mile or so, at most,’ confirmed Eadulf with a tone of satisfaction. ‘We are quite close and it is well before midnight.’

‘Midnight? I’ll be in bed at my own farm and asleep before then,’ said the farmer.

Eadulf squinted through the slanting snow. As the wagon came around the line of trees he could only just see an indistinct whiteness of landscape, without the shadows of hills or forest, which showed the level marsh. A ribbon of white powdery snow stretched away, free from curves or bends in which drifts could gather.

‘Inclement is scarcely a term to describe this weather, my friend,’ Eadulf observed, shivering a little. ‘Surely, Mul, you will stay at the abbey for the rest of the night rather than journey on to Frig’s Tun?’

‘Woden’s hammer! I would not stay at Aldred’s Abbey this night nor any night - even if you paid me treble the penny which you have promised me,’ averred the farmer forcefully. ‘I call for its destruction!’

Eadulf stared at him through the slanting snow, wondering at the vehemence in his voice.

‘What do you fear at the abbey?’ he demanded.

‘Everyone knows that the devil has come to that place.’

‘The devil?’ Eadulf’s eyes widened a little. ‘That is a strong thing to say and a bad thing when you speak of a Christian community.’

Mul shrugged indifferently.

‘Have you been away long from this land?’ he asked and, for a moment, Eadulf thought he was changing the subject.

‘Several years,’ he confirmed after a slight hesitation.

‘Well, I shall tell you, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, that many things have changed in these parts. Sometimes it is not wise even to confess that you belong to the new faith.’

Eadulf was impatient. He disliked people who did not explain precisely what they meant, and said so.

‘I have heard all about the conflict in the kingdom of the East Saxons. But I cannot see what that has to do with Aldred’s Abbey and any evil therein. State plainly what you mean, Mul.’

‘I can say no more than this; the devil has cast his shadow over Aldred’s Abbey. Now, let me drive on before we all freeze to death. Just have a care, Brother; have a care for your companion and yourself. There is a brooding evil at the abbey. I have heard that—’

He halted in mid-sentence, shrugged once more and turned to crack his whip over the mules’ heads. The cart jerked forward again, almost sending Eadulf flying back into the wagon.

‘Did you hear and understand that?’ Eadulf asked, resorting to the language of Éireann as he settled down and leaned close to Fidelma.

Fidelma glanced at him in the twilight.

‘I did not understand the nuances but I understood the sense,’ she confessed. ‘This farmer, Mul, is afraid of the abbey. That I realise. Is it because he is a pagan and fears the new religion?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Eadulf. ‘Maybe it is due to some pagan peasant superstition. Who knows?’

‘I presume that your Saxon word
diofol
is the same as our word
díabul
?’

‘Aye. Lucifer, Satan … the devil.’ Eadulf nodded.

Fidelma was thoughtful for a moment.

‘A curious thing for a pagan to say about a Christian house. Tell me, this friend of yours … the one who sent you the message at Canterbury … ?’

‘Brother Botulf?’

‘Indeed. Brother Botulf. Are you sure that he gave you no explanation, no hint, as to why he wanted to see you so urgently?’

Eadulf looked pained. ‘I have kept nothing back from you. You know as much as I do. He merely said that he wanted me to be at the abbey before midnight tonight.’

Fidelma exhaled in frustration. ‘But why midnight tonight? Has this day any significance for you?’

‘There is no significance to the day that I know.’

‘Is he someone given to making a drama out of nothing?’

‘Not at all. He was a humorous and happy man. He was converted by Fursa before that blessed man left for Gaul, and he was one of the first to join Aldred in establishing the abbey. Aldred died some years ago and Botulf is now steward of the abbey. It is true that I have not seen him for three years but people do not change their personalities. He is not given to making idle demands. If he wants me to be at the abbey before midnight tonight, then it is for a good reason.’

For a moment or two they sat in silence. Finally, Fidelma spoke again.

‘Well, as I have often said, Eadulf, there is no use speculating without knowledge. We will have to wait until we have that knowledge.’

If they had expected the journey to become easier once they reached the marsh road, they were soon disabused of the notion. The wagon continued to advance but in a crazy skidding progress from side to side. Underneath the powdery snow, the surface had become ice. The wind blew great white clouds of snow over the wagon so it was hard to make anything out. Several times, Mul was forced to get down and lead the sturdy little mules, feeling the way along the road before letting them move forward.

Now and then, Eadulf, painfully aware that either of the animals might slip and break a leg, also dismounted to help the farmer. In this fashion it seemed to take an eternity to reach the wooden bridge which spanned the river. Along the river edges were jagged strips of ice. Indeed, the water might well have been frozen over were it not for the torrent pushing down its centre.