The Haunted Abbot

Chapter Ten

The day passed in an agony of slowness for Eadulf. Fidelma rested and slept through most of it. From time to time, Eadulf paced the room in an attempt to relieve the tension he felt. Only the fact that Brother Higbald had shown him an escape route kept his frustration from boiling into uncontrollable rage. Brother Higbald and Brother Redwald were their only visitors during the course of the day. On these occasions Fidelma was awake but decided to feign sleep when they entered the room in order that her improved condition would not be reported to Abbot Cild.

Brother Redwald, who brought their meals, stayed only long enough to leave the steaming bowls of broth and plates of cold meats, cheeses and bread or to pick up the empty trays. Brother Higbald on his visit was more relaxed and forthcoming about what was happening in the abbey. He informed Eadulf that Abbot Cild was making preparations for the tribunal at which the charge of conjuring spirits was to be made against Fidelma. The abbot was going to be both prosecutor and judge. He had informed Brother Willibrod that he would give Fidelma only one more day to recover from her illness. After that, whatever her condition, she would be brought before him and the charges made. Brother Higbald was emphatic in his advice that they should leave as soon as possible.

Eadulf listened attentively, nodding agreement without committing himself. Fidelma had advised Eadulf to keep his own counsel, trusting no one in the abbey, not even Brother Higbald. When Eadulf pointed out that he trusted Brother Higbald implicitly, Fidelma had reproved him.

‘In such circumstances, you should trust no one. How do you know that he has not been sent by the abbot to provoke us into action?’

Eadulf accepted her advice, and when the apothecary pressed them as to what time Eadulf thought that they would depart,Eadulf was vague and pointed out that it would depend on when Fidelma had recovered.

For Eadulf, the night passed uncomfortably. He decided to stay once more in Fidelma’s room, sleeping in the chair by the fire. He dozed in short restless periods but each time he awoke he saw that Fidelma was sleeping a comfortable sleep and her temperature was normal.

He finally awoke with a grey light seeping into the room. Dawn was late coming in winter and, by the sounds about him, the members of the abbey had already been at their devotions and work for some time. In fact, he heard the sounds of an unusual bustle and preparation. Then he realised what the day was. It was the Eve of Christ’s Mass, the eve of the birth of the Saviour. He felt a sudden guilt that he had not given the date any thought before.

He rose anxiously and, to his surprise, he found Fidelma already washed and dressed.

‘You must be careful,’ he said without preamble. ‘If Abbot Cild saw you now he would observe that you are fully recovered.’

‘Deo favente, I am well,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘Do not worry. I think I am well enough to travel and so it is now time to test your escape route.’

Eadulf was about to go to the tapestry to show her the route when there was a deferential tap on the door and a moment later Brother Redwald entered. As usual he came bearing a tray of food.

His eyes widened a little in surprise when he saw Fidelma standing up and dressed.

‘It is good to see you well, Sister,’ he muttered awkwardly as he put down the tray.

‘Brother Redwald, is it not?’ Fidelma smiled gently at the youth. ‘I am afraid that I have not been cognisant of things the last day or two but I remember your kindness when I arrived at this abbey.’

The boy coloured hotly.

‘Sister, I confess that I have done you a disservice.’

‘Brother Eadulf has told me that you merely reported what you saw in this room when you entered it the other day,’ replied Fidelma. ‘It is others who have misconstrued it, sothere is no blame to you. Can you describe what it was that you actually saw?’

The boy shifted his weight and glanced towards Brother Eadulf.

‘I told him-’

Fidelma interrupted with a slight gesture of her hand but she continued to smile.

‘It is not the same as telling me. Describe what it was that you saw.’

‘There is not much to add. I came into the room to see if there was anything I could bring you. You were lying asleep or in a fever. By the side of the bed, bending over you was a figure. It was that of a woman. As I entered, she straightened and turned towards me. She looked directly at me. I recognised her, for when I came to this abbey Abbot Cild’s wife was alive. It was she. The lady Gélgeis who they said perished in the mire not far from here.’

Fidelma regarded him thoughtfully.

‘How did she appear? I mean, was she as substantial as I am? You see, if she were truly a ghost, as everyone apparently believes, then surely she would have been a figure of ethereal quality. There would have to be something about her that was not of a temporal nature.’

The boy was quiet, reflecting.

‘She was substantial, truly. But she was a ghost. What else could she be when she was dead? Anyway, it was clear that she was a ghost in spite of the substantialness.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because her face was ghastly white. Even in the flickering candlelight, her face was pale, white … Truly, she was not of this world.’

Fidelma pressed her lips together in thought. She realised that Brother Redwald was trembling slightly and she felt that it would not be wise to press him for further information. She was about to dismiss him when the sounds of hurrying footsteps halted outside the door. Brother Higbald opened the door and entered without knocking. He looked agitated. His eyes fell first on Sister Fidelma. He smiled and was about to say something when he noticed Brother Redwald.

‘Go to your cell and I will meet you there in a moment. Hurry, do not delay.’ His tone was curt.

Eadulf and Fidelma exchanged a glance of surprise.

‘What is the matter?’ demanded Eadulf, as the young boy hurried obediently away.

Brother Higbald paused, glancing after Brother Redwald, as if to make sure that he was out of earshot. Then he spoke softly and urgently, speaking directly to Fidelma first and then to Eadulf.

‘Look to your safety, Sister Fidelma; look to your safety, Brother Eadulf.’ His voice was filled with foreboding. ‘Terrible news …’

‘News? What news?’ inquired Eadulf.

‘Warriors of the East Saxons have landed on the shore, not far away from here. Word has come that they are marching in this direction.’

Eadulf was dismissive. ‘It is probably the men I encountered from the longship two days ago. There were but a few men. They can surely do you no harm?’

Brother Higbald was still worried.

‘The news is that there are many longships and it may well be that they are Sigehere’s men come to destroy all the Christian houses that give succour to his Cousin Sebbi. The word is that they are marching this way. Take my advice and look to your own safety now! You know what to do, Brother. I must go to prepare our own defence.’

He gave them one last pleading glance before leaving hurriedly.

Eadulf turned back to Fidelma. His face was anxious.

‘This is bad news. But it might be to our advantage. I think we must do as he asks. Are you well enough to travel now?’

Fidelma hesitated and then nodded in silent agreement.

‘I suggest that we leave immediately, before Abbot Cild claims that you have conjured an army of the East Saxons to fall on his abbey,’ Eadulf said.

‘Perhaps you are right.’ Fidelma smiled softly. ‘This does seem an appropriate time to make our departure.’

Eadulf grabbed the bread and cold meats which Brother Redwald had just brought them and thrust them into his bag. He uttered a small prayer of thanks for his wisdom in transferringhis belongings to Fidelma’s room while he was nursing her. He helped her put on her cloak and slung his own around his shoulders.

Her steps were unsteady in her weakness but Eadulf held out a hand to balance her. She steadied herself and looked questioningly at him.

‘Now, where is this escape route? We would be spotted trying to leave the abbey any other way now that there is such an alarm.’

Eadulf went directly to the wall behind her bed and drew aside the tapestry.

Fidelma’s eyes widened a little at the door which Eadulf pushed. It swung inwards.

‘A secret tunnel?’ she asked.

‘It is supposed to lead to the outside.’

‘And if our ghost is tangible, this is doubtless the way she came into this chamber and departed without being seen by anyone other than young Redwald.’

Eadulf had not given the matter a thought but realised that it was a logical deduction. But now they had no time for such contemplation.

They entered the tunnel. Just inside was a wooden shelf on which there was a tallow candle. Eadulf returned to the room to secure a light from the glowing embers of the fire and then rejoined her, drawing the tapestry down behind him and swinging the door shut. The dark stone tunnel was damp and musty and, as they moved cautiously along it, they heard the alarmed squeaking as mice scampered before them.

Eadulf realised that the tunnel was not a single one but part of a network which must cover the entire abbey. He was trying to concentrate on remembering the directions that Brother Higbald had given him. Had it been two turns to the right and one to the left or the reverse? He uttered a silent curse as he realised that he had forgotten. The only thing to do now was trust in luck. He dared not tell Fidelma that he had forgotten such simple instructions.

They came to an intersection, one way going right and one going left. Eadulf hesitated for a moment and turned right. The tunnel narrowed slightly. There was another intersection and he turned right again. It was damp now, the walls fairly drippingwith moisture. Behind him he heard Fidelma coughing. This atmosphere was not going to be good for her after her bout of illness. He moved on as rapidly as he could.

‘There’s some light ahead,’ came Fidelma’s whisper from behind him. Eadulf had already seen a flickering glow. It was obviously torchlight which seemed to emanate from a side chamber. He turned quickly.

‘We should proceed quietly,’ he whispered. It was an unnecessary instruction.

They moved silently towards the chamber from which the light was coming and Eadulf halted before the open entrance. Stealthily he peered round. A torch lit a chamber beyond the archway. Thankfully, it was empty — empty of people, that is. There were benches and wooden pegs along one side of the wall from which hung an amazing array of shields, swords and lances. Eadulf took a step forward and regarded the warriors’ accoutrements with bewilderment. They were all brightly polished and well kept.

‘Curious,’ he whispered.

Fidelma peered over his shoulder.

‘Didn’t someone say that this had been an old fortress before it became an abbey?’ She spoke irritably, distracted by another bout of coughing.

‘Torches do not burn for a hundred years, nor do weapons and shields keep their sheen,’ Eadulf said reprovingly.

Fidelma was too concerned to get out of the damp atmosphere to be inclined to linger.

‘Well, you told me that Abbot Cild was once a warrior. Perhaps he finds the habit hard to break. Let’s move on. I am cold.’

‘But the shields bear Iclingas images, and-’ Eadulf’s jaw clenched shut and he moved forwards into the chamber. He had caught sight of an object on the floor beneath a row of shields. It was a small dark leather purse of rectangular shape with a pattern branded on it which struck a distant chord in his memory. He reached forward and picked it up, noting that it had obviously been wrenched off someone’s belt with a degree of violence for the leather thongs were stretched and torn.

‘Merciful God!’ he breathed as he examined it.

Fidelma stood impatiently at the door. ‘What is it?’

He turned and held it out so that she could see it in the light.Burned onto the leather below the patterned symbol, probably by means of a red hot needle or similarly pointed object, was a name. The name was ‘Botulf’.

‘It is empty,’ she observed, quickly peering inside. ‘What is your friend’s purse doing here?’

Eadulf had been looking closely around the spot where he had found it. There were dark stains there. He followed a splattering of them to where some steps led upwards to be blocked by an old, wooden door, bolted on the inside.

Fidelma had recognised the stains.

‘Blood. I think your friend Botulf might have met his death here?’ she observed softly.

Eadulf shivered and not with cold. He was aware that she was coughing again.

‘I’ll wager that door leads through the crypt to the small courtyard by the chapel. Poor Botulf’s body was found there. I’ll keep this,’ he said, putting the purse in his sacculus. ‘We’d best move on. We can consider this matter later.’

The passage seemed to continue for ever and he was coming to the awful conclusion that he had mistaken the directions. Perhaps it had been two left turns after all, instead of two right? He was about to suggest that they turn back when he saw some light up ahead.

It was the end of the tunnel. The exit was covered with creepers. Trailing growths hung over it like a curtain. Eadulf had a little difficulty in pushing them aside, halting to draw back the foliage for Fidelma to squeeze though. Clearly no one had been through this way in some time.

Cautiously he moved forward. The dankness and cold of the passage had prepared them for the chill of the day outside. Although the sky was clear and blue, the snow lay like a crisp covering over every exposed place.

They had actually emerged twenty or so paces from the abbey walls, in the shelter of a hillock where trees provided a thin screen from watching eyes.

Eadulf peered cautiously round.

‘Down!’ he suddenly hissed.

Fidelma obeyed him without question.

Close by the south wall of the abbey were gathered half a dozenmen. With them, seated on horseback, was a slim figure with long red hair. It appeared to be a girl. One of the men was talking to her. Then she raised her hand in acknowledgment and urged her horse forward, straight towards their hiding place. The track brought her very close to where they were concealed, but the black mare she was riding raced by without their being spotted. Eadulf was frowning as he gazed after her vanished form.

‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma, noticing his curious expression.

‘I could swear that was the same woman I saw the other night — the one everybody is making such a fuss about.’ He looked back towards the men by the abbey walls. ‘I wonder what they are doing?’

Fidelma followed his gaze.

‘Men from the abbey preparing for this Saxon attack?’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘A strange place to set up a defensive position,’ he said. ‘Any attack from the sea is going to come from the east.’ He paused and listened. There was no sound of any approaching warband, nor of any personal pursuit. He looked around cautiously. ‘I am afraid that it is going to be a fair walk to Tunstall. I wish we could have procured some horses.’

Fidelma, feeling much better since leaving the dark, damp confines of the tunnels, was mischievous.

‘I thought that you did not enjoy riding?’

Eadulf smiled briefly. Her humour was a sign that she was returning to her old self.

‘I am worried for you. It is a long way to trudge through the cold snow in your condition.’

‘Don’t worry, Eadulf. It is true that I would prefer to be seated before a good fire with a hot drink but beggars cannot choose. The sooner we start, the sooner we will arrive.’

Eadulf nodded but he insisted on carrying both their travelling bags so that Fidelma would not be burdened with hers. They moved deeper into the woods and Eadulf tried to find tracks that were clear of snow and so would not leave a trail that could easily be seen by those wishing to pursue them. He kept a slow but steady pace but, even so, Fidelma had to rest now and then for her breathing was fast and shallow. It was obvious that she was not entirely recovered from the illness.

Picking his way carefully, Eadulf led the way through the forest and undergrowth. After some time he glimpsed what appeared to be a woodsman’s cottage through the trees. It was a short distance above them on the slopes of the hill. A thin blue wisp of smoke was curling from the chimney. Although they had not come very far from the abbey, Eadulf felt it might be a suitable place for Fidelma to rest in comfort for a while. He turned to Fidelma who was only just catching up with him.

‘I am going to see if we can claim hospitality at that woodsman’s hut,’ he told her. ‘Why don’t you sit down on that log for a moment while I go up there?’

Fidelma sank down thankfully onto the log to recover her breath. She glanced up towards the hut.

‘Aren’t we too close to the abbey to rest for a while? If the abbey is attacked then the attackers may well march in this direction.’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I think we will be safe for a while yet.’

‘I would prefer to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the abbey, but …’ She shrugged. She was too weak to argue with him.

Eadulf left her and made his way towards the woodsman’s hut. From the outside it appeared deserted as there were no dogs or other animals about. But the wisp of smoke indicated there was a fire lit inside and where there was a fire there must be someone to stoke it. He walked confidently to the door. Then he saw a horse, still saddled, with its reins hitched to a nearby post. It was blowing a little as if it had just had a hard ride. It was a black mare.

He drew near and was about to raise his fist to the door to announce his presence when a scream stopped him. It was a female scream which ended in a peal of laughter. Then a voice, a woman’s voice, began to speak. The words were punctuated with squeals and groans.

‘Come, lover … oh, it is good … good … oh …’

It was obvious what was taking place inside and Eadulf dropped his arm. He felt a surge of embarrassment. Then he suddenly realised, with some shock, that the voice was speaking in the language of Éireann.

He hesitated, wondering what to do. Half of him wanted to turn away and the other half of him was curious to know who was speaking in such a fashion.

He suppressed his embarrassment and moved cautiously along the wall to where he had seen a window. There was no glass in it and the piece of sacking was torn. He edged near and took a quick glance into the hut. Then, ascertaining that he was not being observed by those inside, he took a longer look, feeling like some heteroclite; like some perverted peeper.

He saw what he had expected to see: a man and woman making love. It seemed that the woman was more active than the man, talking and moaning all the time. She was young and slim, with a shock of reddish-blonde hair. Above her naked body was a thick-set man of middle age. The first thing that Eadulf noticed about him was that he wore the tonsure of St Peter. Then the man raised his face but, fortunately for Eadulf, his good eye was tight shut in his ecstasy. The other was still covered by its leather patch.

It was Brother Willibrod, the dominus of Aldred’s Abbey.

Eadulf turned swiftly away, swallowing hard. He paused for a moment, gathering his breath, and then went back down the hill and through the woods to where Fidelma was patiently waiting.

‘We will get no hospitality there,’ he said shortly, responding to her questioning look. ‘We should move on immediately.’

Fidelma saw his anxiety and did not press him with questions. Eadulf would tell her what disturbed him in his own good time.

They moved as fast as her ability allowed and it was not long before they found that their road, if they intended to proceed south to Tunstall, had to cross the River Aide. Fast flowing and icy cold, it was too deep to wade across. Eadulf had forgotten that, being denied the use of the bridge by the abbey, they would have to continue along the river bank until they came to a suitable ford, which might take them miles out of their way.

They had managed to walk a distance of what he judged to be a further two miles or so when Fidelma said: ‘I am sorry, Eadulf, I must rest for a little while again.’

Eadulf could see that she was exhausted. He realised that they ought to find some shelter and soon. He stopped, and then was glad that he had halted, otherwise he might not have heard thesound. It was a creaking of wood, overlaid by a squeal of protest. Then a heavy snort.

‘A heavy wagon,’ commented Fidelma, whose hearing was acute.

‘Wait here,’ muttered Eadulf and moved hurriedly forward towards the track from which the sound was emanating. The track proved to be close by and led down to the river. A heavy-looking, four-wheeled wagon pulled by two mules came swaying along it, driven by a man in a leather jerkin. He had a ruddy face and heavy jowls. Seated by him was a second man with a swarthy complexion. The driver was easing the wagon down the incline towards the river with the obvious intention of crossing.

Eadulf seized the opportunity without thinking further. He stepped through the bushes almost into the path of the wagon.

‘Good day, brothers!’

Startled, the driver heaved on the reins, bringing the vehicle to a halt. His companion’s hand went to the knife in his belt. When they saw that they were being accosted by a religious, they both relaxed a little.

‘Good day, Brother,’ the driver said in a strangely accented voice.

Eadulf raised his voice so that Fidelma could hear him and would come to join him.

‘Forgive me, brothers, but are you travelling southwards?’

‘As you can see,’ replied the driver. ‘We are bound for the port of Gipeswic.’

‘Ah,’ smiled Eadulf. ‘My companion is exhausted and our destination lies a few miles along your road. Is it possible that you might have room on your wagon? It would facilitate our crossing the river.’

The driver was frowning, a refusal forming on his lips. Eadulf heard Fidelma come up behind him. The driver suddenly relaxed and glanced at his companion who nodded briefly.

‘There is room, indeed, Brother. We are merchants from Frankia. Forgive our wariness but it is said that outlaws throng these woods. Your companion seems to be from the land of Éireann.’

‘How did you know?’ Fidelma smiled weakly.

‘By the cut of your robes, Sister. We come from Péronnewhere there is a community of Irish religious under their abbot named Ultan.’

Eadulf looked surprised. ‘Ultan? Surely he is bishop at Ard Macha?’

Fidelma was indulgent in her explanation: ‘It is a name given to any man from the kingdom of Ulaidh. But I know the Ultan you mean,’ she said, turning to the Frankish merchants. ‘He is brother to Fursa who once led a mission to this land of the East Angles.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened a little. ‘That Ultan still lives and is abbot in Frankia?’

The driver grinned. ‘He was when we left six months ago to bring some trade to this land.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Get down, Dado, and help the good sister into the wagon. Have you travelled far, Brother?’ This to Eadulf. ‘Your companion looks tired and weak.’

‘We have travelled some distance,’ Eadulf replied ingenuously. ‘We are most grateful for your charity.’

They climbed onto the wagon and seated themselves behind the driver, a man called Dagobert, and his companion Dado. Eadulf noticed the wagon was full of trade goods. Many were local items which he realised must have been swapped for the goods brought from Frankia.

‘Have you had a successful journey, brothers?’ inquired Eadulf as the wagon lurched forward, continuing down towards the river.

‘There is little trade in this poor land, Brother,’ the driver replied, as he cracked his whip over the heads of the mules.

‘There seems a scarcity of gold and jewellery in your land,’ added his companion, Dado. ‘We brought some plate garnet and amethyst. Your smiths seemed to want our Frankish coin only to melt it down to use the gold.’ Dado pursed his lips and made a spitting sound without actually spitting. ‘The smiths here seem a poor lot. And the pottery production!’ He raised his eyes heavenward. ‘Many still seem to construct their vessels without a potter’s wheel and bake it with an uneven firing by building nothing more elaborate than a bonfire over a stack of sun-dried pots. What do these people have to trade? We shall not be coming this way again.’

Eadulf felt a little uncomfortable at these merchants’ assessment of his homeland.

‘Surely there is trade to be gained in the manufacture of wool or weaving of cloth?’ he demanded irritably.

‘Better quality is to be had elsewhere. The people here are more a warrior people, living on subsistence farms,’ replied the man. ‘Even for the grinding of the corn they have to send for quernstones from Frankia. That is what we have brought across, lava quernstone and millstones to grind the grain of the Saxons. What is offered in return? Slaves? There are too many Anglo-Saxon slaves on the market. It was the discovery of such slaves in the markets in Rome which caused the blessed Bishop of Rome, Gregory, to send Augustine to the kingdom of Kent. There are still many parts of this land that are pagan, but Christian or pagan, the only export seems to be slaves.’

Eadulf compressed his lips sourly.

Fidelma, however, seized the opportunity to gain more knowledge from the gossip.

‘I have heard that the East Saxons have gone back to their old gods,’ she said.

Dado, who appeared to be the more talkative of the two once he had started, nodded immediately.

‘We heard many stories when we first arrived at the port of Gipeswic. They say that King Sigehere was burning down all the Christian centres and rounding up the religious as slaves … those he does not kill, of course.’

‘I was wondering if you had heard any news of a warband landing downriver?’

Dado whistled and glanced at Dagobert with a shake of his head.

‘We have heard nothing. When was this?’

‘This morning.’

‘That is curious,’ said Dado, frowning.

‘Curious?’ Fidelma pressed.

‘An hour or so ago we had paused to take some refreshment when we met another traveller — a rider on horseback. He had come directly from the coast this morning and made no mention of any raid. But it is probably best that we are returning to our homeland. I suggest you do the same. This has proved aninhospitable land. Poverty, slaves and warfare. God speed our return to Frankia.’

‘Amen to that, Dado,’ muttered the driver.

Eadulf sat silently, a red flush on his cheeks. Something angered him about these strangers speaking of his country in such a manner. The trouble was that he could not think of any counter argument. His people were a warrior people who had swept through Europe guided by what they could seize at the point of the sword. Before the faith came, the greatest end that any one of them could meet was a death in battle, sword in hand, and the name of the god Woden on his lips.

It was less than one hundred years ago that Wuffa, son of Wehha, had led his people to this land and made himself the first King of East Anglia, driving the Britons westward. Ten kings had succeeded Wuffa, who was descended from Woden himself, from Casere the fourth son of the great god. Eadulf as gerefa could recite the eight generations between Woden and Wuffa. More, he could recite the ten generations that separated Wuffa from King Ealdwulf.

Wuffa’s son Tytila who was killed in battle against Ceolwulf of Wessex; Redwald who became bretwalda or overlord of the Saxon kingdoms; Eorpwald who was murdered by his brother because he converted to Christianity; Ricbert the Pagan who met with an end that was uncertain; then Sigebert, Egric, Anna, and Athelhere who all died in battle, sword in hand. Then Athelwold who ruled for nearly eight years before Ealdwulf came to power. Normally, Eadulf would have been proud at the recitation of the kings of the East Angles. But he had travelled extensively and seen much and now he began to wonder if there was anything to be proud of in coming from a warrior nation that could offer no trade to others except a trade in slaves.

He shivered and drew his robe closer around him. Surely he had been too long in the five kingdoms of Éireann that he was now questioning the values of his own people? It was not so long ago that he, as a young man, would have been proud to grasp his sword and run into battle crying for the blessing of Woden, Thunor or Frig! But there are no footsteps that lead backwards. He had moved on and it was not merely his time outside his own land that made him question its values but thenew faith itself. That was calling into question all the old ways; all the old values.

‘You are quiet, Eadulf. Is anything wrong?’

He turned at Fidelma’s soft whisper and forced an answering smile.

‘Just thinking, that is all.’

The cart was moving slowly along the track; the mules were sure-footed and hardy beasts and had seemed to make light of pulling the heavy vehicle across the river.

‘You were saying that you heard there were outlaws in the woods, my friend.’ Eadulf suddenly addressed the driver, Dagobert. ‘Have you heard stories of an outlaw called Aldhere?’

Dagobert inclined his head but it was his companion Dado who answered.

‘We met with many who talked of this bandit, Aldhere,’ he said. ‘Thanks be to the Almighty that we did not encounter him, otherwise we would be returning home even poorer than we are at the moment — that is, if we had been in a condition to return home.’

‘A fierce outlaw, then?’ Eadulf pressed.

‘Not so,’ interrupted Dagobert before his companion could speak. ‘My friend Dado neglects to tell you that we heard much talk but little bad said of him.’

‘Little bad?’ queried Eadulf. ‘That is unusual, isn’t it? Outlaws tend to be cursed by the local population.’

‘Not this man,’ said Dagobert.

‘It seems that most people think he is a man unjustly outlawed,’ Dado explained. ‘The story goes that he was a brave warrior unjustly accused of cowardice who had to take to the marshes nearby to save his own life.’

‘Was anything said about a brother of this outlaw?’ Eadulf asked innocently.

‘A brother?’ Dado looked at his companion and shrugged.

‘No brother was ever mentioned. Do you know some more of the story then, my friend?’ inquired Dagobert.

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I heard the same story as you have recounted but I thought I heard mention of a brother who played a role in ensuring that Aldhere fell under the King’s displeasure.’

Dado sniffed. ‘We did not hear that. In truth, we were onlyconcerned that we did not fall foul of the outlaw and his band. There are many stories to pick up along the road. I suppose this is one of the pleasures of travelling. Every traveller has a fascinating tale to tell.’ Dado suddenly looked at them with a sly smile. ‘Take yourselves. A Saxon religieux and a woman from the land of Éireann travelling in this wild place on foot. Now you must have a story to tell, surely?’

Eadulf immediately shook his head but Fidelma gave a low laugh and entered into the spirit of the moment.

‘There is a story, indeed, Dado of Frankia,’ she said. ‘But our journey needs must be a long one in order to accomplish the telling of it.’

The man’s face was full of disappointment.

‘Surely you can give us some idea of the nature of this tale?’

Fidelma dropped her voice to a confidential tone.

‘It is a story of a king’s sister and her lover who run away to seek happiness in a strange and frightening land …’

The man’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened a little.

‘Go on, go on,’ he whispered. ‘It sounds a good tale and great in the telling of it.’

‘Indeed, for they are pursued in this strange land by both men and phantoms, and they travel quickly under constant threat …’

‘A tale, indeed,’ rejoiced Dado, who was clearly a romantic as well as a gossip. ‘Tell us more …’

‘Well …’

‘Well,’ intervened Eadulf in harsh disapproval, ‘it must be left to your imaginings for this is where we must alight. God’s blessing on your charity, my friends; our thanks for giving us the comfort of your wagon for part of our journey. It would have taken some hours to reach this spot on foot in these treacherous snowbound conditions.’

Dagobert halted the wagon and looked around with surprise.

‘There is nothing but thick forest in all directions here, Brother. Are you sure that this is where you want to be left? You have but an hour of daylight left and we mean to halt and make camp for the night soon.’

‘Aye, stay and continue your story,’ urged Dado.

Eadulf shook his head firmly. ‘Our destination is not far from here and we must reach it before darkness falls.’

Dado looked disappointed. ‘If you are sure …?’

Eadulf was already out of the wagon, having thrown down the travelling bags, and turned to help Fidelma alight from the vehicle.

After thanking their Frankish hosts, they stood by the side of the track watching the wagon swaying through the tree-lined path, disappearing out of sight between the wintry evergreens.

Fidelma looked around at the darkening woods and shivered slightly.

‘I hope that you are right, Eadulf, when you say we have not far to go. Are you sure that this is where you want to be?’ she asked. ‘You were not making an excuse to leave our inquisitive friends? I could have spun a story to keep them amused.’

Eadulf looked hurt. ‘I do not doubt that you could have told them some story. However, this is Tunstall Wood and this is where Aldhere says that there is a community of religious from the five kingdoms of Éireann, still hiding out after the edict from Whitby. If anyone knows where Garb and his family are hidden, I am sure we will find them here.’

‘Let us hope so, for as our friend Dado said, it will soon be dark and darkness brings a weakness upon me. I probably should have rested for another full day to complete my recovery.’

Eadulf was painfully aware of the fact and was trying his best not to show his concern for Fidelma because he realised that she would disapprove of it.

‘If I remember the old place, it is less than a mile in that direction,’ he said, pointing along the track.

The woods were so thick that little snow had lain on the paths that crisscrossed them. Some memory, some instinct, drew Eadulf along the track, crossing paths that might have tempted them in other directions and maintaining a south-easterly course through the woods.

They stopped now and then, for Fidelma was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the night chill. The journey through the woods was not easy. They could hear animals scuttling around them and now and again came the staccato bark of foxes. The path came upon a stream and led along its bank, around a large hillockon which stood the overgrown earthworks of some ancient fort. It was almost concealed, with brush and trees growing over it.

Abruptly they came to the edge of a clearing. In the clearing were several wooden buildings and smoke was rising from a number of them.

Eadulf turned to Fidelma with triumph, although a closer observer might have noticed a predominance of relief in his eyes.

‘Tunstall. This is Tunstall. We have reached safety.’

Fidelma, her breath almost gone in the icy cold dusk of early evening, simply nodded.

There came a warning shout across the clearing. They had been spotted. Several men emerged from the buildings, most clad in the robes of religious and most wearing the tonsure of the Blessed John.

As Eadulf and Fidelma began to walk across the clearing towards what Eadulf presumed was the main building of the settlement, Eadulf noticed a small group of warriors. They were clearly not Saxons and Eadulf felt a surge of relief as he realised that he had been right. He did not doubt that these were Garb’s men. He felt a quickening of his pulse as he thought that soon the mystery of the death of his friend Botulf might be explained.

He halted, for one of the warriors had given a cry and was running towards him with an upraised sword.

A religious was also running forward as if to intercept the warrior, who skidded to a halt a sword’s length away. To his surprise, Eadulf saw that his antagonist was Garb himself.

‘Stand back, Brother,’ Garb cried in Irish to the religieux, who had come to a halt next to him and was looking bewildered. ‘This man is one of Cild’s evil brood. I recognise him. He was in Cild’s abbey when I delivered the ultimatum. It means that murdering abbot has tracked us down. Stand back while I kill them, and then we must be prepared to abandon this place.’