The Haunted Abbot

Chapter Fourteen

The blizzard had passed on during the night. The morning, while still icy cold, was bright with the sky pastel blue and the sun almost white in its weakness. Fidelma and Eadulf had passed the night in the comfortable warmth of Mul’s farmhouse. They had broken their fast with Mul but waited until he was out of earshot before they made their prayers to St Stephen, for it was his feast day — the feast of the first martyr for the new faith. Then, after paying Mul the promised coin for the night’s lodging, they left on their journey northwards. The roads were filled with snow banks, crisp flakes that had drifted in the blizzard and piled against hedge and ditch. The journey was not going to be without hardship.

Fidelma, however, had slept well and felt much stronger than before. The ague that she had endured was now receding and she was more comfortable and relaxed.

Mul’s smoking chimney had barely disappeared behind the hill when Eadulf turned to Fidelma. There were several questions that he had wanted to ask but had been unable to in the intimacy of the farmhouse in which Mul would hear even the whispered word.

‘What did you mean by “preventing such an effusion of blood as this land has not seen before”?’ Eadulf demanded.

Fidelma’s expression was serious.

‘Why am I so keen to prevent this ritual fast from taking place, Eadulf?’

‘To prevent the death of Gadra … to find out the truth about the deaths of Gélgeis and Botulf …’ Eadulf thought the reasons were surely obvious.

‘There is one thing that you appear to have overlooked, or perhaps do not realise, about the troscud, the ritual fast. Gadra is a chieftain of Maigh Eo. He is a descendant of the Uí Briúin kings of Connacht, and they in turn are related to the Uí Néill High Kings. If Gadra dies, as it is like he will, and Cild does not compensate his family, as it is like he will not, then therewill begin a blood feud which will encompass the Uí Briúin and perhaps the Uí Néill, which will spread from Cild to the whole kingdom of the East Angles, and soon, perhaps, every kingdom on these islands might be taking sides. From this incident, there might grow a terrible warfare.’

Eadulf was astounded. ‘Do you really think that it could lead to that?’

Her features told him how earnest she was.

‘As soon as I realised that Gadra was one of the Uí Briúin I knew that we were not dealing with some petty chieftain but one with powerful connections. That is what stirs me to find a solution to this matter.’ She paused and added: ‘What were the thoughts that occupied you when Mul suggested that Aldhere or Cild might be in league with neighbouring kings for their own aggrandisement?’

Eadulf grimaced. He had thought she had not noticed his apprehension when Mul spoke of the gossip in the market places. In fact, he had almost forgotten the subject now that they had left Mul’s farmstead.

‘I was merely thinking that Cild was once a warlord in this land. I remembered how strange it was, the morning after we arrived here, that he and some of the brethren rode out in search of Aldhere almost as if they were warriors in battle array rather than religious.’

‘I recall that you told me about that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘However, as you said, he was once a warrior and warriors’ traits never leave them.’

‘That was my reasoning.’

‘There is something else worrying you?’

‘Not worrying me, just irritating me. On our way out from the abbey, we passed a room full of warriors’ equipment. Remember?’

Fidelma pursed her lips. She had forgotten.

‘I confess that I was not feeling well enough to take that in. Perhaps Cild likes to retain that link with his past life.’

‘If it is truly past. It was what Mul said that makes me think that it is not.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Maybe the rumours are true. Cild might well be in leaguewith Wulfhere of Mercia — involved in some plot to betray the South Folk to his kingdom.’

‘Why Mercia?’

‘Because the thing that has been worrying me is that the shields in that chamber each bore the battle emblem of the Iclingas. I had started to mention it to you when we found Botulf’s purse and the discovery drove it from my mind.’

‘Iclingas? What might that be?’

‘The Iclingas are Kings of Mercia.’

They rode on in silence for a while, allowing the ponies their heads to find their own way through the snowdrifts — a task for which the animals’ natural senses were far better fitted than the guidance of their riders.

‘We should be at Aldhere’s camp within the hour.’ Eadulf eventually broke the silence.

‘I shall look forward to meeting him after the conflicting reports of his character given by you and Mul.’

Eadulf snorted indignantly. ‘What does Mul know? Yet again, he repeats only the local gossip. I simply say that I prefer Aldhere to his dour brother Cild.’

‘There is often some truth to be found in gossip. Not so much fact but attitudes. I have known many ruthless men and women who are possessed of the sweetest temperaments until their plans are thwarted. It is often enlightening to listen to gossip.’

Eadulf looked disapproving.

‘You are fond of quoting Publilius Syrus,’ he rebuked her. ‘Did you not once quote him, and quote him approvingly, that it was wrong to take notice of gossip?’

Fidelma smiled. ‘You did not quote the exact words of Publilius Syrus, Eadulf, but the meaning is probably the same. However, what I said was to listen to gossip for attitudes and not for facts. In this instance the importance of the gossip lies in the context.’

‘And have you been led to any conclusion?’ Eadulf asked. He could not restrain the note of irony in his question.

Fidelma’s features grew serious.

‘I will admit to you, Eadulf, that nothing I have heard so far makes me see any solutions. In fact, this is the most frustrating conundrum I have ever encountered. We only know for certain of one crime. The death of your friend Botulf. We hear accusationsof another crime … the abbot’s wife … but is it a crime? We do not know, for accusations do not constitute facts, as you endeavoured to point out at Tunstall. But how are we to proceed? There are no witnesses to these events, only rumours and gossip.’

‘There is another point to be considered.’

Fidelma glanced across at him, frowning at his doleful tone. ‘Which is?’

‘That even if we could miraculously find the truth of what is happening, through what means could we reveal it and force a mediation on those concerned? You have no legal authority in this land. At least in Dyfed, the Welisc king gave you an authority. But here among the Angles and the Saxons, you have none. No authority at all.’

‘That is true,’ she agreed gravely. ‘But this is your country, Eadulf. These are your people. You are a gerefa here.’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘I was a gerefa here, extolling the laws of the Wuffingas. Once I went into the religious my authority as a gerefa ceased to be.’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘Do you mean that a religious in this land cannot be an advocate of the law?’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘It is with irony that Mul addresses me as gerefa. It is because as a non-Christian he refuses to call me Brother. Neither, if you noticed, does he call you Sister. I have found many in the religious who have sought my advice because of my legal background but, in truth, I no longer have authority in this kingdom and these people know it.’

Fidelma reflected for a moment. Somewhere in her memory she must have known. It must have been explained to her when she had first met Eadulf at the great council at Whitby. Yet she had in recent times emphasised his legal standing to her people as it gave him a moral authority to help her in her own investigations.

‘Well, we will have to find some other way of exerting influence on matters,’ she said. ‘I believe Gadra and Garb will take notice if I can demonstrate that there is no need to undertake the ritual fast.’

‘But in the meantime,’ Eadulf sighed, ‘we have to keep out of the hands of Abbot Cild. I wonder how he can afford three gold pieces for our capture? It is a large sum to offer and you cannot doubt that many will be tempted by it.’

Certainly Fidelma did not doubt it.

‘More to the point, why is he so concerned to have us caught and silenced?’ she said. ‘He must surely know, as we do, that there is no way we can prove anything against him …’

‘Unless we are overlooking the obvious,’ muttered Eadulf.

Fidelma examined him thoughtfully. She could see his brows drawn together, his lips compressed, as if he were struggling to remember some forgotten information or event that had happened during the time that she lay in her fever.

‘You noticed that the crucifix Mul found was not one usually worn by a religious?’ she asked, after a while.

Eadulf nodded.

‘It was made for a person of wealth, doubtless a woman,’ he replied. ‘It seems logical that it was Gélgeis’s cross.’

‘Logical, but its ownership is not certain, nor is the reason why it came to be at Mul’s farmstead.’

A silence fell between them again before Fidelma broke it once more: ‘You have had conversation with Cild. Tell me, is he truly unbalanced in the mind? If so, have you learnt the cause of it?’

Eadulf shrugged. ‘I would say that Cild is unstable to the point of being deranged. What caused his dementia? I do not know.’

‘The death of his wife and the strange apparitions at the abbey?’

To her surprise, Eadulf shook his head.

‘I think there is more to it than that. Aldhere claims his brother was demented and cruel from childhood and this was why he was disinherited. Perhaps he was born evil.’

Fidelma made a face.

‘Children are not born evil, Eadulf. They are usually created so.’

They had been travelling through a stretch of woodland, mainly of bare, gaunt trees with a few clumps of evergreens here and there. It was flat country close to the sea, so close that they could hear the distant whisper of the waves sliding towards the shore and then receding. Now came the sound of something else.

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 disturbedsnow 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 hadalready 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.

‘And does it have a good answer?’ Fidelma pressed.

Aldhere returned her gaze, his face wreathed in a smile.

‘Oh, I believe so. I am here searching for justice.’

Fidelma inclined her head in acknowledgment.

‘Eadulf has told me of your story. Falsely accused of cowardice. An elder brother who wishes to see you destroyed for disinheriting him. But why remain here? How will that achieve justice?’

Aldhere leaned forward, suddenly serious.

‘It is because I have faith, Sister.’

‘Scripture says that faith is the substance of things hoped for without evidence. What is it that you hope for?’

‘I have been robbed of my property. My character has been ruined. My reputation tainted. Yet I have faith that my character may be vindicated and my property restored; that my persecutors may be brought to justice. That is my faith, Sister, and that iswhy I and my followers will not be driven forth from this land of the South Folk, which is our land by right of birth and sword. We came here four generations ago and drove the Welisc from this land, where they had grown indolent and degenerate. We are of the Wuffingas, descendants of Woden, and what we take we will not give back.’

Fidelma sat back with lips pursed in disapproval.

Eadulf glanced at her nervously but she did not say anything for a moment or two.

‘You have explained your philosophy well, Aldhere,’ she said quietly. ‘Now, what can you tell me about your brother? I presume that he would share your principles?’

Aldhere looked uncertain. ‘What do you want to know about Cild?’

‘You have given Brother Eadulf here the impresson that Cild was always unbalanced.’

Aldhere shrugged. ‘He had strange moods and sometimes he would do things which were not driven by logic. He loved power, he loved wealth. Those were the only two things he ever loved.’

‘He did not love Gélgeis?’

‘She was a chieftain’s daughter. He probably loved the power and wealth he thought he would inherit.’

‘But these strange moods — you say he had them from a child? Do you know when they became manifest?’

‘He was not liked by my father,’ Aldhere said. ‘I told the holy gerefa here. Before Cild grew too strong, my father often beat him and used to lock him up as punishment.’

‘Was your father justified in this?’

Aldhere shook his head. ‘I think the rogue moods that Cild displays were inherited from my father, who was a difficult man.’

‘Your father never punished you in the same manner as Cild.’

‘Never.’ Aldhere smiled grimly. ‘Cild was always singled out by him.’

‘And your mother? What role did she play in this?’

Aldhere sniffed. ‘My mother died when we were young and my father’s mistresses did not enter our lives. We were left to ourselves and Cild had his own world to retreat into. But why do you ask these questions?’

‘I am a little confused as to when Cild came back from the kingdom of Connacht. Was that before or after you had been outlawed?’

‘Before.’

‘Did he come back to Bretta’s Ham when he arrived from Maigh Eo?’

‘No. He went straight to the abbey of Aldred. He had managed to be appointed abbot there.’

‘He took his wife with him?’

‘He did. She was not a religieuse but went to live with him.’

‘When did you first meet her?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I told the gerefa here.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It was when I first went to the abbey, after which it was clear that my brother and I would never agree. Then, after I was outlawed, I saw her again.’

‘And what was your opinion of his wife?’

Aldhere rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘As I told the gerefa, she was a sweet girl, innocent. How she had been persuaded to marry Cild, I do not know. She was the opposite to everything I saw in my brother. He was immoral, ambitious, thinking with his sword arm before his mind.’

‘It sounds as if you liked the girl,’ Fidelma observed.

Aldhere flushed slightly. ‘I did not dislike her. She was Cild’s wife. She came to see me here in this encampment simply because I was the brother of her husband. She wanted to help.’

‘Remind me, what happened after you were outlawed?’

‘Cild claimed my title and lands. Ealdwulf only compensated him with a small share and told him that he should remain as a religious. He affirmed Cild as abbot over the community at Aldred. I believe Ealdwulf was already anticipating the decision at Whitby, for the moment that decision was made he issued a decree that all those religious holding to the Columban order should be expelled from the kingdom.’

‘Yet at that time Cild and Gélgeis were living happily together at Aldred’s Abbey?’

‘Happily?’ There was a note of derision in Aldhere’s voice.

‘You question that?’

‘Such an innocent young girl could not have been happy with Cild,’ he replied sharply.

‘You may well be right. On the other hand, it is amazing in life how couples we believe are mismatched are completely compatible,’ reflected Fidelma. ‘I am more interested in whether you knew of any reason for discord between them? I mean, to your personal knowledge.’

Aldhere say back and gazed moodily at his mead as if an answer lay in the clay pot.

‘I had the impression that she was unhappy,’ he said.

‘Did she tell you as much?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘Yes, she did.’

‘When was that?’

‘When I met her.’

Fidelma frowned. ‘She said this on her first meeting with you at the abbey, before you were outlawed?’

He shook his head. ‘No, this was afterwards, when …’

‘How many times did you see her after you came here?’

‘I saw the girl a few times for she used to go walking near the abbey. The river stretches nearby and there are woods there.’

‘What did she tell you?’

‘That since Cild had not been able to get his own way about his claim to be thane of Bretta’s Ham, he had become morose and restless. He displayed a cruelty that she had not thought possible in one who claimed to follow the religious life.’

‘Did she say that Cild was cruel to her?’

Aldhere’s lips thinned. ‘She did.’

‘Why do you think that she felt able to confess this to you?’ asked Eadulf thoughtfully. ‘You were, after all, a stranger even though you were Cild’s brother. And the very fact that you were Cild’s brother would surely not be conducive to an exchange of confidences.’

‘I don’t see why not. She knew that Cild had treated me as cruelly as he treated her. She was alone. She wanted someone to talk to. Someone to share her desolation with. I think it is natural.’

‘What do you know of the circumstances of Gélgeis’s death?’

Aldhere glanced at her suspiciously. ‘What should I know of it?’

‘I ask what you know, not what you should know.’ Her reply was so tart that he blinked rapidly for a moment.

‘Only the story that she had wandered into Hob’s Mire near the abbey and been sucked under its treacherous bog,’ he said, regaining his easy manner.

‘And this was a year ago?’

‘About that. Yes.’

‘When was the last time you saw Gélgeis before that?’

‘Two days before she died,’ replied Aldhere.

‘Two days?’ queried Fidelma. ‘You are absolutely sure of that?’

Aldhere grinned. ‘Absolutely sure.’

‘Were you having an affair with your brother’s wife?’ Fidelma asked abruptly.

‘An affair? Not as such,’ came the reluctant response.

Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘What would be your interpretation of your relationship with your brother’s wife? I am intrigued to know that there is a relationship which can be described as not an affair as such.’

Aldhere actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. He knew that Fidelma was making fun of him.

‘I was the friend she needed, the person she needed to confess her anguish and fears to. There was nothing else in it.’

‘Accepting that,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘you say that you did have an assignation with her two days before she died?’

‘We had arranged to meet — yes. We met in the woods along the river near the abbey. We went for a walk and she told me how bad the situation had become with Cild. She had been in touch with her family through the intermediacy of a religieux named Pol. Cild had found out and lost his temper and had Pol hanged out of hand. His excuse was that Pol was a heretic. Gélgeis said she was fearful and wanted me to put her in touch with some Columban religious who might help her to return to her father’s estates.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said that I would do my best to help her.’

‘Then?’

‘Then she left me.’

‘Having heard what she had to say, you let her return to the abbey?’ queried Eadulf incredulously.

‘It was her decision,’ replied Aldhere defensively. ‘She could have come with me there and then and I would have protected her, but …’ He shrugged.

‘When did you hear that she was dead?’ Fidelma asked.

‘The news came the day after she had wandered into the mire.’

‘Would her route to come to see you lie through the marshes? Through this place called Hob’s Mire?’

‘Not really. When she came to see me we usually met at the little copse near the abbey. I know what you are thinking. She did know the marsh.’

‘Did she know it well?’

Aldhere was looking at her curiously.

‘I would say she knew it very well,’ he said at last.

‘She knew about the dangers of Hob’s Mire?’

‘Most people know about the mire. It is notorious.’ He hesitated and anticipating a demand for specifics added: ‘Yes; she did know of it.’

‘So why do you think that she would have departed from the known and safe route to go through the bog?’

‘I do not think so and I know what you are suggesting.’

‘Suggesting? I am merely seeking the answers to some questions. I just find it curious that if she knew the dangers of the marshes, she would have gone out of her way on that particular occasion to court them.’

Aldhere fell silent.

‘Did you not attempt to make some inquiries when you heard of her death?’ Fidelma asked.

‘She was dead. Why would I need to know the reason why she wandered into the mire?’

‘To ascertain if she was assisted in wandering into that mire.’

Aldhere was silent for a moment or two before he replied.

‘The idea only occurred to me months later when it was too late. Indeed, I scarcely thought more of it until the other day when the holy gerefa here came wandering out of the marshes and had to be rescued from East Saxon raiders. He told me that Gélgeis’s father and brother had arrived here in some vain attempt to force Cild to confess to her murder.

‘I said then, and I say it to you now, Sister, that they have nohope. Only Cild’s conscience would force him to admit his guilt — if, indeed, he is guilty — and the fact is that my brother has no conscience. So there is little hope of achieving anything by that means.’

Fidelma sighed softly. ‘Rumours, surmises — I have not one hard fact to prevent the tragedy that will soon overtake us.’ She stared abruptly into the eyes of Aldhere. ‘Did you ever meet Mella?’

The outlaw’s eyes widened a little.

‘Mella?’ he muttered.

‘Gélgeis’s twin sister. They were so alike that only the close family could tell them apart.’

‘Of course not. What makes you ask if I met her?’

‘She tried to dissuade Gélgeis from marriage to Cild. It was said that she was brought to this land.’

‘But Mella-’ began Aldhere. He stopped suddenly.

‘Yes? Mella … what?’ snapped Fidelma.

‘Mella was taken in a slave raid and perished at sea.’

‘How do you know that?’

Aldhere raised his hands helplessly. ‘Gélgeis must have told me.’

‘But this happened after Gélgeis came to the land of the South Folk. How did she know?’

‘I don’t know. She told me. She knew.’

‘When did she tell you?’

‘I can’t remember. On one of our walks, I suppose.’

‘And what did she say exactly?’

‘About Mella?’ countered Aldhere.

‘About Mella,’ repeated Fidelma solemnly.

‘That her sister had been reported taken by slavers and that the slave ship was lost at sea. I know no more than that.’

It was clear that Aldhere was lying. But why was he doing so?

He was rising.

‘Enough of this talk,’ he said brusquely, ‘I have duties to see to. Stay here and rest until I return.’

He went out, leaving them alone in the hut.

Eadulf turned to Fidelma but she raised a hand and placed a finger to her lips, gesturing with her head towards the door.

‘Tell me about this man Sigeric,’ she commanded in a slightly raised voice.

Eadulf was disappointed.

‘As I said, he is high steward to the King and was high steward to King Athelwold before him. He is said to be a bastard son of Ricbert who ruled here for about three years. Ricbert was a pagan who assassinated Eorpwald who had converted to Christianity.’

Fidelma raised her hands in protest.

‘Truly, I cannot get my tongue around these Anglo-Saxon names. You say that Sigeric is high steward? Is he a bishop?’

‘No, he is still a pagan. Our kings have found him an excellent adviser and chief judge. There is no one who knows more of the laws of the Wuffingas. That is the law which we hold here-’

‘I did gather that,’ Fidelma said waspishly. Then she relaxed a little. ‘What I am interested in is why would Sigeric, your chief Brehon, be sent to Aldred’s Abbey? Is it truly to announce a pardon for Aldhere or is there some other purpose?’

Eadulf realised what Fidelma was thinking.

‘Do you think that it has something to do with the accusation against Cild? Perhaps Gadra or his son contacted him. Perhaps Sigeric is here to forestall the same tragedy that you are seeking to prevent?’

‘I wish I could believe that,’ Fidelma said. ‘I don’t think your King Ealdwulf would know anything about the problems that would arise from the troscud of Gadra. But what is his purpose? The trouble is that the answer to that question is back at Aldred’s Abbey.’