The Haunted Abbot

Chapter Six

The lonely bittern with its mournful cry caused Eadulf to draw rein on the mule that he was riding and glance in frustration about him. A short distance away, among the waving reeds, he saw the black and brown streaks of the bird’s plumage as it gently climbed the stalks, clutching at them in little clumps with its talons in order to haul itself up to scan the surrounding area. Then its bright eyes spotted Eadulf and it disappeared back into the shelter of the growth.

Only a few months ago, Eadulf knew that these tall reeds would have made a wild and dramatic image against the stormy skies; an image that would have enchanted him by its beauty. Now, however, they were flowerless and bent by the onslaught of the snow; they were humbled by the cold and frosty weather. It was only a passing thought, however, for more important things impinged on his mind.

Eadulf had to admit to himself that he was lost.

He had managed to persuade Brother Willibrod to lend him one of the few remaining mules in the abbey stables in order to ride out after Abbot Cild and the half-dozen armed brethren who had accompanied him. He had allowed the dominus to think that Abbot Cild had accepted his offer to go with them, and must have forgotten to wait for him.

‘It’ll be easy to catch up with them,’ Eadulf had assured Brother Willibrod. ‘I can follow their tracks in the snow.’

The dominus had agreed to let him go, but with utmost reluctance. The reluctance had been justified, for Eadulf had forgotten that the snow was dry and powdery and that the wind constantly gusted, blowing the snow this way and that. In fact he had only ridden a short way from the abbey when he realised that the wind had covered all tracks of Abbot Cild and his companions.

Eadulf should have turned back but some obstinacy drovehim forward, a determination which often helped him overcome adversity. He urged the mule on, but with a less than confident feeling. It was a sturdy animal, strong-limbed and used to the hardship of the cold weather, but it was also renowned for an obstinacy that was the equal of Eadulf’s. And Eadulf was the first to admit that he was not entirely comfortable in any saddle. He was not like Fidelma who had ridden almost before she could walk. He was nervous and he found that animals sensed his nervousness, especially this heavy-muscled mule.

In spite of the thick snowy carpet, Eadulf knew he was in the marshlands now and not far from the coast. He had grown up within reach of this countryside but had never really ventured into it. The scenery, the small streams and lagoons, the mixed woodland broken up by stretches of thinly disguised heathland under its covering of snow, were all typical of the low-lying marshes that constituted the coastal strips of the kingdom of the East Angles. But there were no tracks to follow; there was nothing substantial, nothing tangible by way of landmarks to take a bearing from.

From nearby a scolding ‘chickabee-bee-bee-bee’ sound seemed to sweep close to his head and then fade in the distance. He had a fleeting glimpse of a tiny white and brown shape, with a glossy black crown. The marsh-tit had been disturbed and soon Eadulf saw the reason. A female marsh harrier, identifiable by its large size, dark brown body, and buff shoulders and head, came swooping in search of prey. The raptor fed on the tiny birds as well as mice and other small mammals.

Eadulf found himself hoping that the tiny marsh-tit would elude its hungry pursuer.

He realised that he was very near the sea now. He could smell the salt tang on the air and he saw the snow on the ground thinning slightly as the heath gave way to a stretch of sand dunes and shingle beyond which the sea’s long, dim level appeared out of the grey that made sky and water seem momentarily one. Little clusters of sea buckthorn grew here and there among the sand dunes, an ancient little shrub, willow-like, slender, green with a silver underside. Eadulf noticed that it still bore a few of the faintly orange berries which, as a child, he used to gather for hismother to make marmalade. It formed a thicket and was all but indestructible.

Some way ahead he saw a small outcrop of land, a grassy knoll like a tiny headland jutting from a fairly thick-wooded area and rising to a high point from which the land dropped away like miniature cliffs into the sea on all sides except its landward connection. It formed a tiny little peninsula. Eadulf realised that it was a vantage point from which he would probably be able to see a fair distance across the marshlands and he might be able to spot the abbot and his brethren.

He urged the little mule forward towards the wood. He had decided that if he could see no sign of Abbot Cild and his companions from this vantage point then he might as well make his way back to the abbey. He had wanted to be with Abbot Cild if he caught up with Aldhere to find out what the outlaw had to say in answer to the accusation of causing the death of Brother Botulf. He had wanted to make sure that justice was upheld. But he had missed his opportunity, and he was positive that the abbot would not welcome any interference from him.

He made his way through the trees towards the small headland. When he emerged from their cover he saw something which caused him to draw rein sharply so that his small mount grunted in protest as it halted and stamped its forefoot in temper. In the lee of the headland was a Saxon longship. It was close inshore, and there were a score of men milling around it. Its design and pennants showed that it was not from the land of the East Angles but from the East Saxons. The great sail carried the solar symbol associated with the god Thunor, the cross with the broken arms.

Someone among them gave a cry as Eadulf was spotted and several of them, swords unsheathed, came bounding up the rocky incline towards where he sat in momentary surprise. Before he could react, he was aware of a hissing sound in the air. Several arrows sped by him but were not aimed at him. They had been fired from behind him and two found their targets in the oncoming warriors. The men dropped with cries of pain while the others came to a ragged halt.

Eadulf was confused. He suddenly found himself surrounded by several warriors, whose bows rained down deadly missiles onthe men from the longship. One of the newcomers grabbed his mule’s reins, a thick-set man with a mane of wild yellow hair and a black-toothed grin.

Eadulf was aware of the men below running for their longship, carrying or dragging those who had been hurt, while others were frantically pushing it into the waves. More arrows were unleashed by those around him but they found no human target, although several embedded themselves in the timbers of the boat. The retreating Saxon warriors scrambled into it, hauling themselves over the sides as it began to ride up and down on the waves. Men were swiftly adjusting the lines and ropes, shouting and cursing to each other, causing the big sail to move slightly in order to catch the offshore winds.

Away it went, dancing swiftly over the water and out of sight round the end of the headland.

A tall warrior who appeared to be the leader of the band who had launched the attack on the Saxons had sheathed his sword and was now examining Eadulf in some amusement. He was more wiry than muscular and carried a great scar across one cheek. His eyes were black and held an inner fire, dark and flashing. His lips were thin and the scar had twisted them into a permanent sneer. There was something about the cast of his features that seemed familiar to Eadulf but he was sure that he had not seen this man before. He was swarthy of skin, a man used to the outdoor life. He was dressed in dark clothes, woollen garments dyed black. Only his leather jacket was studded with polished steel roundels in the manner of body armour. He carried a round burnished shield and his helmet was simple, conical without adornment.

‘And who have we here? One of Cild’s evil brood, no doubt?’

Eadulf frowned in annoyance.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded. ‘Do you raise your hand against a religious?’

The warrior chuckled and gestured with a nod at his companions.

‘I would have thought that a man of such noble learning as yourself might have deduced that we have just saved your holy life from the East Saxons. You do not appear to be grateful.’

‘Why would the East Saxons want to take my life?’ Eadulfdemanded, trying to match the other’s bantering tone but not succeeding. ‘And why would you want to save it?’

The tall man’s eyes narrowed as he examined Eadulf more closely. The smile did not leave his features.

‘What is your name, Brother? I cannot recall seeing you in Cild’s festering pile of stones before. Are you a newcomer to this district?’

The man spoke with an easy familiarity which irritated Eadulf.

‘I am but recently come from Canterbury and before that I was over a year abroad. However, I am-’

‘He’s Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham!’

One of the band interrupted with a shout of recognition as he stepped forward.

The tall man turned to him, as did Eadulf, trying to place the scruffily dressed ruffian.

‘Do you recognise this man, Wiglaf?’

The short, sturdy-framed, brown-haired man nodded eagerly.

‘He was the gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham. I recognise him well. He once ordered that I should have twelve strokes of a birch stick for thieving.’

The tall leader turned back to Eadulf with mock seriousness.

‘Is this true? You ordered the punishment of poor Wiglaf here?’

Eadulf’s mouth tightened.

‘I cannot say one way or another,’ he said defensively. ‘I do not recognise the man.’

The man called Wiglaf moved closer and stuck his grinning features in front of Eadulf.

‘I did not have a beard then, gerefa, for I was very young, but the birch stung and marked me for some years.’

‘Was the sentence just, Wiglaf?’ interrupted the tall leader, with humour still in his voice.

The brown-haired man chuckled. ‘That it was. I did thieve a pot of honey from an old widow. The gerefa was just.’

Eadulf gave up trying to identify the erstwhile honey thief. He had ordered many such punishments when he had been a gerefa.

‘Now you know me, but I do not know you,’ he ventured defiantly to the tall leader. The man continued to smile.

‘I am called Aldhere and these are some of my men.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened. The tall warrior saw the expression of surprise and grimaced in amusement.

‘I see, by your reaction, that you have heard of me, holy gerefa.’

‘That I have,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘From Abbot Cild.’

Aldhere laughed uproariously as if Eadulf had said something really humorous.

‘I doubt that you have heard any good of me from that son of a she-devil. Have you become a member of Cild’s noxious little brood?’

Eadulf shook his head. ‘I am staying at Aldred’s Abbey with my … with a companion for a few days before travelling on to Seaxmund’s Ham. I have been away from these parts for several years.’

The outlaw leader continued to appear relaxed and almost friendly as he digested this news.

‘Then, holy gerefa, I would advise you to leave that putrefied rats’ nest at Aldred’s Abbey sooner rather than later.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because it is an evil place; a place which should be shunned. Abbot Cild is an evil man.’

A frown crossed Eadulf’s brow as he suddenly remembered the words of ‘Mad’ Mul. He, too, had called the abbey a place of evil. It was time that some explanation was given.

‘I would have a word alone with you, Aldhere.’

‘Then you will ride with us back to our camp and we will talk on the way.’

Eadulf hesitated and then decided that he had to be honest.

‘Do you realise that Abbot Cild and several of his brethren are scouring these parts to take and hang you?’

Aldhere raised an eyebrow but the smile did not leave his features.

‘I am glad that you have warned us, holy gerefa, for it shows me that you are a man of integrity. That is more than I can say of Abbot Cild. However, we watched Cild entering the marshes earlier, and he has returned to the abbey long since. It was no more than a show to impress someone. What could his half-dozen men do against my war band?’

Eadulf suddenly realised that Aldhere had a score of men with him. Cild must have known that he was no match for them. Why would he have put on this show? Whom did he want to impress? Eadulf himself? The community? Garb and his Irish warriors? Or was this just another manifestation of Cild’s irrational moods?

They had all mounted horses brought to them by men who had obviously held them in the thickness of the wood while the attack was taking place. Two of Aldhere’s men took the lead, riding some little way ahead as scouts, while Eadulf and Aldhere followed. The others brought up the rear.

Aldhere rode in a relaxed position, stretched back in the saddle. It was clear that he had been raised on horseback.

‘Now, what is it that you wish to say that you feel is for my ears alone?’ asked the tall outlaw as they began to move forward.

‘Abbot Cild believes that you killed Brother Botulf.’

The sardonic snort told Eadulf that Aldhere did not think much of Abbot Cild’s belief. But Eadulf’s eyes narrowed at the implication.

‘So you knew that Brother Botulf has been killed?’

‘I knew,’ Aldhere replied grimly. ‘And if you are looking for a culprit you must speak to Cild.’

‘Are you making a counter-claim that Cild was the murderer and not you?’

‘Did I not make myself clear?’

‘Tell me how you knew that Brother Botulf was dead.’

For the first time, Aldhere’s features had become grave.

‘What does this matter to you, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham? You tell me that you have only just arrived at Aldred’s Abbey and, as I have said, if you have sense then you will leave it without delay.’

Eadulf decided to speak plainly.

‘It matters a great deal to me, Aldhere. Botulf was a close friend of mine. He was the friend of my childhood and youth. While I was at Canterbury a few weeks ago he sent a message to me asking me to come to the abbey and requesting that I endeavour to get there before midnight last night. I did so, only to find out that he had been killed shortly before I arrived. In support of Cild’s accusation of your complicity, one of the brethren insists that he saw you at the abbey about the same time.’

Aldhere was silent for a moment.

‘That would have been Wigstan, returning from his journey to the fishing village with fish for the abbey. I saw him. He was right. I was there.’

Eadulf glanced at him sharply. ‘Are you now admitting …?’

‘Don’t make yourself out to be a fool, holy gerefa. Of course I am not. Did Botulf tell you why he wanted you to come to Aldred’s Abbey? Or why you had to be there by that particular time?’

Reluctantly, Eadulf shook his head.

‘I did not kill Botulf,’ Aldhere said abruptly, with a controlled passion. ‘He was a friend of mine, too. I had come to the abbey to meet him in secret — also being instructed, like you, to come by an appointed hour at dawn yesterday.’

‘And so Brother Wigstan saw you?’

‘I have not denied it.’

‘But you did not see Botulf?’

Aldhere shook his head firmly. ‘While I was waiting for him in the shadow of the copse by the side of the abbey, I heard an outcry. I decide that I would not wait around to discover its meaning.’

‘So how did you learn that this outcry was due to the fact that Botulf had been found dead?’

‘Through Wiglaf. He had a contact in the abbey and found out that, thanks to Wigstan, Cild was claiming I was responsible.’

‘Why does Abbot Cild hate you?’

Aldhere gave a long deep sigh. ‘It is a long story. A tale with an even longer preamble.’

‘I have plenty of time,’ replied Eadulf without humour.

‘Then have patience until we reach the camp and then, over a dish of hot soup, I shall tell you that story.’

Eadulf relapsed into silence for a while. He was disconcerted by Aldhere. This was not exactly the image of the marsh outlaw that had been conjured by Cild. In spite of his appearance, which initially fitted Eadulf’s concept of a robber, Aldhere was a pleasant-mannered, educated man, with the quiet authority of a thane rather than an outlaw. Eadulf was bursting with questions but he decided to keep his natural impatience in check. As Fidelma was so fond of saying, they succeed who are patient.

They were riding northwards, parallel to the seashore but keeping to the shelter of the woods which grew thick where they were protected from the corrosive sea-salt air. Eadulf began to recognise his surroundings and he felt a slight pang of homesickness as he realised that they were not very far away from his birthplace.

Away to their right lay the shingle seashore and sand dunes marking the extremity of the land but to their left was a landscape of small lagoons, freshwater reedmarsh, and mixed woodland and heath. Then, as they moved through a thick belt of aspen, birch and oak that had seemed impenetrable, Eadulf suddenly found that they had arrived in a clearing with makeshift huts where several people were moving about, men and women and even children.

‘Welcome to my camp,’ smiled Aldhere, halting his mount and sliding off it.

Eadulf followed his lead and the outlaw conducted him towards one of the huts. Before they reached it, the door was opened and a woman came forward to greet Aldhere. She was slim, and flaxen hair showed beneath a headscarf that covered most of her features. She halted and frowned at the sight of Eadulf.

‘Who is he? A prisoner? One of Cild’s men?’ she demanded in an unfriendly tone. She spoke Saxon with a foreign accent which Eadulf could not place for the moment.

Aldhere shook his head, smiling.

‘No, my sweet, this is a guest. This is my woman, Bertha. This is Brother Eadulf, Bertha. Now bring us mead and hot soup and leave us to talk.’

Bertha sniffed disparagingly but ducked back into the hut, followed by Aldhere and Eadulf. The interior formed a single room with scarcely space for a bed, a table and a few stools. Aldhere motioned Eadulf to be seated, and placed himself on the other side of the table. Bertha set a jug of mead on the board. As she did so Eadulf saw that she had a scar on her right arm, running upwards from the wrist. The soup had already been made and, after a moment, bowls of steaming vegetables and fresh, warm bread were also placed before them. Then Bertha flounced from the hut as if angered by her exclusion.

‘Bertha? That is a Frankish name,’ commented Eadulf when they were alone.

Aldhere nodded thoughtfully. ‘I released her from a Frankish slaver, who was trying to sell her to the East Saxons. The slavers did not treat her well. I saw that you noticed the scar on her arm. She has others and that is why she tends to cover her face in front of strangers. She has preferred to stay with me.’

Eadulf nodded sympathetically. ‘A cursed trade is slaving and one that I hope will be outlawed one day. But, tell me, why were the East Saxons trying to kill me? They were never so violent when I was a young man.’

Aldhere took the jug of mead and poured from it.

‘It is all to do with King Sigehere who has returned to the worship of the gods of his father. He has declared war on all Christians.’

‘I thought that he had his hands full fighting his own people. Why does he send his men to raid our territory?’

‘Sigehere is an ambitious man no matter what religion he holds. The kingdom of the East Saxons is too small for him and so he sends warriors to probe his neighbours to test their strengths and weaknesses. There have been several raids against us … as you have now witnessed. A Christian holy man would have been a good catch for the warriors of Sigehere. They would have reserved a special entertainment for you.’

Eadulf shivered at the thought and took up the beaker of mead.

‘Why would they land at that point? There are no significant settlements in the vicinity apart from Aldred’s Abbey.’

Aldhere rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment.

‘That is a good point, holy gerefa. They usually raid to the north of here, against the lands of the North Folk where King Ealdwulf has his palace and fortresses. Why, indeed, would they land there?’

For a moment or two it seemed that the outlaw was lost in contemplation of the question. Eadulf decided to pull him back to the moment.

‘Can nothing be done about Sigehere? I thought his cousin Sebbi was leading a civil war against him. Surely that would curtail his ambitions?’

‘Sebbi is no warrior. He is too pious and has to rely on others to fight his battles. At the moment, he is hard pressed to hold his own against his pagan cousin.’

‘Is there no Christian neighbour to intervene on Sebbi’s behalf?’

‘Christian or pagan, kings are only governed by self-interest. What can Sebbi do for them? If it is nothing, then why should they support him?’

‘So there is no prospect of stopping Sigehere?’

Aldhere shook his head. ‘Short of defeating him in battle, little enough, I suppose. And Sigehere has too many powerful friends who would be willing to take his side. As a matter of politics, he even recognises Wulfhere of Mercia as his overlord, and Wulfhere, for one, would welcome the chance to move into our land of the East Angles if we sent an army against Sigehere.’

Eadulf paused uncertainly for a moment or two and then said: ‘You do not speak with the selfish attitude of a robber, Aldhere. You claim that Botulf was your friend. Tell me how this was and all that you know of his death.’

Aldhere set down his tankard of mead and stretched his arms before folding them easily across his stomach. He closed his eyes in thought for a second.

‘Botulf was the only one of your faith who did not condemn me when I was declared an outlaw. That was over a year ago now.’

‘First tell me how you met Botulf. What were the circumstances of your friendship?’

‘You will recall that Wulfhere succeeded his father, Penda, as King of Mercia eight years ago and has been busy ever since trying to re-establish the domination of Mercia over all the kings of the Angles and the Saxons?’

Eadulf nodded. During his childhood the name of Penda, son of Pybba, had been conjured by mothers to frighten their children into obedience. From his kingdom of Mercia he had marched on his neighbours, even killing Oswald of Northumbria, the most powerful of the Anglo-Saxon kings. Eadulf had been a child of six or seven at the time. There had been almost universal joy when Oswy, son of Oswald, who had become Northumbria’s s King after his father’s death, defeated and slew Penda at WinwaedField. The mighty Mercian empire had collapsed. Penda had been depicted as an ogre because he rejected the Christian faith and adhered to the ancient gods like Woden and Thunor. Yet three years after Penda’s death, his son Wulfhere had rallied the kingdom and begun to re-establish its dominance.

Eadulf was frowning.

‘What have such matters to do with you?’ he asked the outlaw leader.

‘I was thane of Bretta’s Ham, a warlord of the South Folk.’

Eadulf was startled to realise that his estimation of the man was correct. A thane was one of the lesser nobility; Eadulf knew only that Bretta’s Ham was to the south-west of the kingdom. He waited patiently for Aldhere to continue.

‘About a year ago, Wulfhere sent his brother Aethelred against the western border of our kingdom. Ealdwulf, our King, sent his Cousin Egric to command the army. It was a short skirmish but a fierce fight, for the Mercians came down on us like the furies of hell. I was given command of the right flank. It was not a good position, for Egric had placed us at the foot of a hill, almost out of sight of the main body. When the attack began, a message from Egric was sent to me to stand fast until we were called. I obeyed. The next thing we heard was that Egric’s positions had been overthrown and he was mortally wounded.’

Aldhere was silent for a moment or two and then he sighed deeply. ‘Once I learnt this intelligence, I led my men around the hill and came upon the Mercian rear. As I say, it was a fierce but swift fight and the Mercians were suddenly in full retreat.’

Eadulf made no comment as Aldhere paused again.

‘When I went to see how Egric fared and to tell him the good news that we had turned the Mercians, I found the life blood ebbing from him but the man still full of bile and recriminations. Instead of taking responsibility for the bad positions and his consequent overthrow — indeed, his own death — he ranted and raged against me even with his dying breath. He claimed that I was a coward. He said I had hidden away until he had been defeated; that I had made no effort to protect his flank. And in his anger, he died.’

There was a silence until Eadulf made the obvious comment.

‘But it was his own fault.’

‘He was the King’s cousin and those in his bodyguard who had survived took his dying words back to Ealdwulf. I was summoned to the King’s palace to answer for my cowardice. Those were the very words with which the demand for my attendance was made. I knew, then, that if I went, there would be only one resolution to my situation. My execution.’

‘So you decided not to go in answer to the King’s summons?’

‘That is the reason I am still alive today.’ Aldhere gave a wry grimace.

‘The King declared you an outlaw?’ Eadulf made a sympathetic clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Not to answer a king’s summons was a wrong course to pursue, I think.’

Aldhere shook his head. ‘You believe that I should have gone to argue my case? Those men who were with me decided to go to the King’s court, and with them went Botulf.’

Eadulf started. ‘Why should Botulf go?’

‘Because, at the time, Brother Botulf had come to preach the word of the faith in Bretta’s Ham where I was lord. When word came of the Mercian attack, he volunteered to accompany my warband that we be not denied spiritual comfort in our hour of need. He was with my men throughout the fight, standing at my side armed with only the symbol of his faith, a crucifix. He knew the allegations of Egric to be untrue. He went to King Ealdwulf as an emissary on my behalf.’

Eadulf realised that Aldhere must be telling the truth. No one who knew Botulf would doubt such a story. Eadulf knew his friend’s courage.

‘But he failed?’

‘He failed to convince King Ealdwulf, who preferred the word of his dead cousin to those of my men. Those three warriors who went to him, three of my trusted commanders, he enslaved immediately. As for Botulf, he sent him back to Aldred’s Abbey, where he had originally come from, with instructions to Cild that Botulf was never to go further from the abbey than one mile in any direction.’

Eadulf was aghast. ‘But this is unjust! I did not know this.’

Aldhere smiled sarcastically. ‘Tell me about justice, gerefa. Only the powerful and rich can afford true justice.’

Eadulf thought of the system that he had witnessed at firsthand in the five kingdoms of Éireann and felt a sorrow for his people.

‘So this injustice has caused you to become an outlaw?’

‘As soon as I heard what had happened to Botulf and my men, I took those remaining loyal to me, and their women and children, and made for the fastness of the marshlands and the woods. Here, through good luck, I made contact with Botulf once again and he was able to tell me where my men had been taken as slaves. We were eventually able to launch a raid to free them and so our band has existed during this last year, sometimes attracting new members who felt that they too had been the victims of malicious injustice.’

‘It is a curious tale,’ Eadulf commented.

‘It is a tale that is common among the South Folk these days. We give too much power to too few who then dispense it according to their prejudices and not according to what is right and just.’

‘Tell me more about Botulf and what you know of the events leading to his death.’

Aldhere nodded. ‘I was coming to that. But, as I said, holy gerefa, it is a story with a long preamble. Botulf had remained a good friend to me and to my people and hoped to persuade Ealdwulf to rescind his outlawing of our band. But it has been difficult for him, confined as he was to the abbey. A few days ago, I received a message from him that I was to meet him in the copse by the abbey, as I have told you. Dawn yesterday. The rest you already know. But you can be assured that I did not kill him.’

‘Have you any idea of why Botulf wanted to meet with you?’

‘None at all,’ replied Aldhere. ‘Though I did presume …’ He hesitated.

‘Presume? What?’ prompted Eadulf.

‘That it was something to do with his attempts to persuade the King to reconsider his sentence on my people and myself. He had promised that he would make an effort to contact Sigeric, the high steward of the King, and make a new plea on my behalf.’

‘Sigeric? Is he still living?’

‘Aye, and still an unremitting adherent of the old gods. Buthe is highly regarded by the King and even the bishops for his knowledge of the law.’

Eadulf reflected for a moment and then returned to the subject in hand. He detested meeting with blank walls.

‘I received a message in Canterbury several days ago to come to the abbey. Botulf seems to have learnt that I had returned there. He urged me to be at the abbey before midnight last night. I cannot see how these matters can be connected.’

Aldhere shrugged. ‘Nor I. Although last night did mark the start of the twelve-day festival of Yule. That is the only significance I can see in respect of the date and time.’

‘I hardly think that it would be significant so far as Botulf was concerned.’ Eadulf massaged his forehead with his fingertips for a moment or two. ‘One thing still puzzles me. Cild is a very bellicose man for a Christian abbot. He was quick to denounce you and gather a band of his brethren, fully armed, to ride out and hunt you down. I had no doubt that he meant to hang you if he caught you. That was why I rode out to find you — in order to prevent injustice.’

Aldhere chuckled grimly. ‘For that, I must thank you, holy gerefa. You seem to be a man in the same mould as poor Botolf.’

‘One thing I must know,’ insisted Eadulf. ‘Tell me about your relationship with Abbot Cild. What is the cause of the antipathy between you and him? I doubt that it can merely be because the King has outlawed you.’

Aldhere shook his head with a curious smile. ‘Cild was once a warrior as well. He has, at heart, never ceased to be a warlord. He knows enough of warfare to know that during the skirmish of Betta’s Ham, the fault lay not with me.’

‘Then how do you explain his intense dislike of you? That he would seize this opportunity to hang you?’

Aldhere’s lips thinned a little. ‘It is a long story.’

‘And you have said that before. A story does not get shorter in the telling if one keeps pointing out how long it is. Let us commence. What is it between Cild and yourself that can cause such dislike?’

Aldhere raised a shoulder in a half shrug.

‘It has its roots in the fact that Cild and I share the same mother and father.’

For a moment Eadulf was uncertain of what he had just heard. Finally he said: ‘Then you are …?’

‘Cild and I are brothers,’ confirmed Aldhere.