The Haunted Abbot (28 page)

‘There is not much of a defence here, if this place was attacked,’ she murmured.

‘You have an eye for such things, Sister?’ asked Garb.

‘I am not without some knowledge,’ she replied shortly without expanding further. ‘Just remember that Abbot Cild could track you down if we have been able to do so with such ease.’

‘This is true,’ agreed Garb. ‘Brother Laisre, however, has lived under such a threat ever since the decision at Whitby was endorsed by King Ealdwulf of East Anglia. Ealdwulf went further and ordered all the religious who held to the Rule of Colmcille to quit his kingdom. Brother Laisre and his small band have survived in spite of all attempts to eliminate them.’

‘But now the stakes are higher,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘Cild must know that you and your father would be hiding with Laisre.’

Garb gestured with one arm sweeping the clearing.

‘Observe the trees, Sister. They are good sentinels.’

‘I have already done so. Good as they are, there are paths through them and along paths men and arms may travel.’

‘That is why Laisre has a series of lookouts along the trails and why there are escape routes already planned. Do not worry, Sister. This is not an easy encampment to take by surprise. Now, let me show you these ponies.’

He led the way to one of the barns where there were several native ponies of the type she knew well. Sturdy, short little animals. She eyed them professionally, having grown up with horses and ridden almost before she could walk.

‘I’ll take the dun-coloured one, that one with the oatmeal-coloured muzzle.’

Garb nodded approvingly. ‘A good choice. She is strong and will not tire easily. And you, Brother? What is your choice?’

Eadulf looked uncomfortable for he was no horseman. ‘I see you looking at the bay,’ intervened Fidelma diplomatically. ‘I think you have made a good choice there.’

Eadulf expressed his gratitude in a swift smile. He knew almost nothing about horses and was not a brilliant rider.

Garb had turned to one of his men and ordered him to saddle the two ponies.

‘How long will you be away? Will you need provisions? ’

‘It may be best to take some although I am not intending to be away more than a few days. I will be back here long before the
troscud
is due to start.’

Garb appeared to be in charge in spite of Brother Laisre, issuing orders without deferring to the leader of the community. One of the brethren went hurrying to oversee the task of preparing some provisions for the journey without questioning Garb’s authority.

Fidelma made a point of seeking out Brother Laisre and paying her respects as one religious leaving the hospitality of another. Brother Laisre appeared to have overcome his irritation of earlier that morning and was polite enough in accepting her assurances that she and Eadulf would return soon.

A little while later, astride their sturdy little ponies, Fidelma and Eadulf left the clearing and the community of the religious of Tunstall, and began to trek eastward through the forest. The woods immediately enshrouded them, almost as if a dark veil had been drawn around them. There was only room for one horse to move at a time along the path and because of this, Fidelma had let Eadulf take the lead for the obvious reason that he knew the country.

‘I presume that we should head for Aldhere’s encampment? ’ Eadulf called over his shoulder as soon as they left the community.

‘That is the intention,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Then we will strike east through these woods. The sea is no more than four or five miles away but before that there is a little settlement which lies by a stream. It used to be called the South Stream. Beyond it is an easy path which may lead us north, via a ford across the river, working our way around the abbey without having to go near it.’

‘I leave the choice of path to you, Eadulf. It is your country,’ she replied gravely.

They continued on in silence for a while. It was still fairly cold and Fidelma thanked the foresight she had in borrowing an extra cloak from Brother Laisre before setting out. She realised that in spite of her recovery, she was still weak.

She decided to let her pony have its head, following Eadulf, and sat easily in the saddle, letting her thoughts formulate into the
dercad
, the act of meditation which was both restful and less stressful than trying to dwell on the problems that faced them. It was almost like dozing, falling gradually asleep, until …

She found herself slipping and caught herself just in time to prevent herself from falling from her pony. It snorted in protest as she snatched at its mane.

Eadulf glanced back.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked solicitously.

‘Of course!’ she snapped back in irritation. Her bad temper was merely to hide her feeling of anger with herself. She had been falling asleep. That was not what the act of meditation was about; it was to refresh the mind without plunging it into sleep where dreams might equally destroy its equilibrium. She had never done that before. Perhaps it was a sign that her illness had weakened her. She felt contrite about her response to Eadulf’s concern.

‘I am sorry,’ she called to Eadulf.

Eadulf half turned in his saddle.

‘For what?’ he asked blandly. He knew her too well to take exception to her irritation.

She did not reply for the moment and then said: ‘I did not mean to snap at you.’

He shrugged and turned back. Ahead of them, she could hear a rushing sound of water, water gushing over rocks.

‘Is that the South Stream of which you spoke?’ she demanded.

‘It is and soon we shall come to a clearing where we will find a few houses clustered together. If I remember correctly, there is a farm there. Do you want to skirt round it? Do you want to avoid it?’

‘Might we be able to get a hot drink there without encountering trouble?’ she asked.

She felt thirsty, but the chill of the winter morning was penetrating and she wanted to ensure that she did not sicken again. Cold water would not suffice for her needs.

‘I am sure that the farmer will provide hospitality,’ replied Eadulf.

‘Let’s go there then.’

Eadulf continued to lead the way through the woods in the direction of the sound of the gushing torrent. Within a few moments they had reached the bank of a moderate-sized stream, bubbling and hissing over stones and pebbles, and the woods suddenly gave way to strips of undulating cultivated farmland. There was the distant glimpse of the sea some way beyond to be had from the elevation on which they emerged.

Not far away, in the cleft of the hills, was a curl of smoke and soon they could see the roofs of buildings.

‘That’s the farm,’ called Eadulf.

Suddenly the sound of people shouting came to their ears and figures began to run here and there.

‘What’s up?’ demanded Fidelma.

Eadulf pulled a face.

‘They have seen us, that is all,’ he replied. ‘We are near the coast and if the East Saxons do raid the land from time to time, then these people are right to be wary of approaching strangers.’

A thick-set man was striding down the path towards them.

‘Halt, strangers, and identify yourselves!’ demanded a gravel voice as the man suddenly stopped and stood, feet apart, hands on hips, although one of the gigantic hands gripped a long-hafted hammer.

‘Peace, my friend,’ cried Eadulf, pulling up his pony. ‘I am Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, travelling with my companion. We bring you blessings of Christ on this holy day.’

Fidelma noticed that Eadulf did not identify her. Maybe it was best not to let on that she was a foreigner.

The attitude of the man seemed to unbend a little.

‘Of Seaxmund’s Ham, you say?’

‘I do.’

‘Whither do you go now?’

‘We come merely to ask for some hot drink to refresh ourselves this winter day and then we will be on our way north again.’

The burly man’s eyes glanced from Eadulf to Fidelma and back again.

‘Then we return your blessings on this feast of our Saviour. Forgive us our wariness, Brother Eadulf, but, as you know, we live in troubled times.’

‘You mean raids from Sigehere?’

‘That I do. There are constant rumours that his warbands raid along the coast. But, come. Come and betake yourselves of our hospitality and welcome.’

The man turned and waved to the group of people who had gathered some way off and, at his signal, they seemed to break up and go in different directions. The man led the way to the farmhouse.

‘Wife,’ he called to the large, homely woman who stood at the door, ‘two religious, on their journey back to Seaxmund’s Ham. A beaker of mulled mead will refresh and help them on their way.’

‘That it will,’ agreed Eadulf, dismounting. ‘My companion has lost her voice and the mead will help ease her throat.’

Fidelma realised that he had said this so that she would arouse no suspicion by speaking in an accent that they would identify as foreign. She merely smiled and nodded at the farmer while the farmer’s wife, clucking a little like a mother hen, came bustling forward to help her from her horse.

‘Ah, poor dear. We shall soon see what we can do about that. A bad throat? Poor dear. Come into the house and I’ll heat a beaker of mead for you right away. It is auspicious to have religious call at our door on this day of all days.’

Fidelma grunted and nodded and dutifully followed the woman into the kitchen.

The farmer ushered Eadulf after them.

‘Are you heading to Seaxmund’s Ham now, Brother?’ he asked.

Eadulf nodded.

‘Why do you ask?’ he said, watching the farmer’s wife pour two beakers of mead and then, taking a red-hot poker from the fire, plunge it first in one beaker and then the other, causing the mead to sizzle and bubble.

‘Have you noticed the sky from the west, Brother?’

Eadulf might have confessed that, riding through the forest, he had seen precious little of the sky in any direction. He answered, however, with a simple negative.

‘There are heavy grey clouds bunching up from the west. I fear that we will be having another blanketing of snow within the next few hours. Certainly before dusk.’

‘We should be able to make it across the Alde by then.’

‘Aye, if you do not tarry long.’

Eadulf lifted his beaker and took a swallow.

‘Then as soon as we have downed this delicious nectar and said a blessing on this house we shall be on our way.’

The farmer grinned appreciatively.

‘God grant a clear road to you, Brother. May He keep you safe from the outlaws who dwell in the marshes and from Sigehere’s raiders.’

‘Amen to that,’ Eadulf replied fervently.

It had been snowing for more than an hour and it was very cold and damp. In spite of her double cloaks, Fidelma was still feeling the chill and her chest and throat were hurting again. The snow was slanting downwards once again like hard ice pellets, thick and heavy, almost obscuring Eadulf and his pony even though they were only a few yards ahead of her.

Half an hour ago they had crossed a river which Eadulf had told her was the Alde. Upstream lay Aldred’s Abbey where the crossing was made by the bridge but here there was a ford which, although it was deep, was shallow enough to allow them to make it on horseback to the northern bank without wetting more than their lower legs.

Fidelma coughed wheezily and shivered.

‘Eadulf?’ she called uncertainly into the snow blanket that separated them.

His figure suddenly emerged out of the snow for he had halted his pony and waited for her to come alongside him.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked in concern.

‘I think I need a rest. Is there any shelter along this path?’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘It will take us some time to reach Aldhere’s encampment, ’ he said. ‘I doubt if I can find it until this snow lifts. We will find some place to shelter until it passes.’

She coughed again and the worried lines deepened in Eadulf’s forehead. He had to admit to himself, if not to Fidelma, that he had no idea where they might rest.

‘Don’t worry. I will find a place,’ he assured her. He urged his pony onwards and, automatically, she followed. Her illness was debilitating her, she knew. She was probably a fool to have insisted on leaving Tunstall before she had fully recovered. But she also knew that other lives hung in the balance. She could not help herself. Unsolved mysteries were like some terrible narcotic to her. She could not let go while there were still questions which needed answers.

Eadulf suddenly exclaimed out of the white gloom.

‘What is it?’ she called anxiously.

‘It is all right,’ he called back. His voice mirrored his relief. ‘I’ve discovered exactly where we are.’

‘I thought you already knew that?’ she observed with scarcely veiled sarcasm.

‘I think so. We are at Frig’s Tun.’

‘What is that?’

‘Remember our mad farmer? The one who took us to the abbey on that first night? Well, that is his farm.’

‘Because of that drive I …’ she began and then turned to hide a wheeze, muttering something which Eadulf did not hear. He pretended not to notice her irritation.

‘His name was Mul,’ he went on. ‘His farm is not far from this point. We will find warmth, food and shelter there. It is no use going on today with this blizzard.’

Fidelma did not respond. Eadulf was absolutely right, of course. If she attempted to go further in this snowstorm she might wind up with another bout of illness and perhaps a fatal one. But it also meant that another day would pass. Only a few days would then be left until the start of Gadra’s
troscud
. She knew that prevention was easier than stopping things once they had begun.

‘Keep close!’ called Eadulf, turning once more and nearly being swallowed by the sheeting snow.