The Haunted Abbot

Mul grinned cynically.

‘Not anarchy, gerefa; but men who have swords and no compunction about using them. And, of course, such men have no loyalty to anyone other than themselves.’

Fidelma held her head to one side questioningly.

‘Again you seem to imply something more than the words you use, Mul.’

The farmer nodded slowly.

‘Speak to people in any market place and you will hear what they say.’

‘We are not in a market place, so I would like to hear what you say. What have you heard?’

‘I have heard that Aldhere would welcome a new King in this land. I have heard too that his brother, Cild, would also welcome a new King. Yet the word is that the brothers have different Kings in mind.’

‘Can you explain further?’ Fidelma pressed.

‘This land is viewed with envy by Wulfhere of Mercia to the west and by Sigehere of the East Saxons to the south. Either King would be a fool not to take advantage of the conflict raging in this small corner of the kingdom.’

‘Are you saying that you have definite word that either Cild or Aldhere is in league with Wulfhere or Sigehere?’ Eadulf was aghast.

‘Definite word? No, of course not. I tell you what I have heard in the market places.’

‘Idle gossip. Speculation without facts!’ suggested Eadulf. Fidelma noticed that even as he spoke Eadulf was less than confident and seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.

‘If the land of the South Folk fell, then the land of the North Folk would follow swiftly,’ Mul snapped, undeterred.

‘You might well be right,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘It seems that there is no peace between peoples anywhere in the world. Thereare plots and conspiracies between the five kingdoms of my own island. During our visit to the land of the Britons we found their kingdoms divided against each other. Why should the lands of the Angles and the Saxons be any different? However, that is not why we are here.’

Mul sniffed and once more reached for the cider jug. Finding it empty, he rose and went to the cupboard and drew out another flagon.

‘No,’ he said, ‘you are here to find out how Cild murdered your friend Botulf.’

‘We are here to find out first if Cild murdered Botulf,’ corrected Eadulf. ‘If he did so, then the “how” will follow.’

‘And moreover whether he killed his wife, Gélgeis,’ Fidelma added. ‘We are here to prevent more tragedy and such an effusion of blood as this land has never seen before.’

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.’