‘Aye. Lucifer, Satan … the devil.’ Eadulf nodded.
Fidelma was thoughtful for a moment.
‘A curious thing for a pagan to say about a Christian house. Tell me, this friend of yours … the one who sent you the message at Canterbury …?’
‘Brother Botulf?’
‘Indeed. Brother Botulf. Are you sure that he gave you no explanation, no hint, as to why he wanted to see you so urgently?’
Eadulf looked pained. ‘I have kept nothing back from you. You know as much as I do. He merely said that he wanted me to be at the abbey before midnight tonight.’
Fidelma exhaled in frustration. ‘But why midnight tonight? Has this day any significance for you?’
‘There is no significance to the day that I know.’
‘Is he someone given to making a drama out of nothing?’
‘Not at all. He was a humorous and happy man. He was converted by Fursa before that blessed man left for Gaul, and he was one of the first to join Aldred in establishing the abbey. Aldred died some years ago and Botulf is now steward of the abbey. It is true that I have not seen him for three years but people do not change their personalities. He is not given to making idle demands. If he wants me to be at the abbey before midnight tonight, then it is for a good reason.’
For a moment or two they sat in silence. Finally, Fidelma spoke again.
‘Well, as I have often said, Eadulf, there is no use speculatingwithout knowledge. We will have to wait until we have that knowledge.’
If they had expected the journey to become easier once they reached the marsh road, they were soon disabused of the notion. The wagon continued to advance but in a crazy skidding progress from side to side. Underneath the powdery snow, the surface had become ice. The wind blew great white clouds of snow over the wagon so it was hard to make anything out. Several times, Mul was forced to get down and lead the sturdy little mules, feeling the way along the road before letting them move forward.
Now and then, Eadulf, painfully aware that either of the animals might slip and break a leg, also dismounted to help the farmer. In this fashion it seemed to take an eternity to reach the wooden bridge which spanned the river. Along the river edges were jagged strips of ice. Indeed, the water might well have been frozen over were it not for the torrent pushing down its centre.
At least the bridge was fairly clear, for the wind gusted so strongly across it that it blew the snow from the wooden planking before it had a chance to lie, and there was nowhere for it to bank. Mul led the mules across and brought the wagon to a halt on the other side.
He screwed up his eyes against the blinding ice pellets before pointing with a shout to Eadulf.
‘See! There is the light of the abbey. A few hundred paces and we will be at the gates. I will take you up there, but there I shall leave you.’
‘You would do well to reconsider that, Mul,’ Eadulf replied, examining the continuing drifting snowfall. ‘It is going to be a difficult journey to your farm. You will not have me to help you.’
‘I have managed thus far, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham. I will manage the extra distance.’
The wagon started forward again, and this time it seemed but a short distance up the twisting, tree- sheltered roadway to the dark walls of the abbey. A storm lantern danced in the wind outside the great wooden doors.
‘We are here, Fidelma,’ cried Eadulf, picking up their bags and tossing them to the ground.
Fidelma had risen from beneath the furs and stood in thewagon, staring in disapproval at the forbidding squat grey stone walls.
‘It seems more like a fortress than a house of God.’
Eadulf nodded in the gloom. ‘That is probably because it has to act as fortress as well as spiritual centre. We are still a violent society, Fidelma. Often our kingdom here is under attack from the Mercians, or even the West Saxons.’
‘I have read the works of Gildas,’ she replied solemnly, ‘telling how your people invaded this island over two hundred years ago and drove the Britons out or massacred them. It is not a pleasant story. Yet your people continue to live in conflict. When they are not fighting with the Britons then they are fighting with each other.’
‘It is not a pleasant world,’ rejoined Eadulf defensively. ‘It has always been so. All people fight wars. Our gods are gods of war.’ Then, realising what he had said, he flushed, glad of the covering of the snow to disguise his embarrassment. ‘I mean, this was the attitude before the coming of the word of Christ.’
Fidelma moved to the edge of the wagon.
‘The word of Christ has come and still your people fight,’ she observed with sarcasm. ‘Perhaps they fight with a greater relish, often proclaiming that each side is supported by Christ. My people have a saying: let those who think war is a solution go to war. A war only makes the victor brutal and the vanquished vengeful. Now, help me down, Eadulf.’
Eadulf reached up and helped her climb down.
Mul had been waiting patiently, still seated on the box of the wagon.
‘I will be on my way now,’ he called.
Eadulf moved forward and reached into the purse at his belt, taking out a coin.
‘A penny is what we agreed, Mul.’
He handed up the coin, which the farmer took readily enough.
‘May Woden protect you from your enemies,’ he called. ‘May his hammer smite those who offend you!’
‘
‘What was it the innkeeper called him? Mad Mul?’ Fidelma asked, as they stood watching the wagon disappear for a moment.‘I would not call him mad. Determined, yes. Nature has a tenacious enemy in a man who can defy her in such a manner.’
Eadulf picked up their bags from the snow-covered ground and turned towards the tall dark gates of the abbey.
‘No one seems to be stirring,’ Fidelma observed curiously. ‘Someone should have noticed our arrival. Do they not keep a watch?’
‘There’s a bell rope at the side of the door. With this snowstorm, the wind and the darkness, probably no one heard or saw the arrival of Mul’s wagon.’
He reached the rope, just by the swinging storm lantern, set down one of the bags and pulled sharply. They could only just hear the distant clang of the bell above the whistling of the wind.
It was some time before there came a rasping sound and a tiny grille in the door was opened. Even peering closely through the aperture, Eadulf could only make out a faint shadow beyond.
‘Who are you and what do you seek here?’ came a harsh, unfriendly voice.
‘I am Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, travelling with Sister Fidelma of Cashel. We seek shelter from the storm and a word with the steward of this abbey.’
There was no answer for a moment but then the voice said: ‘We have declared ourselves a closed community of brethren in the service of Christ. The abbey is not open to receive women.’
Eadulf flushed with annoyance.
‘You will open this door in the name of Theodore of Canterbury whose representative I am,’ he replied sternly. ‘If we freeze to death on your threshold, the archbishop will demand a grim restitution from this abbey.’
There was a short silence and then the grille door snapped shut. After what seemed an eternity, they heard the scraping of bolts being drawn back. Then one of the two great wooden doors swung inwards a short way.
Eadulf pushed his way forward through the narrow aperture, ensuring Fidelma was close at his back, and the door was immediately shut with a crash behind them.
They were standing in a narrow arched entrance, the grey stones lit by an overhead lantern. The entrance gave way toa large courtyard across which were the main buildings of the abbey and the chapel. They heard the bolts being thrust home with a sound that Fidelma associated more with a prison than with a religious
