The Haunted Abbot

Brother Willibrod’s one restless eye widened a little. ‘Brother Botulf?’

‘He is the steward of this abbey, is he not?’

‘So you know already?’ Willibrod sounded surprised.

‘Know?’ Eadulf frowned impatiently. Then he said, ‘I would like to see Brother Botulf right away.’

‘You want to pay your respects to Brother Botulf right away?’Brother Willibrod echoed, as if he was having difficulty understanding. He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘If you insist, Brother …?’

‘I do,’ snapped Eadulf, baffled by the other’s curious behaviour.

‘Follow me, then, Brother Eadulf.’

With a quick puzzled grimace to Fidelma, Eadulf turned and followed Brother Willibrod back across the snow-laden courtyard. The abbey was almost in darkness. A few lights shone here and there but there was no sign of anyone about. It was as if the buildings were deserted.

Brother Willibrod led the way directly through an arched door into what was obviously the antechamber to the abbey’s chapel and paused inside to shake the snow from his sandals and allow Eadulf to catch up with him. Eadulf had barely time to clean the snow from his feet before Brother Willibrod swung the inner door open and passed inside.

The perfume of warm, musty incense almost took Eadulf’s breath, so sharp a contrast was it to the crisp, cold air outside. The dominus genuflected towards the high altar before walking forward.

Mechanically, Eadulf did the same, wondering where he was being led. Then he halted suddenly. His heart began beating very fast.

Before the high altar, on two trestles, lay a plain wooden box. A large candle in a tall holder stood at the head and foot of the box, the flames whipping in the draught that blew through the chapel, almost extinguishing them but never quite succeeding.

It suddenly seemed that the violence of the wind had died away, its roaring softened to a moaning whisper. There was a dread in his soul as Eadulf allowed Brother Willibrod to conduct him forward to the box. He had already identified it as a coffin.

Brother Willibrod halted and stood aside with his dark restless eye downcast. Eadulf looked at the dominus, trying to seek a denial of what he knew must lie in the box. Brother Willibrod’s s face was graven in respect. It offered him no comfort.

He moved to the side of the coffin and looked down.

As he feared, the body of his friend, Brother Botulf, lay in repose within it, hands folded on his chest, a wooden crucifixclutched in his nerveless grasp. He had already been laid out in grave clothes. Eadulf forced himself to bend down and peer at the discoloured features of his dead childhood friend.

It needed little medical knowledge to realise that Brother Botulf’s skull had been smashed in by some heavy, blunt instrument. Eadulf knew that such wounds could only have been inflicted by someone whose strength lay in malice. His friend had been murdered, and the event must have occurred scarcely more than a few hours before.

At that moment, the wind rose again, shrieking like a chorus of souls in torment; howling like a presage of evil.

Chapter Three

‘You have arrived just in time, Brother,’ intoned Brother Willibrod softly.

‘In time?’ muttered Eadulf distractedly as he gazed upon the body of his childhood friend. ‘How do you mean — in time?’

‘We shall bury the earthly remains of our dear brother at midnight, as is the custom of the abbey.’

‘Midnight!’

Eadulf twisted round and stared aghast at Brother Willibrod. The message that he had received from his friend had urged him to be at the abbey before midnight that day. Could Botulf had known …? Surely not?

‘You seem surprised, Brother Eadulf,’ Brother Willibrod said calmly as he returned Eadulf’s apprehensive stare. ‘I am told that it is the fashion in many lands to bury the dear departed at midnight. Why should you appear shocked?’

Eadulf tried to calm his racing thoughts. He turned quickly back to the body, not wishing to betray his emotions further until he could find some answers, and began to examine the wounds with a careful eye.

‘Botulf did not commit suicide, did he?’ The question came immediately to his mind as an answer to why Botulf had urged him to be at Aldred’s Abbey before midnight. He dismissed the idea even as he voiced it, however, for the wounds could never have been self-inflicted.

He was aware that, behind him, Brother Willibrod had quickly crossed himself.

‘Quod avertat Deus! God forbid, Brother. Why should you think something like that?’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Sometime this morning, so far as we can tell. His body was found in the small quadrangle at the back of the chapel, just by the entrance to the crypt. Poor Botulf. It was noticed that he wasmissing at early morning prayers and he was found soon after Matins was sung — at the seventh canonical hour.’

‘Just after daybreak, then?’

‘Just so, Brother Eadulf.’

‘Who found him?’

Brother Willibrod frowned suspiciously at the question.

‘Brother Osred. He is the smith of our community and he was crossing the small quadrangle to his forge to start his day’s work when he found the body.’

‘From the wounds, Botulf was attacked from behind. Has the attacker been discovered?’

‘You are asking many questions, Brother,’ the dominus replied, a distrustful tone now entering his voice. ‘When you asked to see Brother Botulf, I presumed that you had come to the abbey having already heard of his death. Yet you seem surprised. Now all these questions. Who are you?’

Eadulf was patient. ‘I have told you that I am Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham, just arrived from Canterbury. Botulf …’ He hesitated. Perhaps he would do best not to reveal Botulf’s message. ‘Botulf was a friend of mine. We grew up together. I had not heard the news of his death until you showed me his body.’

Brother Willibrod considered this explanation for a moment and accepted it. He grimaced awkwardly.

‘Then I am sorry that I did not prepare you for this sadness. I had assumed …’ He ended with an embarrassed shrug.

‘I asked you if the attacker had been discovered,’ Eadulf pressed. The sharpness in his voice caused Brother Willibrod to frown.

‘That you knew Brother Botulf does not excuse the tenor of your questions,’ he snapped back spiritedly.

‘I was also hereditary gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham.’ Eadulf’s voice was cutting. ‘I am a magistrate of the laws of Wuffa son of Wehha, first King of the East Anglians, who brought our people to this land from across the sea one hundred years ago.’

He did not mean to sound so proud and arrogant but he knew his words would have an effect on Brother Willibrod. Eadulf neglected to add that his office of gerefa was negated under the old laws of his people when he accepted the tonsure of thereligious and became a brother of the faith. Brother Willibrod did not question his statement. The dominus merely bowed his head.

‘Forgive my lack of knowledge and courtesy, Brother gerefa.’ His tone was more respectful.

Eadulf gave a gesture with his hand as if to dismiss the matter.

‘Tell me what you know. Who killed Botulf and why?’

‘Abbot Cild has taken the inquiry in hand. It appears that one of our brethren saw a notorious outlaw near the abbey not long after poor Brother Botulf was found. The abbot is certain that this thief broke into the abbey and was accosted by Brother Botulf. The thief slew poor Botulf and made good his escape.’