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Overview
In December of 666 A.D., Fidelma of Cashel and her companion Brother Eadulf, having completed their business with the Archbishop of Canterbury, make one final journey before returning to Ireland. At the insistence of Brother Botulf, a childhood friend of Eadulf, they detour from their trip to Eadulf's home village and make their way to Aldred's Abbey. Arriving at midnight on the night of the old pagan festival of Yule, as requested, they find Botulf's dead body - his head caved in by a blunt instrument.
As Fidelma and Eadulf soon learn, however, murder isn't the only danger which faces those in the abbey. The ghost of a young woman haunts the cloister shadows, a ghost which closely resembles the Abbot's dead wife. Now it will require all of Fidelma's skill as an advocate of the Brehon Courts to unravel the mystery and uncover the truth behind these events before those secrets take yet another life.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781429993531 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 12/06/2005 |
| Series: | Sister Fidelma Series , #11 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| Sales rank: | 335,425 |
| File size: | 330 KB |
About the Author
Peter Tremayne is the fiction pseudonym for Peter Berresford Ellis, a prominent authority on the ancient Celts and author of numerous works of history and scholarship. As Tremayne, he is the author of eleven books featuring Sister Fidelma, including Our Lady of Darkness. He lives in London.
PETER TREMAYNE is a pseudonym of Peter Berresford Ellis, a renowned scholar who has written extensively on the ancient Celts and the Irish. As Tremayne, he is best known for his stories and novels featuring Fidelma of Cashel, beginning with Absolution by Murder. He lives in London.
Read an Excerpt
The Haunted Abbot
By Peter Tremayne
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2002 Peter TremayneAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-9353-1
CHAPTER 1
'Please close the door, Brother. The wind is blowing the snow in here and it is already cold enough.'
Brother Eadulf turned from where he had been peering in disgust through the half-open door of the inn, out into the dusk at the whirling snowstorm. He reluctantly pushed the door shut and fastened the wooden latch before facing the small, stocky innkeeper. The man, with balding head and cheeks so red that they seemed polished, was regarding him with some sympathy.
'Are you absolutely sure that there is no available transport to Aldred's Abbey?' Eadulf had asked the question several times before. What was the innkeeper's name? Cynric? Yes, that was it.
The innkeeper stood, wiping his hands against the leather apron that covered his corpulent form.
'As I have already told you, Brother, you and your companion were lucky to have made it this far before the storm started in earnest. If you had missed this tavern, there is no shelter between here and the River Aide.'
'The snow was nowhere near as bad as this when we left the river at Mael's Tun and began to walk here,' Eadulf agreed, moving away from the door into the warmer interior of the inn.
'So you came up to Mael's Tun by the river then?' the innkeeper asked with that interest all hosts have in the comings and goings of their guests.
'Aye. We came by barge from the mouth of the Deben. Only after we had left Mael's Tun did the wind get up and the snow start to fall like a white sheet. It was so dense that you could scarcely see a hand in front of your eyes. By then we were far enough away from the settlement not to contemplate turning back.'
'Well, you were lucky to strike on my little tavern,' the innkeeper repeated. 'The marshlands to the north and east of here are no place to be wandering unless you can see the path before you.'
'But the abbey is no more than four on five miles from here,' Brother Eadulf pointed out. 'We'd be there easily enough if we had a horse.'
'If you had a horse,' the innkeeper replied with emphasis. 'I have one mule and that I need, Brother. And you'd be very lucky to find the abbey even if you had such an animal to transport you. There is no one else on the roads this evening. Look at the snow outside. It is drifting in the valleys and against the hedgerows. The wind is bitter and from the east. No one in their right minds would attempt to travel these roads on such a night.'
Brother Eadulf made a clicking sound with his tongue to express his irritation. The innkeeper continued to regard him with sympathy.
'Why not seat yourself by the fire? Your companion should join you shortly and I will bring you some refreshment,' he suggested cheerfully.
Brother Eadulf still hesitated.
'Tomorrow, the storm may abate and the roads to the abbey may be easier to negotiate,' the innkeeper added persuasively.
'I need to be at the abbey this evening because ...' Brother Eadulf hesitated and then shook his head. Why should he explain his reasons to the innkeeper? 'It is essential that I reach the abbey before midnight.'
'Well, Brother, you will never make it on foot, even if you knew the roads. What could be so important that the difference of a day might count?'
Brother Eadulf's brows came together in annoyance.
'I have my reasons,' he said stubbornly.
Cynric shook his head sadly. 'You outlanders are all the same.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. Well, you will have to bend before the wind this night for you have no other option.'
'I am not a stranger in this land, my friend,' protested Eadulf, irritated at the other's use of the word 'outlander'. 'I am Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham and was the hereditary gerefa of that place before I took the tonsure of St Peter.'
The innkeeper's eyes widened. A gerefa was a man of local importance, holding the rank of a magistrate.
'Forgive me, Brother. I thought that you spoke our language too well. But I had assumed, as you travelled in the company of an Irish religieuse, that you were of that nation.'
Eadulf was defensive. 'I have been in foreign lands for a while.
But, Deoadiuvante, with God's help, I will see Seaxmund's Ham, my native place, in time for Christ's Mass.'
'Four days to go then, Brother. But why stop at Aldred's Abbey?
Why not wait until the storm clears and then go straight on to Seaxmund's Ham which is only a little distance beyond?'
'Because ... because I have my reasons for doing so,' Eadulf replied tersely.
The innkeeper pursed his lips at Eadulf's agitated reticence. He shrugged and went to the fire. The inn was deserted. No one else had managed to make their way to the snowbound crossroads where it was situated. The innkeeper bent to a pile of logs and lifted one, balancing it in his arms for a moment before dumping it on the fire.
'You will find many things altered in this land, Brother,' he said as he turned from the hearth. 'In fact, you have been lucky to reach here in safety.'
'I've seen snows before and travelled through blizzards that would put this' — Eadulf gestured with his hand towards the door – 'to shame. What threat in that?'
'I was not thinking so much of the weather. Man is often more cruel than nature's elements, my friend. In many places now, the Christian communities are under siege and attack. There is much animosity towards the new faith.'
'Under siege and attack? From whom?' demanded Eadulf, reluctantly taking a seat at the side of the fire, while the innkeeper went to draw a tankard of cider from a wooden barrel.
'From those who have returned to the worship of Woden, who else? In the kingdom of the East Saxons there is civil war between Sigehere, the King, and his own cousin, the Prince Sebbi. Not only do they fight for the kingship, but each represents one of the two beliefs. Surely you must have travelled through the land of the East Saxons to get here? You must have seen something of the conflict?'
Eadulf shook his head and reached forward to take the tankard from Cynric's hand. He sipped at it cautiously. It was sweet and strong.
'I did not know that there were such divisions which had caused actual warfare,' he said, after he had taken another sip. 'Sigehere and Sebbi were both firmly on the path of Christ when I left this kingdom and there was no animosity between them.'
'As you say, they were both Christians. But when the Yellow Plague struck among the East Saxons two years ago, Sigehere came to the belief that it was a punishment of the old gods on those who had renounced them and so he turned his back on the new faith and reopened the pagan temples. His cousin, Sebbi, has remained true to the new faith. Both have followers who ravage the countryside, burning the sacred sites of the other's religion and killing the religious who fall into their hands, whether they be of Christ or of Woden and the old gods.'
Eadulf was shocked. In Canterbury, he had heard some talk about the dissensions among the East Saxons but no one had spoken of actual violence or warfare. He shivered slightly, remembering that he had almost decided to journey from Kent through the kingdom of the East Saxons to get to the land of the South Folk. As the innkeeper had assumed, it would have been the normal route for wayfarers into this land. It was by chance that, having left Canterbury and gone north to join the road at the small port of Hwita's Staple, Eadulf had encountered an old acquaintance. Stuf, a sea-captain who ran his vessel along the coast of the Saxon kingdoms, had persuaded him to take passage directly to the land of the South Folk. This had cut several days from the journey. Stuf's vessel had landed Eadulf at the township called St Felix's Stowe, where the blessed missionary had established an abbey some twenty years before. Thanks to the chance meeting with Stuf, Eadulf had bypassed the volatile kingdom of the East Saxons.
'It was lucky then, innkeeper, that we came here by way of the sea from the kingdom of Kent,' he reflected.
'Ah, so you did not come through the lands of Sigehere and Sebbi?' Cynric's puzzled face lightened a little. 'You were blessed in your choice of route. But even here among the South Folk there is some friction between Christian and pagan. The conflict has spilt over the border and Sigehere is trying to stir up the dissension so that he might find allies among us. Outlaws prowl the marshlands and, of course, we also have to contend with threats of war from our western neighbour, Mercia. They mount constant raids against us.'
'When was Mercia not a threat to the kingdom of the East Anglians?' Eadulf smiled with grim cynicism. All through his life, he could remember little else but the continued warfare between the East Anglian kingdom and the Mercians.
'Our King, Ealdwulf, has recently rejected the King of Mercia's demands that East Anglia pay him tribute. Since Ealdwulf's mother, Hereswith, is a princess of the Northumbrian royal house, we can expect an alliance to keep the Mercian threat in check. We have good prospects before us if King Ealdwulf can keep the internal conflict between pagan and Christian from spreading here. And this is what I warn you of, Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham. Do not assume that everyone will greet you and your companion as friends and respect your cloth. There is much bitterness abroad in our land. Some thanes have even threatened to declare allegiance to Sigehere of the East Saxons unless King Ealdwulf renounces Christianity. There is much trouble brewing, Brother. You have chosen a dangerous time to return home.'
Brother Eadulf sighed deeply. 'So it seems.'
Cynric placed another log on the fire. At that moment the door on the far side of the room opened, and a tall, red-haired religieuse entered. She smiled quickly at Eadulf.
'My robes are dry now and I am warmer than when we arrived.' She spoke in Irish which was the common language between them. 'I think that I would like some mulled wine to give warmth to the inner body.'
Eadulf returned her smile warmly and gestured to a chair by the fire near him.
'I doubt that a Saxon inn will have wine, but there is good cider, or mead if you wish.'
'Cider before mead if there is no wine,' she replied.
The innkeeper stood patiently during this exchange, not understanding.
'I don't suppose you have wine, innkeeper?' Eadulf asked.
'You would be wrong if you had supposed it, Brother. Where would I be able to purchase wine, and if I did so who would buy it? The shipments of wine that are landed at Felix's Stowe go mainly to the abbey there or to some of the other monasteries along the coast. You'll find wine at Aldred's Abbey but not here.'
'Then serve my companion some of your best cider.'
The innkeeper looked at the religieuse and asked Eadulf: 'Your companion does not speak Saxon, then?' He was surprised when the tall religieuse turned and spoke to him in a halting fashion.
'Enough to follow the conversation in general terms, innkeeper. But my knowledge is not good enough to understand all the nuances of your tongue.'
The innkeeper bowed his head a moment in reflection. 'I've heard it said that the people of Ireland are versed in all the languages of the world.'
'You flatter my people. Our missionaries certainly try to achieve proficiency in several tongues to accomplish their task. Latin, Greek, a little Hebrew, and the languages of our neighbours. But our ability is neither greater nor less than that of others given the same circumstances and opportunities.'
Eadulf nodded approvingly, overlooking one or two small lapses in grammar.
The innkeeper filled another tankard and handed it to her. While Fidelma sipped appreciatively, Eadulf ordered a meat pie, which Cynric told him was a speciality of the inn, for their supper.
'This innkeeper says that we will not reach Aldred's Abbey this night,' Eadulf began, when Cynric had vanished to prepare the meal.
'I don't doubt it,' replied Fidelma solemnly with a glance towards the tiny, snow-blocked window. 'I have never felt it so cold, or seen snow so like little flecks of ice.'
'Yet Brother Botulf was specific. He wanted me to arrive at the abbey before midnight tonight. The message he sent to me at Canterbury was underlined at that point.'
'He must make allowances for the weather,' rejoined Fidelma, with a shrug. 'This storm puts the matter entirely out of your hands.'
'Nevertheless, why did he underline the time and date?'
'You say that this ... Botulf? I find your Saxon names still difficult to pronounce. You say that Botulf is a good friend of yours?'
Eadulf nodded swiftly. 'We grew up together. He must be in serious trouble, otherwise he would not have written such a message.'
'But he did not explain anything in the message. He must take your friendship for granted if he presumed that you would leave Canterbury and come rushing to him.'
'He would guess that if I was at Canterbury, then I would be travelling to my home at Seaxmund's Ham. He would assume that my path would lie by his door,' replied Eadulf defensively. 'My home is only six miles further on from the abbey.'
'A strange friend, that is all I say,' sighed Fidelma. 'Is he the abbot of this abbey?'
Eadulf shook his head. 'He is the steward. I was told at Canterbury that someone called Cild is the abbot, but I have never heard of him.'
Cynric re-entered, bearing a tray with a hot meat pie on it which he set down at a nearby table.
'If you will be seated at the table, I shall fetch more cider with which to wash your meal down.'
The pie looked and smelled good and soon the howling wind outside was forgotten as they savoured the meal. Eadulf explained something of what Cynric had told him about the conflict between the Christians and pagans. Sister Fidelma looked at her companion with some sympathy.
'It must be difficult for you to hear this. However, it is surely balanced against the pleasure of seeing your home again.'
'It is a long time since I was last at Seaxmund's Ham. I am indeed looking forward to seeing it again.' He glanced anxiously at her. 'I am sorry if I seem selfish, Fidelma.'
Her eyes widened for a moment. She was thinking that she was being selfish. She had suddenly realised just how much she was missing her home in Cashel. This land of the South Folk was bleak, cold and inhospitable. When she had agreed to accompany Eadulf to Canterbury and had left the shores of her homeland, it had not occurred to her that he would want to proceed further and journey on to the place of his birth. But that, she realised, had been a silly and egocentric assumption on her part. Of course, after the time in Rome and then nearly a year in her brother's kingdom of Muman, it was obvious that Eadulf would want to spend some time at his birthplace.
She tried to suppress the apprehensive feeling that came over her. She hoped that he would not want to spend any great length of time at that place ... Seaxmund's Ham. She felt guilty for the selfish thought. Why should she expect him to want to return to her own country? But she did miss her homeland. She had travelled enough. She wanted to settle down.
She realised that Eadulf was smiling at her across the table.
'No regrets?' he asked.
She felt the hot blood in her cheeks.
'Regrets?' she parried, knowing full well what he meant.
'That you came with me to my country?'
'I have no regrets at being in your company,' Fidelma replied, choosing her words carefully.
Eadulf examined her keenly. He was still smiling but she saw the shadow cross his eyes. Before he could say anything more, she suddenly reached forward and grasped his hand.
'Let us live for the moment, Eadulf.' Her voice was earnest. 'We have agreed to follow the ancient custom of my people – to be with one another for a year and a day. I have agreed to be your ben charrthach for that time. With that you must be content. Anything more lasting requires much legal consideration.'
Eadulf understood that the people of the five kingdoms of Éireann had a very complicated law system and there were several definitions of what constituted a proper marriage. As Fidelma had explained to him, there were nine distinct types of union in Irish law. The term which Fidelma had used, ben charrthach, literally meant the 'loved woman', not yet a legally bound wife but one whose status and rights were recognised under the law of the Cain Lánamnus. It was, in fact, a trial marriage, lasting a year and a day, after which, if unsuccessful, both sides would go their separate ways without incurring penalties or blame.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Haunted Abbot by Peter Tremayne. Copyright © 2002 Peter Tremayne. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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