Free The Haunted Abbot by Peter Tremayne Page A

brings derision only on himself, not on the faith. Let us hope I will be well enough to travel tomorrow morning. But as for tonight, I intend to retire. I am sorry that I shall miss the funeral of your friend, Eadulf.’
    Eadulf shrugged. He did not bother to inform her that she would not have been allowed into the chapel in any case.
    ‘You cannot help Botulf. It is now more important that you recover your health. I have prepared enough of this infusion for you to sip through the night. Do not swallow it in large draughts, only small sips. Remember that.’ With a preoccupied smile, he turned for the door.
    ‘I’ll remember,’ Fidelma called after him. ‘And be circumspect with your questions, Eadulf. It seems an easy thing to cause annoyance to the brethren of this place.’
    Eadulf left the guests’ hostel as a distant bell began to toll the Angelus. He increased his pace along the dark stone-flagged corridor, trying to remember the route to the chapel. It was icy cold and through the arches that gave onto the quadrangle he could see that the snow was still slanting downward from the black night sky. Making his way through a series of covered ways he came to a smaller quadrangle, encompassed by a covered walkway. On the side that Eadulf was proceeding along, a door at the end was illuminated by a storm lantern. He could see a similar lantern lighting another door on the far side. The snow lay thick where the quadrangle was open to the elements. He realised that this was the small area at the back of the chapel where poor Brother Botulf’s body had been found. He paused. One of the doors must lead to the crypt.
    He was standing by one of the pillars, trying to reason how best to get to the other side of the chapel where the main doors were, when he noticed a movement on the far side of the quadrangle, among the shadows of the covered walkway. A slim figure in a long cloak moved from a darkened recess and strode swiftly, silently, along it. He watched the progress of the figure, frowning. There was something incongruous about it, given the surroundings. The figure paused just by the door with the lantern, hesitated and cast a quick glance around, as if to ensure that it was not being observed. Eadulf’s eyes widened a fraction.
    The shadowy light revealed the face of a young woman. Even from across the quadrangle, Eadulf had the impression of ethereal beauty, of pale skin - was it too pale? It might have been a trick of the light - and fair hair. The figure was not clad as a religieuse but in some rich, crimson gown and there was evidence of silver jewellery and glittering gemstones.
    Then, quickly, silently, the figure vanished through the door.
    Eadulf stood for a moment or two wondering who the young woman was and what she was doing in an abbey which he was assured was the preserve only of men pledged to a life of celibacy under the faith. No women were supposed to be allowed within these walls.
    When Eadulf reached the chapel, the abbot had already begun the service for the soul of Brother Botulf. He was intoning the blessing and Eadulf was forced to put his questions to one side.
    ‘May the blessing of light be on you, light without and light within …’
    There were some thirty or more brethren gathered in the chapel. Eadulf took his seat on a bench at the back, not wishing to make himself conspicuous among the assembly.
    He glanced around. Most of the congregation were young. They seemed to be sturdy men. Several had features that were harsh and would not be out of place in a battle host, seeming more suited to swords and shields rather than a crucifix and a phial of holy water.
    They followed the prayers with a song. Eadulf did not know it and so did not join in.
    Abbot Cild then came forward and had just started an adulatory soliloquy when the two great wooden doors of the chapel opened with a crash.
    Eadulf, along with the rest of the congregation of brethren, swung round startled.
    A tall man stood framed