Eadulf was suddenly hopeful.
‘Do you know where there are such houses?’
Aldhere nodded slowly.
‘But I fail to see your interest in this, holy gerefa,’ he countered. ‘You are surely a stranger to all these matters — what are you interested in?’
‘I am interested,’ returned Eadulf, ‘in bringing to justice the murderer or murderers of my friend Botulf. If I have to unravel a ball of twine to reach that end, then so be it. I will do so.’
‘You sound a determined man, my friend. Are you such a man? And are you without fear?’
‘You may rest assured that I am determined and you may judge whether I am without fear or not.’
‘It is not I who will judge that. I think you are up against some strange mysteries, my friend. Strange mysteries and evil people. Be warned.’
‘The nearest houses of Irish missionaries — you were about to tell me their whereabouts?’
‘I am told there are a few elderly missionaries from Éireann in Domnoc’s Wic to the north of here, but that might be too far away …’ Aldhere paused, then smiled. ‘There is the forest of Tunstall, the place of the farmstead, that is much closer, just south of the river. I heard tell that a monk named Laisre and some of his brethren were hiding there.’
Eadulf was eager.
‘I know the forest of Tunstall. It is close enough to the abbey to be accessible but it is large and would be impossible to search single-handed. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘There is only one place in that forest where Laisre would be, and that is the old farmstead itself. That is easy to find. But there is no guarantee that these Irish warriors are there. However, it is the nearest place where they might receive refuge.’
‘It is worth a try,’ agreed Eadulf, feeling positive. ‘I think that this Garb and his father might know much of the mystery of your brother’s wife. And I believe it is linked to the murder of my friend, Botulf.’
‘Will you tell my brother that you have seen me?’
‘There is an old proverb,’ reflected Eadulf. ‘Let not your tongue cut your throat.’
Aldhere smiled wanly. ‘You are right. And I will give you another old saying of our people that you would do well to remember while you reside at my brother’s abbey — be afraid and you’ll be safe.’
Eadulf glanced towards the sky beyond the open window. Darkness came early in these winter months and he estimated that it would be less than an hour before it was dusk.
‘Speaking of safety, it is time that I returned to the abbey.’
He rose and Aldhere rose with him.
‘I’ll send Wiglaf to put you on the right path. At least the skyis clear and the snow has stopped falling. Your journey back will be easy.’
‘Should I want to get in touch with you again …?’ Eadulf left the question unfinished.
Aldhere smiled. ‘There is a clump of trees a few hundred yards upriver from the abbey. I will have Wiglaf there who will know how to find me. That was how we used to keep in touch with poor Botulf. The copse was where I was due to meet with Botulf yesterday.’
Eadulf thrust out his hand. He found himself liking and trusting the outlaw.
‘God be with you, thane of Bretta’s Ham.’
‘And luck follow your path, holy gerefa.’
The journey back was longer than Eadulf expected and Wiglaf, the former honey thief, was a loquacious travelling companion. He chattered constantly. In desperation, and trying to convert the conversation to something more positive than just idle gossip, Eadulf interrupted to ask him how he had joined up with Aldhere.
The man laughed uproariously and leaned forward towards Eadulf, pulling down his collar. There were faint red marks around his neck.
‘See that? Marks of a slave collar, gerefa. That was the price of the path I started on in my youth. I’m afraid your birching did not persuade me to alter my ways. I progressed, was caught and became a slave. It so happened that when Aldhere raided the King’s fortress at the mouth of the Yar, in search of his men, I was there and chained to one of them. That is why I am now here. He couldn’t take his man without taking me.’
Eadulf looked at him suspiciously. ‘And you have not repented of your ways? Are you still a thief?’
The man smiled broadly. ‘And still a good one. Aldhere does not need the religious, he needs thieves to help him stay alive in this marshland. It is all very well taking a stand against injustice, but when one is still declared outlaw, then one must live without the law.’
He roared with laughter at his own joke.
‘Do you have any principles, Wiglaf?’ Eadulf demanded in disapproval.
‘Why, yes, gerefa. To stay alive and not be caught again,’ replied the thief, unabashed.
‘Aldhere, for all his outlawry, appears to me to be a moral man. I wonder that he has any dealings with you.’
Wiglaf turned towards him. The gloom of descending dusk obscured everything but Eadulf was sure that the man winked at him.
‘Appearances? Remember that they are not all saints who use holy water, gerefa.’
Eadulf shook his head sadly. ‘I wish that you had learnt the lesson which I tried to give you when I was gerefa, Wiglaf.’
‘I have no illusions as to what I am nor what my fate will be,’ replied the thief.
‘Do you not? I wonder. Surely, you must know that the path to crime leads to one destination? You cannot have sunshine without shadows.’
‘Spoken well, gerefa,’ agreed Wiglaf with humour. ‘But there is a saying that a man born to be hanged will not drown. I don’t doubt I will probably hang but I will not drown first.’
‘So be it. Tell me, you were rescued by Aldhere and his men simply because you were chained to one of the men he wanted to rescue. Is that right?’
‘You have the truth of it, gerefa.’
‘How did you manage to persuade him to accept you in his band? I would have thought that he would have left you to your fate, he being a moral man and fighting to clear his name and those of his men from any hint of wrongdoing.’
Wiglaf chuckled. His sense of dark humour was constant.
‘You have a good mind, gerefa. That was the very thing he proposed to do.’
‘Then how …?’
‘Good luck was on my side. He was persuaded.’
‘And how was that?’
‘My cousin persuaded him, knowing that he would need someone who knew these marshes well and could move about them with speed; someone with my special talents.’
‘I see. So your cousin was known to Aldhere?’
‘And to you also, gerefa. Have you forgotten that I come from Seaxmund’s Ham also?’
Eadulf was not following his logic and said so.
‘Why, my cousin is … was,’ Wiglaf corrected with a droop of his mouth, ‘Botulf.’
Eadulf sat up in surprise, jerking slightly at the reins of his mule which snorted in protest.
‘Botulf was your cousin?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Did I not say so?’ replied the thief with humour.
Eadulf was furiously trying to remember back to his youthful days in Seaxmund’s Ham. Vague memories did come back then, of course. Botulf had spoken of his cousin who had been disowned by the family. Wiglaf had been brought up on a farmstead outside the tiny village and did not enter it much.
‘You know that I was Botulf’s close friend, don’t you?’ Eadulf said after a while.
‘He spoke often of you, gerefa, and wished that you had not left the land of the South Folk in your journeying.’
‘Did you know it was because of him that I have returned?’
‘I do. It was I who took his message on the first stage of its journey to you at Canterbury. Botulf was pleased when he heard that you were there. I took the message to the port at Domnoc’s s Wic and entrusted it to a sea captain I knew.’