He turned his horse, issuing orders to his men to take up their positions again. They were clearing sentinels, lookouts protecting the outlaw camp.
As they rode along Fidelma said: ‘I understand that you were Botulf’s cousin and in contact with him at the abbey?’
‘That I was, Sister,’ Wiglaf replied solemnly.
‘I would like to ask you some questions.’
‘Those must wait, then, for Aldhere’s camp is just ahead and I have to return immediately to my men. I will come back to the camp for the midday meal, then you may ask of me what you will.’
The encampment was but minutes away and Aldhere hadalready been warned of their coming, for Wiglaf had taken out his ram’s horn and blown another short, sharp blast on it. Aldhere stood before his hut, hands on hips, smiling slightly. As they halted their ponies and began to dismount, he came forward with an outstretched hand.
‘Greetings, holy gerefa! I did not doubt that I would see your face again. And this time you have brought the Irish witch?’
He roared with laughter at Fidelma’s disapproving features.
‘Have no fear, good Sister, for my humour is unlike that of my brother. I doubt not your piety. I am Aldhere, sometime thane of Bretta’s Ham, but now a simple outlaw. You are welcome to my encampment. Come away into my hut. It is a poor inhospitable place but it will shelter you from our fierce winter.’
Like Eadulf before her, Fidelma found herself swept along by his mixture of joviality and domineering. She followed the large man almost meekly, without saying anything, but her eyes swiftly took in the surroundings; the men, the women and the children who populated this small forest glade. Wiglaf had apparently gone back to his duties as lookout but she saw that there were plenty more armed warriors about the place.
‘And do you approve, good Sister?’ Aldhere asked, pushing the hut door open with one hand while standing back to allow her to enter first. His keen eyes had not missed her appraisal of the camp.
‘Approve?’ She was caught off guard.
‘Of my camp, of course. My men bring their women and children for safe-keeping here. We are not expecting an attack from King Ealdwulf until the thaw comes. If this winter continues as it has, that might not be until the spring, please God. Ealdwulf does not like to fight with mud on his boots. He’ll wait until there is dry weather.’
He motioned them to the stools. The room had not changed since Eadulf’s visit a few days ago. He looked round for the Frankish woman, Bertha, but there was no sign of her. Aldhere caught his glance and smiled again.
‘My woman, Bertha, has gone with one of my men to get provisions at the market at Seaxmund’s Ham. You see, we do not rob and steal but purchase goods from the traders.’
‘And where does the money come from to pay the traders for those goods?’ queried Eadulf innocently.
‘By the holy wounds of Christ!’ cried Aldhere with a bark of laughter. ‘You are possessed of a sharp mind, holy gerefa.’
Fidelma had seated herself.
‘So you do expect an attack from King Ealdwulf?’ she asked abruptly, picking up on Aldhere’s previous statement.
Aldhere was not put out by the question.
‘Naturally,’ he replied. ‘He is not going to leave me as a thorn irritating this land of the South Folk.’
‘Why do you stay here, then? If you expect an attack, I would have thought you might move to any of the other kingdoms and sell your swords to — say, Sigehere?’
‘You shock me by your mercenary attitude, good Sister,’ grinned the outlaw. ‘I think some mead is called for.’
He turned and brought a flagon to the table and poured the drinks.
Fidelma suppressed a sigh of resignation. She realised that the provision of strong drink was an essential part of the ritual of hospitality to strangers.
‘Since I have been in your country, I have come to the conclusion that drinking is a main pursuit of your people, Aldhere.’
Eadulf was looking uncomfortable and he cleared his throat noisily.
‘Perhaps it is best if I ask the questions …’ he said with a meaningful look at Fidelma. When she stared in annoyance at his intervention, he said softly: ‘I have mentioned before that the people of this land are unused to what is seen as forwardness in women. The role of women among the South Folk is very different from the benefits that you enjoy …’
Aldhere interrupted him with a disapproving glance.
‘Tush, holy gerefa! Would you make me out to be a barbarian? I have mixed with the Irish missionaries and know the different ways they have. They might not be our ways nor do we need approve of them. But one of the missionaries instructed me in the words of the Blessed Ambrose: Quando hic sum, non jeiuno Sabbato; quando Romae sum, jeiuno Sabbato.’
‘When I’m here, I do not fast on the sabbath, when I am in Rome, I fast on the sabbath,’ muttered Eadulf.
‘Perhaps it is badly expressed,’ apologised Aldhere, ‘but what I am saying is that since you are used to being treated equally, then I shall treat you equally. Now what were you saying …?’ Abruptly, the erstwhile thane of Bretta’s Ham slapped a hand against his thigh and uttered a bellow of laughter.
‘By God! Yes! Drink. In you, Sister, I find not only a pious religieuse but one with a sense of humour. Indeed, much is accomplished by drinking here for drink unlocks secrets, it confirms our hopes, lifts burdens from anxious minds, teaches us new arts and urges the timorous into battle. For a bad night, there is always the soft mattress of mead, and many a friend and many a lover have met over a jug.’
Fidelma was amused by his response.
‘You sound like a philosopher, Aldhere.’
The outlaw put his head to one side and winked.
‘Only one who has borrowed his learning.’
‘Yet we have a saying in my country — when the cock is drunk, he forgets about the hawk.’
Aldhere shook his head. ‘I do not forget about my brother, Cild, nor about King Ealdwulf. My lookouts keep me posted.’
‘And did they keep you posted about the passage of warriors of Ealdwulf’s bodyguard through your forests?’ asked Eadulf cynically.
To their surprise, Aldhere nodded.
‘Escorting a coach? Oh yes, we knew about them.’
Eadulf shook his head disbelievingly. ‘If you knew that, why did you not stop it?’
‘For what reason, holy gerefa?’ he asked as if amused. ‘It was only the lord Sigeric, who was being escorted to Aldred’s Abbey. He is too elderly to be a threat to anyone. And, really, holy gerefa, why would I want to attack him or his escort? Do you think I am as black as my brother Cild paints me?’
‘Lord Sigeric?’ Eadulf was astonished. ‘He is the high steward to King Ealdwulf,’ he explained quickly to Fidelma.
‘Then you have good reason to attack him,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘He would have advised on the matter of your outlawry,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘One might think that you would enjoy visiting vengeance on him.’
Aldhere shook his head. ‘Did I not tell you that Botulf was going to send an appeal to him about my sentence of outlawry? It may well be that he has come to hear the matter,’ he told them.
‘I recall that you did say that,’ confessed Eadulf almost reluctantly.
‘It seems, holy gerefa, that you do not accept my good faith. Why should you be so sceptical of my intentions?’
‘There are some people who think you are just as bad as your brother,’ intervened Fidelma as Eadulf hesitated, not knowing how to answer.
Aldhere swung back to her, favouring her with a swift scrutiny although his expression was still one of humour.
‘I don’t doubt it. There are many who would take the word of Cild and paint me as black as Satan. Some more mead?’
‘You did not finish answering my question,’ Fidelma responded.