Absolution by Murder (14 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Absolution by Murder
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‘Because Athelnoth disturbed us when we were talking of this matter, requesting to speak alone with Etain. Étain told him that she was busy and he went away. It happened while we were talking of celibacy. She said, so far as I recall, “When a man like that makes advances, I could accept these new teachings of Rome” – or words to that effect.’
Eadulf returned to the questioning.
‘Are you sure she said “when” rather than “if’? Was she implying that Athelnoth had made such advances or was she hypothesising?’ he demanded curtly.
Sister Gwid raised a shoulder and let it fall.
‘I came away with the distinct impression that Athelnoth had already made licentious suggestions to the abbess.’
There was a silence while Fidelma and Eadulf digested the significance of what Gwid had told them.
Fidelma continued after a moment or two of silence.
‘And was there any other person or incident which Étain spoke of in connection with antagonism or dislike from the Roman faction?’
‘Only the subject of Athelnoth was spoken of.’
‘Very well. Thank you, sister. We are sorry to have added to your sorrow.’
The ungainly sister rose and turned for the door.
‘Incidentally – ’
Fidelma’s voice stayed her.
‘– you seemed to indicate that marriage among religious is a vile, sinful practice. What do you think of the controversy of celibacy among the religious?’
Sister Gwid’s mouth tightened grimly.
‘I am in favour of the teaching of the blessed Paul of Tarsus and of Maighnenn, abbot of Kilmainham. Let the sexes not defile each other in the service of the Almighty!’
Eadulf waited until Sister Gwid had left before rounding on Fidelma in annoyance, interrupting her thoughts.
‘If we are working together, sister, you really should not keep information from me.’
Fidelma was about to respond angrily but suddenly realised that Eadulf was right to be annoyed. She had not mentioned Étain’s decision to resign her office to marry. She had not even thought it important and she was not convinced that it was. She sighed under her breath.
‘I am sorry. I was not sure whether Étain’s decision to resign her office was a matter of relevance. Étain only mentioned it to me on the night before her death.’
‘Who was she to marry?’
‘I presume it was someone she met in Ireland. Her intention was to go back to Kildare and resign her office. Then I suppose she would continue to teach in a double house as she did before at Emly.’
‘But you don’t know whom she was to marry?’
‘She did not tell me. What relevance is it here, in Northumbria?’
Eadulf bit his lip and was silent a moment.
‘I find this hard to believe,’ he said suddenly.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow.
‘What in particular?’
‘About Athelnoth. It is reported that he is a haughty man; he seems to believe all foreigners are his inferiors and he is an ardent supporter of Roman rule. Why then would he have developed a passion for Abbess Étain?’
Fidelma was cynical.
‘Was he not a man?’
Eadulf felt a colour on his cheeks.
‘Surely. But even so—’
‘Étain was a very attractive woman,’ Fidelma amplified. ‘Nevertheless, I take your point. But sometimes opposite personalities are attracted to each other.’
‘That is so,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘You have known Sister Gwid for a while. Can we trust her as an accurate observer? Would she have misinterpreted what Étain said or this business with Athelnoth?’
‘She is an awkward girl. One who is intent to please her superiors. But her gawky limbs hide an astute brain. Indeed, I found her almost a pedant on matters of detail. I think we may trust her word.’
‘Then I think we should see this Athelnoth next,’ Eadulf suggested.
Sister Athelswith returned with the news that Athelnoth was occupied in the
sacrarium
listening to the debate and that she could not disturb him without interruption to the entire synod. Fidelma and Eadulf decided to fill in the time by going along to the
sacrarium
and listening to the proceedings. Since they had arrived at Streoneshalh they had not heard any of the speeches made during the synod. Apparently, in the place of the Abbess Étain, Bishop Colmán himself had opened for the church of Columba with a short résumé of the teachings of the monks of Iona. It was a crisp, concise speech but without oratorical eloquence or guile. Wilfrid’s response was short and sarcastic, scoring points off his opponent’s candour.
Fidelma and Eadulf stood at the back of the
sacrarium,
near to a side door behind the Columban benches, trying to avoid the almost breath-taking odours of burning incense.
A tall, angular man, identified to Fidelma by a sister standing close to them as the venerable bishop Cedd, an original disciple of Aidán, was rising to speak as they entered. The sister whispered that Cedd had just arrived from the land of the East Saxons, where he had been on a mission, and had now been appointed to interpret from Saxon to Irish or from Irish to Saxon as the need arose. Cedd was the eldest of four brothers who had been converted by Aidán and who now led the church of Columba in Northumbria. Chad, another brother, was the bishop
of Lastingham, while their brothers Caelin and Cynebill were also attending the assembly. Chad, the sister volunteered, had received his education in Ireland.
‘There has been much speculation as to the date of our Easter celebration,’ Cedd was saying. ‘Our gracious queen, Eanflaed, celebrates according to Rome. Our good king, Oswy, follows the teachings of Columba. Who is right and who is wrong? It can happen that the king has finished the fast and is keeping the Easter Sabbath while the queen and her attendants are still in Lent. This is a situation that sane men cannot countenance.’
‘True,’ called the pugnacious Wilfrid, not bothering to rise from his seat. ‘A situation rectified when you admit your error in your computation of Easter.’
‘A computation sanctioned by Anatolius, who ranks among the learned men of the church,’ replied Cedd, his parchment-like, bony face suffused by two bright spots of pink on the cheek bones.
‘Anatolius of Laodicea? Rubbish!’ Wilfrid had risen to his feet now, spreading his arms in appeal to his pro-Roman brothers. ‘I have no doubt that your calendrical computations were concocted among the Britons scarcely two centuries ago. Rome’s computations were carefully worked out by Victorinus of Aquitaine.’
‘Victorinus!’ A sun-tanned man, scarcely more than thirty years old, sprang up from the Columban benches. He was fair haired and his expression was intense. ‘Everyone knows that those computations were in error.’
The informative sister leant close to Fidelma.
‘That is Cuthbert of Melrose. He is now prior there since our blessed brother Boisil died. He is one of our best orators.’
‘Error?’ Wilfrid was sneering. ‘Explain the error.’
‘We stick firmly to the original computations agreed at the Synod of Aries and to the earliest ritual practices,’ replied Cuthbert. ‘It is Rome that is in error. Rome has broken away from the original dating of Easter by adopting these new computations arrived at by Victorinus. This Victorinus of Aquitaine simply made a few amendments during the time of Pope Hilary. He did not even make full calculations.’
‘Aye,’ cried the gaunt Abbess Abbe of Coldingham vehemently, Oswy’s sister. ‘And were not more amendments proposed by Dionysius Exigius during the pontificate of Felix III? The original rules governing the dating of Easter, which were all agreed at Aries, have been distorted by Rome several times during the last three hundred years. We maintain the original computation agreed at Aries.’
‘That is a falsehood before God!’ snapped Agilbert, the Frankish bishop, irritably.
There was uproar until the venerable Cedd indicated that he wished to speak again.
‘Brethren, we should show charity to one another in this place. Those who argue against the Columban church do so surely from ignorance. Even after the Council of Aries the Christian world agreed that our calendar for the commemorative feast days must be based on the calendar of the land in which the Christ was born and grew to manhood. Thus we agreed that they should be based on the Jewish lunar calendar and thus did the Passover, at which time our Saviour was crucified, fall in the month of Nisan. This was the seventh and Spring month of the Jewish calendar, the period we now designate as March and April.
‘Thus do we call our festival the Pasca from the Hebrew
Pesach
or Passover. Did not Paul, in writing to the Corinthians,
refer to Christ as their Passover Lamb – their sacrifice – because it was well known that he was executed at that festival, under the old computations that Passover fell on the fourteenth day of Nisan. Using this calculation we celebrate the festival on whatever Sunday falls between the fourteenth and twentieth days after the first full moon following the spring equinox.’
‘But Rome has made it unlawful for Christians to celebrate a Christian festival on the same day as a Jewish one,’ Wilfrid interrupted.
‘Exactly so,’ replied Cedd calmly. ‘And that was nonsensical when the Council of Nicaea, debating after the Council of Aries, declared such a thing to be unlawful. Christ was, in the flesh, a Jew—’
There was a gasp of horror among the assembly.
Cedd looked round at the assembly complacently.
‘Was he not?’ he queried cynically. ‘Or was he a Nubian? Or a Saxon even? Perhaps he was a Frank? In what land was he born and grew to manhood if it was not the land of the Jews?’
‘He was the Son of God!’ Wilfrid’s voice was enraged.
‘And the Son of God chose to be born into the land of Israel, with his earthly parents Jewish, bringing the Word first to those who were Chosen of God. Only in killing their Messiah did the Jews reject the Word leaving it to be taken up by the Gentiles. Is it not odd, then, to reject the fact that Christ was executed during a particular feast of the Jews and then to designate an arbitrary date for the Christian world to commemorate that execution which bears no relationship to the actual date it happened?’
Abbess Abbe was nodding her head in agreement.
‘I hear that those who argue for Rome are seeking to change our day of repose as well because it falls on the same day as the
Hebrew sabbath,’ she observed bitingly.
Wilfrid pursed his lips in anger.
‘Sunday, the first day of the week, is rightly the day of repose for it is symbolic of the Resurrection.’
‘Yet Saturday is the traditional day of repose, it being the last day of the week,’ argued another brother, whom the sister at Fidelma’s side identified as Chad, the abbot of Lastingham.
‘These amendments made by Rome take us further and further away from the original dates and render our commemorative ceremonies and anniversaries arbitrary and without meaning,’ Abbe called out. ‘Why not accept that Rome is in error?’
Wilfrid had to wait for the applause from the Columban benches to die away.
He was clearly flustered by the ageing Cedd’s erudition and so resorted to ridicule.
‘So Rome is in error?’ sneered Wilfrid. ‘If Rome is in error then Jerusalem is in error, Alexandria is in error, Antioch is in error, the whole world is in error; only the Irish and the Britons know what is right—’
The young abbot Chad was on his feet immediately.
‘I would point out to the noble Wilfrid of Ripon’ – the taunting tone of his voice was unmistakable – ‘that the churches of the East have already rejected Rome’s new computations about Easter. They follow the same computations that we do. They do not jeer at the name Anatolius of Laodicea. Neither the church of the Irish and Britons nor the churches of the East have turned away from the original dates given at Arles. Only Rome seeks to revise its practices.’
‘The Roman faction speak as if Rome is the centre of everything.’ Bishop Colman now spoke, sensing his advantage.
‘They speak as if we are out of step with the rest of Christendom. Yet the churches of Egypt and Syria and the East refused to accept Roman dictation at their council of Chalcedon by—’
He was forced to stop by the rise of protesting shouting from the Roman benches.
Finally, Oswy rose and held up his hand.
Gradually those gathered in the great hall fell silent.
‘Brethren, our debate this morning has been long and arduous and doubtless we have exchanged much food for thought. This is a good time to call a recess, so that we may take nourishment for the flesh as well as for the spirit. We can spend this afternoon in meditation. We shall reconvene here this evening.’
The assembly rose and began gradually to disperse, voices still raised in argument among themselves.
‘Which is Athelnoth?’ asked Fidelma of her informant.
The sister turned, frowning slightly, as she surveyed the groups of religious.
‘That man there, sister, across the far side of the hall. Next to the young man with the corn-coloured hair.’
With a glance at Eadulf, Sister Fidelma turned and pushed her way through the arguing throng towards the figure her informant had indicated, a man who stood slightly behind the small pugnacious figure of Wilfrid of Ripon, as though waiting to speak with him. He stood by a blond-haired monk who stood holding several books and documents at Wilfrid’s elbow.
‘Brother Athelnoth?’ she asked, coming up behind his shoulder.
The man started slightly. She saw the sudden tensing of the muscles in the back of his neck. Then he turned slightly with a frown.
He was not a tall man, perhaps five feet five inches in height,
but he seemed to dominate his companions. A man with a broad face, the forehead high and sloping, and with an aquiline nose and dark eyes. Fidelma supposed that many women would find him attractive, but he was too saturnine and brooding for her taste.
‘You wanted me, sister?’ he asked, his voice low, resonant and pleasant.
She was conscious of Eadulf arriving, slightly breathless at forcing his way through the crowd, at her shoulder.
‘We did.’
‘It is not a convenient time.’ Athelnoth’s tone was one of distant superiority and now, observing Eadulf, he addressed his remarks to the Saxon monk. Fidelma found it an irritating mannerism of all Saxons that if a man were present he always took precedence over a woman. ‘I am waiting to speak with Abbot Wilfrid here.’
Brother Eadulf spoke before Fidelma could answer. Perhaps he saw the anger boiling in her.
‘It will take but a short amount of time, brother. It concerns the death of the Abbess Etain.’
Athelnoth could not quite keep control of his facial features. There was a momentary change in his expression – gone before Sister Fidelma was sure of its meaning.
‘What has the matter to do with you?’ countered the man a little belligerently.
‘We are charged with the investigation of the matter under the authority of Oswy the king, also Colmán, bishop of Northumbria, and Hilda, Abbess of Streoneshalh.’
Sister Fidelma replied quietly but clearly enough for Athelnoth’s mouth to set firmly. With such authority he could not argue.
‘What do you wish of me?’ he demanded. She could accept the tone of defensiveness which now crept into his voice.
‘Let us walk where we may hear ourselves speak,’ Eadulf said, indicating the side door of the
sacrarium,
away from the still-argumentative religious, many of whom had not yet dispersed to the refectory for the midday meal.
Athelnoth hesitated, glancing at Wilfrid, who was deep in conversation with Agilbert and the rotund figure of Wighard, who was supporting the frail-looking Archbishop of Canterbury, Deusdedit, on his arm. They were too animated by their exchange to notice anyone else and, with a suppressed sigh, Athelnoth turned and walked with Eadulf and Fidelma towards the door. They turned across the
hortus olitorius,
the abbey’s extensive kitchen gardens, beyond the
sacrarium.
The warm May sun was casting a brilliant light on the vegetation and causing the scent of a myriad herbs and plants to lie fragrantly on the air.
‘Let us walk awhile and breathe God’s fresh air after the closeness of the assembly hall,’ suggested Eadulf almost unctuously.
Fidelma took one side of Athelnoth while Eadulf walked upon the other side.
‘Did you know the Abbess Étain?’ asked Eadulf, almost casually.
Athelnoth cast a quick glance in his direction.
‘It depends on what you mean,’ he countered.
‘Shall I rephrase the question, perhaps?’ Eadulf said quickly.
‘How
well did you know Étain of Kildare?’
Athelnoth frowned. His face coloured and he hesitated. Then he replied shortly, ‘Not well at all.’
‘But how well?’ pressed Fidelma, pleased with the way the
Saxon monk had begun the interrogation.

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