Absolution by Murder (15 page)

Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

BOOK: Absolution by Murder

11.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

‘I met her only four days ago.’

When neither replied, Athelnoth plunged on hurriedly.

‘Bishop Colmán called me to him a week ago and told me that he had heard that the Abbess Étain of Kildare was arriving to take part in the great synod. Her ship had landed at the port of Ravenglass in the kingdom of Rheged. Her route would take her across the high hills to Catraeth. Colmán asked me to take some brothers and go to Catraeth to meet the abbess to escort her safely to Witebia. This I did.’

‘This was your first meeting with the abbess?’ Fidelma pressed for confirmation.

Athelnoth frowned briefly.

‘What makes you ask these questions?’ he replied guardedly.

‘We wish to have a clear picture of Étain’s last days,’ explained Eadulf.

‘Then, yes. This was my first meeting with her.’

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a glance. Both felt sure that Athelnoth was lying. But why?

‘And nothing untoward happened on your journey here to Streoneshalh?’ Eadulf asked, after a while.

‘Nothing.’

‘You did not enter into any argument with the abbess or her followers?’

Athelnoth bit his lip.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said sullenly.

‘Oh come,’ Fidelma said cajolingly. ‘You are known to be ardent for Rome and the Abbess Étain was the chief spokesman for Columba’s rule. Surely some words were exchanged? After all, you were two or three days on the road with her and her entourage.’

Athelnoth shrugged.

‘Oh, that. Of course we had some discussion.’

‘Some
discussion?’

Athelnoth’s sigh spoke of ill-concealed irritation.

‘We had one argument, that is all. I told her what I thought. No crime in that.’

‘Of course not. But did your arguments descend to any physical disagreement?’

Athelnoth flushed. ‘One young Columban monk had to be restrained. Being young, he had to be forgiven that he had no knowledge of wisdom to argue in any other form but violence. A. foolish young man. It was of no consequence.’

‘And when you arrived here, what then?’

‘Then I had discharged my duty to my bishop. Having brought the abbess and her party safely to the abbey here, that was all.’

‘All?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.

Athelnoth glanced at her and made no reply.

‘Did you see her afterwards, after you had brought her to the safety of these walls?’ prompted Eadulf.

Athelnoth shook his head, his lips compressed.

‘So.’ Fidelma let out a long breath. ‘You did not call upon her in her cell and wish to speak with her alone?’

Fidelma could almost see the man’s mind working furiously; she saw the slight widening of the eyes as he remembered the witness to his indiscretion.

‘Ah, yes …’

‘Yes?’

‘I did call upon her once.’

‘When and for what purpose?’

The man was clearly on his guard. Fidelma could feel a
detached sympathy for the man as he attempted to conjure a suitable excuse.

‘Just after the
prandium
was finished, on the first day of the debate. The day of her death. I wanted to return something that belonged to the abbess. Something that she had dropped during our journey from Catraeth.’

‘Really?’ Eadulf scratched an ear. ‘Why was it not returned before?’

‘I … had only just discovered it.’

‘And did you return “it” – whatever it was?’

‘A brooch.’ Athelnoth sounded confident. ‘And I did not return it.’

‘Why?’

‘When I went to see the abbess she was not alone.’

‘So why not leave the brooch?’

‘I wished to speak with her.’ Athelnoth hesitated again and bit his lip. ‘I decided to return later.’

‘And did you?’

‘I am sorry?’

‘Did you return later?’

‘Later, the abbess was found dead.’

‘So you still have her brooch?’

‘Yes.’

Sister Fidelma held out her hand silently.

‘I do not have it with me.’

‘Very well,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘We will accompany you to your
cubiculum
. I presume it is there?’

Athelnoth hesitated and nodded slowly.

‘Lead on,’ Eadulf invited.

Together they turned, Athelnoth moving awkwardly.

‘What is so important about the brooch?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘We cannot tell you until we have seen it,’ Fidelma replied calmly. ‘At the moment, we have to pursue all matters relating to the abbess.’

Athelnoth sniffed in irritation.

‘Well, if it is suspects that you are searching for, I can name one. When I went to see the abbess, to bring her the brooch, that strange-looking sister was with her.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow sardonically.

‘Are you referring to Sister Gwid?’

‘Gwid!’ Athelnoth nodded. ‘The Pictish girl who is so resentful and jealous of petty things. The Picts are always the enemies of our blood. My father was slain in the Pictish wars. She was always with the abbess.’

‘Why not?’ Eadulf replied. ‘She was secretary to the abbess.’

Athelnoth grimaced as if in surprise.

‘I did know that the Abbess Étain had appointed the girl her secretary. Out of pity, I presume? The girl followed the abbess about like a dog after a sheep. You would imagine that she thought the abbess was a reincarnation of some great saint.’

‘But Étain had sent an invitation to Gwid to come here from Iona to be her secretary,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Why would she do that out of pity?’

Athelnoth shrugged. He turned to lead the way silently through the shadow-strewn cloisters to his
cubiculum.

It was a small functional cell, like all the other
cubicula
in the abbey but that Athelnoth was assigned a separate chamber rather than merely a bed in the
dormitorium
was indicative of his status in the church of Northumbria. Fidelma quietly registered this fact.

Athelnoth stood hesitating on the threshold, gazing around the bare sandstone room.

‘The brooch … ?’ prompted Fidelma.

Atholnoth nodded, crossing to the wooden pegs from which his clothes hung. He took down a
epera,
a leather satchel in which many travelling brethren carried their possessions.

He thrust his hand in. Then his frown deepened and he proceeded to search carefully.

He turned to them with an expression of bewilderment.

‘It is not here. I cannot find it.’

Chapter Eleven

Fidelma raised a quizzical eyebrow as she returned the bewildered gaze of Athelnoth.

‘You placed the brooch in your bag?’

‘Yes. I placed it in there yesterday afternoon.’

‘Who would take it?’

‘I have no idea. No one knew I had it.’

Eadulf was about to make a pointed remark when Fidelma stopped him.

‘Very well, Athelnoth. Have a careful search and if you find the brooch contact us and let us know.’ Outside Athelnoth’s cell, Eadulf turned to her with a frown.

‘You surely don’t believe him?’

Fidelma shrugged.

‘Did you think he was speaking the truth?’

‘By the living God, no! Of course not!’

‘Then Gwid would seem to be right. Athelnoth was visiting Étain for some reason other than the return of a mere brooch.’

‘Yes, of course. Athelnoth is lying.’

‘But does that prove that Athelnoth killed Étain?’

‘No,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘But it gives us a motive for the killing, doesn’t it?’

‘This is true, though something is not quite in order. I was sure that Athelnoth invented the story of the brooch until he
claimed it was still in his possession in his cubiculum. If it was a lie, it would be so easy to discover it.’

‘He was under pressure to come up with a story quickly. He thought of it on the spur of the moment, not realising its weakness.’

‘That is a good argument. Yet we can afford to leave Athelnoth to his own devices for a while. Would you know anyone among the Saxon clergy who would give you some information on Athelnoth’s background? Perhaps someone who accompanied him when he went to meet Étain on the border of Rheged? I’d like to know more of this Athelnoth.’

‘A good idea. I will make some enquiries during the evening meal,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘In the meantime, shall we question the monk Seaxwulf next?’

Fidelma nodded her head.

‘Why not? Seaxwulf and Agatho were among the last to see Etain. Let us return to Sister Athelswith’s
officium
and have the good sister send for Seaxwulf.’ They were walking through the guests’ quarters when the sound of distant shouting came to their ears. Eadulf pursed his lips in perplexity.

‘What new problem is this?’

‘One we shall not identify by standing here,’ Fidelma said, turning towards the origin of the sound. They came on a group of brethren peering through the windows of the abbey building at something below. Eadulf made a space for himself and Fidelma at a window. For several moments Fidelma could not identify what was happening. A crowd was gathered around what seemed a bundle of rags on the ground. They were clearly angry, yelling and throwing stones at it, although, curiously, keeping a good distance from it. It was only when she caught sight of a slight movement of the rags that, with horror, she
realised that it was a person. The crowd were stoning someone to death.

‘What is going on?’ she demanded.

Eadulf asked one of the brothers, who replied with an expression of fear.

‘A victim of the Yellow Plague,’ Eadulf translated, ‘the pestilence that is tearing this land apart, destroying men, women and children without deference to race, sex or rank. The person must have wandered here, seeking aid, and wandered too near the market set up by the traders below the abbey walls.’

Fidelma stared aghast.

‘You mean they are stoning a sick and dying person to death? Is no one going to put a stop to this outrage?’

Eadulf bit his lip, embarrassed.

‘Would you face that hysterical mob?’ He pointed down to where the crowd were still screaming their fear at the now still bundle of rags. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘it is all over.’

Fidelma compressed her lips. The stillness of the rags confirmed Eadulf’s assessment.

‘Soon, when the people realise the person is dead, they will disperse and someone will go to drag the body away to be burnt. Too many have died from this plague for us to be able to reason with these churls.’

The Yellow Plague, Fidelma knew, was an extreme form of jaundice, which had swept across Europe for several years and was now devastating both Britain and Ireland. It had reached Ireland, where it was known as the
buidhe chonaill,
eight years before, ushered in, claimed the scholars, by a total eclipse of the sun. It attacked mainly during the height of the summer and had eliminated half of the population of Ireland already. Two High Kings, the provincial kings of Ulster and Munster and
many other persons of rank were among its victims. High-ranking churchmen such as Fechin of Fobhar, Ronan, Aileran the Wise, Cronan, Manchan and Ultan of Clonard had succumbed to its fury. So many parents had died leaving young children starving that Ultan of Ardbraccan had been moved to open an orphanage to feed and nurture these youthful victims of the plague.

Fidelma knew well the horrors of the pestilence.

‘Are your Saxon churls then animals?’ sniffed Fidelma. ‘How can they treat their fellow creatures so? And, worse still, how can the brethren of Christ stand by and watch it as if it were some side show at a fair?’

Already the brethren who had lined the windows and witnessed the tragedy were dispersing indifferently back to their tasks. If they understood her outspoken criticism they gave no sign.

‘Our ways are not your ways,’ Eadulf said patiently. ‘That I know. I have seen your sanctuaries for the sick and feeble in Ireland. Maybe one day we will learn from them. But you are in a country where the people fear sickness and death. The Yellow Plague is seen as a great evil, sweeping all before it. What people fear they will attempt to destroy. I have seen sons turning their own dying mothers out into the cold because they have the symptoms of this plague.’

Fidelma was about to argue with Eadulf, but what was the use? Eadulf was right. The ways of Northumbria were not those of her own land.

‘Let us find Seaxwulf,’ she said, turning from the window.

Below the window the shouting had abated. The people were dropping their stones and turning back to the gaiety of the market which stretched below the walls of the abbey. The bundle of
rags huddled immobile in the mud where it had fallen at the first cast of the stone.

When Seaxwulf entered the room, Fidelma recognised him at once as the young monk with corn-coloured hair who had stood at Wilfrid’s side in the
sacrarium.

Seaxwulf was a slender, smooth-faced young man who giggled nervously every now and again when asked a direct question. He had light blue eyes and had a curious habit of fluttering his eyelids and speaking with a hissing lisp in a soprano voice. In all, Fidelma had to keep reminding herself that she was speaking to a male and not a flirtatious young girl. Nature seemed to have played the young man a cruel trick by a moment of sexual indecision. She found his age hard to guess but presumed he was in his early twenties, although there was hardly a sign of a razor touching the soft downy hair on his cheeks.

It was Brother Eadulf who questioned the young man in Saxon while Fidelma struggled hard to follow with her inadequate but growing knowledge of the language.

‘You visited the Abbess Étain on the day she died,’ Eadulf stated flatly.

Seaxwulf actually tittered slightly and placed a slender hand over his thin lips.

His bright eyes peered at them over the top of his palm, almost coquettishly.

‘Did I?’

The voice had an odd sensual quality.

Eadulf snorted disgustedly.

‘For what purpose did you visit the Abbess of Kildare in her cell?’

The eyelids fluttered again, accompanied by another nervous giggle.

‘That is my secret.’

‘It is not,’ contradicted Eadulf. ‘We have the authority of your king, bishop and the abbess of this house to discover the truth. You are oath bound to inform us.’

Eadulf’s voice was sharp and incisive.

Seaxwulf blinked and pouted in mock annoyance.

‘Oh, very well!’ The voice was now petulant, like a child’s. ‘I went at the behest of Wilfrid of Ripon. I am his secretary, you know, and confidant.’

‘For what purpose did you go there?’ demanded Eadulf again.

The young man paused and frowned, an almost peevish frown.

‘You should speak of this to Abbot Wilfrid.’

‘I am asking you,’ snapped Eadulf, his voice suddenly harsh. ‘And I expect an answer. Now!’

Seaxwulf stuck out his lower lip. Sister Fidelma cast her eyes to the ground to contain her amusement at the actions of the curious young monk.

‘I went to negotiate with the abbess on Wilfrid’s behalf.’

Here Fidelma broke in, not sure she had heard the word correctly.

‘Negotiate?’
She emphasised the word.

‘Yes. As chief counsels for Rome and Columba, Wilfrid and the Abbess Étain were intent on agreeing points before the public assembly started.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘The Abbess Étain was making agreements with Wilfrid of Ripon?’ She put the question swiftly through Eadulf.

Seaxwulf shrugged his slender shoulders.

‘To agree points before the debate saves much time and energy, sister.’

‘I am not sure what you mean. Are you saying that points of dissension were to be agreed before the public discussions?’

Again Eadulf had to translate this question into Saxon for the monk and the reply back into Irish.

Seaxwulf raised his eyebrows as if the question need not have been asked.

‘Of course.’

‘And the Abbess Étain was a willing party to making such agreements?’

Fidelma was astonished at the revelation that negotiations were being carried out away from the public debate. It did not seem honest that the two factions could decide points without bringing them into the open before the synod.

Seaxwulf shrugged languorously.

‘I have been to Rome. It happens all the time. Why waste time squabbling in public when a private agreement will get you what you want?’

‘How far had these agreements gone?’ demanded Fidelma through Eadulf.

‘Not far,’ replied Seaxwulf confidently. ‘We had reached some agreement on the tonsure. As you know, Rome regards the tonsure of your church of Columba as barbaric. We adhere to the tonsure of the saintly Peter which he cut in commemoration of Christ’s crown of thorns. The Abbess Étain was considering accepting that the Columban church had been misled as to the nature of the tonsure.’

Fidelma swallowed hard.

‘But that is impossible,’ she whispered.

Seaxwulf smiled, as if pleased at her reaction.

‘Oh yes. Oh yes, the abbess could concede that point in return for the concession of the blessing, whereby we of Rome hold up the thumb and the first and second fingers to represent the Trinity when giving the blessing whereas you of the Columban church hold up the first, third and fourth fingers. Wilfrid was ready to concede that either form was valid.’

Fidelma pursed her lips in controlled surprise.

‘How long had such bargaining been going on?’

‘Oh, since as soon as the Abbess Étain arrived here. Two or three days. I forget exactly.’ The young man stared down at his extended hands in distaste as if observing his fingernails for the first time and disapproving of their manicure.

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf.

‘I think a new dimension has been cast on this matter,’ she said quietly, resorting to Irish, knowing that Seaxwulf did not understand.

Eadulf pulled a long face.

‘How so?’

‘What would be the reaction of many of the brethren if they knew that such negotiations were going on behind the scenes without their knowledge or approval? That, in return for a concession on this point, a concession on another point would be given by one or other of the two factions? Wouldn’t that inflame the enmity already felt by the brethren? If so, would someone not feel so enraged that they might attempt to put a stop to such negotiations?’

‘True – though the knowledge doesn’t help us.’

‘Why so?’

‘Because it means that we still have hundreds of suspects, both of the Columban and Roman factions.’

‘Then we have to find a way to narrow them down.’

Eadulf nodded slightly, turning back to the young blond monk.

‘Who knew of your negotiations with the abbess?’

Seaxwulf pouted again like a little child keeping a mystery.

‘They were secret.’

‘So only you and Wilfrid of Ripon knew?’

‘And Abbess Étain.’

‘What of her secretary, Gwid?’ interposed Fidelma through Eadulf.