Absolution by Murder (24 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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‘So,’ Eadulf mused slowly, ‘are we saying that all this was some plot to overthrow Oswy and that Étain was killed as part of the plot? But why? I don’t see how.’
‘One question, Oswy.’ Fidelma ignored Eadulf for the moment. ‘Your sister, the Abbess Abbe, did not stay for your pronouncement. Do you know why?’
Oswy shrugged.
‘She knew that I would not make my decision immediately. I told her.’
‘But your sons, Alhfrith, for example, and your wife, did not know.’
‘No. I did not have time to explain to them.’
‘What of this plot?’ demanded Eadulf again. ‘How does Etain’s murder fit in?’
‘The reason—’ Fidelma was halted in mid-sentence as the door burst open and Alhfrith entered, followed by an anxious-faced Hilda and a grim-looking Colman. It was clear that Alhfrith was in a resentful and hostile mood.
‘What is this delay, Father?’ demanded Alhfrith without preamble. ‘All Northumbria waits for your decision.’
Oswy smiled sourly.
‘And you were sure that I would decide for Columba so that you could raise the country against me in the name of Rome.’
Alhfrith started in surprise and then his face hardened.
‘So you prevaricate and delay?’ he sneered. ‘But you cannot put off a decision forever. You are weak, but even you have to declare yourself!’
Oswy’s face reddened in anger, but he kept his voice even.
‘Don’t you wonder why I am still alive?’ he demanded coldly.
Alhfrith hesitated and a cautious look came into his eye.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ His voice was filled with bluster.
‘Don’t look for Wulfric again, he is dead and his assassins
with him. And your army of rebels now marching from Helm’s Leah will not appear outside the walls of this abbey. They will be met by my army instead.’
Alhfrith’s face was a grey mask.
‘You are still weak, old man,’ he said bitterly. Abbess Hilda cried out in protest, but Oswy motioned her to silence.
‘Even though you are my son, flesh of my flesh, you forget that I am your king,’ he said, eyes coldly on his son.
The petty king of Deira thrust out his jaw pugnaciously. He had little to lose now.
‘I fought by your side at Winwaed stream ten years ago. You were strong then, Father. But you have weakened since. I know you would rather bow to Iona than to Rome. And Wilfrid and others know it.’
‘They’ll know my strength soon enough,’ returned Oswy quietly. ‘And they will also know your treachery to your father and your king.’
Anger was bubbling up in Alhfrith as he realised that his carefully laid plans had been thwarted. Fidelma saw that he could no longer give check to his feelings. She gave a warning cry to Eadulf, who was standing near him.
The knife was in Alhfrith’s hand before anyone realised it and the young man had launched himself at his father in a murderous attack.
Eadulf sprang for the knife arm but even as he did so Oswy drew his sword to defend himself. Alhfrith in his forward momentum dragged Eadulf with him and, in so doing, he fell forward with Eadulf’s weight on his back.
Alhfrith gave a strangled cry, something like a sob, and the knife dropped from his hand.
There was a silence in the room. Everyone seemed frozen.
Oswy stood staring at the bloodied tip of his sword as if not believing it was there.
Slowly the giant frame of Alhfrith, petty ruler of Deira, crumpled to the floor. Blood was staining his tunic just above the heart.
It was Eadulf who moved first, bending and reaching for the young man’s neck, feeling for the pulse. He looked up at Oswy, who had not moved, and then to the Abbess Hilda before shaking his head.
Abbess Hilda crossed to Oswy and laid a hand on his arm. Her voice was now quiet.
‘There is no blame in this. He brought his death on himself.’
Oswy moved slowly, shaking himself like a man awakening from a dream.
‘Yet he was my son,’ he said softly.
Colmán shook his head.
‘He was Wilfrid’s man. When Wilfrid hears of this he will seek to arm the Roman faction.’
At that Oswy sheathed his bloody sword and turned to Colmán, his old assertiveness re-established.
‘I had no choice. He has been waiting to kill me for some time to seize the throne. I have long known that he has conspired to oust me. He had no allegiance for Rome or Iona but was just using the factions to weaken me. However, his temper got the better of him.’
‘Even so,’ Colmán replied, ‘it is now Wilfrid and Ecgfrith that you must have a care of.’
Oswy shook his head.
‘My army will deal with Alhfrith’s rebels before this day is out and then will march back here.’ He paused and then turned with sorrowing eyes on his bishop. ‘My heart is with Columba,
Colmán. but if I declare for Columba, Wilfrid and Ecgfrith will attempt to raise Northumbria against me. They will claim that I am selling out the kingdom to the Irish, Picts and Britons and turning my back on my own race. What am I to do?’
Colmán sighed sadly.
‘Alas, that is the one decision that you must make on your own, Oswy. None can make it for you.’
Oswy laughed bitterly.
‘I was manoeuvred into this synod. Now I am bound to it as it turns like a wheel propelled by water. I may drown as the wheel turns.’
Fidelma suddenly gave a gasp.
‘Drowning. We have forgotten Seaxwulf. Before we know whose hand lay behind the slaughter of Étain, Athelnoth and Seaxwulf we still have some work to do.’
She turned, motioning Eadulf to follow her, and leaving the rest of the room astonished at her abrupt departure.
Outside the abbess’s chamber she turned quickly to Eadulf.
‘I want you to find a local fisherman among the people of Witebia. Ask them how long it usually takes for a corpse to be washed down the coast from the spot where Seaxwulf was thrown in to a point from where it might be recovered. It is essential that we examine that corpse. And let us pray that it is retrieved within hours rather than days.’
‘But why?’ protested Eadulf. ‘I am confused. Were not Alhfrith, Taran and Wulfric behind the murder?’
Fidelma smiled briefly.
‘I am hoping that the final piece of this riddle will be on Seaxwulf’s body.’
The grey light of dawn was touching the window of Fidelma’s
cubiculum.
Fidelma was already dressed. This was to be the final day of the great synod, the day when Oswy would have to make his final choice. Unless she could resolve the mystery of the slaughter of Etain, Athelnoth and Seaxwulf, the rumourmongers would take over and a war that might go beyond the borders of Northumbria might commence. She had risen with tension stiffening her body, her mind aching as she tried to resolve the mystery.
The sound of someone hurrying along the corridor caused her heart to beat faster. Some sixth sense recognised the hurried footfalls and she opened the door of the
cubiculum,
almost colliding with a breathless Eadulf.
‘There is no time to apologise for my manners,’ he said brusquely. ‘The fisherman was right. The body of our late lamented friend, Seaxwulf, has been found. The body has been brought ashore in the harbour.’
Without a word, Fidelma followed the Saxon brother as he hastily led the way from the
domus hospitale
through the cloisters and out of the abbey gates to the winding path beyond. They traversed the precipitous cliff path to the sea shore, where the river entered into the bay around which the harbour of Witebia had been constructed.
There was no need to ask the way to where the body of the
Saxon monk had been brought ashore.
In spite of the early hour, a group of people were gathered inquisitively on the foreshore around something that resembled a sodden sack. They parted to let the two religious through, enquiring eyes particularly following Sister Fidelma.
The body of Seaxwulf lay on its back, eyes glazed and staring upwards. Fidelma flinched. The body had received a battering from the rocks and sea since she had last seen it in the wine cask. The clothes of the monk were almost shredded and weed clung to them.
Brother Eadulf was having a swift exchange with several of the bystanders who, by their looks, appeared to be fishermen.
‘One of them saw the body floating some way out to sea while he was coming in after fishing in his boat. He pulled it alongside and dragged it ashore.’
Fidelma nodded slowly in satisfaction.
‘Well, the fisherman you asked last night said it could come from that spot within six to twelve hours. He was right. And you can see that Seaxwulf did not drown in the sea but in the wine cask of the abbey, look at his mouth.’
She leant over and forced open the mouth of the corpse.
Eadulf let out a sharp exhalation.
‘It is stained reddish – only faintly, but you can see the colour around the lips and in the mouth itself. But then I never doubted your word.’
‘Red wine,’ Fidelma said, ignoring his compliment. ‘He was drowned in red wine, as I said.’
She began to remove the clothing around Seaxwulf’s neck. Then she paused.
‘Look at this. What do you make of it?’ she asked.
Eadulf’s eyes narrowed as he bent forward.
‘Abrasions, some faint bruising fading rapidly, probably due to the immersion in the water. Powerful fingers. A strong man held him down by the shoulders.’
‘Strong hands, indeed. He was held down in the wine cask until he drowned in the wine. I must have come along at that moment. Not until I slipped from the stool and was unconscious, or perhaps until you removed me to my
cubiculum,
did the murderer drag the body from the cask and then pull it along the tunnel and cast him into the sea. The poor devil.’
‘If only we knew what it was that he had wanted to tell you,’ muttered Eadulf.
‘I think I know,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Look to see if he has a purse.’
Eadulf was fumbling with the monk’s clothing, which was a mangled mess of sea-sodden wool. There was no sign of the traditional
pera
or
crumena
that monks usually carried. But Eadulf gave a grunt of astonishment. Inside the clothing he found a small linen
sacculus
which was sewn to the inner side of the garment. In old times the religious of both sexes would carry only a
crumena,
a small sack or purse which hung over their shoulders in which they carried coin or personal items. Some, like Athelnoth, carried a
pera
. But a new fashion was emerging and that was for religious to have a
sacculus
of linen sewn into the folds of their garments as a means of greater protection for their private belongings. The fashion originated in Frankia where they called it a little pouch or pocket.
‘What do you make of this, Fidelma?’ asked Eadulf wonderingly.
Pinned in a fold of the cloth was a piece of torn vellum, fixed by a small round brooch, worked in bronze with red enamel and curious designs.
She stared at it for a moment and uttered an exclamation of elation.
‘That was exactly what I was seeking.’
Eadulf shrugged. ‘I don’t see how it helps us. Seaxwulf was a Saxon. And I can tell you that the work is Saxon. The motif is ancient, pre-Christian, a symbol representing the ancient goddess Frig—’
Fidelma interrupted. ‘I think it helps a great deal. And I mean the vellum as well as the brooch.’
Eadulf stared in disgust.
‘Another piece of Greek.’
Fidelma nodded contentedly.
‘It reads: “Love the loosener of limbs shakes me again, an inescapable bittersweet creature”.’
Eadulf pursed his lips in annoyance.
‘Did Athelnoth write this as well?’ The monk suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘You have implied that Étain’s death had nothing to do with the plot to overthrow Oswy. That Taran and Wulfric had nothing to do with her death. I have it! Athelnoth killed Etain after all. But he was caught up in the matter of the king’s assassination, revealing it to Oswy, and was killed by Wulfric or Alhfrith. His slaughter was merely a matter of coincidence.’
Fidelma smiled softly, shaking her head.
‘A good explanation, Eadulf, but not the correct one.’
‘Who else had opportunity and motive?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘Well, you forget Abbe for one.’
Eadulf groaned, touching his forehead with the palm of his hand.
‘I had forgotten her.’ Then his face lightened. ‘But she would not have the necessary strength to kill any of the victims, would she?’
‘I am not saying it is her. But the person we are dealing with is of cunning disposition, a mind whose thinking is like a path through a labyrinth that one tries to follow at one’s peril.’
Fidelma was quiet for a few minutes as she knelt by the body of Seaxwulf. Finally she stood up.
‘Order these men to remove the body to the abbey,’ she instructed. ‘Tell them to take it to Brother Edgar.’
She turned and began to walk slowly up the path towards the abbey buildings, hands folded in front of her, clasping the brooch and the vellum, her head slightly bent.
Eadulf quickly issued the orders and followed after her. He waited patiently, watching as she walked deep in thought. Suddenly she turned towards him and he had never seen such a smile of triumph on her face before.
‘I think it all fits together now. But first I must visit the
librarium
and find that copy of the lyric poems of the Hellenistic world that Seaxwulf was reading.’
Eadulf exhaled helplessly.
‘You have lost me. What has the
librarium
to do with it? What do you mean?’
Sister Fidelma gave a triumphant laugh.
‘I know who our murderer is, that is what I mean.’

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