Hemlock At Vespers (31 page)

With a sigh, Laisran hastened after her as she strode swiftly away.

The floor above turned out to be equally disappointing. Over Wulfstan’s chamber stretched a long wooden floor which was the floor of one of the long dormitories for the novitiates of the community. There were over a dozen beds in the dormitory. Even had she not examined the boards of the floor carefully, to see whether any had been prized up in order that a person could be lowered into the chamber below, and realized that none of the floorboards had been moved in many years, Sister Fidelma would still have recognized the fact that such an exercise would have necessitated the participation of everyone in the dormitory.

She turned away with disappointment on her features.

“Tell me, Laisran, what lies below Wulfstan’s chamber?”

Laisran shook his head.

“I have had that thought also, Fidelma,” he confided. “Nothing but solid earth lies below. There is no cellar, nor tunnel. The stone flags are laid on solid ground, so no person could enter the chamber by removing one of the floor stones. Besides,” he smiled wryly, “what would Wulfstan have been doing during the commotion required to enter his chamber by the removing of the ceiling planks or floor slabs or the removal of the bars of the window?”

Sister Fidelma smiled.

“The pursuit of truth is paved by the consideration and rejection of all the alternatives, no matter how unlikely they may be, Laisran.”

“The truth,” replied the Abbot, looking troubled, “is that it was impossible for the hand of man to strike down Wulfstan while he was locked alone in his chamber.”

“Now that I
can
agree with.”

Abbot Laisran looked puzzled.

“I thought you said that no sorcery was employed. Do you mean that he was not killed by the hand of a man?”

“No,” grinned Sister Fidelma. “I mean that he was not alone in his chamber. It is a syllogism. ”I mean that he has not alone in his chamber. It is a syllogism. Wulfstan was stabbed to death. Wulfstan was in his bedchamber. Therefore he was not alone in his bedchamber when he was killed.”

“But…”

“We have ruled out the argument that our murderer could have come through the window. Do you agree?”

Laisran frowned, trying hard to follow the logic.

“We have ruled out the possibility that our murderer could have entered the chamber through the roof.”

“Agreed.”

“We have concluded that it would be impossible for the murderer to enter via the stone-flagged floor.”

Abbot Laisran nodded emphatically.

“Then that leaves one obvious method of entry and exit.”

Now Laisran was truly bewildered.

“I do not see…” he began.

“The chamber door. That is how our murderer gained entry and how he left.”

“Impossible!” Laisran shook his head. “The door was secured from the inside.”

“Nevertheless, that was how it was done. And whoever did it hoped that we would be so bemused by this curiosity that we would not inquire too deeply of the motive, for he hoped the motive was one that was obvious to all: the hatred of Wulfstan and the Saxons. Ideas of sorcery, of evil spirits, of Wulfstan being slain by no human hand, might cloud our judgment, or so our killer desired it to do.”

“Then you know who the killer is?”

Fidelma shook her head.

“I have not questioned all the suspects. I think it is now time that we spoke with the Frankish prince, Dagobert.”

Dagobert was a young man who had been brought from the land of the Franks when he was a child. It was claimed that he was heir to the Frankish empire but his father had been deposed and the young prince had been taken into exile in Ireland until the time came when he could return. He was tall, dark, rather attractive and spoke Irish almost as fluently as a native prince. Laisran had warned Sister Fidelma that the young man was well connected and betrothed to a princess of the kings of Cashel. There would be repercussions if Dagobert was not accorded the full letter of the Brehon Law.

“You know why you are here?” began Sister Fidelma.

“That I do,” the young man smiled. The Saxon pig, Wulfstan, has been slain. Outside the band of Saxons who followed the young whelp, there is a smile on the face of every student in Durrow. Does that surprise you, Sister Fidelma?”

“Perhaps not. I am told that you were known to have had an argument with him?”

Dagobert nodded.

“What about?”

“He was an arrogant pig. He insulted my ancestry and so I punched him on the nose.”

“Wasn’t that difficult to do, with his bodyguard? I am also told that Raedwald was never far away and he is a muscular young man.”

Dagobert chuckled.

“Raedwald knew when to defend his prince and when not. He diplomatically left the room when the argument started. A man with a sense of honor is Raedwald of the South Saxons. Wulfstan treated him like dirt beneath his feet even though he was a thane and blood cousin.”

Sister Fidelma reached into her robes and drew out the bloodstained embroidered linen kerchief and laid it on the table.

“Do you recognize this?”

Dagobert frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands with a puzzled expression.

“It is certainly mine. There is my motto. But the bloodstains… ?”

“It was found by the side of Wulfstan’s body. I found it. It was obviously used to wipe the blood off the weapon that killed him.”

Dagobert’s face whitened.

“I did not kill Wulfstan. He was a pig but he was simply needed a sound thrashing to teach him manners.”

“Then how came this kerchief to be by his side in his chamber?”

“I… I loaned it to someone.”

“Who?”

Dagobert bit his lip, shrugging.

“Unless you wish to be blamed for this crime, Dagobert, you must tell me,” insisted Fidelma.

“Two days ago I loaned the kerchief to Talorgen, the prince of Rheged.”

Finan inclined his head to Sister Fidelma.

“Your reputation as an advocate of the Brehon Court precedes you, Sister,” the dark, lean man greeted her. “Already it is whispered from Tara how you solved a plot to overthrow the High King.”

Fidelma gestured Finan to be seated.

“People sometimes exaggerate another’s prowess, for they love to create heroes and heroines to worship. You are professor of law here?”

“That is so. I am qualified to the level of Sai, being a professor of law only.”

The
Sai
was a qualification of six years of study and the degree below that of
Anruth
held by Fidelma.

“And you taught Wulfstan?”

“Each of us has a cross to bear, as did Christ. Mine was the teaching of the Saxon thanes.”

“Not all the Saxons?”

Finan shook his head.

“No. Only the three thanes, as they refused to sit at lessons with churls, and only the express order of the Abbot Laisran made them attend class with the other students. They were not humble before the altar of Christ. In fact, I formed the opinion that they secretly mocked Christ and clung to the worship of their outlandish god Woden.”

“You disliked the Saxons?”

“I hated them!”

The vehemence in the man’s voice made Sister Fidelma raise her eyebrows.

“Isn’t hate an emotion unknown to a Brother of the order, especially one qualified as a
Sai?”

“My sister and brother took up the robes of the religious and decided to accept a mission to preach the word of Christ in the lands of the East Saxons. A few years ago I encountered one of the missionaries who had gone in that band. They had arrived in the land of the East Saxons and sought to preach the word of Christ. The heathen Saxons stoned them to death, only two of the band escaping. Among those who met a martyr’s fate were my own sister and brother. I have hated all Saxons ever since.”

Sister Fidelma gazed into the dark eyes of Finan.

“Did you kill Wulfstan?”

Finan returned her scrutiny squarely.

“I could have done so at another time, in another place, I have the hatred in me. But no, Sister Fidelma, I did not kill him. Neither do I have the means to enter a barred room and leave it as though no one had entered.”

Fidelma nodded slowly.

“You may go, Finan.”

The professor of law rose reluctantly. He paused and said reflectively, “Wulfstan and Eadred were not liked by any in this monastery. Many young men with hot tempers have challenged them in combat since they have been here. Dagobert the Frank, for one. Only the fact that such challenges are forbidden on sacred soil has prevented bloodshed thus far.”

Fidelma nodded absently.

“Is it true that the Saxons are leaving tomorrow?” Finan demanded.

She raised her head to look at him.

“They are returning with the body of Wulfstan to their own land,” she affirmed.

A contented smile crossed Finan’s face.

“I cannot pretend that I regret that, even if it cost one of their lives to prompt the move. I had hoped that they would have left Durrow yesterday.”

She glanced up at the law professor, interested.

“Why would they leave?”

“Some Saxon messenger arrived at the monastery yesterday afternoon seeking Wulfstan and Eadred. I half-hoped that it was a summons to return to their country. However, praise be that they are departing now.”

Fidelma frowned in annoyance.

“Let me remind you, Finan, that unless we find the culprit, not only this center of learning, but all the five kingdoms of Éireann will be at risk, for the Saxons will surely want to take compensation for the death of their prince.”

Talorgen of Rheged was a youth of average stature, fresh-faced and sandy of hair. He already wore a wispy moustache, but his cheeks and chin were clean-shaven.

“Yes. It is no secret that I challenged Wulfstan and Eadred to combat.”

His Irish, though accented, was fluent and he seemed at ease as he sat in the chair Sister Fidelma had indicated.

“Why?”

Talorgen grinned impishly.

“I hear that you have questioned Eadred. From his manner you may judge Wulfstan’s arrogance. It is not hard to be provoked by them, even if they were not Saxons.”

“You do not like Saxons?”

“They are not likable.”

“But you are a prince of Rheged, and it is reported that the Saxons are attacking your land.”

Talorgen nodded, his mouth pinched. “Oswy calls himself Christian king of Northumbria, but he still sends his barbaric hordes against the kingdoms of the Britons. For generations now the people of my land have fought to hold back the Saxons, for their thirst for land and power is great. Owain, my father, sent me here, but I would, by the living Christ, rather be at his side, wielding my sword against the Saxon foreman. My blade should drink the blood of the enemies of my blood.”

Sister Fidelma regarded the flushed-faced young man with curiosity.

“Has your blade already drunk of the blood of your people’s enemies?”

Talorgen frowned abruptly, hesitating, and then his face relaxed. He chuckled.

“You mean, did I kill Wulfstan? That I did not. I swear by the living God! But hear me, Sister Fidelma, it is not that I did not want to. Truly, sometimes the faith of Christ is a hard taskmaster. Wulfstan and his cousin Eadred were so dislikable that I scarcely believe there is anyone in this community who regrets the death of Wulfstan.”

She took out the bloodstained kerchief and laid it on the table.

“This was found by the body of Wulfstan. It was used to wipe the blood from the weapon that killed him. It belongs to Dagobert.”

“You mean Dagobert … ?” The prince of Rheged’s eyes opened wide as he stared from the kerchief to Sister Fidelma.

“Dagobert tells me that he gave you this kerchief in loan two days ago.”

Talorgen examined the kerchief carefully and then slowly nodded.

“He is right. It is the same one, I can tell from the embroidery.”

“How then did it get into Wulfstan’s chamber?”

Talorgen shrugged.

“That I do not know. I remember having it in my chamber yesterday morning. I saw it was gone and thought Dagobert, had collect it.”

Sister Fidelma regarded Talorgen steadily for a moment or two.

“I swear, Sister,” said the prince of Rheged earnestly, “I would not have hesitated to kill Wulfstan outside these walls, but I did not kill him within them.”

“You are forthright, Talorgen.”

The young man shrugged.

“I am sprung of the house of Urien of Rheged, whose praise was sung by our great bard Taliesin. Urien was the Golden King of the North, slain in stealth by a traitor. Our house is evenhanded, just and forthright. We believe in honesty. We meet our enemies in daylight on the plain of battle, not at night in the darkened recesses of some bedchamber.”

“You say that there are many others in this community who held enmity against Wulfstan? Was there anyone in particular that you had in mind?”

Talorgen pursed his lips.

“Our teacher Finan often told us that he hated the Saxons.”

Sister Fidelma nodded.

“I have spoken with Finan.”

“As you already know, Dagobert quarreled with Wulfstan in the refectory and bloodied his mouth two nights ago. Then there was Riderch of Dumnonia, Fergna of Midhe and—”

Sister Fidelma held up her hand.

“I think that you have made your point, Talorgen. Everyone in Durrow is a suspect.”

Sister Fidelma found Raedwald in the stables making preparations for the journey back to the land of the South Saxons.

“There is a question I would ask you on your own, Raedwald. Need I remind you of my authority?”

The Saxon warrior shook his head.

“I have learnt much of your law and customs since I have been in your country, Sister. I am not as Eadred.”

“And you have learnt some fluency in our tongue,” observed Fidelma. “More fluency and understanding than your cousin.”

“It is not my place to criticize the heir-apparent to the kingship of the South Saxons.”

“But I think that you did not like your cousin Wulfstan?”

Raedwald blinked in surprise at her directness and then he shrugged.

“I am merely a thane in the house of Cissa. I cannot like or dislike my appointed king.”