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Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

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BOOK: Absolution by Murder
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Seaxwulf chuckled scornfully.
‘Gwid? The abbess did not regard her as being in her confidence. In fact, she told me to have no dealings with her over these secret matters, least of all to mention her communications with Wilfrid of Ripon.’
Fidelma hid her surprise.
‘What makes you say that Étain did not regard Sister Gwid as being in her confidence?’
‘If she did, then she would have been a party to the negotiations. The only time I saw her with Gwid, they were shouting at each other. I had no idea of what they were saying for they spoke in your own language of Ireland.’
‘So?’ Eadulf said. ‘Did no one else know of the negotiations then?’
Seaxwulf grimaced awkwardly.
‘I don’t think so – except, Abbess Abbe came upon me when I was leaving the
cubiculum
of Abbess Étain. She had the chamber next to Étain. She stared suspiciously at me. I did not say anything but went about my business. I saw that she had gone to speak with the Abbess Étain in her chamber. I heard voices raised in argument. I do not know whether she had guessed the purpose of my visit or not. I suspect that
Abbe realised that Étain and Wilfrid were making agreements.’
Fidelma decided to press the point.
‘You say Abbe argued with Étain as you were leaving?’
‘So far as I know. I heard their voices raised that is all.’
‘And did you see the Abbess Étain again?’
Seaxwulf shook his head.
‘I went to report to Wilfrid about the abbess’s willingness to concede the greater authority of Peter on the matter of the tonsure. Then the call came for the assembly in the
sacrarium
and I went in with Wilfrid. It was shortly after that we heard that the abbess had been murdered.’
Fidelma sighed, a long-drawn-out breath. Finally she looked at Seaxwulf and gestured.
‘Very well. You may go.’
When the door shut on Seaxwulf, Eadulf turned to Fidelma, his brown eyes shining in excitement.
‘The Abbess Abbe! The sister of Oswy himself! She is one visitor to Étain’s
cubiculum
that Sister Athelswith’s perceptive eye missed. A natural mistake because her chamber was next to Étain’s.’
Sister Fidelma did not look satisfied.
‘We will have to speak with her. Certainly there is a motive here. Abbe is a powerful supporter of the Columban order. If she felt that Étain was making concessions without the prior knowledge of those supporting the rule of Columba then that could be a cause for anger and anger can beget a motive for murder.’
Eadulf nodded eagerly.
‘Then perhaps our original thought that this was a murder motivated by the anger of the debate is right. Except that Étain
of Kildare was killed by her fellow churchmen and not by the pro-Roman faction.’
Fidelma pulled a face.
‘We are not here to get the Roman faction absolved of blame but to discover the truth.’
‘The truth is what I am after,’ Eadulf felt stung to reply. ‘But Abbe seems a likely suspect—’
‘So far we have only Brother Seaxwulf’s word for her presence in Étain’s cell after he had left. And you may remember that Sister Athelswith named the priest Agatho as having visited Étain after Seaxwulf? If this is so, then Abbe left Étain alive. For if she visited Étain directly Seaxwulf left, then Agatho must have visited after Abbe left.’
The bell began tolling for the commencement of cena, the chief meal of the day.
Eadulf’s face had fallen.
‘I had forgotten about Agatho,’ he muttered contritely.
‘I had not,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘We will talk with Abbe after the evening meal.’
 
Fidelma had not been hungry. Her mind was too full of thoughts. She had merely eaten some fruit and a piece of
paximatium,
the heavy bread, and then gone immediately to her
cubiculum
to rest for a while. With the main body of the brethren in the refectory, it was quiet in the
domus hospitale
and therefore a place conducive to being alone with one’s thoughts. She tried to explore what information she had to work some order and sense into it. Yet the thoughts would not make sense. Her instructor, the Brehon Morann of Tara, had always used to impress on his pupils that one should wait until one had heard all the evidence before attempting a solution. Yet Fidelma felt
an impatience that was hard to control.
Finally she rose from her cot, deciding to take a walk along the cliff tops in the hope that the fresh early-evening air would clear her mind.
She left the
domus hospitale
and crossed a quadrangle towards the
monasteriolum,
the abbey buildings in which the brethren laboured in their studies and teaching. Someone had scratched a piece of graffiti on the wall:
‘docendo discimus’.
Fidelma smiled. It was apt. People did learn by teaching.
Within the
monasteriolum
was the
librarium
of the abbey to which Fidelma had already paid a visit when she had delivered the book that Abbot Cumméne of Iona had sent as a gift. It was an impressive collection, for Hilda had made it her task to develop the library and collect as many books as possible in her determination to spread literacy among her people.
The sun was very low behind the hills now and long shadows cast dark fingers among the buildings. The structure would soon be shrouded in gloom. Time enough, though, to take a walk and be back in Sister Athelswith’s
officium
to meet with the Abbess Abbe.
She turned through the outer cloisters which led to the side gate of the abbey wall from which a path led to the cliff tops.
She became aware of a monk walking before her, head enshrouded in his
cucullus,
or cowl.
Some instinct made Fidelma pause in her stride. It struck her as curious that a brother was wearing his cowl within the confines of the abbey. And now a second figure appeared by the gate ahead. Fidelma drew back into the shadows of the arched cloisters, her heart beating a little faster for no logical reason except that she recognised the second figure as the foxy-faced thane of Frihop, Wulfric.
A greeting was called in Saxon.
She strained forward, wishing her Saxon consisted of a greater vocabulary than it did.
The brother halted. The two men appeared to be laughing. Why not? What was so sinister about a Saxon thane and a Saxon monk exchanging pleasantries? It was only some sixth sense that caused Fidelma disquiet. Her eyes narrowed. Both men, during their conversation, were casting glances about them as if wary of eavesdroppers. Their voices lowered conspiratorially. Then they grasped each other’s hands and Wulfric turned out of the gate while the becowled brother turned back.
Fidelma pressed further into the shadow of the cloisters, behind a pillared arch.
The brother strode purposefully at right angles to where Fidelma stood, crossing the quadrangle towards the
monasteriolum.
As he did so he threw back his cowl, presumably as it had served its purpose and wearing it in the confines of the abbey would seem strange. Fidelma could not restrain the sharp breath of astonishment that came as she recognised the man with his Columban tonsure.
It was Brother Taran.
 
Abbe was a stocky woman, looking very much like her brother Oswy. She was in her mid-fifties, the lines etched deep on her face, the blue eyes bright but rather watery. Together with her three brothers, she had been taken into exile in Iona when her father, the king of Bernicia, had been killed by his rival Edwin of Deira who had then united the two kingdoms into the single kingdom ‘by the north of the River Humber’, Northumbria. When her brothers Eanfrith, Oswald and Oswy had returned to reclaim their kingdom on Edwin’s death, Abbe
had come with them as a religieuse, baptised in the Columban church. She had established a monastery at Coldingham, a double house for men and women on a headland, and was confirmed as its abbess by her brother Oswald, who had become king on the death of their eldest brother Eanfrith.
Fidelma had heard much of Coldingham, for it had required a dubious reputation as being given over to the pursuit of hedonistic pleasures. It was said that the Abbess Abbe believed too literally in a God of Love. She had heard that the
cubicula
that were built for prayer and contemplation had been turned into rooms of feasting, drinking and the enjoyment of the flesh.
The abbess sat regarding Fidelma with an amused but approving stare.
‘My brother, Oswy, the king, has told me of your purpose.’ She spoke fluent and idiomatic Irish, that being the only language she had known during her childhood on Iona. She turned to Eadulf. ‘You, I believe, were trained in Ireland?’
Eadulf smiled briefly and nodded.
‘You may speak in Irish for I understand.’
‘Good,’ the abbess sighed. She gazed at Fidelma, again with a look of approval. ‘You are attractive, child. There is always a place in Coldingham for such as yourself.’
Fidelma felt herself colouring.
Abbe tilted her head to one side and chuckled.
‘You disapprove?’
‘I take no offence,’ replied Fidelma.
‘Neither should you, sister. Do not believe all you hear of our house. Our rule is
dum vivimus, vivamus –
while we live let us live. We are a house of men and women dedicated to life, which is the gift of God. God has made men and women to love one another. What better form of worship than to enact His
Great Design, living, working and worshipping together. Does not the Gospel of the Blessed John say, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear”?’
Fidelma shifted uneasily.
‘Mother Abbess, it is not my place to call into question how your house is governed and by what rule. I am here to enquire into the death of Étain of Kildare.’
Abbe sighed.
‘Étain! There was a woman. A woman who knew how to live.’
‘Yet she is now dead, Mother Abbess,’ interposed Eadulf.
‘I know.’ The eyes were kept on Fidelma. ‘And I await to know what this has to do with me?’
‘You quarrelled with Étain,’ Fidelma said simply.
The abbess blinked but showed no other sign of the barb going home. She made no reply.
‘Perhaps you will tell us why you argued with the abbess of Kildare?’ prompted Eadulf.
‘If you have learnt that I argued with Étain, you will doubtless have discovered the reason why,’ replied Abbe, her voice stiff and uncompromising. ‘I grew up in the shadow of the walls of the abbey of Colmcille on Iona. I was educated there among the brethren of Christ from Ireland. It was at my instigation, rather than that of my brother Oswald, that this kingdom first entreated Ségéne, the abbot of Iona, to send missionaries to convert our pagan subjects and reveal to them the path of Christ. Even when the first missionary from Iona, another named Colmán, returned to Iona saying our kingdom was beyond Christ’s redemption, I pleaded again with Ségéne and so the saintly Aidán came here and began to preach.
‘I have witnessed the conversion of the land and the gradual
spread of the word of God, first under Aidán and then under Finán and lastly under Colmán. Now all that work stands in jeopardy because of the likes of Wilfrid and others. I adhere to the true church of Columba and will continue to do so whatever prevails here at Streoneshalh.’
‘So what was the reason for the conflict with Etain of Kildare?’ prompted Eadulf, returning to the question.
‘That slimy man Seaxwulf, a man who is no man at all, has probably told you that I realised that Étain was striking a bargain with Wilfrid of Ripon. Bargains! Devices
ad captandum vulgus!’
‘Seaxwulf has told us that he was being used as an intermediary between Étain and Wilfrid and that they were attempting to come to some agreement before the main debate.’
Abbe grunted in disgust.
‘Seaxwulf! That contemptible little thief and gossip!’
‘Thief?’ Eadulf’s voice was sharp. ‘Isn’t that a harsh word to describe a brother?’
Abbe shrugged.
‘A correct word. Two days ago, when we were gathering here, two of our brothers caught Seaxwulf going through the personal belongings of some cenobites in the
dormitorium
. They took him to Wilfrid, who is his abbot as well as his secretary. He admitted the breaking of the eighth commandment and so Wilfrid had him punished. They took him out and beat his back with a birch rod until it was red raw and bloody. Only the fact that he was Wilfrid’s secretary saved him from having his hand severed. Even then, Wilfrid refused to dismiss him as his secretary.’
Fidelma shivered slightly at the cruelty of the Saxon punishments.
Abbess Abbe went on without noticing Fidelma’s look of distaste.
‘There is gossip that Seaxwulf is like a magpie. He is tempted by the desire for bright and exotic objects that are not his own.’
BOOK: Absolution by Murder
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