Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

Absolution by Murder (21 page)

BOOK: Absolution by Murder

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‘I apologise,’ he said slowly. ‘I thought my eyes were trained against such subterfuge.’

‘No matter.’ Fidelma almost felt sorry at his woebegone
expression. ‘The main thing is that the truth be seen.’

‘What do the fibres tell us?’ Eadulf went on hurriedly.

‘Unfortunately little enough. They are of a common enough weave. They could come from anyone’s clothing. But perhaps we may see someone with a tear in their clothing or dust on them which might help us identify them.’

Eadulf rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘The question is, why would the murderer want to kill Athelnoth?’

‘I can only assume that Athelnoth knew something that would incriminate the real killer, or that the murderer thought that he knew something. He was killed to prevent him from telling that something to us.’ She hesitated and then said firmly, ‘We’d best go and inform the Mother Abbess that we are far from finished with this matter yet.’

Abbess Hilda greeted them with an uncharacteristic smile of satisfaction.

‘Oswy the king will be pleased at your work,’ she began as she indicated seats before the smouldering turf fire.

Sister Fidelma cast a meaningful glance at Eadulf.

‘Our work?’

‘Of course,’ went on Hilda with satisfaction. ‘The mystery is solved. The wretched Athelnoth slew Abbess Étain and then in remorse killed himself. And the motive was one of carnal ambition. Nothing to do with the politics of the church. Brother Eadulf explained it to me.’

Eadulf reddened in embarrassment.

‘When I told you that, Mother Abbess, there were factors that I had overlooked.’

Fidelma decided not to help the Saxon monk out of the
predicament that he himself had created.

Hilda’s brow lowered in annoyance.

‘Are you trying to tell me that you made a mistake when you told me that the matter was closed?’

Eadulf nodded unhappily.

Hilda’s jaws snapped so that Fidelma winced as she heard the teeth grind.

‘Are you making a mistake now?’ she demanded.

Eadulf was looking desperately at Fidelma. She took pity on him.

‘Mother Abbess, Brother Eadulf was not in full possession of the facts. Athelnoth’s death was yet another murder. The murderer remains at large in the abbey.’

Abbess Hilda closed her eyes and was unable to suppress a soft moan escaping her compressed lips.

‘What am I to tell Oswy? The debate enters its third day and there is now bad blood between the factions. There have been no less than three brawls between brothers of Columba and those of Rome. Outside the abbey there are rumours rushing like forest fires, hither and thither. We could all be consumed in them. Do you not realise just how important this debate is?’

‘That I do, Mother Abbess,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘But it is no good inventing a conclusion that is at odds with the truth.’

‘Heaven give me patience!’ snapped the Abbess Hilda. ‘I am talking of civil war ripping this country apart.’ Her face was drawn.

‘I am well aware of the situation,’ Fidelma assured her, feeling sorry for the burden that must be on her shoulders. ‘But truth must take precedence over such considerations.’

‘And what shall I tell Oswy?’ Hilda’s voice was almost pleading.

‘Tell him that the investigation continues,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And as soon as there is word then you and Oswy shall have it.’

Chapter Fifteen

The bell announcing the serving of the
jentaculum
was sounding as Fidelma and Eadulf walked away from the chamber of the abbess. Fidelma realised that she was dry-mouthed and hungry. She turned towards the refectory but Eadulf stayed her with a hand on her arm.

‘I have no wish to eat,’ he said. ‘I want to examine the body of Athelnoth more closely.’

‘The physician, Brother Edgar, can take care of that matter.’

Eadulf firmly shook his head.

‘There is something I have in mind. But do not let me prevent you from eating.’

‘That you will not,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘I will meet you in Athelnoth’s
cubiculum
later. We can talk over the facts as we know them.’

She turned and followed the line of brethren hurrying into the refectory. She took her place, absently nodding a greeting to one or two of the sisters with whom she sat.

A sister was intoning the
Beati immaculati
prior to the daily reading.

Jugs of cool milk, jars of honey and
paximatium,
the twice-baked bread, were being distributed to each table.

There was hardly a sound except the monotonous voice of the reciter intoning from the Gospels.

Fidelma had almost finished her food when she became
aware of a monk with corn-coloured hair making his way through the tables towards the door of the refectory. It was Seaxwulf. Fidelma was about to ignore him when she noticed a strange look in the young man’s eyes as they fell on her. It was as if he wanted to speak but did not want her to acknowledge him.

As Seaxwulf reached the place where Fidelma sat, he halted and stared down at his sandal. Then he bent down and began to adjust his strap as if it had become loosened.

‘Sister!’

He spoke in a sibilant whisper and, to her surprise, in Greek.

‘Sister, I hope you understand this language. I know you have little Saxon and I have even less Irish. I wish no one to overhear us.’

She was about to turn to say she understood when Seaxwulf’s voice became a hiss.

‘Don’t look at me! I think I am watched. I have news of Étain’s death. Meet me in the
apotheca
by the casks where the wine is stored within fifteen minutes.’

Seaxwulf rose, as if he had re-tied his sandal strap, and resumed his path out of the refectory.

Fidelma continued finishing her meal, forcing herself to eat leisurely.

Finally she bent her head over her empty bowl, rose, genuflected and made her way out of the hall.

She strolled out of the gate of the abbey and through the grounds. She kept her head down, but her eyes were darting hither and thither as she sought any who might be watching or following her. Only after she had circumvented the buildings and was assured that no one was observing her did she hurry her pace, slipping back into the abbey building and moving to
the entrance to the
hypogeum,
the vaults that ran beneath the abbey building.

She paused at the top of the flight of circular stone steps that led down into the dark catacombs below. There was a wooden shelf just within the door on which several candles had been placed together with an oil lamp from which they could be lit. She took one and lit it, and began to descend into the darkness. It was the route by which Sister Athelswith had conducted her with Brother Eadulf. Fidelma realised that there was probably an easier route to the
apotheca
but she did not wish to ask anyone the way to her rendezvous with Seaxwulf.

The vaults beneath the abbey had been tunnelled in the first place to accommodate the members of the house who died. The great chambers were lined in sandstone blocks and built with arches to support the floors above. They formed a labyrinth in which many things were stored. Fidelma tried to remember the way to the
apotheca
where the series of great wooden casks containing wines imported from Frankia, Rome and Iberia were stored.

Fidelma paused at the foot of the stairway and looked about her.

It was cold and dank in the vaults. She shivered, half wishing that she had waited to tell Eadulf where she was going.

She moved quietly down the central way, passing a line of stone shelves on which were several wooden coffins containing the bodies of the brethren of Streoneshalh who had died over the years. The musty smell of death hung over the place. Fidelma bit her lip. She passed by the small chamber in which the body of Abbess Étain lay. That of Deusdedit, the archbishop, she knew, had been carried out of the abbey for cremation, as was the custom with all victims of the Yellow Plague.

She was sure that the kitchen servants did not have to come this way every time they wanted to fill the wine flagons. There would obviously be a shorter way from the kitchens to the wine store.

She frowned, trying to remember the way by which the elderly
domina,
Sister Athelswith, had conducted her.

She decided to go straight on.

It was oddly draughty in the vaults. A cold breath caused her candle to flicker every now and again, which indicated that there were entrances that allowed a breeze to enter the catacombs. The only way that could possibly be was if the entrances led directly to the outside of the abbey buildings.

She had gone some way before the scent of wine, mixed with the bitter-sweet stench of stale cooking from the great abbey kitchens above, told her that she was nearing the section of the
hypogeum
reserved for the storage of wine. She halted and peered around. The light of her candle was limited and she could see nothing beyond its immediate ring of light.

‘Seaxwulf!’ she called softly. ‘Are you down here?’

The echoes came back like the rumble of thunder.

She held up her candle, causing grotesque shadows to dance madly in all directions.

‘Seaxwulf!’

She moved around the barrels, peering here and there in case he was sheltering.

Then she halted, head to one side.

There came to her ears a hollow thumping sound. Frowning, she tried to identify the noise. It was like someone knocking gently on wood.

‘Is that you, Seaxwulf?’ she called softly.

There was no answer, yet the knocking continued.

Puzzled, she edged around the great wooden barrels. But there was no sign of Wighard’s effeminate secretary.

Then she located the sound. It was coming from the inside of one of the barrels. She stopped, perplexed.

‘Seaxwulf? Are you in there?’

It seemed an odd place for the monk to be hiding.

The knocking was distinct now. She reached out a hand and felt the vibration on the wood of the great cask. Thud. Thud. Thud. There was no other answer. She turned and saw a small wooden stool. She manoeuvred it against the side of the wooden cask, which was six feet in height. The stool gave her the extra height so that she could peer over the rim of the cask.

Holding her candle high in one hand, she carefully climbed on to the stool and peered down into the cask.

Seaxwulf lay face down in the vat, floating on the red surface of the wine. There was a ripple in the liquid which was causing the body to move in a regular rhythm, the head knocking against the side of the wooden cask and sending out a hollow thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Startled, Fidelma took a step backwards, missed her footing and toppled from the stool. The candle went flying out of her hand. She flailed out wildly, trying to catch something to prevent the inevitable fall. Then she went backwards. She knew that she had hit the ground by the sudden cascade of lights that exploded before her eyes a split second before everything went dark.

At the end of a long, dark tunnel, Fidelma could hear someone moaning softly. She blinked and tried to focus. The tunnel receded and it became more light. She realised that the moaning was coming from her.

Brother Eadulf’s face swam into her vision. He looked drawn and anxious.

‘Fidelma? Are you all right?’

She blinked again and everything came into sharper focus. She realised that she was lying on the cot in her own
cubiculum.
Behind Eadulf’s shoulder the anxious grey face of the elderly
domina
was peering at her with concern.

‘I think so,’ she said ruefully, feeling a thickness in her mouth. ‘I would like some water.’

Sister Athelswith reached forward and pressed a pottery mug into her hand.

The water was cold and refreshing.

‘I fell,’ Fidelma said as she handed it back, realising at once, it seemed a silly thing to say.

Eadulf grinned in relief.

‘You did. You seemed to have toppled off a stool in the
apotheca.
What on earth were you up to down there?’

Remembrance came back at once. Fidelma struggled to sit up. She had been placed fully clothed on her own cot. The back of her head was sore.

‘Seaxwulf!’

Eadulf frowned uncertainly.

‘What has he to do with it?’ he demanded. ‘Did he attack you?’

Fidelma stared at Eadulf with incomprehension for a moment or two.

‘Didn’t you see?’

Eadulf shook his head, frowning.

‘Perhaps the good sister is distraught,’ muttered Sister Athelswith.

Fidelma reached forward and grabbed the young monk’s hand.

‘Seaxwulf has been killed. Did you not see him?’ she demanded urgently.

Eadulf again shook his head, staring at her. Sister Athelswith gave a gasp and placed a hand over her mouth.

Fidelma struggled to get off the cot, but Eadulf held her back.

‘Careful, you might well have injured yourself.’

‘I am all right,’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘How did you find me?’

It was Sister Athelswith who answered.

‘One of the kitchen staff heard a cry from the vaults beneath the kitchen and went down. She found you lying on your back beside a wine cask. She sent for me and I sent for Brother Eadulf who carried you back into your room.’

Fidelma turned back to Eadulf.

‘Did you look into the cask? The one I fell from?’

‘No. I don’t understand.’

‘Then go and do so. Someone has killed Seaxwulf. He was dumped in the cask.’

Without another word, Eadulf rose and left. Fidelma irritably waved the fussing Sister Athelswith away. She rose and went to the table on which a bowl and jug of water stood. She splashed it on her face. Her head was throbbing.

‘You need not wait, sister,’ she said, on finding that Sister Athelswith still stood silently by the door. ‘No word of this must be mentioned until we say so. I will give you further news later.’

With a sniff of hurt pride, Sister Athelswith departed.

Fidelma stood a moment, feeling everything swimming out of focus. She sat down again abruptly and began to massage her temples with her fingertips.

Eadulf returned a moment later. He was breathless from hurrying.

‘Well?’ asked Fidelma before he could speak. ‘Did you see the body?’

‘No.’ Eadulf shook his head. ‘There was no body in the cask.’

Fidelma jerked her head up and stared at the monk.

‘What?’

‘I looked in all the casks. There was no body in any of them.’

Fidelma came to her feet, her mouth tight and her dizziness gone.

‘I saw it there. I think Seaxwulf had been drowned in the wine. I saw it!’

Eadulf smiled reassuringly.

‘I believe you, sister. And since we brought you here someone must have removed it.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘Yes. That must be it.’

‘You had best tell me exactly what happened.’

Fidelma sat back on the bed, rubbing her pulsating forehead with her hands as the ache came back.

‘I told you to take things easy,’ reproved Eadulf. ‘Does your head ache?’

‘Yes,’ she groaned irritably. ‘What do you think, after receiving a crack like that?’

He smiled sympathetically.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll go and have the kitchen prepare a drink that will help you.’

‘A drink? Another of the poisons you claim to have learnt in Tuaim Brecain?’ she moaned.

‘A herbal remedy,’ Eadulf assured her with a grin. ‘A mixture of sage and red clover. Drink it and it will ease the ache in your head. Though I doubt your condition is so serious if you can
protest as you do.’ He disappeared but was back almost before she realised it.

‘The remedy will be along shortly. Now tell me what happened,’ he invited.

She told him, simply and without embroidering the story.

BOOK: Absolution by Murder

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