Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“Because when you stole the crucifix and chalice from the church, you were discovered by Father Ibor. You had to kill him. You stabbed him in the heart and then took the body to the forest where you concocted a suicide by hanging. Then you realized the knife wound could not be hidden and so you left the knife lying by his body. As if anyone, hanging by a cord from a tree, would be able to take out a knife and stab themselves in the heart. How, incidentally, was the poor man able to climb to the branch to hang himself? No one has reported to me any means whereby he could have climbed up. Think of the effort involved. The body was placed there by someone else.”

She gazed at Father Febal who was deep in thought. He shook his head, denying he could offer an explanation.

Fidelma returned her gaze to Brother Finnlug.

“You concocted an elaborate plan to deceive everyone as to what had truly happened.”

There was a tension in the vestry now.

“You are insane,” muttered Brother Finnlug.

Fidelma smiled gently.

“You were huntsman to the Lord of Maine. We have already discussed what a generous man he was to those in his service. None went in want, not even when the harvest was bad. When I asked you what reason you had to leave such a gainful employer, you said it was because of your spiritual convictions. Do you maintain that? That you rejected the temporal life for the spiritual life?”

Father Febal was gazing at Brother Finnlug in bemusement. The monk was silent.

“You also revealed to me, unwittingly, perhaps, your resentment at the structure of this community. If it was a spiritual life you wanted, this was surely not it, was it?”

Father Febal intervened softly.

“The truth was that Finnlug was dismissed by the Lord of Maine for stealing and we took him in here.”

“What does that prove?” demanded Finnlug.

“I am not trying to prove anything. I will tell you what you did. You had initially hoped to get away with the robbery. The motive was simple, as you told me; the sale of those precious artifacts would make you rich for life. That would appease your resentment that others had power and riches but you did not. As I have said, Ibor discovered you and you stabbed him and took his body to the forest. When you returned, you realized that you had his blood on your clothing.

“The theft was now discovered and Father Febal sought your help. The blood was not noticed. Maybe you put on a cloak to disguise it. You, naturally, led him to Father Ibor’s body. Everything was going as you planned. Father Ibor had been blamed for the theft. Now Father Febal was led to believe that Ibor must have killed himself in a fit of remorse. Even the fact that Ibor had been stabbed was explained. The fact there was little blood on the ground did not cause any questions. You could pretend that the bloodstains were received in the search for Ibor. Perhaps you, Finnlug, came up with the idea that the missing crucifix and chalice had been taken by some robber.

“The following day Téite, unaware, came to collect the sewing and washing. Adag had gathered the washing as usual, including your habit, the bloodstained one. You had not meant the girl to have it. You hurried to her cottage to make sure she did not suspect. Perhaps you had made your plan even before you went there? You killed her and placed the chalice by her side. After all, the crucifix was such as would still give you wealth and property. It was known that Téite and Ibor had some relationship. Everyone would think the worst. All you had to do was return and bide your time until you could leave the community without arousing suspicion.”

Brother Finnlug’s face was white.

“You can’t prove it,” he whispered without conviction.

“Do I need to? Shall we go to search for the crucifix? Will you tell us where it is … or shall I tell you?” She stood up decisively as if to leave the room.

Brother Finnlug groaned, raising his hands to his head.

“All right, all right. It is true. You know it is still hidden in my cell. It was my chance to escape … to have some wealth, a good life.”

Later, Father Febal walked slowly with Fidelma to the gate of the complex of buildings which formed the community.

“How did you know where Brother Finnlug had hidden the crucifix?” he asked.

Sister Fidelma glanced at the grave-looking priest and suddenly allowed a swift mischievous grin to flit across her features.

“I didn’t,” she confessed.

Father Febal frowned.

“How did you know, then…? Know it was Finnlug and what he had done?” he demanded.

“It was only an instinct. Certainly it was a deduction based on the same facts, such as they were. But had Brother Finnlug demanded that I prove my accusation, I do not think I would have been able to under the strictures of the proceedings of a court of law. Sometimes, in this business of obtaining proof, more depends on what the guilty person thinks you know and believes that you can prove than what you are actually able to prove. Had Brother Finnlug not confessed, I might not have been able to clear up this business at all.”

Father Febal was still staring at her aghast as she raised her hand in farewell and began to stride along the road in the direction of Cashel.