Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“And you can confirm this, Raedwald?”

Eadred flushed. “You doubt my word?” His voice was brittle.

“This investigation will be conducted under our law, Eadred,” retorted Fidelma in annoyance.

Raedwald looked awkward.

“I can confirm what Eadred says, lady,” he replied. “The thane of Andredswald speaks the truth. As soon as we heard the bars slide shut we both knew that the prince, Wulfstan, had secured himself in for the night and so we both departed for our sleeping chambers.”

Sister Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

“You can also confirm, Eadred, that Wulfstan was afraid of being attacked? Why was that?”

Eadred sniffed. “There are too many mad welisc in this place and one in particular had made several threats against him… that barbarian Talorgen!”

“ Welisc? Who are they?” frowned Fidelma, puzzled.

Laisran gave a tired smile.

“The Saxons call all Britons welisc. It is a name which signifies that they are foreigners.”

“I see. So you left Wulfstan safely secured in his room? You did not seem to be as afraid of the Britons as your cousin. Why was that?”

Eadred laughed bitterly.

“I would not be thane of Andredswald if I could not defend myself against a pack of welisc cowards. No, I fear no barbarian’s whelp nor his sire, either.”

“And the rest of your Saxon entourage? Did they fear the Britons?”

“Whether they feared or not, it is of no significance. I command them and they will do as I tell them.”

Sister Fidelma exhaled in exasperation. It would be difficult to live in a Saxon country if one was not a king or a thane, she thought.

“When did you realize that Wulfstan was missing?” she prompted.

“At prayers following the first bell“

“He means the Angelus,” explained Laisran.

“He did not come to prayers and, thinking he had slept late, I went to classes.”

“What classes were these?”

“That weasel-faced Finan’s class on the conduct of law between kingdoms.”

“Go on.”

“During the midmorning break, having realized that Wulfstan was missing, I went to his room. The door was shut, signifying he was still inside. I banged upon the door. There was no response. I then went to look for Brother Ultan, the house-churl…”

“The steward of our community,” corrected Laisran softly.

“We went to Wulfstan’s chamber and Ultan had to call upon two other brothers to help us break in the door. Wulfstan had been feloniously slain. One doesn’t have to search far for the culprit.”

“And who might that be?” invited Sister Fidelma.

“Why, it is obvious. The welisc-man, Talorgan, who calls himself a prince of Rheged. He had threatened Wulfstan’s life. And it is well known the welisc practice sorcery…”

“What do you mean?” Fidelma asked sharply.

“Why, the fact that Wulfstan had been slaughtered in his bed-chamber while the window was barred and the door shut and secured from the inside. Who else but a welisc would be able to shape-change and perpetrate such a monstrous deed?”

Sister Fidelma hid her cynical smile.

“Eadred, I think you have much to learn, for you seem to be wallowing in the superstition of your old religion.”

Eadred sprang up, his hand going to his belt where a knife might be worn.

“I am thane of Andredswald! I consented to be questioned by a mere woman because it is the custom of this land. However, I will not be insulted by one.”

“I am sorry that you think, that I insult you,” Sister Fidelma replied, with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You may go.”

Eadred’s face was working in a rage but Laisran moved forward and opened the door.

The young Saxon prince turned and stormed out. Raedwald hesitated a moment, made a gesture almost of apology, and then followed the prince out of the room.

“Did I not tell you that these Saxons are strange, haughty people, Fidelma?” smiled Laisran almost sadly.

Sister Fidelma shook her head.

“They probably have their good and bad like all people. Raed-wald seems filled more with the courtesy of princes than his cousin Eadred.”

“Well, if Eadred and his followers are to be judged, then we have had their bad. As for Raedwald, although a thane and older than either Wulfstan or Eadred, he seems quiet and was dominated by them both. He is more of a servant than a master. I gather this is because his cousins both stand in closer relationship to their king than he does.” Laisran paused and cast her a curious glance. “Why did you ask them about the Latin motto- cave quid dices?”

“It was a motto found on a piece of linen which wiped the weapon that killed Wulfstan. It could have been dropped by the killer or it could have been Wulfstan’s.”

Laisran shook his head.

“No. Eadred was right. That belligerent motto, Fidelma, ‘beware what you say,’ is the motto of the Frankish prince-Dagobert. I have recently remarked on its pugnacity to the young man.”

Sister Fidelma stretched reflectively. “It seems things do not look good for Dagobert of the Franks. He now stands as the most likely suspect.”

“Not necessarily. Anyone could have taken and dropped the cloth, and there are many here who have come to hate the arrogance of the Saxons. Why, I have even heard the dour Finan declare that he would like to drown the lot of them!”

Fidelma raised her eyebrows.

“Are you telling me that we must suspect Finan, the professor of your law faculty?”

Abbot Laisran suddenly laughed.

“Oh, the idea of Finan being able to shape-change to enter a locked room, commit murder and sneak out without disturbing the locks, is an idea I find amusing but hardly worthy of consideration.”

Sister Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at Laisran.

“Do you believe that this murder could only be carried out by sorcery, then?”

Laisran’s rotund face clouded and he genuflected quickly.

“God between me and all evil, Fidelma, but is there any other explanation? We come from a culture which accepted shape-changing as a normal occurrence. Move among our people and they will tell you that Druids still exist and have such capabilities. Wasn’t Diarmuid’s foster brother changed into a boar, and wasn’t Caer, the beloved of Aengus Og, condemned to change her form every alternate year?”

“These are ancient legends, Laisran,” admonished Sister Fidelma. “We live in reality, in the here and now. And it is among the people of this community that we will find the person who slew Wulfstan. Before I question Dagobert, however, I would like to see Wulfstan’s chamber once more.”

Abbot Laisran pulled at his lower lip. His usually jovial face was creased in a frown of perplexity.

“I do not understand, Sister Fidelma. Everyone in our community here at Durrow had cause to kill Wulfstan and everyone is suspect. Is that what you are saying? At the same time that everyone is suspect, no one could have done the deed, for its implementation was beyond the hand of any human agency.”

“Now that I did not say,” Sister Fidelma admonished the Abbot firmly, as she led the way along the corridor to halt at the open door of what had been Wulfstan’s chamber.

The body of Wulfstan had been removed to the chapel of St. Benignus, where preparations were being made to transport its sarcophagus to the coast, from where Eadred and his entourage would accompany it, by sea, to the land of the South Saxons which lay on the southern shore of Britain.

Sister Fidelma stared once again at the grey stone-flagged floor. She walked over the slabs, pressing each with her foot. Then she stared upward toward the ceiling, which rose about eleven feet above the chamber floor. Her eyes eventually turned back to the bars on the window.