Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“Give me a hand,” she suddenly demanded.

Abbot Laisran stared at her in surprise as she began pushing the wooden table toward the window.

Hastily, he joined her in the effort, grinning sheepishly.

“If the young novitiates of my order could see their abbot heaving furniture about…” he began.

“They would realize that their abbot was merely human,” replied Fidelma, smiling.

They pushed the table under the barred window and, to Abbot Laisran’s astonishment, Sister Fidelma suddenly scrambled on top of the table. It rose three feet above the ground and by standing on it, Sister Fidelma, being tall, could reach easily to the bars of the solitary window whose bottom level was eight feet above the floor. She reached up with both her hands and tested each inch-thick iron bar carefully.

The lowering of her shoulders showed her disappointment.

Slowly she clambered down, helped by the arm of Laisran.

Her lips were compressed. “I thought the bars might have been loose.”

“It was a good idea,” smiled Laisran, encouragingly.

“Come, show me the floor above this,” Sister Fidelma said abruptly.

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, Lais-ran.”

“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?”

Fldelma 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 Dur-row. 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 blood-stained 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.