Peter Tremayne - Hemlock at Vespers

“Abbot Heribert is a firm believer in the concept of celibacy,” explained Ballgel.

“Celibacy is by no means universally approved of by the Church,” Fidelma pointed out. “There are many double houses where religious of both sexes live and raise their children to the service of God. What is disgusting about that?”

“Paul of Tarsus spoke firmly in favor of celibacy and many other Church Fathers have done so. There are those of us who argue that only through celibacy do we have the power to spread the Faith.”

“I am not here to discuss theology, Heribert. Are you telling me that Cessair was in love with a religieux from your abbey of Fosse?”

“God forgive him,” Heribert lowered his head piously.

“Only him?” Was there sarcasm in Fidelma’s voice. “Surely forgiveness is universal? Who was this monk?”

“Brother Cano,” replied Ballgel. “He was a young monk who arrived from Éireann only a few weeks ago. It seems that he and Sister Cessair met and were immediately attracted by one another.”

“And this relationship was disapproved of?”

“It did not matter to me,” Ballgel said hastily. “Our culture does not forbid such relationships as you have pointed out. Even Kil-dare, where we studied, was a mixed house.”

“But it mattered to Abbot Heribert.” Fidelma swung round on the tall Frankish prelate.

“Of course it mattered. My Abbey of Fosse is for men of the Faith only. I follow the strict rule of celibacy and expect all members of my community to do the same. I warned Brother Cano several times to cease this disgusting alliance. Abbess Ballgel knew my views. It does not surprise me that this woman of loose morals has paid a bitter price.”

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“That is also an interesting statement. Are you given to much passion over this matter, Father Abbot?”

Heribert frowned suspiciously at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I merely make an observation. Does it worry you that I comment on the passionate tones by which you denounce this poor Sister?”

“I believe in the teachings of Paul of Tarsus.”

“Yet it is not the rule of the Church. Nor, indeed, does the Holy Father denounce those who reject celibacy. It is not even a rule of our Faith.”

“Not yet. But the ranks of those of us who believe in the segregation of men and woman and the rule of celibacy are increasing. One day the Holy Father will have to pay us heed. Already he has suggested that celibacy is the best way forward …”

“Until that happens, it is not a rule. Very well, I understand your position now. But we have a murder to be solved. Where is this Brother Cano?”

Abbot Heribert shrugged.

“I understand from Brother Sinsear that Brother Cano left the abbey this morning and was last seen heading along this road. Perhaps he meant to meet Sister Cessair?”

Abbess Ballgel groaned softly. “If Cano was coming to meet Sister Cessair… if he could do this to her… we must find Sister Delia!”

Fidelma gave her a reassuring smile. “No one has said that Cano did this as yet,” she observed quietly. “However, it seems that, as well as the missing Sister, we also have a missing Brother to account for. Perhaps we will find one with the other. Where is this Brother Sinsear?”

A religieux who was standing nearby coughed nervously and took a hesitant step toward her. He was a pale-faced young man, hardly more than an adolescent youth. His features were taut and he appeared in the grip of strong emotions.

“I am Sinsear.”

Fidelma regarded his flushed, anxious face.

“You appear agitated, Brother.”

“I work with Brother Cano in the gardens of our abbey, Sister. I am his friend. I knew that he had a…” he glanced nervously at his abbot, “… a passion for Sister Cessair.”

“A passion? You do not have to bandy words, Brother. Was he in love with her?”

“I only knew that they met at regular times in the forest here because of Father Abbot’s disapproval of their relationship.”

Abbot Heribert’s brows drew together in anger but Fidelma held up a hand to silence him.

“Go on, Brother Sinsear. What are you saying?”

“They had a special meeting spot in a glade not a far distance from here. A woodsman’s hut. It occurs to me, in the circumstances, that the hut might be examined.”

“You should have spoken up sooner, Brother,” snapped Abbot Heribert. “Cano may have fled by now. I see no point in seeking him in that hut.”

“You are presuming that he is guilty of this deed, Heribert,” Fidelma rebuked him. “Yet I think we should investigate this hut. Do you know the way to it, Brother Sinsear?”

“I think so. There is a small path leading off this track about fifty meters in that direction.” He pointed toward Fosse, and on the far side of the track to the oak tree where Cessair had been found.

“How far into the forest?”

“No more than three hundred meters.”

“Then lead the way. Father Abbot, you may send the rest of Brothers of your community to escort the Sisters and the body of Cessair back to the abbey of Nivelles.”

Heribert made to object and then did her bidding.

Brother Sinsear turned pale eyes on Fidelma.

“Could Cano really have done such a terrible deed? Oh God, to maltreat such grace and beauty! Why did she not give her love to one who would appreciate such exquisite-”

Abbot Heribert interrupted him.

“Let us get a move on, Brother Sinsear. I expect it will be a waste of time. If Cano killed her then he will not be hiding in a forest hut but will have left the area by now.”

“You are also forgetting the missing Sister Delia,” Fidelma pointed out. “And it is wrong to assume Cano’s guilt.”

“Yes, yes,” Heribert snapped. “Have it your own way.”

With the young Brother Sinsear leading the way, clutching at a newly cut hawthorn stick, they trod a well-worn little path through the great forest.

Eventually they came on a little glade, a pleasant spot through which a small stream meandered. By it stood a woodsman’s crude hut. The door was shut and there was no sign of life.

Fidelma raised her hand and brought them to a halt on the edge of the glade. As they neared the door of the hut, Fidelma’s keen eyes surveyed it quickly. The first things she noticed were bloodstains on the doorjamb and several palm prints on the door as if someone had, with bloodied hands, pushed it open with their palm or palms. Blood was on a piece of wood near the door.

They heard a sobbing sound from within.

“Brother Cano!” Sinsear suddenly called. “The Abbot and I are here.”

There was a silence. The sobbing suddenly halted.

“Sinsear?” came a hesitant male voice. “Thank God! I need help.”

There was another sound now. A feminine cry which sounded as if it were stifled almost immediately.

Fidelma glanced at her companions.

“Stay back. I shall go in first.” She turned and raised her voice. “Brother Cano? I am Fidelma of Kildare. I have come to help you. I am coming in.”

There was no response.

Slowly Fidelma leant forward, placing her hand near the bloodied imprint and pushed against the door. It swung open easily.

At the far end of the woodsman’s hut she saw a young man clad in religious robes, kneeling on the floor. His hair was disheveled, his eyes red and cheeks stained as if from weeping. He held a piece of bloodstained cloth in his hands. Before him lay the prone figure of a girl. Her eyes were open and she appeared conscious but her clothes were covered in blood.

Fidelma heard a sound behind her and swung round. She saw Abbot Heribert and the others trying to squeeze behind her and swiftly waved them back.