Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

Sister Gwid grimaced negatively.

‘She said she will call me if I am needed today,’ she replied.

Fidelma turned her attention back to the head of the sacrarium. A dais had been raised at one end on which a regal chair had been set. It stood empty and obviously awaited the arrival of King Oswy himself. There were several smaller chairs clustered around, slightly behind it, and these were already filled with an assortment of men and women. Their clothing and jewellery bespoke riches and position.

Fidelma suddenly realised that Brother Taran, for all his failings, might prove useful to her by pointing out who people were. After all, it was his second mission to Northumbria and he was surely well informed:

‘Easy enough,’ replied the Pict when she indicated the people seated around the regal chair. ‘They are all members of Oswy’s immediate family. That is the queen just taking her seat now.’

Fidelma looked at the stern-faced woman who was seating herself next to the throne. This was Eanflaed. Taran was nothing loath to give details. Eanflaed’s father had been a previous king of Northumbria but her mother had been a Kentish princess and she had been taken to Kent to be brought up to follow Roman ways. Never far away was her private chaplain, a priest named Romanus from Kent, who kept strictly to the dictates of Rome. He was a short, dark man, with black curly hair and features that Fidelma would have described as mean. The eyes were somehow too close together and his lips too thin. In fact, so Taran said, in a knowing tone, rumour had it that it was pressure from Eanflaed, backed by Romanus, which had forced Oswy to initiate the debate at all.

Eanflaed was Oswy’s third wife and he had married her just after he had succeeded to the throne some twenty years before. His first wife had been a Briton, Rhiainfellt, a princess of Rheged, whose people followed the ways and rituals of the church of Iona. But Rhiainfellt had died. His second marriage had been to Fin, daughter of Colmán Rimid, the northern Ui Néill High King of Ireland.

At that information, Sister Fidelma expressed surprise, for she had not known of Oswy’s relationship to the High King.

‘What happened to that wife? Another death?’ she asked.

It was Sister Gwid who had the answer.

‘A divorce,’ she said, as if approvingly. ‘Fín realised how much she hated Northumbria and Oswy. She had a son by Oswy, named Aldfrith, but took the child back to Ireland with her. Her son has been educated at the foundation of the blessed Comgall, the friend of Colmcille, at Bangor. He is now quite a renowned poet in the Irish tongue under the name Flann Fína. Aldfrith has renounced all rights to be considered for the kingship of Northumbria.’

Sister Fidelma shook her head.

‘The Saxons have a law called primogeniture, that the first born inherits. Was this Aldfrith, then, the first born?’

Sister Gwid shrugged indifferently, but Taran pointed to the dais.

‘See the young man seated directly behind Eanflaed, the one with the blond hair and the scar on his face?’

Fidelma glanced in the direction Taran indicated. She wondered why she felt an instant dislike of the young man whom he had pointed out.

‘Well, that is Alhfrith, Oswy’s son by Rhiainfellt, his first wife, who is now the petty king of the southern province of Deira. We spoke of him yesterday. The talk is that he is pro-Roman and in rebellion against his father’s adherence to Iona. He has already expelled the monks faithful to the rule of Colmcille from the monastery of Ripon and given it to his friend, Wilfrid.’

‘And Wulfric of Frihop is his right hand,’ muttered Fidelma. The young man looked surly and aggressive. Perhaps that was cause enough to dislike the arrogant manner in which he sprawled in his chair.

The grim-faced woman next to Alhfrith was apparently his wife Cyneburh, the still-embittered daughter of the slain Penda of Mercia, who had been killed in battle by Oswy. Next to her, of an equally sour disposition, sat Alhflaed, the sister of Alhfrith, who had married Peada, the son of Penda of Mercia. Here Taran grew quite animated in his explanations. Alhfrith, according to him, had been responsible for the murder of Peada a year after Peada had agreed to become petty king of Mercia giving his allegiance to Oswy. Rumour had it that Alhfrith also had his ambitious eye on the kingship of Mercia.

Next to Oswy’s current wife, Eanflaed, sat their first-born son, Ecgfrith. At eighteen years of age he was a sullen, brooding young man. His dark eyes were restless and he kept shifting in his seat. Taran said that it was his ambition to fill the throne of Oswy before he was much older and he was filled with envy for his elder half-brother Alhfrith, who was heir to the throne under law. The only other child of Oswy in attendance was Aelflaed. She had been born in the year when Oswy had achieved his great victory over Penda and, as a thank-offering, had been dedicated to God and entrusted to the Abbess Hilda to bring up at Streoneshalh as a virgin devoted to Christ.

Brother Taran informed Fidelma that Oswy had two more children – a daughter, Osthryth, now five years old, and a son, Aelfwine, aged three. These were too young to attend in the sacrarium.

Finally Sister Fidelma interrupted the enthusiastic brother’s monologue on the personalities.

‘All this knowledge is too much for me to take in at one sitting. I shall get to know who is who as the debate continues. But there are so many people.’

Brother Taran nodded complacently.

‘It is an important debate, sister. Not only is the royal house of Northumbria represented but, see, there is Domangart of Dál Riada together with Drust, the king of Picts, and there are princes and representatives of Cenwealh of Wessex, Eorcenberht of Kent, Wulfhere of Mercia and—’

‘Enough!’ protested Fidelma. ‘I will never master all these outlandish Saxon names. I will call on you when I need your knowledge.’

As Fidelma sat studying the sea of faces the doors of the hall opened and a man entered carrying a banner. This, Taran promptly informed her, was the thuff, the standard that always preceded the king to announce his presence. Then came a tall handsome man, well muscled, with flaxen hair and long moustaches, dressed in rich and elaborate clothing with a circle of gold on his head.

So Fidelma, for the first time, caught sight of the king of Northumbria, Oswy. Oswy had become king when his brother Oswald had been slain by Penda and his British allies at Maserfeld and, within a few years, had taken his revenge on Penda, slaughtering him and his followers. And now Oswy was acclaimed Bretwalda, a title, Taran told her, that proclaimed him overlord of all the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons.

Fidelma examined the tall man intently. She knew his previous history well. Oswy and his brothers had been driven from Northumbria when they were children, and their father, the king, had been slain by Edwin, who had usurped the throne. The exiled royal children had been brought up in the kingdom of Dál Riada, converting from paganism to Christianity in the Holy Island of Iona. When Oswy’s elder brother, Oswald, regained the throne and brought them out of exile, he had sent to Iona and asked for missionaries to teach his people, bringing them forth from paganism and teaching them how to form letters and read and write. It seemed, to Fidelma, that Oswy would naturally side with the church of Iona.

But, she recalled, in this debate, while Oswy was chief judge, he would probably be under pressure from his heirs and the royal representatives of all the lesser kings who would sit as a jury during the debates.

Behind Oswy, in the procession which made its way from the main doors around the hall to the seats on the dais, first came Colmán , as Oswy’s bishop as well as chief abbot; next came Hilda and another woman whose features seemed similar to Oswy’s.