Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘Not I! Go to the windows and gaze at the sun! The hand of God is blotting it from the sky … the sky grows dark. Domine dirige nos ! Surely this is a portent of evil on this assembly?’

The words were translated hurriedly to Sister Fidelma by Taran, for she could not understand the rapid tongue of the Saxon.

There was a stirring in the sacrarium and many of those gathered hurried towards the windows and stared out.

It was the austere Agilbert who turned to those who had still kept their places.

‘It is even as Brother Agatho has said. The sun is blotted from the sky. It is a harbinger of evil on these proceedings.’

Chapter Five

Sister Fidelma turned with a look of incredulity to Brother Taran.

‘Are these Saxons so superstitious? Do they know nothing of astronomy?’

‘Very little,’ Taran replied smugly. ‘Our people have given them some knowledge but they are slow to learn.’

‘But someone should inform them that this is no supernatural phenomenon.’

‘They would not thank you for it.’ Sister Gwid sniffed disapprovingly from her other side.

‘But many of our brethren here are well versed in the science of astronomy and know of eclipses and other phenomena of the sky,’ Fidelma pointed out.

Brother Taran motioned her to silence, for Wilfrid, the pugnacious-sounding chief spokesman of the pro-Roman faction, was on his feet.

‘Surely, this blotting out of the sun is, indeed, an ill omen, my brethren. But what does it convey? It conveys this simple message – unless the churchmen and women of this country turn from the misconceptions of Columba to the one true universal church of Rome, then Christianity will be blotted from the land as God has blotted the sun from the sky. It is a portent, indeed.’

There was uproar as the pro-Roman faction applauded their agreement while the representatives of the church of Columba shouted their defiance at what they considered an outrageous statement.

A man in his thirties with the tonsure of Columba leapt to his feet, his face working in anger.

‘How does Wilfrid of Ripon know this thing? Has God spoken to him directly to explain this phenomenon in our skies? Surely, it can equally be argued that the portent means that Rome should come into line with Columba? Unless those who support Rome’s revisions of the true faith turn back to Columba then, indeed, will Christianity be blotted from the land.’

Howls of outrage echoed along the benches of the pro-Roman faction.

‘That was Cuthbert of Melrose,’ Taran said with a grin. He was clearly enjoying the argument. ‘It was Wilfrid who, at Alhfrith’s behest, threw him out of Ripon because he followed the custom of Columba.’

Oswy, the king, rose now. The uproar died away almost immediately.

‘This argument will achieve us nothing. These proceedings will be suspended until—’

An inarticulate cry prevented him completing the sentence.

‘The sun appears again!’ exclaimed a voice from one of the observers at the window.

There was another general movement to the windows as several craned their heads towards the blue afternoon sky.

‘Indeed, it does. The black shape is moving away,’ called another. ‘See, here is the sun’s light.’

The greyness of the twilight was suddenly gone and the light flooded back through the windows of the sacrarium.

Sister Fidelma found herself shaking her head, astounded by the proceedings. She had been educated in a culture whose science had long gazed at the stars and noted their motions.

‘It is hard to believe that these people can be in such ignorance of the movements in the heavens. In our monastic and bardic schools any qualified instructor is able to tell the courses of the sun and moon. Why, every intelligent person should know the day of the solar month, the age of the moon, the time of the flow of the tide, the day of the week – and the times of eclipses are no secret.’

Brother Taran grinned derisively.

‘You forget that your countrymen and the Britons are renowned through many lands for their knowledge of astronomy. But these Saxons are still barbarians.’

‘But surely they have read the treatise of the great Dallán Forgaill, who explained how often the moon stands before the sun, thus blotting out its light from the skies?’

Taran shrugged.

‘Only a few of these Saxons are able to read and write. And they were not even capable of those accomplishments until the blessed Aidán arrived in this land. They could not even write down their own language, far less construe the languages of others.’

The Abbess Hilda was banging a staff on the stone floor for attention. Reluctantly, the members of the assembly were returning to their benches. The muttering of their voices began to die away.

‘Light has returned and so we may continue. Has the Abbess of Kildare joined the proceedings yet?’ Sister Fidelma turned her mind back to the matter in hand and found herself bewildered. The space assigned to the Abbess Étain still remained unfilled.

Wilfrid of Ripon had risen with a smirk.

‘If the chief speaker of the church of Columba is not willing to join us, perhaps we should proceed without her?’

‘There are plenty more who will speak on our behalf!’ shouted back Cuthbert, not bothering to rise this time.

Again the Abbess Hilda banged her staff of office.

Then for the second time the assembly was abruptly interrupted by the great doors swinging open. This time a young sister with white face and staring eyes entered the sacrarium. It was obvious that she had been running – her hair was in disarray, spilling beneath her headdress. She paused, her eyes searching the vast chamber. Then she hurried directly to where the Abbess Hilda stood in bewilderment, just below the king.

Wonderingly, Fidelma watched as the sister moved swiftly to the Abbess Hilda, who bent forward so that the woman might whisper into her ear. Fidelma could not see Hilda’s face, but she saw the abbess rise and move immediately towards the king, bending and repeating whatever message had been brought.

The sacrarium was now silent as the churchmen and delegates sat watching the new drama.

The king rose and left, followed a short while later by Hilda, Abbe, Colman, Deusdedit, Wighard and Jacobus.

There was sudden uproar in the chamber as those gathered turned excitedly to each other to see if any knew the meaning of this curious behaviour. Voices were raised in speculation.

Two Northumbrian religieuses from Coldingham who were seated behind Fidelma were of the opinion that an army of Britons had invaded the kingdom, taking advantage of the king’s preoccupation with the synod. They could remember the invasion of Cadwallon ap Cadfan, king of Gwynedd, which had ravaged the kingdom and caused the slaughter of many during one ill-fated year. But a brother of a house at Gilling, seated in front, interrupted with the opinion that it was more likely that the Mercians were invading, for had not Wulfhere, the son of Penda, sworn to re-establish Mercian independence from Northumbria and already begun to re-assert its dominance south of the Humber? The Mercians were always looking for a chance to avenge themselves on Oswy, who had slain Penda and, for three years, ruled Mercia. And even though Wulfhere had sent a royal representative to the synod it was just the sort of dirty trick the Mercians would play.

Fidelma was intrigued to hear the political speculation but for one not well acquainted with the position of the Saxon kingdoms it sounded very confusing. It was so unlike her native land, where there seemed a clear order under law and where the High King and his court were the final authority in the land. Even though some petty kings might dispute with the High King they at least acknowledged the nominal rule of Tara. The Saxons always seemed to be quarrelling among themselves and using the sword as the only arbiter in law.