Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘In that I agree,’ replied Oswy. ‘Your investigation will be done in my name. You may question anyone, of whatever station in life, whom you wish to question and my warriors stand ready to act upon your commands. I would only say, before I depart, that urgency is the priority. For every hour that rumour and speculation runs unchecked in this place, then the enemies of peace will have increasing power and civil war looms ever nearer.’

Oswy gazed from one to another, smiled briefly and left the room.

Sister Fidelma found her mind racing. There was so much to take in, not least the death of Etain.

She suddenly became aware that Abbess Hilda, Colman and Eadulf were all watching her.

‘I am sorry?’ She was aware that a question must have been asked of her.

Abbess Hilda sniffed.

‘I asked how you wished to proceed.’

‘It would be best to view the scene of the outrage,’ Brother Eadulf said quickly.

Fidelma found herself clenching her teeth in annoyance at having the question answered for her.

The Saxon was right, of course, but she had no wish to be dictated to. She tried to think of another course of action which she could usefully take, simply to contradict him. She could not.

‘Yes,’ she replied reluctantly. ‘We will go to Abbess Étain’s cubiculum. Has anything been disturbed there since the body was discovered?’

Hilda shook her head.

‘Nothing, so far as I am aware. Shall I accompany you?

‘No need,’ Fidelma said quickly, lest Brother Eadulf decided to answer for her again. ‘We will report as and when we require anything.’

She turned, without looking at Eadulf, and strode from the room.

Behind her, Eadulf bowed to the abbess and to Bishop Colmán and hurried after her.

Colmán pursed his lips as the door closed.

‘It is like putting a wolf and a fox together to hunt a hare,’ he said slowly.

Abbess Hilda smiled thinly at the bishop.

‘It would be interesting to know which you see as the wolf and which as the fox.’

Chapter Seven

Fidelma paused outside the door of the cubiculum hospitale that had been assigned to the Abbess Étain. Fidelma had not spoken a word directly to the Saxon monk since they had left Abbess Hilda’s chamber and walked through the gloomy cloisters and corridors to the guests’ quarters. She now found it hard to gather the fortitude to enter the cell. But while Brother Eadulf had assumed that her lack of communication and hesitation were due to some pique over the fact that she had to work with him in resolving the matter, and was content to let the pique run its course, Fidelma now found herself struggling with the fact that this was the moment that she dreaded.

The moment when she was forced to gaze on the body of her friend Étain in death.

The personal shock of Étain’s murder was something she still had to deal with. Étain had been a good friend. Not a close friend, but a friend nevertheless. Fidelma remembered her meeting with her only the evening before when Étain had confided that she was giving up the abbacy of Kildare to marry, to pursue her personal happiness. Fidelma frowned. Marry whom? How could she contact Étain’s betrothed and tell him this tragic news? Was he an Eoghanacht chieftain or some religieux she had met in Ireland? Well, time to sort that out when she returned to Ireland.

She stood for a moment taking a few deep breaths, trying to prepare herself.

‘If you do not wish to view the body, sister, I can perform this task for you.’ Eadulf spoke in a mollifying tone, obviously mistaking her hesitation for trepidation at viewing a body. They were the first words the Saxon monk had addressed directly to her.

Fidelma found herself torn between two reactions.

The first was one of surprise at the fluency of his Irish and at the fact that this was the language in which he chose to address her, in a rich, baritone voice. The second was one of irritation at his slightly patronising tone, which showed his obvious train of thought.

The irritation was the predominant of the two emotions and it gave her the strength she needed.

‘Étain was abbess of my house of Kildare, Brother Eadulf,’ she said firmly. ‘I knew her well. Only that makes me pause, as it would any civilised person.’

Brother Eadulf bit his lip. The woman was quick-tempered and sensitive, he thought; her green eyes were like twin fires.

‘Then all the more reason to save you this task,’ he said soothingly. ‘I am proficient in the art of the apothecaries, having studied at your famous medical school of Tuaim Brecain.’

But his words did not pacify her and only added to her irritation.

‘And I am a dálaigh of the Brehon courts,’ she said stiffly. ‘I presume I do not have to explain the obligation that is incumbent with that office?’

Before he could answer, she had pushed open the door of the cubiculum.

It was gloomy in the cells, in spite of the fact that it was still light outside. There were two more hours to dark but the grey skies had already produced a twilight which made it impossible to see detail, for the window which lit the cell was small and high in the shadowy stone wall.

‘Find a lamp, brother,’ she instructed.

Eadulf hesitated. He was unused to being ordered by a woman. Then he shrugged and turned to an oil lamp hanging on the wall, ready for use when it grew dark. It took a moment to strike a tinder and adjust the wick.

Eadulf, raising the lamp in one hand, entered the room behind Fidelma.

The body of Abbess Étain had not been moved but was still sprawled on its back, as it had fallen in death, lying across the wooden cot which served as the bed in the chamber. She was fully clothed except for her headdress. Her hair, long and blond like spun gold, fell in tresses around her head. The eyes were wide and staring to the ceiling. The mouth was open, twisted in an ugly grimace. Blood covered the lower half of the face and the neck and shoulders.

Compressing her lips together, Sister Fidelma moved forward and forced herself to stare downwards, avoiding the cold open eyes of death. She genuflected and muttered a prayer for her dead abbess. ‘Sancta Brigita intercedat pro amica mea …’ she whispered. Then she reached forward and closed the eyes, adding the prayer for the dead, ‘Requiem aeternam dona ei Domine …’

When she had finished she turned to her companion, who had waited just inside the door.

‘As we will be working together, brother,’ she said coldly, ‘let us agree on what we see.’

Brother Eadulf moved closer to her side, still holding the lamp high. Fidelma intoned dispassionately: ‘There is a jagged cut, almost a tear, from left ear to centre base of the neck, and another cut from the right ear also to the centre, almost forming a “v” beneath the chin. Do you agree?’

Eadulf slowly nodded.

‘I agree, sister. Two separate cuts, obviously.’

‘I see no other visible injuries.’

‘To inflict such cuts, the attacker would have to hold the abbess’s head back, perhaps holding her by the back of the hair, and stab swiftly into the neck by the ear and perform the same stabbing attack again.’

Sister Fidelma was thoughtful.

‘The knife was not a sharp one. The flesh is torn rather than cut. That implies a person of some strength.’

Brother Eadulf smiled thinly.

‘Then we can rule out any of the sisters as suspects.’

Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow.

‘At the moment, no one is ruled out. Strength, like intelligence, is not solely possessed by man.’

‘Very well. But the abbess must have known her attacker.’

‘How do you deduce that?’