Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘By Christ’s wounds, Alhfrith! She is within her rights!’

‘Not so!’ snapped his son in response. ‘She has no right to practise the laws of her own land in our kingdom. No one but I could order the release of the beggar. She shall be punished. Guards!’

As quick as a lightning flash, Oswy’s expression changed from amusement to cold anger.

‘Alhfrith! You forget, I am your suzerain as well as your father. You are merely ruler of this province under me and by my patronage. Therefore I am the arbiter of law here and I shall decide who is to be punished and who not. Sister Fidelma is acting under my commission in this land.’

The foxy-faced Wulfric had entered at Alhfrith’s call for the guard, but Oswy gestured savagely for him to leave. The swarthy thane gave a hurried glance at Alhfrith, as if seeking his permission, but seeing his lord’s red, mortified face he departed swiftly.

Alhfrith’s face was a study of suppressed anger. Only the livid scar on his cheek made a curious white weal across the blood-infused skin.

Eadulf was easing his weight from one foot to another, looking uncomfortable.

‘If there is blame and punishment, sire,’ he said, speaking for the first time since they had entered the chamber, ‘then it is mine. I take responsibility. I agreed with Sister Fidelma’s assessment of the astrologer’s lack of guilt in the matter. I supported her decision to release him to save him from a needless and unjust death by fire.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened in surprise and she gave the Saxon monk a brief glance of gratitude. She had not expected him to state his support in so strong a fashion.

Alhfrith seemed to choke.

‘So you desire punishment?’ Oswy chuckled, turning to the Saxon brother.

‘No, sire. I merely say that I am also responsible for the release of the beggar.’

Oswy shook his head in amusement before turning back to Fidelma. Fidelma stood watching the Northumbrian king calmly. Eadulf shivered slightly – one word of displeasure from Oswy and they would both be dead.

‘It is a lucky thing for you, Fidelma of Kildare, that I am conversant with your ways and customs and able to check the hot-headedness of my son here. But you have nearly overreached yourself. You do not have the authority in my kingdom to release prisoners unless I specifically order it.’

Fidelma lowered her head.

‘Then I am truly sorry, Oswy of Northumbria. It was my error in thinking that when you commissioned me as a dálaigh of the Brehon courts, knowing full well what that entailed, you gave me permission to exercise my role exactly as I would in my own land.’

Oswy frowned. Did he detect a slight mocking tone in the girl’s voice?

‘I think you knew that you acted without authority,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘I do not think that you are as ignorant of the laws of this land as you are making out.’

Fidelma grimaced with apparent diffidence.

‘Do you not?’ she asked with an exaggerated air of wide-eyed innocence.

‘No, by thunder! I do not.’ Oswy paused and then his expression split into a grin. ‘In fact, Sister Fidelma, I think you are a very wise and knowing person.’

‘For that, I thank you, Oswy.’

Alhfrith interrupted angrily.

‘What of the sorcerer? Let me send Wulfric and some warriors out to track him down.’

Oswy silenced him with a gesture without his blue eyes leaving those reflective green eyes of Sister Fidelma.

‘You say that this beggar is innocent?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘His only guilt was the sin of pride. He is an astrologer. He foresaw some events in the stars. But we have questioned those he spoke to before the event. He was not specific and only after the event did he attempt to boast that he had accurately predicted the death of the abbess, thus incurring suspicion.’

Oswy slowly nodded his head.

‘I have seen the Irish astrologers at work. I can believe in the accuracy of their prophecies. But, you say, he did not name Étain as the victim before the event?’

‘That is not so. Wulfric heard him!’ interrupted Alhfrith sharply.

‘And only Wulfric,’ Eadulf chimed in. ‘The only witness who said he named Étain and the manner of her death before the event was Wulfric, a thane who wishes to discredit the Irish in general and any linked with the church of Columba. Wulfric boasts that he hanged Brother Aelfric not two days ago and that he will do the same to any monk of Columba who trespasses in his domain.’

‘This is so,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘We have questioned three witnesses who maintain that Canna was only vague in his prediction. Four witnesses, counting the Abbess Hilda here, will swear to that. Only after the murder did Canna claim that he had accurately made the prediction.’

‘Why should the beggar lie?’ queried Oswy. ‘Surely he knew the suspicion it would bring on him? And that if he were suspected of employing black arts to encompass a death, then death would be his retribution?’

‘He lies because he wished to take the credit for a great prophecy, one that would be remembered for generations,’ Fidelma answered. ‘He twisted the truth in his mind and claimed his prediction was more accurate than it was.’

‘But he was accepting death by so doing,’ Oswy pointed out again.

‘But the Irish have little fear of entering the afterlife,’ Eadulf commented. ‘They do so joyously. Even before they turned to the word of Christ, it was their teaching that there was an Otherworld, a life of the ever young into which all living things were admitted. Canna sought glory in this world and was happy to start his new life in the Otherworld.’

‘A madman then?’

Fidelma shrugged diffidently.

‘Who is to say whether he was mad or sane? Fame and immortality. There is a little of that madness in us all. Nevertheless, he should not be punished for what he did not do and so I released him and told him that unless he wished the truth of his vanity to be talked about throughout the feasting halls of Ireland, unless he wanted to be satirised throughout the five kingdoms, he should stick to the accuracy of his prophecy.’ She paused and smiled. ‘He should be well on his way to the kingdom of Rheged by now.’

‘Father!’ It was Alhfrith again. ‘You cannot let this pass. It is an insult to me—’

‘Silence!’ thundered Oswy. ‘I have decided the matter.’

‘The most important thing is to find out who really did slay the Abbess Étain. Why waste time on petty spite?’ Fidelma said, giving Alhfrith a cold glance.

Oswy raised a hand to stifle the outburst that hovered on the lips of his son.

‘You are right. I, Oswy the king, endorse what you have done, sister. The beggar, Canna, is at liberty. He can stay or go in freedom. But better he did go to Rheged and the lands beyond.’ He looked meaningfully at his mortified son. ‘And nothing further shall be mentioned or done about the matter. Is that clear, Alhfrith?’

His tall, blond-haired son stood silent, his eyes downcast, his lips compressed.

‘Is it clear?’ repeated the king ominously.

Alhfrith raised his rebellious eyes and tried to meet his father’s gaze and then lowered then again, nodding silently.

‘Good,’ smiled Oswy, relaxing again in his chair. ‘Then we have the synod to attend to while you and the good Brother Eadulf here continue your quest.’

Sister Fidelma bowed her head in acknowledgment.

‘Much time has been wasted on this matter,’ she remarked quietly. ‘Eadulf and I will withdraw and continue our investigation.’

Outside the Abbess Hilda’s chamber, Brother Eadulf wiped a hand across his perspiring forehead.

‘You have made a bitter enemy in Alhfrith, Sister Fidelma.’