Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘Nothing.’

‘You did not enter into any argument with the abbess or her followers?’

Athelnoth bit his lip.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said sullenly.

‘Oh come,’ Fidelma said cajolingly. ‘You are known to be ardent for Rome and the Abbess Étain was the chief spokesman for Columba’s rule. Surely some words were exchanged? After all, you were two or three days on the road with her and her entourage.’

Athelnoth shrugged.

‘Oh, that. Of course we had some discussion.’

‘Some discussion?’

Athelnoth’s sigh spoke of ill-concealed irritation.

‘We had one argument, that is all. I told her what I thought. No crime in that.’

‘Of course not. But did your arguments descend to any physical disagreement?’

Athelnoth flushed. ‘One young Columban monk had to be restrained. Being young, he had to be forgiven that he had no knowledge of wisdom to argue in any other form but violence. A. foolish young man. It was of no consequence.’

‘And when you arrived here, what then?’

‘Then I had discharged my duty to my bishop. Having brought the abbess and her party safely to the abbey here, that was all.’

‘All?’ Fidelma’s voice was sharp.

Athelnoth glanced at her and made no reply.

‘Did you see her afterwards, after you had brought her to the safety of these walls?’ prompted Eadulf.

Athelnoth shook his head, his lips compressed.

‘So.’ Fidelma let out a long breath. ‘You did not call upon her in her cell and wish to speak with her alone?’

Fidelma could almost see the man’s mind working furiously; she saw the slight widening of the eyes as he remembered the witness to his indiscretion.

‘Ah, yes …’

‘Yes?’

‘I did call upon her once.’

‘When and for what purpose?’

The man was clearly on his guard. Fidelma could feel a detached sympathy for the man as he attempted to conjure a suitable excuse.

‘Just after the prandium was finished, on the first day of the debate. The day of her death. I wanted to return something that belonged to the abbess. Something that she had dropped during our journey from Catraeth.’

‘Really?’ Eadulf scratched an ear. ‘Why was it not returned before?’

‘I … had only just discovered it.’

‘And did you return “it” – whatever it was?’

‘A brooch.’ Athelnoth sounded confident. ‘And I did not return it.’

‘Why?’

‘When I went to see the abbess she was not alone.’

‘So why not leave the brooch?’

‘I wished to speak with her.’ Athelnoth hesitated again and bit his lip. ‘I decided to return later.’

‘And did you?’

‘I am sorry?’

‘Did you return later?’

‘Later, the abbess was found dead.’

‘So you still have her brooch?’

‘Yes.’

Sister Fidelma held out her hand silently.

‘I do not have it with me.’

‘Very well,’ smiled Fidelma. ‘We will accompany you to your cubiculum . I presume it is there?’

Athelnoth hesitated and nodded slowly.

‘Lead on,’ Eadulf invited.

Together they turned, Athelnoth moving awkwardly.

‘What is so important about the brooch?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘We cannot tell you until we have seen it,’ Fidelma replied calmly. ‘At the moment, we have to pursue all matters relating to the abbess.’

Athelnoth sniffed in irritation.

‘Well, if it is suspects that you are searching for, I can name one. When I went to see the abbess, to bring her the brooch, that strange-looking sister was with her.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow sardonically.

‘Are you referring to Sister Gwid?’

‘Gwid!’ Athelnoth nodded. ‘The Pictish girl who is so resentful and jealous of petty things. The Picts are always the enemies of our blood. My father was slain in the Pictish wars. She was always with the abbess.’

‘Why not?’ Eadulf replied. ‘She was secretary to the abbess.’

Athelnoth grimaced as if in surprise.

‘I did know that the Abbess Étain had appointed the girl her secretary. Out of pity, I presume? The girl followed the abbess about like a dog after a sheep. You would imagine that she thought the abbess was a reincarnation of some great saint.’

‘But Étain had sent an invitation to Gwid to come here from Iona to be her secretary,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Why would she do that out of pity?’

Athelnoth shrugged. He turned to lead the way silently through the shadow-strewn cloisters to his cubiculum.

It was a small functional cell, like all the other cubicula in the abbey but that Athelnoth was assigned a separate chamber rather than merely a bed in the dormitorium was indicative of his status in the church of Northumbria. Fidelma quietly registered this fact.

Athelnoth stood hesitating on the threshold, gazing around the bare sandstone room.

‘The brooch … ?’ prompted Fidelma.

Atholnoth nodded, crossing to the wooden pegs from which his clothes hung. He took down a epera, a leather satchel in which many travelling brethren carried their possessions.

He thrust his hand in. Then his frown deepened and he proceeded to search carefully.

He turned to them with an expression of bewilderment.

‘It is not here. I cannot find it.’

Chapter Eleven

Fidelma raised a quizzical eyebrow as she returned the bewildered gaze of Athelnoth.

‘You placed the brooch in your bag?’

‘Yes. I placed it in there yesterday afternoon.’

‘Who would take it?’

‘I have no idea. No one knew I had it.’

Eadulf was about to make a pointed remark when Fidelma stopped him.

‘Very well, Athelnoth. Have a careful search and if you find the brooch contact us and let us know.’ Outside Athelnoth’s cell, Eadulf turned to her with a frown.

‘You surely don’t believe him?’

Fidelma shrugged.

‘Did you think he was speaking the truth?’

‘By the living God, no! Of course not!’

‘Then Gwid would seem to be right. Athelnoth was visiting Étain for some reason other than the return of a mere brooch.’

‘Yes, of course. Athelnoth is lying.’

‘But does that prove that Athelnoth killed Étain?’

‘No,’ admitted Eadulf. ‘But it gives us a motive for the killing, doesn’t it?’

‘This is true, though something is not quite in order. I was sure that Athelnoth invented the story of the brooch until he claimed it was still in his possession in his cubiculum. If it was a lie, it would be so easy to discover it.’

‘He was under pressure to come up with a story quickly. He thought of it on the spur of the moment, not realising its weakness.’

‘That is a good argument. Yet we can afford to leave Athelnoth to his own devices for a while. Would you know anyone among the Saxon clergy who would give you some information on Athelnoth’s background? Perhaps someone who accompanied him when he went to meet Étain on the border of Rheged? I’d like to know more of this Athelnoth.’

‘A good idea. I will make some enquiries during the evening meal,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘In the meantime, shall we question the monk Seaxwulf next?’

Fidelma nodded her head.

‘Why not? Seaxwulf and Agatho were among the last to see Etain. Let us return to Sister Athelswith’s officium and have the good sister send for Seaxwulf.’ They were walking through the guests’ quarters when the sound of distant shouting came to their ears. Eadulf pursed his lips in perplexity.

‘What new problem is this?’

‘One we shall not identify by standing here,’ Fidelma said, turning towards the origin of the sound. They came on a group of brethren peering through the windows of the abbey building at something below. Eadulf made a space for himself and Fidelma at a window. For several moments Fidelma could not identify what was happening. A crowd was gathered around what seemed a bundle of rags on the ground. They were clearly angry, yelling and throwing stones at it, although, curiously, keeping a good distance from it. It was only when she caught sight of a slight movement of the rags that, with horror, she realised that it was a person. The crowd were stoning someone to death.