Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

She strained forward, wishing her Saxon consisted of a greater vocabulary than it did.

The brother halted. The two men appeared to be laughing. Why not? What was so sinister about a Saxon thane and a Saxon monk exchanging pleasantries? It was only some sixth sense that caused Fidelma disquiet. Her eyes narrowed. Both men, during their conversation, were casting glances about them as if wary of eavesdroppers. Their voices lowered conspiratorially. Then they grasped each other’s hands and Wulfric turned out of the gate while the becowled brother turned back.

Fidelma pressed further into the shadow of the cloisters, behind a pillared arch.

The brother strode purposefully at right angles to where Fidelma stood, crossing the quadrangle towards the monasteriolum. As he did so he threw back his cowl, presumably as it had served its purpose and wearing it in the confines of the abbey would seem strange. Fidelma could not restrain the sharp breath of astonishment that came as she recognised the man with his Columban tonsure.

It was Brother Taran.

Abbe was a stocky woman, looking very much like her brother Oswy. She was in her mid-fifties, the lines etched deep on her face, the blue eyes bright but rather watery. Together with her three brothers, she had been taken into exile in Iona when her father, the king of Bernicia, had been killed by his rival Edwin of Deira who had then united the two kingdoms into the single kingdom ‘by the north of the River Humber’, Northumbria. When her brothers Eanfrith, Oswald and Oswy had returned to reclaim their kingdom on Edwin’s death, Abbe had come with them as a religieuse, baptised in the Columban church. She had established a monastery at Coldingham, a double house for men and women on a headland, and was confirmed as its abbess by her brother Oswald, who had become king on the death of their eldest brother Eanfrith.

Fidelma had heard much of Coldingham, for it had required a dubious reputation as being given over to the pursuit of hedonistic pleasures. It was said that the Abbess Abbe believed too literally in a God of Love. She had heard that the cubicula that were built for prayer and contemplation had been turned into rooms of feasting, drinking and the enjoyment of the flesh.

The abbess sat regarding Fidelma with an amused but approving stare.

‘My brother, Oswy, the king, has told me of your purpose.’ She spoke fluent and idiomatic Irish, that being the only language she had known during her childhood on Iona. She turned to Eadulf. ‘You, I believe, were trained in Ireland?’

Eadulf smiled briefly and nodded.

‘You may speak in Irish for I understand.’

‘Good,’ the abbess sighed. She gazed at Fidelma, again with a look of approval. ‘You are attractive, child. There is always a place in Coldingham for such as yourself.’

Fidelma felt herself colouring.

Abbe tilted her head to one side and chuckled.

‘You disapprove?’

‘I take no offence,’ replied Fidelma.

‘Neither should you, sister. Do not believe all you hear of our house. Our rule is dum vivimus, vivamus – while we live let us live. We are a house of men and women dedicated to life, which is the gift of God. God has made men and women to love one another. What better form of worship than to enact His Great Design, living, working and worshipping together. Does not the Gospel of the Blessed John say, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear”?’

Fidelma shifted uneasily.

‘Mother Abbess, it is not my place to call into question how your house is governed and by what rule. I am here to enquire into the death of Étain of Kildare.’

Abbe sighed.

‘Étain! There was a woman. A woman who knew how to live.’

‘Yet she is now dead, Mother Abbess,’ interposed Eadulf.

‘I know.’ The eyes were kept on Fidelma. ‘And I await to know what this has to do with me?’

‘You quarrelled with Étain,’ Fidelma said simply.

The abbess blinked but showed no other sign of the barb going home. She made no reply.

‘Perhaps you will tell us why you argued with the abbess of Kildare?’ prompted Eadulf.

‘If you have learnt that I argued with Étain, you will doubtless have discovered the reason why,’ replied Abbe, her voice stiff and uncompromising. ‘I grew up in the shadow of the walls of the abbey of Colmcille on Iona. I was educated there among the brethren of Christ from Ireland. It was at my instigation, rather than that of my brother Oswald, that this kingdom first entreated Ségéne, the abbot of Iona, to send missionaries to convert our pagan subjects and reveal to them the path of Christ. Even when the first missionary from Iona, another named Colmán, returned to Iona saying our kingdom was beyond Christ’s redemption, I pleaded again with Ségéne and so the saintly Aidán came here and began to preach.

‘I have witnessed the conversion of the land and the gradual spread of the word of God, first under Aidán and then under Finán and lastly under Colmán. Now all that work stands in jeopardy because of the likes of Wilfrid and others. I adhere to the true church of Columba and will continue to do so whatever prevails here at Streoneshalh.’

‘So what was the reason for the conflict with Etain of Kildare?’ prompted Eadulf, returning to the question.

‘That slimy man Seaxwulf, a man who is no man at all, has probably told you that I realised that Étain was striking a bargain with Wilfrid of Ripon. Bargains! Devices ad captandum vulgus!’

‘Seaxwulf has told us that he was being used as an intermediary between Étain and Wilfrid and that they were attempting to come to some agreement before the main debate.’

Abbe grunted in disgust.

‘Seaxwulf! That contemptible little thief and gossip!’

‘Thief?’ Eadulf’s voice was sharp. ‘Isn’t that a harsh word to describe a brother?’

Abbe shrugged.

‘A correct word. Two days ago, when we were gathering here, two of our brothers caught Seaxwulf going through the personal belongings of some cenobites in the dormitorium . They took him to Wilfrid, who is his abbot as well as his secretary. He admitted the breaking of the eighth commandment and so Wilfrid had him punished. They took him out and beat his back with a birch rod until it was red raw and bloody. Only the fact that he was Wilfrid’s secretary saved him from having his hand severed. Even then, Wilfrid refused to dismiss him as his secretary.’

Fidelma shivered slightly at the cruelty of the Saxon punishments.

Abbess Abbe went on without noticing Fidelma’s look of distaste.

‘There is gossip that Seaxwulf is like a magpie. He is tempted by the desire for bright and exotic objects that are not his own.’

Fidelma exchanged a glance with Eadulf.

‘So are you saying that Seaxwulf is not to be trusted? That he could be lying?’

‘Not so in this case of his being the go-between with Wilfrid and Étain. Wilfrid trusts Seaxwulf as he trusts no other; I presume because Wilfrid could have Seaxwulf killed or mutilated whenever he wanted. Fear makes for a sound contract of trust.

‘But Étain of Kildare had no authority to make such agreements on behalf of the Columban faction. When I saw that conniving worm Seaxwulf sneaking from Étain’s chamber, I realised what might be afoot. I went in to see Etain and demand that she be honest. She was betraying us.’

‘And how did Étain respond to your admonishment?’

‘She was angry. But candidly admitted what she was doing. She justified herself by saying that it was better to agree on unimportant matters in order to lull her opponents into a false sense of security than to be like cows with horns locked from the first moment.’

Abbess Abbe’s eyes suddenly narrowed.