Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘I suddenly realise, do you think that this argument was a reason for murder? That, perhaps, I—?’

Fidelma found herself under her bright-eyed scrutiny as the abbess suddenly chuckled at the thought.

‘Murders often happen when a person loses control in argument,’ replied Fidelma quietly.

Abbess Abbe gave a low laugh. It sounded a genuine expression of mirth.

‘Deus avertat! God forbid! It is ridiculous. Life is too precious for me to waste it on trivialities.’

‘But, according to you, the defeat of the Columban church in Northumbria was no triviality,’ pressed Eadulf. ‘It was something intense and personal. In fact, you believed that Étain was betraying her church, indeed, all you have come to believe in.’

The glance Abbe cast at Eadulf was unguarded for a moment. A look of venomous hate. The features froze in a Medusa-like graven image. Then the look was gone and the abbess forced a cold smile.

‘It was not a matter to kill her over. Her punishment would be to see her church destroyed.’

‘At what time did you leave Étain?’ Fidelma demanded.

‘What?’

‘When, after this quarrel, did you leave Étain’s cubiculum ?’

Abbe was quiet as she considered the question in order to make an accurate answer.

‘I can’t remember. I was with her only ten minutes or a little more.’

‘Did anyone see you leave? Sister Athelswith, for example?’

‘I don’t believe so.’

Fidelma glanced with a silent question at Eadulf. Her companion nodded agreement.

‘Very well, Mother Abbess.’ Fidelma stood up, causing Abbe to follow suit. ‘We may wish to ask you a few more questions later.’

Abbe smiled at them.

‘I shall be here. Have no fear. Indeed, sister, you really should visit my house at Coldingham and see for yourself how much life can be enjoyed. You are far too beautiful, too youthful and exuberant to accept this Roman concept of celibacy all your life. Indeed, didn’t Augustine of Hippo write in his Confessiones: “Give me chastity and continence, but not just now”?’

Abbess Abbe gave a throaty laugh and left the room, leaving Fidelma blushing fiercely.

She turned to meet Eadulf’s amused gaze and her outraged virtue gave way to anger.

‘Well?’ she snapped.

The smile came off Eadulf’s face.

‘I do not think Abbe would have killed Étain,’ he said hurriedly.

‘Why not?’ she rejoined curtly.

‘She is a woman, for one thing.’

‘And a woman is incapable of committing a crime?’ sneered Fidelma.

Eadulf shook his head.

‘No; but as I said when we first saw the body of Etain, I do not think a woman had the strength to have held the abbess and cut her throat in the manner that it happened.’

Fidelma bit her lip and calmed down. After all, she thought to herself, why was she growing angry? Abbe was surely complimenting her and stating a fact. Yet it was not Abbe’s attitude that annoyed her. It was something deep within her that she was unable to fathom. She stared at Eadulf for a moment.

The Saxon monk returned her gaze bemused.

Fidelma found that she dropped her eyes first.

‘What would you say if I told you that I saw Brother Taran, a Columban monk, meeting with Wulfric by the side gate of the abbey this evening and engaging in what looked like a conspiratorial conversation?’

Eadulf raised an eyebrow.

‘And are you telling me this as fact?’

Fidelma confirmed it with a nod.

‘There could be many reasons for such a meeting, I suppose.’

‘There could,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘but none that I am content with.’

‘Brother Taran was one of Abbess Étain’s visitors, wasn’t he?’

‘One we have not questioned yet.’

‘It was not a priority,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Taran was seen to have gone to Étain’s cubiculum early in the morning. She was seen alive long after his visit. It was Agatho who was the last known visitor.’

Fidelma hesitated a moment.

‘I think we should have a word with Taran next,’ she said.

‘And I think now we should first ask Agatho to come and speak with us,’ he replied. ‘He is by far the more important suspect.’

No one was more surprised than Eadulf when Fidelma acquiesced without argument.

Chapter Twelve

Agatho was a lean, wiry man with a thin, narrow face. His skin was swarthy and his face was not smooth-shaven. His black eyes matched the blackness of his thatch of hair. The lips were thin but red, almost as if he had enhanced their redness by the application of berry juice. Fidelma was fascinated by the way his eyelids were prominent, half closed like the hooded lids of a bird of prey.

The priest scowled as he entered the room.

‘I am here under protest,’ he said, speaking in the lingua franca of Latin.

‘I shall note your protest, Agatho,’ Fidelma replied in the same language. ‘With whom shall I raise the matter? With the king, Bishop Colman or the Abbess Hilda?’

Agatho raised his face in a disdainful gesture as if it were beneath him to reply and proceeded to seat himself.

‘You wish to question me?’

‘You would seem to be the last person to see the Abbess Étain alive in her cubiculum,’ Eadulf bluntly pointed out.

Agatho chuckled mirthlessly.

‘Not so.’

Fidelma frowned.

‘Oh?’ she prompted eagerly.

‘The last person to see the abbess would be the person who killed her.’

Fidelma stared at his hooded eyes. They were cold and expressionless. She could not tell whether he was challenging her or making fun of her.

‘That is true,’ Eadulf was saying. ‘And we are here to discover just who did kill her. At what time did you go to her cell?’

‘At four o’clock precisely.’

‘Precisely?’

Again the mirthless smile on the thin red lips.

‘So the clepsydra of the redoubtable Sister Athelswith had informed me.’

‘Just so,’ conceded Eadulf. ‘Why did you go there?’

‘To see the abbess, naturally.’

‘Naturally. But for what purpose did you wish to see her?’

‘I create no deception. I am of the Roman faction. It was my belief that the Abbess Étain was being misled in allowing herself to speak for the heresies of the Columban church. I went with her to plead my case.’

Fidelma stared at the man.

‘That is all’?’

‘That is all.’

‘How would you achieve this rapid change of mind in the abbess?’

Agatho looked round conspiratorially and then smiled.

‘I showed her this …’ He reached into the crumena, a leather pouch carried on a strap around his neck, and spilt the contents into his hand.

Eadulf leant forward, frowning.

‘It is just a splinter of wood.’

Agatho looked at him contemptuously.

‘It is the lignum Sanctae Crucis,’ he pronounced, his voice hushed in awe and genuflecting as he did so.

‘Truly, this is the wood of the true cross?’ whispered Eadulf, reverence overcoming him.

‘I have said as much,’ replied Agatho distantly.

Fidelma’s eyes brightened and for a moment or two there was a trembling around her lips.

‘How would the presentation of this, supposing you are right, have convinced the abbess to support Rome rather than Iona?’ she asked solemnly.

‘That is obvious. By recognising the true cross in my hands she would realise that I was the chosen one, that Christ spoke through me, as he spoke through Paul of Tarsus.’

The voice was quiet and complacent.

Eadulf shot a bewildered glance at Fidelma.

‘Christ chose you? How do you mean?’ he asked.

Agatho sniffed as if the monk were a fool.