Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

Sister Fidelma hurried through the domus hospitale to where she knew Deusdedit’s room was situated. It had been pointed out to her by Sister Athelswith when she was explaining the layout of the guests’ quarters.

She paused at the door, which Sister Athelswith, in her haste, had left ajar. Reaching forward she pushed it open and glanced in.

Deusdedit lay on his bed. At first glance, she saw the bedclothes were undisturbed. His hands were folded peacefully, the eyes shut, as if in sleep. The skin was a curious parchment texture, almost yellowing. She recalled that the archbishop had not looked very well during the times she had seen him in the sacrarium.

She made to step forward into the room but a heavy hand seized her by the shoulder. She started, letting out an exclamation, and turned.

The round cherubic features of the archbishop’s secretary, Wighard, were staring at her.

‘Do not enter, sister.’ His voice was sibilant. ‘Not for your life.’

Fidelma stared at him in incomprehension.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Deusdedit is dead, of the Yellow Plague!’

Fidelma’s lips parted in surprise.

‘The Yellow Plague? How do you know this?’

Wighard sniffed, reached forward and drew the door closed.

‘I have suspected that Deusdedit was suffering from the scourge for some days now. The yellowing of the eyes, the texture of the skin. He was constantly complaining of weakness, of lack of appetite and of constipation. I have seen too many victims this year not to know these symptoms.’

Fidelma felt suddenly cold as she began to realise the implication of what the man was saying.

‘How long have you known?’ Fidelma demanded of the lugubrious Wighard.

The secretary to the archbishop grimaced unhappily.

‘Several days. I think I first knew on our voyage here.’

‘And you allowed Deusdedit to come here and remain among the brethren?’ demanded Fidelma, outraged. ‘What of the risk of contagion? Why was he not placed somewhere to be treated and nursed?’

‘It was necessary that Deusdedit, as the heir of the Blessed Augustine of Rome, who came to bring our people into Rome’s fold, should attend this synod,’ replied Wighard stubbornly.

‘At whatever cost?’ Fidelma snapped.

‘The most important thing was the synod, not whether a man was ill or not.’

Abbess Hilda came hurrying up.

‘Another death?’ she greeted, her eyes going wonderingly from Fidelma to Wighard. ‘What terrible news is this that Sister Athelswith has brought me?’

‘Yes, another death; but not from murder,’ Fidelma said. ‘It seems that Deusdedit was suffering from the Yellow Plague.’

Hilda stared at her a moment, a look caught between incredulity and panic.

‘The Yellow Plague brought here to Streoneshalh?’

Hilda genuflected swiftly.

‘God preserve us. Is this true, Wighard?’

‘I wish it were not, Mother Abbess.’ Wighard was uncomfortable. ‘Yes, it is true.’

‘It seems that our Roman brethren felt it more important to have their spiritual head at the synod than to consider the risk of contagion,’ Fidelma remarked bitterly. ‘Who knows how this disease will spread now?’

Wighard was opening his mouth to reply when Sister Athelswith came hurrying up.

‘Where is Brother Eadulf?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘He will be here in a moment,’ panted Sister Athelswith. ‘He has gone to collect some things to help him make an examination of the body.’

‘There is no need for that,’ Wighard said, frowning. ‘I speak truly.’

‘Even so, we must be sure of the cause of death and we must find a way to save any contagion from spreading,’ Fidelma replied.

Almost as she ceased speaking Eadulf came hurrying along the corridor.

‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Sister Athelswith says someone else is dead? The throat cut?’

Wighard began to speak but Fidelma cut him short.

‘Deusdedit is dead.’ As Eadulf’s eyes widened, she went on quickly, ‘Wighard believes the cause to be the Yellow Plague. There is no physician in the abbey at the moment. Can you confirm the manner of his death?’

Eadulf hesitated, apprehension growing in his eyes. Then he compressed his lips firmly and nodded, although somewhat reluctantly. He seemed to brace himself before he pushed open the door of the cubiculum and disappeared inside.

After a few moments, he re-emerged.

‘The Yellow Plague,’ he confirmed flatly. ‘The symptoms are well known to me.’

‘What do you advise?’ demanded Abbess Hilda at once, her anxiety obvious. ‘We have hundreds crowded into this place. How can we stop the contagion?’

‘The body should be removed at once and burnt on the sea shore. The cubiculum must be disinfected and not used for a while until the contagion is dispersed. Several days at least.’

Wighard was eager to make amends now.

‘The news of this should not be spread beyond us four people. It would create too much alarm before the synod is ended. Let us say Deusdedit had a heart attack. We can tell the truth after the decision of the synod. I will find slaves to perform the necessary tasks. Better that they, rather than we of the brethren, should be contaminated.’

‘I doubt it matters now,’ replied Eadulf flatly. ‘If anyone is to suffer contagion then they will have suffered it already. Why, if you suspected that Deusdedit was suffering such illness, did you not warn us?’

Wighard lowered his head but did not reply.

‘It is a bad omen, Wighard,’ Hilda observed fearfully.

‘Not so,’ replied the rotund cleric. ‘I have no use for omens. I will get the slaves to take out the body of the archbishop.’

He turned and left to fulfil his task.

Eadulf turned to the abbess.

‘Let no one else in this cubiculum until it has been cleansed, as I have said. And make sure that anyone who has had dealings with the archbishop drinks of herbal teas made from borage or sorrel or tansy and continues to drink them thrice daily for a week or more. Do you have such preparations in your abbey?’

Hilda confirmed that they did.

Eadulf took Fidelma by the arm and hurried her along the corridor.

‘The trouble is,’ he whispered, ‘that the plants that best counter this dreadful disease grow only in the months of June and July or through the summer. I have taken to travelling with some preparations in my pera and I have a mixture of golden rod and toadflax which mixed with hot water, cooled and taken as a drink will help to keep this Yellow Plague at bay. Also, I advise you to eat as much parsley as you can, raw if you can take it.’

Fidelma stared at him a moment and suddenly smiled at his apparent anxiousness.

‘You seem greatly concerned for my health, Eadulf.’

The Saxon frowned for a moment.

‘Of course. We have much work to do,’ he replied shortly. He halted at the dormitorium he shared with other brothers of no particular status, disappearing for a moment before reemerging with a small leather bag, his pera or satchel.

Fidelma found herself being led by Eadulf into the large kitchens, where thirty of the brethren laboured over steaming cooking pots to supply the wants of the great abbey and its guests. Fidelma screwed up her face as the stench of rancid food mingled with innumerable other smells that were impossible to describe. She choked a little as she picked out the stink of rotting cabbage. Eadulf asked for the use of an iron kettle from the dour-faced chief cook, who said she would send an assistant to them.

To their surprise Sister Gwid came forward with a kettle.

‘What are you doing here, Gwid?’ asked Fidelma.