Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

The gawky Pictish sister smiled sadly.

‘As my Greek no longer has a role to play, I have sought occupation in the kitchens until I have decided what I am to do. I think, when the synod is ended, I shall join any group that goes back to Dál Riada, perhaps back to Iona.’ She handed the kettle to Eadulf. ‘Is there anything else?’

Eadulf shook his head.

The tall girl returned to some task on the further side of the kitchen.

‘A poor girl,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘I feel sorry for her. She took Étain’s death badly.’

‘You may be sorry later,’ reproved Eadulf. ‘At this moment we must do what we can to prevent any danger of contagion from the plague.’ He set to work simmering water and preparing his herbs while Fidelma looked on with interest.

‘Are you serious about this herbal protection from the Yellow Plague?’ she asked as he stirred the herbs into his concoction.

Eadulf was irritated at her question.

‘It does work.’

She waited in silence while Eadulf prepared the mixture and poured it into a large earthenware jar. From the jar he poured two pottery mugs and handed one to Fidelma, raising his own in silent toast.

Fidelma smiled and raised the drink to her lips. The taste was foul and her expression showed it.

‘It is an ancient cure.’ Eadulf grinned disarmingly.

Fidelma found herself returning his smile ruefully.

‘So long as it does work,’ she observed. ‘Now let us leave here and walk among the fragrance of the cloisters. The kitchen smells cause my head to ache violently.’

‘Very well, but we will take the jug of this mixture to your cubiculum first.

‘You must drink a glass every evening before retiring,’ Eadulf told her solemnly as they deposited the jug at her cubiculum and then went out into the quietness of the cloisters. ‘There is enough there for a week.’

‘Was it something you learnt at the medical school of Tuaim Brecain?’ she enquired.

Eadulf inclined his head.

‘I learnt many things in your country, Fidelma. At Tuaim Brecain I saw many things I thought impossible. I saw doctors cut into the skulls of men and women and remove growths and those men and women have lived.’

Fidelma grimaced indifferently.

‘The school of Tuaim Brecain is renowned throughout the world. The great Bracan Mac Findloga, the physician who established the school two centuries ago, is still spoken of with awe. Did you have an ambition to become a physician?’

‘No.’ Eadulf shook his head. ‘I wished for knowledge, any knowledge. In my own land I was the son of the hereditary gerefa, the local arbiter of the law, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. I tried to devour knowledge like the bee devours nectar, flitting from one flower to another but never staying long. I am no specialist but have a little knowledge of many things. It comes in useful from time to time.’

‘Sometimes that is good thing,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Especially in the pursuit of truth, knowledge in a single subject can blind one as much as having no knowledge at all.’

Eadulf grinned, that brief boyish grin of his.

‘You have a specialised knowledge of law, Sister Fidelma. The law of your own land.’

‘But in our ecclesiastical schools a general knowledge is also demanded of students before they can be qualified.’

‘You are an anruth. I know it translates as “noble stream” and is one step below the highest educational qualification in your land. But what does it mean?’

Fidelma smiled. ‘It means that the anruth has studied for at least eight years, often nine years, and become a master of the subject but with a knowledge also of poetry, literature, historical topography and many other things.’

Eadulf sighed.

‘Alas, our people here have no such establishments of learning as you do. Only since the coming of Christian teaching, the foundation of the abbeys, have we begun even to learn to read and write.’

‘It is better to start late than never to start at all.’

Eadulf chuckled.

‘Truly said, Fidelma. That is why I have this insatiable thirst for knowledge.’

He paused. They sat for a few moments in silence. Oddly, so Fidelma felt, it was not an uncomfortable silence. It was a companionable silence. Companionable. She suddenly identified the feeling she had. They were companions in adversity. She smiled, happy in the conclusion of the chaos of her thinking.

‘We should get back to our investigation,’ she ventured.

‘Deusdedit’s death brings us no closer to solving Étain’s murder.’

Eadulf suddenly snapped his fingers, causing her to start.

‘I am a fool!’ he snarled. ‘Here am I pondering on my own ego when I should be about the business in hand.’

Fidelma frowned in surprise at his sudden anger with himself.

Eadulf continued: ‘You asked me to make enquiries about Brother Athelnoth.’

It took her a moment to dredge her mind back to their suspicions of Athelnoth.

‘And you discovered something?’

‘Athelnoth was lying to us.’

‘That we already know,’ affirmed Fidelma. ‘But you have discovered something specific about his lies?’

‘As we agreed, I made some enquiries among the other brothers about Athelnoth. Do you remember that he said he first met Étain when he was sent by Colmán to meet her at the border of Rheged and escort her here to Streoneshalh?’

Fidelma nodded.

‘You told me that Étain was an Eoghanacht princess whose husband was killed and she then entered the religious order.’

‘Yes.’

‘And she taught in the abbey of the Blessed Ailbe of Emly before she became abbess at Kildare?’

Again, Fidelma inclined her head patiently.

‘And she was elected abbess at Kildare … ?’

‘Only two months ago,’ supplied Fidelma. ‘What are you driving at, Eadulf?’

Eadulf smiled almost complacently.

‘Only that last year Athelnoth spent six months at the abbey of Emly. I found a brother who was a student with him. They both went to Emly together and returned to Northumbria together.’

Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘Athelnoth studied at Emly? Then he must have met Étain there and must have a knowledge of Irish, both of which matters he denied.’

‘So Sister Gwid was right, after all,’ confirmed Eadulf. ‘Athelnoth knew Étain and doubtless desired her.’ His voice was tinged with self-satisfaction. ‘When Étain rejected Athelnoth, he was so mortified that he killed her.’

‘It does not necessarily follow,’ Fidelma pointed out, ‘although, I grant you, it is a feasible deduction.’

Eadulf spread his hands.

‘Well I still think the story of the brooch was false. Athelnoth was lying all the time.’

Fidelma grimaced suddenly.

‘One other thing we have overlooked – if Athelnoth was at Emly last year then he must have known Gwid there. She was studying under Étain.’

Eadulf gave a confident smirk.

‘No; that did occur to me. Athelnoth was at Emly before Gwid. He left Emly the month before Gwid arrived. I asked Gwid when she attended Emly and then checked the time that Athelnoth was there. Athelnoth’s fellow student was most obliging with the information.’

Fidelma rose, unable to suppress a tinge of excitement.

‘We will send for Athelnoth immediately to explain this mystery.’

Sister Athelswith put her head through the door of the officium.

‘I have been unable to locate Brother Athelnoth, Sister Fidelma,’ she said. ‘He is not in the domus hospitale nor is he in the sacrarium.’

Fidelma was exasperated.

‘He must be somewhere in the abbey,’ she protested.