Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘When did you know her?’ asked Fidelma. ‘You did not mention this to me on our journey from Iona.’

‘You did not ask,’ replied Taran with aplomb. ‘You knew I studied in Ireland. I studied philosophy at Emly and Sister Étain, as she was then, was my tutor for a while.’

‘You also studied at Emly?’ asked Fidelma with raised brows. ‘Emly is famed for its learning but it seems many people have studied there. Did you meet Sister Gwid at Emly?’

Taran blinked, recovered from his surprise and shook his head.

‘No. I did not even know that she had studied there. Why did she not tell me?’

‘Perhaps because you did not ask her.’ Fidelma could not help the riposte.

‘Did you know Athelnoth at Emly?’ Eadulf asked.

‘Him I did know. I was just completing my studies when Athelnoth arrived to study there. I knew him for perhaps a month or so before I left. But did you say Sister Gwid was at Emly?’

‘For a while,’ Fidelma said. ‘Had you seen Étain since you left Emly?’

‘No. But I always had respect for her. She was an excellent tutor and when I heard she was here I made it my business to seek her out. You see, I did not know she had become Abbess of Kildare. That was why I did not connect Étain with yourself, Sister Fidelma.’

‘How long were you together with Étain on the day of her death?’ Eadulf queried.

Taran pursed his lips as he thought for a moment or two.

‘A short while, I think. We agreed to meet later that day for she was busy preparing her opening address for the debate and had no time to talk.’

‘I see,’ said Fidelma. Then she smiled. ‘Well, we must detain you no longer.’

Taran inclined his head to each of them and turned away. He had taken a few paces when Fidelma called softly.

‘By the way, have you seen Wulfric recently?’

Taran swung round, brows drawn together. For a moment Fidelma thought she saw a look of panic on his face. Then he re-formed his features into a mask, frowning as if he did not understand.

‘You remember the obnoxious thane we encountered on our journey here? The one who boasted of his hanging the monk from Lindisfarne.’

Taran’s eyes half closed as if he were attempting to see behind what Fidelma was implying. Fidelma retained a smile as she gazed on him.

‘I … I believe I have seen him about.’

‘One of Alhfrith’s guards, I think,’ offered Eadulf as if to help him identify Wulfric.

‘Really?’ Taran tried to make himself sound only distantly interested. ‘No, I have not seen him recently.’

Sister Fidelma began to turn away towards the monasteriolum.

‘An evil man. One to watch out for,’ she called over her shoulder as she began to walk off.

Eadulf hurried after her, aware that Taran continued to stand, his mouth slightly open, his brows still drawn together, staring anxiously after them.

‘Was it wise to put him on his guard?’ Eadulf whispered, even though they were out of earshot.

Fidelma sighed patiently.

‘He will not tell us the truth. Let him think we know more than we do. Sometimes this method may alarm people and push them to do things that they might otherwise have a care of doing. Now let us see what Seaxwulf is up to.’

They found Seaxwulf in the librarium poring over a book. He looked up flustered as they entered.

‘Improving your mind, brother?’ inquired Eadulf with cheerful irony.

Seaxwulf slammed the book shut and stood up. But there was something hesitant in his manner as if he wished to say something but was too embarrassed to do so. His desire for knowledge won over.

‘I wish to know something about Ireland, Sister Fidelma. Is it customary for lovers to exchange gifts?’ he asked brusquely.

Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a look of surprise.

‘That I believe is the custom,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘Do you have someone in mind as the recipient of such a gift?’

Seaxwulf’s face was red and he muttered something and hurried out of the gloomy library room.

Inquisitively, Fidelma bent over the desk and opened the book Seaxwulf had been reading. Her lips broadened into a smile.

‘Hellenistic love poetry. What is young Seaxwulf about, I wonder?’ she mused.

Eadulf cleared his throat gruffly.

‘I think this is an appropriate time for us to go in search of Athelnoth.’

Fidelma replaced the book as an anxious librarius descended on them to retrieve the volume.

‘Perhaps you are right, Eadulf,’ she said.

However Athelnoth was nowhere to be found in the abbey. Eadulf asked the gate-keeper if he had seen the brother leave and the man was immediately forthcoming. He said that Brother Athelnoth had left the abbey just after the morning Angelus bell, but was expected to return later that evening. What was more, the gate-keeper confided conspiratorially, Athelnoth had taken a horse from the royal stable but no one had complained of its disappearance.

By the time the bell announcing the cena, the main meal of the day, sounded, Athelnoth had not returned.

Finally Fidelma decided they would have to wait until the following morning to question Athelnoth, provided that the missing monk fulfilled his promise to return to the abbey.

Chapter Fourteen

Sister Fidelma was swimming in crystal-clear water, feeling the warmth of the wavelets on her body as she languorously pulled herself along. Above her was an azure sky in which the gold disc of the sun hung high and bright. The water was warmed by its rays. She could hear the birds chirping along the green, tree-lined bank. She felt at peace, content with the world. Then, suddenly, something was clutching at her leg, some weed, she thought, encircling her ankle. She tried to kick free, but her leg became more ensnared, dragging her downwards. Her vision began to blacken. She was being pulled down to the bottom, pulled relentlessly downward. She fought and struggled for breath, fought …

She came awake, sweating. Someone was pulling at her and she was fighting against the insistent tugging.

Sister Athelswith was standing over Fidelma holding a lighted candle in a holder. Fidelma blinked. She took a moment to get her bearings and then raised a hand to wipe the sweat from her face.

‘You were having a nightmare, sister,’ said the elderly domina of the domus hospitale in a reproving tone.

Sister Fidelma found herself yawning, observing that her breath took visual form against the flickering light. It was still dark and she shivered in the early morning frosty atmosphere.

‘Was I disturbing the guests with my dream?’ she asked. Then, realising that the anxious domina could not have entered her cubiculum to wake her merely because she was dreaming, she added: ‘What is it?’

It was hard to discern Sister Athelswith’s expression in the gloomy light.

‘You must come with me immediately, sister.’

The domina spoke in a whisper. Her voice was tight as if there was some stricture in her throat.

Frowning, Fidelma threw back the blanket, feeling the icy cold of the early morning strike against her body.

‘Do I have time to dress?’ she asked, drawing her clothes towards her.

‘Better that you come as quickly as possible. Abbess Hilda awaits you and I have already sent for Brother Eadulf.’

Fidelma’s mind worked rapidly now.

‘Has there been another death from the Yellow Plague?’

‘Not from the Yellow Plague, sister,’ the domina replied.

Intrigued, Fidelma decided to draw her dress and veil hurriedly over her night attire before following the agitated figure of Sister Athelswith, who led the way holding her candle aloft.