Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

To her surprise, the sister did not lead the way to the abbess’s chamber but hurried towards the male dormitorium, pausing before the door of another cubiculum before pushing it open, eyes curiously averted, and motioning Fidelma inside. Even as she entered, Fidelma realised that she had been to this cubiculum before. The cell was lit by two candles.

The first person Fidelma saw was a dishevelled-looking Eadulf, his hair tousled and a look of sleepy surprise on his face. Beyond him stood the gaunt figure of the Abbess Hilda, hands folded in her clothing, head downcast.

‘What is it?’ demanded Fidelma, stepping forward into the cubiculum.

Eadulf said nothing but nudged the door closed with the toe of his sandal.

He nodded silently towards the back of the door.

Fidelma turned and her mouth opened involuntarily.

The body of Athelnoth was hanging from the wall behind the door from the pegs on which his clothes and pera usually hung. Of course, the cubiculum had been familiar. This was Athelnoth’s chamber.

Fidelma stepped back, her eyes narrowing as she mastered her surprise. Athelnoth was in his night attire. The strong cord of his habit was twisted around his neck and attached to one of the wooden pegs in the wall which was inserted at a height of six feet above the floor. Athelnoth’s shoeless feet just brushed the floor at the point of the toes but scarcely made contact with it. A footstool lay upturned nearby. Athelnoth’s face was blackened and the tongue protruded.

‘A suicide, here in Streoneshalh.’

It was the Abbess Hilda who broke the silence. Her tone was shocked and disapproving.

‘When was this discovered?’ asked Fidelma, her voice calm.

‘Within the last half hour,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Apparently Athelnoth returned to the abbey after nightfall. You may have noticed that the clepsydra, the water clock which the good domina is so fond of, stands at the end of the corridor in which this chamber is situated. Sister Athelswith was on her way to adjust the clock when she heard a noise from this cubiculum. Doubtless it was the sound of the overturning footstool as Athelnoth kicked it away. She heard some strange sounds, no doubt the sound of the poor devil choking to death. She knocked on the door of the cubiculum to enquire what was the matter. There was no response. Finally she opened it and saw Athelnoth hanging there. She went directly for Abbess Hilda and the abbess thought we should be immediately informed.’

Abbess Hilda nodded slowly in confirmation.

‘You questioned Athelnoth about Abbess Étain’s murder, I believe? Brother Eadulf tells me that you were waiting to question him again for you both have great suspicion of him. Brother Eadulf says that Athelnoth had lied to you.’

Sister Fidelma nodded absently, turning back to the hanging figure. She took a candle from a table and held it up so that she might see the figure more clearly. Her bright green eyes examined the body closely, moving to the upturned three-legged stool. Then she moved forward, picked up the stool and placed it near the body, climbing carefully on to it. From this position she stared at the back of the dead man’s head. She dismounted and pursed her lips in silent contemplation for a moment before turning to the abbess.

‘Mother Abbess, may we report to you later this morning? I believe that this death of Brother Athelnoth does, indeed, have something to do with the murder of the Abbess Étain. How much so is a question that we still have to determine.’

Abbess Hilda hesitated, frowned at Eadulf and then nodded. ‘Very well. But you must now be quick in arriving at an answer to this mystery. There is much at stake here.’

Fidelma said nothing until the abbess had passed from the room.

She found Eadulf’s puzzled glance on her.

‘Surely it is obvious, sister?’ he ventured. ‘We were right that Athelnoth killed Étain because she had rejected his licentious advances. Once he realised that he was discovered, after we had questioned him, he was overcome by remorse and decided to take his own life.’

Fidelma viewed the hanging body with compressed lips.

‘It would seem obvious,’ she replied after a moment or two. Then she took a step to the cell door and opened it.

Sister Athelswith was waiting outside.

‘Tell me, sister, when you heard the noise from this cell, where exactly were you?’

The elderly domina bobbed her head.

‘I was at the end of the corridor, adjusting the mechanism of the clepsydra.’

‘From the time you heard the noise until the time you saw the body, did you lose sight of the door of this cubiculum?’

The domina frowned, trying to understand the question.

‘I heard the noise and stood still, trying to locate whence it came. It took me a few moments to locate the cubiculum. I walked along the corridor at a slow pace and it was as I was approaching that I heard a further noise. Then I knocked and called out: “Is anything the matter?” There was no reply. So I entered the cell.’

Fidelma looked thoughtful.

‘I see. So the door was in full view the whole time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. You may go about your duties now. I’ll find you when I need you.’

Sister Athelswith bobbed her head again and hurried off.

Eadulf was still standing in the same position with his brows drawn together in perplexity.

Fidelma ignored him.

She stood behind the closed door and surveyed the cubiculum. It was like all the other accommodation, a tiny narrow cell furnished with a small wooden cot, the pillow indented and blankets askew where Athelnoth had obviously slept. There was also a table and the stool. She let her eyes wander over the chamber. The window was a small barred affair some six feet above the floor level.

To Eadulf’s bewilderment, Fidelma abruptly went down on her knees and peered under the wooden cot. There was a space of a foot or so there. She reached up and took one of the candles and brought it down to the floor.

She saw the dust beneath the cot but it had been disturbed. In one spot there were some blood spots.

She glanced up with a grin of triumph.

‘It is good that there is some slovenliness in Athelswith’s hostel. We must be thankful that our sisters have a habit of not sweeping under the cots.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Eadulf responded. ‘Dust? Why is that lucky for us?’

But Fidelma was already examining something else – a splinter of wood on one of the legs of the cot. From it she was detaching some strands of coarse woollen fibre.

She gave a sigh and rose to her feet.

‘Well?’ prompted Eadulf.

Fidelma smiled at him.

‘How do you read this scene?’

Eadulf shrugged.

‘As I have said. Athelnoth took his own life in remorse once he knew that he had been discovered.’

Fidelma shook her head in disagreement.

‘Does it not strike you as odd that Athelnoth showed no signs of remorse when he spoke to us the day before yesterday?’

‘No. Remorse can be long in the gestation.’

‘True. But does it not strike you as odd that Athelnoth then left the abbey yesterday morning and did not return until after dark? Where did he go? On what mission? Then, having gone on this mysterious mission, he returns to the abbey. He prepares for bed and goes to sleep. You have observed the cot has been slept in. He wakes before dawn and then, and only then, does the remorse strike at him so that he decides to take his own life?’

Eadulf grimaced defensively.

‘I agree there is some strangeness. I would certainly like to know where he went. But everything else fits. Remorse is a strange controller of fate.’