Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

‘Don’t look at me! I think I am watched. I have news of Étain’s death. Meet me in the apotheca by the casks where the wine is stored within fifteen minutes.’

Seaxwulf rose, as if he had re-tied his sandal strap, and resumed his path out of the refectory.

Fidelma continued finishing her meal, forcing herself to eat leisurely.

Finally she bent her head over her empty bowl, rose, genuflected and made her way out of the hall.

She strolled out of the gate of the abbey and through the grounds. She kept her head down, but her eyes were darting hither and thither as she sought any who might be watching or following her. Only after she had circumvented the buildings and was assured that no one was observing her did she hurry her pace, slipping back into the abbey building and moving to the entrance to the hypogeum, the vaults that ran beneath the abbey building.

She paused at the top of the flight of circular stone steps that led down into the dark catacombs below. There was a wooden shelf just within the door on which several candles had been placed together with an oil lamp from which they could be lit. She took one and lit it, and began to descend into the darkness. It was the route by which Sister Athelswith had conducted her with Brother Eadulf. Fidelma realised that there was probably an easier route to the apotheca but she did not wish to ask anyone the way to her rendezvous with Seaxwulf.

The vaults beneath the abbey had been tunnelled in the first place to accommodate the members of the house who died. The great chambers were lined in sandstone blocks and built with arches to support the floors above. They formed a labyrinth in which many things were stored. Fidelma tried to remember the way to the apotheca where the series of great wooden casks containing wines imported from Frankia, Rome and Iberia were stored.

Fidelma paused at the foot of the stairway and looked about her.

It was cold and dank in the vaults. She shivered, half wishing that she had waited to tell Eadulf where she was going.

She moved quietly down the central way, passing a line of stone shelves on which were several wooden coffins containing the bodies of the brethren of Streoneshalh who had died over the years. The musty smell of death hung over the place. Fidelma bit her lip. She passed by the small chamber in which the body of Abbess Étain lay. That of Deusdedit, the archbishop, she knew, had been carried out of the abbey for cremation, as was the custom with all victims of the Yellow Plague.

She was sure that the kitchen servants did not have to come this way every time they wanted to fill the wine flagons. There would obviously be a shorter way from the kitchens to the wine store.

She frowned, trying to remember the way by which the elderly domina, Sister Athelswith, had conducted her.

She decided to go straight on.

It was oddly draughty in the vaults. A cold breath caused her candle to flicker every now and again, which indicated that there were entrances that allowed a breeze to enter the catacombs. The only way that could possibly be was if the entrances led directly to the outside of the abbey buildings.

She had gone some way before the scent of wine, mixed with the bitter-sweet stench of stale cooking from the great abbey kitchens above, told her that she was nearing the section of the hypogeum reserved for the storage of wine. She halted and peered around. The light of her candle was limited and she could see nothing beyond its immediate ring of light.

‘Seaxwulf!’ she called softly. ‘Are you down here?’

The echoes came back like the rumble of thunder.

She held up her candle, causing grotesque shadows to dance madly in all directions.

‘Seaxwulf!’

She moved around the barrels, peering here and there in case he was sheltering.

Then she halted, head to one side.

There came to her ears a hollow thumping sound. Frowning, she tried to identify the noise. It was like someone knocking gently on wood.

‘Is that you, Seaxwulf?’ she called softly.

There was no answer, yet the knocking continued.

Puzzled, she edged around the great wooden barrels. But there was no sign of Wighard’s effeminate secretary.

Then she located the sound. It was coming from the inside of one of the barrels. She stopped, perplexed.

‘Seaxwulf? Are you in there?’

It seemed an odd place for the monk to be hiding.

The knocking was distinct now. She reached out a hand and felt the vibration on the wood of the great cask. Thud. Thud. Thud. There was no other answer. She turned and saw a small wooden stool. She manoeuvred it against the side of the wooden cask, which was six feet in height. The stool gave her the extra height so that she could peer over the rim of the cask.

Holding her candle high in one hand, she carefully climbed on to the stool and peered down into the cask.

Seaxwulf lay face down in the vat, floating on the red surface of the wine. There was a ripple in the liquid which was causing the body to move in a regular rhythm, the head knocking against the side of the wooden cask and sending out a hollow thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Startled, Fidelma took a step backwards, missed her footing and toppled from the stool. The candle went flying out of her hand. She flailed out wildly, trying to catch something to prevent the inevitable fall. Then she went backwards. She knew that she had hit the ground by the sudden cascade of lights that exploded before her eyes a split second before everything went dark.

At the end of a long, dark tunnel, Fidelma could hear someone moaning softly. She blinked and tried to focus. The tunnel receded and it became more light. She realised that the moaning was coming from her.

Brother Eadulf’s face swam into her vision. He looked drawn and anxious.

‘Fidelma? Are you all right?’

She blinked again and everything came into sharper focus. She realised that she was lying on the cot in her own cubiculum. Behind Eadulf’s shoulder the anxious grey face of the elderly domina was peering at her with concern.

‘I think so,’ she said ruefully, feeling a thickness in her mouth. ‘I would like some water.’

Sister Athelswith reached forward and pressed a pottery mug into her hand.

The water was cold and refreshing.

‘I fell,’ Fidelma said as she handed it back, realising at once, it seemed a silly thing to say.

Eadulf grinned in relief.

‘You did. You seemed to have toppled off a stool in the apotheca. What on earth were you up to down there?’

Remembrance came back at once. Fidelma struggled to sit up. She had been placed fully clothed on her own cot. The back of her head was sore.

‘Seaxwulf!’

Eadulf frowned uncertainly.

‘What has he to do with it?’ he demanded. ‘Did he attack you?’

Fidelma stared at Eadulf with incomprehension for a moment or two.

‘Didn’t you see?’

Eadulf shook his head, frowning.

‘Perhaps the good sister is distraught,’ muttered Sister Athelswith.

Fidelma reached forward and grabbed the young monk’s hand.

‘Seaxwulf has been killed. Did you not see him?’ she demanded urgently.

Eadulf again shook his head, staring at her. Sister Athelswith gave a gasp and placed a hand over her mouth.

Fidelma struggled to get off the cot, but Eadulf held her back.

‘Careful, you might well have injured yourself.’

‘I am all right,’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘How did you find me?’

It was Sister Athelswith who answered.

‘One of the kitchen staff heard a cry from the vaults beneath the kitchen and went down. She found you lying on your back beside a wine cask. She sent for me and I sent for Brother Eadulf who carried you back into your room.’