Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

Colmán was on his feet, his face working with anger.

‘You are prevaricating, Wilfrid of Ripon. I have stated the authority of our church, John the Divine Apostle. State your authority or remain silent.’

There was a murmur of applause.

‘Very well. Rome demands obedience from all parts of Christendom because it was to Rome that Christ’s disciple Simon Bar-Jonah went to found His Church. This Simon was he whom we call Peter whom Christ nicknamed “the rock”. In Rome did Peter teach, in Rome did Peter suffer and in Rome did he die a martyr’s death. Peter is our authority and I shall read from the Gospel of Matthew to give power to my case.’

He turned and was handed a book by Wighard, opened at a page. Wilfrid began to read immediately.

‘“And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou Simon Bar-Jonah for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven …”’

Wilfrid paused and gazed round.

‘Our authority comes from Peter who thus holds the keys to the gates of the kingdom of heaven itself!’ Wilfrid sat down amidst rapturous applause from his supporters.

There was a silence when the applause died away. Eadulf suddenly nudged Fidelma and gestured to the dais. The Abbess Abbe had risen and was making her way hurriedly out of the sacrarium.

Their attention was immediately drawn back to the Abbess Hilda, who had risen to her feet once again.

‘Brethren of Christ, the final submissions have been made. It is now up to our sovereign lord, the king, Oswy, by the grace of God, Bretwalda of all the kingdoms, to deliver his judgment; the decision as to which church, Columban or Roman, has precedence in our kingdom. The judgment is now yours to make.’

She turned to Oswy, her features expectant as were those of all the participants of the synod.

Fidelma saw that the tall fair-haired king of Northumbria remained seated. He looked nervous and preoccupied. For several long moments he hesitated, biting at his lip as he stared around at the expectant faces in the sacrarium. Then he slowly rose. His voice was unnaturally sharp, hiding his anxiety.

‘I shall give my judgment tomorrow at noon,’ he said abruptly.

Against a chorus of protests, the king turned and left the sacrarium hurriedly. Alhfrith, the king’s son, was on his feet, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. He turned and rushed from the chapel. Eanflaed, Oswy’s wife, seemed better able to control her feelings, but her smile was bitter as she turned to her chaplain, Romanus, and engaged him in conversation. Ecgfrith, Oswy’s other son, was also smiling as he gathered his retinue and left the sacrarium.

The benches of both factions erupted into argument, voices raised against one another.

Fidelma exchanged a swift glance with Eadulf and motioned towards the doors.

Outside, Eadulf muttered: ‘Well, our brethren seemed to have been expecting an immediate decision. Did you notice that the Abbess Abbe left before the decision and that Brother Taran was not in attendance at all?’

Fidelma made little comment as she led the way back to the Abbess Hilda’s chamber.

Oswy was already there. His face was white and his features taut.

‘There you are!’ he snapped. ‘I was waiting most of the morning to see you. Where have you been? No matter. I wanted to speak with you before the final session of the synod.’

Fidelma was unabashed at his irritation.

‘Have you been told that there has been another murder?’

Oswy frowned.

‘Another? Do you mean Athelnoth?’

‘No – Seaxwulf, the secretary of Wilfrid of Ripon.’

Oswy shook his head slowly.

‘I do not understand. Last night Athelnoth was killed. Now, you tell me, Seaxwulf. For what purpose? Hilda says that you had at first thought Athelnoth had taken his own life in remorse at killing Étain.’

Eadulf coloured a little.

‘I leapt to a wrong conclusion. I soon realised I was in error,’ he said.

Oswy sniffed in annoyance.

‘I could have told you that you were in error,’ he said flatly. ‘Athelnoth was a man to be trusted.’

‘How so?’ demanded Fidelma sharply.

‘Because Athelnoth was my confidant. I have told you that these are dangerous times, that certain factions wish to oust me as king and are using this synod to create civil war in the kingdom.’

Oswy paused, as if seeking confirmation, but Fidelma motioned him to continue.

‘I have had to have eyes in the back of my head. Athelnoth was one of my best informants and advisers. Yesterday I sent him to my army, which waits encamped at Ecga’s Tun.’

Eadulf’s eyes lightened.

‘So that was where Athelnoth was all day yesterday and why he did not return until late last night.’

Oswy compressed his lips a moment, frowning at Eadulf’s aside.

‘He returned with important news for me, news of a plot to assassinate me and seize control of the kingdom. My army has had to march to counter an attack by the rebel army.’

Fidelma’s eyes were sparkling.

‘Some things now become clearer.’

‘Even clearer than you think, sister.’ Oswy was grim. ‘This morning my guards killed the thane Wulfric along with twenty of his warriors. They were attempting to enter the abbey secretly from the tunnel on the cliff top. As you know, at midnight all the gates are locked until the morning Angelus, which is rung at six o’clock. During that time all warriors bearing arms are excluded from the abbey. Athelnoth was sure that Wulfric had an accomplice among the brethren, waiting to assist him and his assassins and conduct them to my chambers.’

‘Indeed, it does become clear,’ Fidelma said.

Eadulf was frowning as he tried to reason what Fidelma was thinking.

‘I do not understand.’

‘Simple,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I think you will find that the person willing to let your assassins into the abbey this morning, Oswy of Northumbria, was the Pictish monk Taran.’

‘What makes you say this?’ demanded Oswy. ‘Why would a Pict concern himself with the ambitions of Northumbrian rebels to overthrow their king?’

‘Firstly because I know that Taran was friendly with Wulfric and that Taran lied about that friendship. Even on the journey here when I first met Wulfric, after he had killed Brother Aelfric, I had the impression that Wulfric recognised Taran, which indicates this plot was long in the hatching. And later I saw Taran meeting Wulfric in friendship. Taran denied this. I believe that Taran was willing to see Northumbria destroyed or at the best divided and at war with itself.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asked Oswy curiously.

‘Because the Picts, as you call the Cruthin, are a people who nurse old grudges and their hate is as long as it is fierce. Taran once told me that his father, a chieftain of the Gododdin, and his mother were both killed by your brother Oswald. Taran believed in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. That was why he was prepared to help those who would assassinate you.’

‘Where is this Brother Taran now?’

‘We last saw him hurrying down to the harbour,’ interposed Eadulf. ‘Do you think that he was seeking a ship, Fidelma? He did not attend the final session of the synod.’

‘Should I send warriors after Taran?’ asked Oswy. ‘Will they be able to catch up with him?’

‘He is harmless now,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘He is, indeed, on the high sea and doubtless fleeing back to the land of the Cruthin. I doubt that Taran will ever trouble your kingdom again. All that can be gained by pursuit and punishment is revenge.’