Peter Tremayne - Absolution by Murder

Oswy made a negative gesture.

‘I have studied this art under Sinlán of Kildare,’ went on Fidelma. ‘It is easy to the trained eye to spot individuality in the penmanship of a scribe, the way the letters are formed, the polished unicals, the cursive script. The poems were clearly, in my opinion, copied by Gwid.’

‘Then we should be grateful to you, Fidelma of Kildare,’ Colmán said solemnly. ‘We owe you much.’

‘Brother Eadulf and I worked as one on this matter,’ replied Fidelma awkwardly. ‘This was a partnership.’

She smiled quickly at Eadulf.

Eadulf returned the smile and shrugged.

‘Sister Fidelma is modest. I did but little.’

‘Enough to make these facts known to the assembly before I give my decision this very morning,’ replied Oswy decisively. ‘Enough to take the sting out of my words, trying to dispel the suspicion and mistrust that pervades the minds of our brethren.’

He paused and laughed ruefully.

‘I feel that some weight has lifted from these shoulders of mine, for the slaying of Abbess Étain of Kildare was done not for Rome or for Columba but in the name of lust, which is the meanest of motives.’

Chapter Twenty

The sacrarium was unusually quiet as Oswy rose from his seat and looked around at the rows of expectant faces. Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf, now their task was done, felt oddly detached from the synod and, instead of returning to their seats on the benches of their respective factions, they stood quietly together by a side door watching the events as if they were no longer part of them.

‘I have made my choice,’ Oswy stated. ‘Indeed, there was no choice to make. When all the argument was spent, it came down to one matter. Which church had the greatest authority – that of Rome or that of the Columban rule?’

There was a murmur of anticipation. Oswy raised a hand to silence it.

‘Colmán claimed the authority of the Divine Apostle John. Wilfrid claimed the authority of the Apostle Peter. Peter is, in the words of the Christ Himself, the keeper of the gate of Heaven and I have no wish to go against him. I desire to obey his commands in all things in case when I come to the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven he, who, by the testimony of the Gospels themselves, holds the keys, should turn me away and there be no one to open for me.’

Oswy paused and looked around the hall, which was unnaturally still.

‘Henceforth, the church in my kingdom of Northumbria shall follow the rule of Rome.’

The silence became ominous.

Colmán rose, his voice heavy.

‘Lord King, I have tried to serve you well these last three years, both as abbot at Lindisfarne and as your bishop. It is with a sorrowful heart that now I must resign these posts and return to my native land where I can worship the living Christ in accordance with my conscience and the teachings of my church. All those who wish to follow the ways of Columba will be welcome to join me in my voyage from this land.’

Oswy’s face was firmly set but there was also sadness in his eyes.

‘So be it.’

There was a murmuring as Colmán turned and left the sacrarium. Here and there, members of the Columban church rose to follow his dignified figure.

Abbess Hilda stood up, her face also sad.

‘The synod is at an end. Vade in pace. Depart with the peace and grace of our lord Christ.’

Sister Fidelma watched as the benches began to empty. There was hardly a sound now. The decision had been made and Rome had won.

Eadulf bit his lip. Although he was of the Roman faction he seemed to find sadness in the decision, for he glanced unhappily at Fidelma.

‘The decision is political,’ was his verdict. ‘It was not made on grounds of theology, which is sad. Oswy’s greatest fear is political isolation from the southern Saxon kingdoms over whom he wishes to extend his domination. If he had adhered to the teachings of Columba and his fellow Saxons had adhered to Rome, then he would be marked as bringing an alien culture to their land. Rome is already as much a political power in the kingdom of Kent as it is a spiritual power. The Britons to the west and the Dál Riadans and Picts to the north all threatened our borders. Whether we be men of Kent, or Northumbria, or Mercia or Wessex or East Anglia we are still of one language and one race. We must still contend for the supremacy of this island against those Britons and Picts who would drive us back into the sea.’

Fidelma stared at him in surprise.

‘You are well versed in the undertones of political motivation, Eadulf.’

The monk grimaced wryly.

‘Oswy’s decision was couched in the language of theology but, I tell you directly, Fidelma, his decision was made in the hard reality of political concerns. If he had supported the Columban cause then he would have incurred the enmity of the bishops of Rome. If he supported Rome then he would be accepted by the other kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons and they will then join forces to assert supremacy over this island of Britain and, perhaps one day, the lands beyond. That, I believe, is Oswy’s dream. A dream of power and empire.’

Sister Fidelma bit her lip and exhaled deeply.

So this was all it had meant? No more than power politics. No great intellectual decision or theological broadening of the mind. Oswy was just concerned with power, as all kings were in the final analysis. This great Synod of Streoneshalh was no more than a charade and had it not been for such a charade her friend Étain might well be alive. She turned abruptly away from Eadulf, tears suddenly rimming her eyes, and strode off to be alone for a while, walking along the cliff tops outside the brooding abbey. It was time to give way to the grief she had felt for her friend, Étain of Kildare.

The bell was tolling for the cena, the final meal of the day, when Fidelma crossed the cloisters to enter the refectory. She found Brother Eadulf waiting anxiously for her.

‘The pro-Roman bishops and abbots have met,’ he told her, speaking awkwardly, trying not to notice the redness around her bright eyes. ‘They have held a convocation and decided to elect Wighard as the replacement for Deusdedit.’

Fidelma showed little surprise as they turned in step into the great dining hall.

‘Wighard? So he will become the next Archbishop of Canterbury?’

‘Yes. It seems that he is thought to be the obvious choice of successor for he has been Deusdedit’s secretary for many years and is knowledgeable on all things relating to Canterbury. As soon as the synod disperses, Wighard is to go to Rome to present his credentials to the Holy Father there and ask his blessing in office.’

Fidelma’s eyes glistened a little.

‘Rome. I would love to see Rome.’

Eadulf smiled shyly.

‘Wighard has asked me to accompany him as his secretary and translator for, as you know, I have already spent two years in that city. Why not come with us and see Rome, Sister Fidelma?’

Fidelma’s eyes brightened and she found herself seriously contemplating the idea. Then the colour came hotly to her cheeks.

‘I have been too long away from Ireland,’ she said distantly. ‘I must take the news of Étain’s death back to my brethren in Kildare.’

Eadulf’s face fell in disappointment.

‘It would have been nice to have shown you the holy places of that great city.’

Perhaps it was the wistfulness in his voice that made her suddenly annoyed. He presumed too much. Then she relented her anger almost as soon as she recognised it. It was true she had grown somehow accustomed to Eadulf’s company. It would seem strange to be without him now that the investigation was over.

They had barely settled at their table when Sister Athelswith came up and informed them that the Abbess Hilda wished to see them after the serving of the cena.