Absolution by Murder sf-1 Read online

  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.

  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.’

  ‘Remorse does not allow a person to knock himself on the back of the head before hanging himself.’

  Eadulf’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  Fidelma calmly handed him the candle.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  The Saxon monk turned and climbed on to the stool, which Fidelma had left in place. He raised the candle and saw the dark stain on the back of the hanging man’s head. Blood was matting the hair.

  ‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ grunted Eadulf reluctantly. ‘In his death throes he might have smashed his head against the wall.’

  ‘If so, there will be blood on the wall where the abrasion was made. Show me it.’

  Eadulf turned and looked over the wall. He could find no such mark.

  He turned with an expression of perplexity.

  ‘Are you saying that he was hit on the back of the head by someone and then placed in that position so that he strangled to death?’

  ‘Hit with a cudgel or something similar,’ she agreed.

  ‘Are you saying that whoever hit him then hanged him to make it seem like suicide?’

  ‘Yes, that is precisely what I am saying.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Our murderer entered the cell, hit Athelnoth on the head and contrived to hang him while unconscious from that peg.’

  ‘And then he left?’

  ‘He or she,’ corrected Fidelma.

  Eadulf climbed down and grimaced without mirth.

  ‘You have forgotten one thing, sister. There is nowhere to hide and Sister Athelswith was in the corridor when she heard Athelnoth being hanged. She saw the door the whole time and no one exited from this cubiculum.’

  Fidelma sniffed at his sarcastic tone.

  ‘On the contrary, I did not forget that fact. Sister Athelswith did hear the deed being done. She called out asking what the matter was. That warned the murderer. The killer, taking the cudgel, hid in the only possible place, under the bed. Some fibres from t
he murderer’s garment caught on the splintered leg of the cot and some blood spots dropped from the cudgel. You may examine them yourself. When Sister Athelswith entered, she had eyes only for the body of Athelnoth. Then she ran to find Abbess Hilda, allowing the murderer to depart at leisure.’

  Eadulf felt the colour on his cheeks. Fidelma made it seem all so easy to deduce.

  ‘I apologise,’ he said slowly. ‘I thought my eyes were trained against such subterfuge.’

  ‘No matter.’ Fidelma almost felt sorry at his woebegone expression. ‘The main thing is that the truth be seen.’

  ‘What do the fibres tell us?’ Eadulf went on hurriedly.

  ‘Unfortunately little enough. They are of a common enough weave. They could come from anyone’s clothing. But perhaps we may see someone with a tear in their clothing or dust on them which might help us identify them.’

  Eadulf rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  ‘The question is, why would the murderer want to kill Athelnoth?’

  ‘I can only assume that Athelnoth knew something that would incriminate the real killer, or that the murderer thought that he knew something. He was killed to prevent him from telling that something to us.’ She hesitated and then said firmly, ‘We’d best go and inform the Mother Abbess that we are far from finished with this matter yet.’

  Abbess Hilda greeted them with an uncharacteristic smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Oswy the king will be pleased at your work,’ she began as she indicated seats before the smouldering turf fire.

  Sister Fidelma cast a meaningful glance at Eadulf.

  ‘Our work?’

  ‘Of course,’ went on Hilda with satisfaction. ‘The mystery is solved. The wretched Athelnoth slew Abbess Étain and then in remorse killed himself. And the motive was one of carnal ambition. Nothing to do with the politics of the church. Brother Eadulf explained it to me.’

  Eadulf reddened in embarrassment.

  ‘When I told you that, Mother Abbess, there were factors that I had overlooked.’

  Fidelma decided not to help the Saxon monk out of the predicament that he himself had created.

  Hilda’s brow lowered in annoyance.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you made a mistake when you told me that the matter was closed?’