Fidelma’s eyes brightened.
‘A keepsake! What a fool I am. I think you have taken us a step nearer to the truth.’
Eadulf cast her a bewildered glance, not sure whether she was being sarcastic or not.
‘Seaxwulf was reading Greek love poems in the librarium the other evening. And he asked us if lovers exchanged gifts. Don’t you see?’
Eadulf looked totally bemused.
‘I don’t see how this helps us. Are you saying that Seaxwulf killed Athelnoth?’
‘And then drowned himself in a cask of wine? Think again, Eadulf!’
With an exclamation of exasperation she stood up abruptly, swaying a little. Eadulf caught her arm anxiously and they stood for a moment as she recovered from the fit of giddiness. Then she broke away in agitation.
‘Let us go down to the apotheca again and examine the cask from which our third corpse has gone missing. There is something I think Seaxwulf had which we must find.’
‘Are you fit enough?’ he demanded anxiously.
‘Of course,’ snapped Fidelma. Then she paused and a smile passed over her features. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said more softly. ‘You were right. It was a bitter medicine but my headache has gone. You have a talent there, Eadulf. You would make a fine apothecary.’
Chapter Sixteen
Eadulf led the way by the quicker route to the wine cellar through a small passageway and stair from the abbey kitchens. Had Fidelma known this short route it would have saved her much time in finding her way through the gloomy catacombs. Fidelma caught her breath as they traversed the kitchens, which were still full of strong odours, with the inevitable reek of stale boiled cabbage and herbs dominating. The stench followed them down a circular stone stair into the apotheca.
Fidelma went straight to the cask and sought the stool by which she had climbed to its rim. It took her a moment to mount carefully, watched anxiously by Eadulf, who held an oil lamp aloft to give a better light than the single candle she had previously used.
The cask held nothing more ominous than the dark liquid of the wine.
Fidelma leant over, peering into it. There was nothing in its crimson black murkiness that she could see. She turned and observed a long pole nearby, presumably for measuring the liquid in the casks for it had a series of measures carved into it. She took it and lowered it into the cask, feeling about with it in case the body had somehow sunk to the bottom.
There was no contact. There was nothing in the cask except what there was meant to be. She felt a little light-headed from the perfume of the wine.
Fidelma dismounted and walked around the cask. Then she paused, reaching out and feeling the oak wood. It was damp on one side. She sniffed at her fingertips. The scent of the wine was unmistakable.
‘Shine the light on the floor,’ she commanded.
Eadulf held the lamp obligingly.
The floor was wet and there were some scuff marks on its surface.
‘Our friend pulled the body out of the cask on this side and started to drag it … that way. Come on.’
She moved decisively, following the tell-tale line across the stone-flagged floor.
Eadulf followed her.
There were two parallel marks scuffed into the dust of the sandstone surface of the floor, with occasional damp patches. It seemed that someone had dragged the missing body by the arms so that the ankles left the marks across the floor.
The trail led into a passageway off the main hypogeum that was cut into the natural sandstone rock and which narrowed so that only two people could walk abreast. Fidelma went to move into it but, to her surprise, she found that Eadulf had laid a restraining hand on her arm.
‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘I have been told that this leads to one of the more popular of the male defectora, sister,’ Eadulf replied. Even by the unnatural light of the lamp she could see that he was blushing.
‘A lavatory?’
Eadulf nodded.
Fidelma sniffed and turned back into the tunnel.
‘Alas, I cannot spare their modesty nor mine. This is the way our murderer dragged the body of Seaxwulf.’
With a sigh of resignation, Eadulf followed her as she moved quickly onward along the narrow defile through the rock.
The tunnel seemed endless.
After a while Fidelma halted, ears straining to catch a discordant sound that had impinged upon her senses.
‘What’s that?’
Eadulf was frowning as he listened.
‘Thunder?’
The faint noise echoing along the passageway did, indeed, sound like the far-off rumble of distant thunder.
‘Thunder is not so consistent and remorseless,’ commented Fidelma.
She began to move forward again.
The faint breeze that they had felt throughout the abbey cellars and along the tunnel began to grow colder and sharper.
They turned a corner of the man-made tunnel and a sudden blast of cold, damp air hit them, causing the light of the oil lamp to waver and flicker out.
There came the overpowering scent of the sea, not just salt spray but the scent of seaweed.
‘We must be near the sea,’ Fidelma called, having to raise her voice so that Eadulf could hear. ‘Can you relight the lamp?’
‘No,’ Eadulf’s voice came forlornly. ‘I have nothing to light it with.’
They were standing in a darkness which, initially, they had thought as black as pitch. But gradually their eyes grew used to the gloom and a faint grey light spread itself along the tunnel.
‘There must be an opening up ahead,’ yelled Eadulf.
‘Let us continue,’ Fidelma replied.
Eadulf could just see her dark sharp moving forward.
‘Have a care,’ he called. ‘Stick close by the wall lest you slip.’
She made no acknowledgement to his cautious warning but moved firmly on, almost having to feel her way forward.
The roar grew louder.
She realised then that it was the sea. The tunnel entrance was coming out close to the edge of the sea. She could hear its breathless rasping over the shingle, and the angry crash as the waves came in and smashed against the rocks.
She pressed forward. She realised why Seaxwulf’s body had been dragged along this passageway towards the sea. The murderer had thrown the body into the waves. The light was growing brighter and the sound was now deafening.
She turned a corner and found herself unable to see as salt sea spray cascaded over her. Involuntarily she closed her eyes and took a step forward. Her foot was not connecting with the rocky floor; she seemed to hang suspended in the air. Then a strong hand caught her arm and she found herself being pulled backwards. She was back on terra firma with Eadulf at her side.
The tunnel had twisted and ended abruptly in the mouth of a small cavern from which was a fall of one hundred or more feet to the rocks and sea below.
Fidelma found herself shivering slightly at the nearness of the catastrophe.
‘I told you to have a care, sister,’ reproached Eadulf, his hand still on her arm.
‘I’m all right now.’
Eadulf shrugged and let go her arm.
‘That was a dangerous turn. You were blinded by the sudden light and spray.’
‘I’m all right now,’ she repeated, annoyed with her own awkwardness. ‘And I can see why the brethren choose this place to perform their defecations. It is continually washed by the sea. An excellent place.’
She turned, without embarrassment, and examined the cave entrance. She guessed it was situated in the cliffs below the abbey that fronted on to the grey, brooding northern seas.
‘At least we know now where Seaxwulf’s body has gone,’ she said, gesturing at the white froth crashing around the rocks below. She had to raise her voice to be heard above the restless waves.
‘But not where the person who transported his body here went,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘There were tracks leading into the tunnel but none coming o
ut. There would have been tracks obliterating the first ones had the murderer returned the same way.’
Fidelma looked at Eadulf appreciatively.
‘I think that we were only minutes behind the murderer, who perhaps heard us coming along the tunnel and so was prevented from returning that way. Which means’ – she peered around in the gloom – ‘that there is another exit.’ She suddenly grunted in satisfaction and pointed.
To one side a small series of stone steps, carved in the rock, led upwards.
She moved forward, stumbling slightly, for the rock was wet and slippery from the salt sea spray.
She balanced herself and began the ascent, assuming that Eadulf would follow.
It took a while, but she found herself emerging among some brambles on the windy grass atop the cliffs.
The abbey buildings were further up the rise from the spot where she had emerged.
‘Sister Fidelma!’ She jumped at the sound of a voice nearby. ‘Where on earth have you sprung from?’
She turned and found herself gazing into the astonished dark eyes of Abbess Abbe. By the abbess’s side Brother Taran stood, mouth agape.
Fidelma could not repress a soft chuckle at the question.
‘Not on earth, sister,’ she replied.
Abbe showed she did not understand. Then she jumped as Eadulf also emerged from the stairwell among the bramble bushes that covered it and on to the grass.
‘From under the earth,’ Eadulf explained, dusting himself down.
Abbess Abbe’s eyes were wide in her perplexity.
‘Where does that hole lead to? What were you doing down there?’
‘A long story,’ Fidelma said. ‘Have you been here long?’
The abbess smiled sadly.
‘A little while. I was walking with Brother Taran along the cliffs here to get some fresh air before the afternoon’s debate. I was wishing that Étain could be here. She had a way of calming tempers. And tempers are flaring and each exchange gets more heated. I fear that we shall have another Nicaean Council on our hands.’
Eadulf seemed bewildered. The abbess explained for him.
‘At the Council of Nicaea, when Arius of Alexandria rose to speak, one Nicholas of Myra was so outraged that he struck him in the face. There was uproar and pandemonium, with the delegates running out of the debating chamber lest they be beaten by either Arius’s followers or those that opposed him. In the panic that followed, I believe several of the brethren were killed. I feel that soon we shall have Wilfrid physically assaulting Colman.’
Fidelma was examining her closely.
‘Have you seen anyone else walking near here?’
Abbe shook her head and turned to her companion.
‘How about you, Brother Taran? You were here when I arrived.’
Taran raised the fingers of his right hand and pressed the bridge of his nose as if the action might help his recollection.
‘I saw Sister Gwid walking nearby and Wighard, Deusdedit’s secretary.’
‘Were Wighard and Gwid walking together or separately?’ Eadulf demanded.
‘Sister Gwid was on her own. She seemed to be in a hurry, heading to the harbour. Wighard was heading to the abbey, through the kitchen gardens yonder. Why do you ask?’
‘No matter,’ said Fidelma hurriedly. ‘We should be getting back to the abbey ourselves—’
She paused, frowning.
Sister Athelswith was hurrying in their direction. She was holding her skirts and trotting, in something as near to a run as she could manage without losing dignity.
‘Ah, Sister Fidelma! Brother Eadulf!’ She paused, gasping for breath.
‘What is it, sister?’ asked Fidelma, allowing her to regain her breath.
‘The king himself … the king requests your presence immediately.’
Abbess Abbe sighed.
‘I wonder what my brother can want? Let us all go back to the abbey and find out what ails him.’
Brother Taran gave a deprecating cough.
‘You’ll forgive me. I need to make a visit to the harbour first. I will join you in the sacrarium later.’
He left them, turning quickly down the path to the harbour.
Chapter Seventeen
On reaching Abbess Hilda’s chamber, Fidelma and Eadulf were told that the king had been waiting for them but had been summoned into the sacrarium. A sister who greeted them at the door told Abbess Abbe that her presence was also required immediately, for the synod was in its closing stages and the final arguments were about to be made. But, she informed them breathlessly, the king required the presence of Fidelma and Eadulf immediately after the ending of the session.
It was Eadulf who suggested that they go to the sacrarium to hear the closing stages of the debate and wait for Oswy there.
There was a curious look on Fidelma’s face, an expression that Eadulf had come to recognise as one denoting deep thought. He had to make the suggestion several times before she acknowledged him.
‘I suppose everyone knows about that male defectorum that opens to the sea?’ she asked. The question was directed at the domina. Athelswith spread her hands with a slightly flustered look.
‘Everyone in the abbey, I would imagine. It is not a secret.’
‘Everyone belonging to this abbey, but what of the visitors?’ insisted Fidelma. ‘For example, I did not know about it.’
‘That is true,’ agreed Sister Athelswith. ‘But only our male guests are told of it. It is for males only. Our brothers find it more modest to go there rather than use the defectorum across the quadrangle from the monasteriolum.’
‘I see. So what if a female wanders along the tunnel and into it by accident? There is no sign on the entrance.’
‘Most of the sisters use the building by the other side of the monasteriolum. They have no need to be in the hypogeum at all unless they work in the kitchens. And those working in the kitchens know of its existence. There is no need to fix a sign on the tunnel.’
Sister Fidelma was thoughtful as she turned to follow Eadulf to the sacrarium.
The atmosphere was tense in the sacrarium and the Abbess Hilda was on her feet addressing the packed benches of clerics.
‘Brothers and sisters in Christ,’ she was saying as Fidelma and Eadulf entered quietly through the side door behind the benches now packed with representatives of the Columban church, ‘let the final submissions be made.’
Colmán rose to his feet, blunt as ever. He had elected to speak first – a choice that Fidelma thought unwise, for the man who speaks last is always the one who is listened to.
‘Brethren, over these last few days you have heard why we of the church of Columba follow our customs concerning the dating of Easter. Our church claims its authority from the Divine John, son of Zebedee, who forsook the sea of Galilee to follow the Messiah. He was the disciple most beloved of Christ, who rested on his master’s breast at the Last Supper. And Jesus did not forsake him. When the Son of the Living God was expiring on the Cross, He had strength enough to confide the care of His mother, the Blessed Mary, to John.
‘This same John ran before Peter to the tomb on the morning of the blessed resurrection and seeing it empty was the first to believe and thence was the first to see the risen Lord by the Sea of Tiberias. John was the blessed of Christ.
‘When Jesus confided the care of His mother and family into the arms of John, He confided His Church to that care. That is why we accept the ways of John. John is our path to Christ.’
Colman resumed his seat amid murmured applause from the Columban benches.
Wilfrid rose. There was a smile on his lips. He looked complacent.
‘We have heard that the representatives of Columba cite the apostle John as the supreme authority by which their customs stand and fall. I therefore say to you that they must fall.’
There was a ripple of anger from the Columban benches.
Abbess Hilda gestured with her hand for silence.
‘We must accord Wi
lfrid of Ripon the same courtesy as we accorded Colman, bishop of Northumbria,’ she rebuked softly.
Wilfrid was smiling, like a hunter who knows his prey is within his sight.
‘The Easter we of Rome observe is the one that is celebrated by all at Rome, the city where the blessed apostles Peter and Paul lived, taught, suffered and were buried. It is a usage that is universal in Italy, in Gaul, Frankia and Iberia, through which I have travelled for the purpose of study and prayer. In every part of the world, by different nations speaking different tongues, this practice is followed by all at one and the same time. The only exception is this people!’ He pointed derisively to the Columban benches. ‘I mean the Irish, the Picts and the Britons and those of our people who have chosen to follow their erroneous teachings. The only excuse they have for this ignorance is that they come from the two remotest islands in the Western Ocean and then from only parts of them. Because of this remoteness they stand isolated from true knowledge and they pursue a foolish struggle against the whole world. They may be holy but they are few – too few to have precedence over the universal Church of Christ.’
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 …”’
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