Absolution by Murder sf-1

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and smiled. ‘I will have that wine now.’

  The anxious brother handed her the goblet. She drained it and handed it back.

  ‘I knew that Gwid seemed to worship Étain and preened herself whenever she was near. I was in error to think that she had sought Étain’s friendship out of mere respect. We are all wise after the events. Gwid had studied under Étain at Emly. Étain became the object of adulation by Gwid, a lonely, unhappy girl who, incidentally, had spent five years as a slave in this kingdom, having been captured from her own country as a small child.

  ‘Apparently Gwid was upset when Étain left Emly for Kildare. She could not follow because she was bound in the abbey for another month. When she was free to follow Étain she found that Étain was coming to Northumbria to take part in this debate. She therefore took passage from Ireland to Iona.

  ‘It was there, at Iona, that I met Gwid and she claimed that she was Étain’s secretary in order that she could journey with us to Streoneshalh.

  ‘But the indications of what was really happening were before my eyes the whole time. When I saw Étain she seemed hesitant about acknowledging Gwid as her secretary. In fact, Athelnoth indicated that Gwid had followed Étain here not because Étain had sent for her but from her own motivation. He thought Étain had given Gwid the job once she arrived out of pity. Naturally he did not go into detail as to how he knew this because he did not want to reveal his relationship with Étain.

  ‘But this was confirmed by Seaxwulf, who was Wilfrid’s secretary. He told me quite clearly that Gwid was not really Étain’s confidant nor privy to any of the negotiations Wilfrid was conducting with Étain. We were all so horrified to learn of these negotiations that we forgot this main point.’

  Fidelma paused. She poured herself another goblet of wine and sipped it reflectively.

  ‘Gwid had developed an unnatural adulation for Étain, a passion that Étain could never return. And Étain had told me yet I did not see it. She told me that Gwid, who is a good Greek scholar, spent more time worshipping the poems of Sappho than construing the Gospels. Knowing Greek, I should have known immediately the implications of that remark.’

  Oswy interrupted.

  ‘I do not know Greek. Who is Sappho?’

  ‘An ancient Greek poetess, surely,’ Eadulf interposed.

  ‘A lyric poetess born at Eresus on the island of Lesbos. She gathered a circle of women and girls around her and her poems are full of the passionate intensity of her love for them and theirs for her. The poet Anacreon says that it was because of Sappho that the name of the island, Lesbos, connotes female homosexuality.’

  Abbess Hilda appeared distressed.

  ‘Are you telling us that Sister Gwid developed a … an … an unnatural love for Étain?’

  ‘Yes. Gwid was desperate in her passion. She demonstrated her love by giving Étain copies of two of Sappho’s poems. Étain gave one to her own lover, Athelnoth, presumably to explain to him what was happening. He indicated as much to us. The other she kept. At some stage, just before the opening of the synod, Étain told Gwid that she could not respond to Gwid’s love – that, indeed, she loved Athelnoth and, after the synod, they were going to cohabit in a double house.’

  ‘Gwid went berserk,’ interposed Eadulf hurriedly. ‘You saw just how quickly she lost her temper? She was a strong woman, physically stronger than a lot of us, I’ll warrant. She attacked Étain, a slightly built woman, and cut her throat. She took Étain’s betrothal brooch, given her by Athelnoth, and tried to take back the two poems that she had given Étain. She could only find one, for the other was already in Athelnoth’s keeping.’

  ‘I remember that she arrived late in the sacrarium on that first day of the debate,’ Fidelma said. ‘She had been hurrying and was red in the face and breathless. She had just come from killing Étain.’

  ‘While Étain remained celibate, Gwid was more or less content to remain her doting slave. Just being near her was probably enough. But when Étain told Gwid that she loved Athelnoth—’ Eadulf shrugged.

  ‘There is no rage so powerful as hate born of scorned love,’ Fidelma commented. ‘Gwid was a powerful young woman but she was intelligent and cunning as well, for she cleverly tried to implicate Athelnoth. Then she realised that Étain must have given him the other poem. And rage again possessed her. That Étain could betray love and hold her up to ridicule before this mere man! Indeed, she even told me that she considered that Étain had found absolution for what Gwid saw as her sin in this murder. Oh, not so directly was this said but I should have interpreted it correctly when it was said.’

  Oswy was bemused.

  ‘So Gwid also felt compelled to kill Athelnoth?’

  Fidelma nodded.

  ‘She was strong enough, after she had knocked him unconscious, to hoist his body on to the hook in his cubiculum to choke him to death and make it seem like suicide.’

  ‘But,’ interposed Eadulf again, ‘Sister Athelswith heard the sounds of Athelnoth being killed and came to the door. Gwid had time to hide under the bed as the domina came into the cubiculum. She saw Athelnoth at once and ran off to raise the alarm. Gwid was now in a dilemma. She had no time to look for the vellum with her second poem on it.’

  ‘But how did Seaxwulf come to get the brooch and poem, the other brooch and poem?’ Wighard enquired. ‘You said that Gwid had taken this from Étain’s body.’

  Sister Athelswith slid back into the room and motioned Fidelma to continue.

  ‘Brother Seaxwulf suffered an affliction. He had the mind of a magpie. He loved to pick up pretty things. He was rebuked and chastised for attempting to steal from the brothers’ dormitorium. Wilfrid had him beaten with a birch stick. Later, in spite of this, Seaxwulf must have searched the dormitorium of the anchoresses. He had an eye for pretty jewellery and discovered Étain’s brooch among Gwid’s personal things. He found it wrapped in a Greek poem called “Love’s Attack”. He took them both. The poem intrigued him. He looked it up in the librarium and found that it was a poem by Sappho. He even asked me about the custom of exchanging gifts between lovers. I did not see what he was driving at until too late. Seaxwulf must have suspected Gwid. When he knew Athelnoth had been killed he came to tell me. He found me in the refectory with sisters close by. In his anxiety to be understood he addressed me in Greek to arrange the meeting. But he forgot that Gwid, who was sitting within earshot, knew Greek better than he did. It was a fatal mistake. Gwid had to silence him.

  ‘She followed him, knocked him on the head and then killed him in the wine cask by holding him under the liquid. I came along too soon for her to search the body. In my surprise at discovering the body I slipped and fell off that stool by accident knocking myself out. My cry brought Eadulf and Sister Athelswith into the apotheca. They took me to my cubiculum. This gave Gwid time to retrieve Seaxwulf’s body and drag it along the passage to the defectorum on the cliff edge and throw it into the sea. Not before she searched it, of course.’

  ‘So why had she missed the brooch and poem on Seaxwulf’s body?’ demanded Abbess Hilda. ‘She had enough time while she was dragging his body from the cask and transporting it along the tunnel.’

  Fidelma smiled wryly.

  ‘Seaxwulf followed the latest fashion. He had a new-style sacculus sewn into his tunica. This was where he had placed both the poem and the brooch. Poor Gwid did not know of the existence of the sacculus. But she was not worried, having disposed, as she thought, of the body and any evidence it held by throwing it into the sea. She did not realise that the tide would wash the body close inshore along the harbour within six to twelve hours.’

  ‘You say that Sister Gwid was able to drag the body of Seaxwulf through the tunnel to the sea. Was she really that powerful?’ demanded Hilda. ‘And how did she, a stranger, know of the defectorum’s existence? It is for our male brethren only and usually only male guests are informed of its existence.’

  ‘Sister Athelswith told me that, to keep male
modesty intact, the sisters who worked in the kitchens were told about it so that they would not wander along it by mistake. After Étain’s death, Sister Gwid took to working in the kitchens to occupy her time.’

  The elderly domina coloured.

  ‘It is true,’ she confessed. ‘Sister Gwid came to ask me if she could work in the kitchens while she was here. I felt sorry for her and agreed. The mistress of the kitchens obviously warned her about the male defectorum.’

  ‘We were distracted, for a while, by the politics of your son Alhfrith,’ Eadulf conceded. ‘We were misled for some time believing that he or Taran or Wulfric might have been involved in the matter.’

  Sister Fidelma spread her hands with a gesture of finality.

  ‘There you have it.’

  Eadulf smiled grimly.

  ‘A woman whose love is scorned is like a stream dammed by a log, deep, muddy and troubled and withal revolving with powerful turbulence. Such was Gwid.’

  Colmán sighed.

  ‘Publicius Syrus said that a woman loves or hates, she knows no other course.’

  Abbess Abbe laughed scornfully.

  ‘Syrus was a fool like most men.’

  Oswy rose to his feet.

  ‘Well, it took a woman to track down this fiend,’ he observed. Then he grimaced. ‘Even so, had not Gwid been of a volatile temper, all you had was circumstantial accusations. True they all fitted into a complete pattern but if Gwid had stood and denied everything could you have convicted her?’

  Fidelma smiled thinly.

  ‘We shall never know that now, Oswy of Northumbria. But I would say yes. Do you know much about the art of calligraphy?’

  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 o
f 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.

  The Abbess Hilda rose from her chair as Sister Fidelma and Brother Eadulf entered her chamber and came forward with hands outstretched to both of them. Her smile was genuine, but there were deep etches around her eyes which marked the strain of the last days and the final conclusion of the synod.

  ‘I have been asked to thank you both on behalf of Colmán and of Oswy the king.’

  Sister Fidelma took her hand in both of hers and inclined her head while Eadulf bent to kiss Abbess Hilda’s ring according to the Roman practice.

  Abbess Hilda paused for a moment and then gestured them to be at their ease. She seated herself before the fire.