Near the bed she suddenly noticed a pile of ashes. She dropped to one knee beside the ashes and examined them, trying not to disperse them with her breath, for they appeared to be the remnants of some piece of paper, or vellum, perhaps. Not a very big piece either, but it was burnt beyond recognition.
She rose and examined the door next.
There were two wooden bars which had secured it. Each bar, when in place, slotted into iron rests. The first was at a height of three feet from the bottom of the door while the second was five feet from the bottom. She saw that one of the iron rests had been splintered from the wooden doorjamb, obviously when Ultan had broken in. The pressure against the bar had wrenched the rest from its fastenings. But the bottom set of rests were in place and there was no sign of damage to the second bar, which was lying just behind the door. Both bars were solid enough. The ends were wrapped with twine, she presumed to stop the wood wearing against the iron rests in which they lodged. On one of the bars the pieces of twine had become unwound, blackened and frayed at the end.
Sister Fidelma gave a deep sigh.
Here, indeed, was a problem to be solved, unless the owner of the kerchief could supply an answer.
She moved to the door and suddenly found herself slipping. She reached out a hand to steady herself. There was a small pool of blackened grease just inside the door. Her sharp eyes caught sight of a similar pool on the other side of the door. Bending to examine them, she frowned as she noticed two nails attached on the door frame, on either side of the door. A short length of twine, blackened and frayed at the end, was attached to each nail.
Sister Fidelma compressed her lips thoughtfully and stood staring at the door for a long while before turning to leave the death chamber.
In Abbot Laisran’s chamber, Sister Fidelma seated herself at the long table. She had arranged with the Abbot to interview any she felt able to help her in arriving at a solution to the problem. Laisran himself offered to sit in on her encounters but she had felt it unnecessary. Laisran had taken himself to a side room, having presented her with a bell to summon him if she needed any help.
Brother Ultan was recruited to fetch those whom she wanted to see and was straightaway dispatched to bring Wulfstan’s fellow Saxon prince, Eadred, who had helped Ultan discover the body, as well as his cousin Raedwald.
Eadred was a haughty youth with flaxen hair and cold blue eyes that seemed to have little expression. His features seemed fixed with a mixture of disdain and boredom. He entered the chamber, eyes narrowing as he beheld Sister Fidelma. A tall, muscular young man in his late twenties accompanied Eadred. Although he carried no arms, he acted as if he were the prince’s bodyguard.
“Are you Eadred?” Fidelma asked the youth.
The young man scowled.
“I do not answer questions from a woman.” His voice was harsh, and that combined with his guttural accent made his stilted Irish sound raucous.
Sister Fidelma sighed. She had heard that Saxons could be arrogant and that they treated their womenfolk more as chattels than as human beings.
“I am investigating the death of your countryman, Wulfstan. I need my questions to be answered,” she replied firmly.
Eadred merely ignored her.
“Lady.” It was the tall muscular Saxon who spoke and his knowledge of Irish was better than that of his prince. “I am Raedwald, thane of Staeningum, cousin to the thane of Andredswald. It is not the custom of princes of our race to discourse with women if they be not of equal royal rank.”
“Then I am obliged for your courtesy in explaining your customs, Raedwald. Eadred, your cousin, seems to lack a knowledge of the law and customs of the country in which he is now a guest.”
Ignoring the angry frown on Eadred’s features, she reached forward and rang the silver bell on the table before her. The Abbot Laisran entered from a side room.
“As you warned me, your Grace, the Saxons seem to think that they are above the law of this land. Perhaps they will accept the explanation from your lips.”
Laisran nodded and turned to the young men. He bluntly told them of Fidelma’s rank and position in law, that even the High King had to take note of her wisdom and learning. Eadred continued to scowl but he inclined his head stiffly when I Laisran told him that he was under legal obligation to answer Fidelma’s questions. Raedwald seemed to accept the explanation as a matter of course.
“As your countryman considers you of royal rank, I will deign to answer your questions,” Eadred said, moving forward and seating himself without waiting for Fidelma’s permission. Raedwald continued to stand.
Fidelma exchanged a glance with Laisran, who shrugged.
“The customs of the Saxons are not our customs, Sister Fidelma,” Laisran said apologetically. “You will ignore their tendency to boorish behavior.”
Eadred flushed angrily.
“I am a prince of the blood royal of the South Saxons, descended through the blood of Aelle from the great god Woden!”
Raedwald, who stood silently with arms folded behind him, looking unhappy, opened his mouth and then closed it firmly.
Abbot Laisran genuflected. Sister Fidelma merely stared at the young man in amusement.
“So you are not yet truly Christian, believing only in the One True God?”
Eadred bit his lip.
“All Saxon royal houses trace their bloodline to Woden, whether god, man or hero,” he responded, with a slightly defensive tone.
“Tell me something of yourself then. I understand that you were cousin to Wulfstan? If you find speaking in our language difficult, you may speak in Latin or Greek. I am fluent in their usage.”
“I am not,” rasped Eadred. “I speak your language from my study here but I speak no other tongue fluently, though I have some knowledge of Latin.”
Sister Fidelma hid her surprise and gestured for him to continue. Most Irish princes and chieftains she knew spoke several languages fluently besides their own, especially Latin and some Greek.
“Very well. Wulfstan was your cousin, wasn’t he?”
“Wulfstan’s father Cissa, king of the South Saxons, was brother to my father, Cymen. I am thane of Andredswald, as my father was before me.”
“Tell me how Wulfstan and yourself came to be here, in Durrow.”
Eadred sniffed. “Some years ago, one of your race, a man called Diciul, arrived in our country and began to preach of his god, a god with no name who had a son named Christ. Cissa, the king, was converted to this new god and turned away from Woden. The man of Éireann was allowed to form a community, a monastery, at Bosa’s Ham, in our land, and many went to hear him teach. Cissa decided that Wulfstan, who was heir apparent to the kingship, should come to the land of Éireann for education.”
Sister Fidelma nodded, wondering whether it was the young man’s poor usage of Irish that made him seem so disapproving of Cissa’s conversation to Christ.
“Then Wulfstan is the Tanist in your land?”
Abbot Laisran intervened with a smile.
“The Saxons have a different system of law from us, Sister Fidelma,” he interrupted. “They hold that the eldest son inherits all. There is no election by the derbhfine such as we have.”
“I see,” nodded Fidelma. “Go on, Eadred. Cissa decided to send Wulfstan here.”
The young man grimaced sourly.
“I was ordered to accompany him and learn with him. We came together with our cousin Raedwald, thane of Staeningum, and ten churls and five slaves to attend our needs, and here we have been now for six moons.”
“And not the best of our students,” muttered Laisran.
“That’s as may be,” snapped Eadred. “We did not ask to come, but were ordered by Cissa. I shall be pleased to depart now and take the body of my kinsman back to my country.”
“Does the Latin inscription cave quid dicis mean anything to you?”
Eadred sniffed. “It is the motto of the young Frankish prince, Dagobert.”
Sister Fidelma gaz
ed thoughtfully at the young man before turning to Raedwald. The muscular young man’s face was flushed and confused.
“And you, Raedwald? Does it mean anything to you?”
“Alas, I have no Latin, lady,” he mumbled.
“So? And when did you last see Wulfstan?”
“Just after Vespers.”
“What happened exactly?”
“As usual, Wulfstan was accompanied by myself and Eadred, with two of our churls and two slaves, to his chamber for the night. We searched the chamber as usual and then Wulfstan entered and dismissed us.”
Eadred nodded in agreement. “I talked awhile with Raedwald in the corridor. We both heard Wulfstan secure the wooden bars. Then I went off to my chamber.”
Sister Fidelma glanced again toward Raedwald.
“And you can confirm this, Raedwald?”
Eadred flushed. “You doubt my word?” His voice was brittle.
“This investigation will be conducted under our law, Eadred,” retorted Fidelma in annoyance.
Raedwald looked awkward.
“I can confirm what Eadred says, lady,” he replied. “The thane of Andredswald speaks the truth. As soon as we heard the bars slide shut we both knew that the prince, Wulfstan, had secured himself in for the night and so we both departed for our sleeping chambers.”
Sister Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.
“You can also confirm, Eadred, that Wulfstan was afraid of being attacked? Why was that?”
Eadred sniffed. “There are too many mad welisc in this place and one in particular had made several threats against him ... that barbarian Talorgen!”
“Welisc? Who are they?” frowned Fidelma, puzzled.
Laisran gave a tired smile.
“The Saxons call all Britons welisc. It is a name which signifies that they are foreigners.”
“I see. So you left Wulfstan safely secured in his room? You did not seem to be as afraid of the Britons as your cousin. Why was that?”
Eadred laughed bitterly.
“I would not be thane of Andredswald if I could not defend myself against a pack of welisc cowards. No, I fear no barbarian’s whelp nor his sire, either.”
“And the rest of your Saxon entourage? Did they fear the Britons?”
“Whether they feared or not, it is of no significance. I command them and they will do as I tell them.”
Sister Fidelma exhaled in exasperation. It would be difficult to live in a Saxon country if one was not a king or a thane, she thought.
“When did you realize that Wulfstan was missing?” she prompted.
“At prayers following the first bell....”
“He means the Angelus,” explained Laisran.
“He did not come to prayers and, thinking he had slept late, I went to classes.”
“What classes were these?”
“That weasel-faced Finan’s class on the conduct of law between kingdoms.”
“Go on.”
“During the midmorning break, having realized that Wulfstan was missing, I went to his room. The door was shut, signifying he was still inside. I banged upon the door. There was no response. I then went to look for Brother Ultan, the house-churl ...”
“The steward of our community,” corrected Laisran softly.
“We went to Wulfstan’s chamber and Ultan had to call upon two other brothers to help us break in the door. Wulfstan had been feloniously slain. One doesn’t have to search far for the culprit.”
“And who might that be?” invited Sister Fidelma.
“Why, it is obvious. The welisc-man, Talorgan, who calls himself a prince of Rheged. He had threatened Wulfstan’s life. And it is well known the welisc practice sorcery ...”
“What do you mean?” Fidelma asked sharply.
“Why, the fact that Wulfstan had been slaughtered in his bedchamber while the window was barred and the door shut and secured from the inside. Who else but a welisc would be able to shape-change and perpetrate such a monstrous deed?”
Sister Fidelma hid her cynical smile.
“Eadred, I think you have much to learn, for you seem to be wallowing in the superstition of your old religion.”
Eadred sprang up, his hand going to his belt where a knife might be worn.
“I am thane of Andredswald! I consented to be questioned by a mere woman because it is the custom of this land. However, I will not be insulted by one.”
“I am sorry that you think, that I insult you,” Sister Fidelma replied, with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You may go.”
Eadred’s face was working in a rage but Laisran moved forward and opened the door.
The young Saxon prince turned and stormed out. Raedwald hesitated a moment, made a gesture almost of apology, and then followed the prince out of the room.
“Did I not tell you that these Saxons are strange, haughty people, Fidelma?” smiled Laisran almost sadly.
Sister Fidelma shook her head.
“They probably have their good and bad like all people. Raedwald seems filled more with the courtesy of princes than his cousin Eadred.”
“Well, if Eadred and his followers are to be judged, then we have had their bad. As for Raedwald, although a thane and older than either Wulfstan or Eadred, he seems quiet and was dominated by them both. He is more of a servant than a master. I gather this is because his cousins both stand in closer relationship to their king than he does.” Laisran paused and cast her a curious glance. “Why did you ask them about the Latin motto—cave quid dices?”
“It was a motto found on a piece of linen which wiped the weapon that killed Wulfstan. It could have been dropped by the killer or it could have been Wulfstan’s.”
Laisran shook his head.
“No. Eadred was right. That belligerent motto, Fidelma, ‘beware what you say,’ is the motto of the Frankish prince—Dagobert. I have recently remarked on its pugnacity to the young man.”
Sister Fidelma stretched reflectively. “It seems things do not look good for Dagobert of the Franks. He now stands as the most likely suspect.”
“Not necessarily. Anyone could have taken and dropped the cloth, and there are many here who have come to hate the arrogance of the Saxons. Why, I have even heard the dour Finan declare that he would like to drown the lot of them!”
Fidelma raised her eyebrows.
“Are you telling me that we must suspect Finan, the professor of your law faculty?”
Abbot Laisran suddenly laughed.
“Oh, the idea of Finan being able to shape-change to enter a locked room, commit murder and sneak out without disturbing the locks, is an idea I find amusing but hardly worthy of consideration.”
Sister Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at Laisran.
“Do you believe that this murder could only be carried out by sorcery, then?”
Laisran’s rotund face clouded and he genuflected quickly.
“God between me and all evil, Fidelma, but is there any other explanation? We come from a culture which accepted shape-changing as a normal occurrence. Move among our people and they will tell you that Druids still exist and have such capabilities. Wasn’t Diarmuid’s foster brother changed into a boar, and wasn’t Caer, the beloved of Aengus Og, condemned to change her form every alternate year?”
“These are ancient legends, Laisran,” admonished Sister Fidelma. “We live in reality, in the here and now. And it is among the people of this community that we will find the person who slew Wulfstan. Before I question Dagobert, however, I would like to see Wulfstan’s chamber once more.”
Abbot Laisran pulled at his lower lip. His usually jovial face was creased in a frown of perplexity.
“I do not understand, Sister Fidelma. Everyone in our community here at Durrow had cause to kill Wulfstan and everyone is suspect. Is that what you are saying? At the same time that everyone is suspect, no one could have done the deed, for its implementation was beyond the hand of any human agency.”
“Now that I did not say,” Sister Fidelma admonished the
Abbot firmly, as she led the way along the corridor to halt at the open door of what had been Wulfstan’s chamber.
The body of Wulfstan had been removed to the chapel of St. Benignus, where preparations were being made to transport its sarcophagus to the coast, from where Eadred and his entourage would accompany it, by sea, to the land of the South Saxons which lay on the southern shore of Britain.
Sister Fidelma stared once again at the grey stone-flagged floor. She walked over the slabs, pressing each with her foot. Then she stared upward toward the ceiling, which rose about eleven feet above the chamber floor. Her eyes eventually turned back to the bars on the window.
“Give me a hand,” she suddenly demanded.
Abbot Laisran stared at her in surprise as she began pushing the wooden table toward the window.
Hastily, he joined her in the effort, grinning sheepishly.
“If the young novitiates of my order could see their abbot heaving furniture about ...” he began.
“They would realize that their abbot was merely human,” replied Fidelma, smiling.
They pushed the table under the barred window and, to Abbot Laisran’s astonishment, Sister Fidelma suddenly scrambled on top of the table. It rose three feet above the ground and by standing on it, Sister Fidelma, being tall, could reach easily to the bars of the solitary window whose bottom level was eight feet above the floor. She reached up with both her hands and tested each inch-thick iron bar carefully.
The lowering of her shoulders showed her disappointment.
Slowly she clambered down, helped by the arm of Laisran.
Her lips were compressed. “I thought the bars might have been loose.”
“It was a good idea,” smiled Laisran, encouragingly.
“Come, show me the floor above this,” Sister Fidelma said abruptly.
With a sigh, Laisran hastened after her as she strode swiftly away.
The floor above turned out to be equally disappointing. Over Wulfstan’s chamber stretched a long wooden floor which was the floor of one of the long dormitories for the novitiates of the community. There were over a dozen beds in the dormitory. Even had she not examined the boards of the floor carefully, to see whether any had been prized up in order that a person could be lowered into the chamber below, and realized that none of the floorboards had been moved in many years, Sister Fidelma would still have recognized the fact that such an exercise would have necessitated the participation of everyone in the dormitory.
Hemlock at Vespers: Fifteen Sister Fidelma Mysteries Page 23
