“I did not love her ...” Father Febal insisted. “I do not love anyone.”
“A priest should love all his flock,” smiled Fidelma in gentle rebuke.
“I refer to the licentious love of women. I merely looked after Téite when her mother died. Without me she would not have survived.”
“But you felt, perhaps, that she owed you something?”
Father Febal scowled at her. “We are not here to speak of Téite but the crime of Father Ibor.”
“Crime? No, I think that we are here to speak of a crime committed against him rather than by him.”
Father Febal paled. “What do you mean?”
“Téite was murdered. But she was not murdered by Father Ibor. Nor was she responsible for stealing the crucifix or the chalice, which was found so conveniently by her body.”
“How have you worked this out?”
“Send for Brother Finnlug. Then we may all discuss the resolution of this matter.”
They sat in the small vestry facing her: Father Febal, Brother Finnlug and Brother Adag. Their faces all wore expressions of curiosity.
“I grant that people behave curiously,” began Fidelma. “Even at the best of times their behavior can be strange; but I doubt that they would behave in the manner that is presented to me.”
She smiled, turning to them each in turn.
“What is your solution to this matter?” sneered the priest.
“Certainly it would not be one where the murder victim appears alive and well after the murderer has hanged himself.”
Father Febal blinked. “Adag must be mistaken.”
“No. Father Ibor and the artifacts vanished the day before yesterday? You immediately raised the alarm. Brother Finnlug tracked Ibor through the forest and you found him hanging from a tree. Isn’t that right?”
“Quite right.”
“Had he killed Téite, as is now being suggested, before he hanged himself, she could not have come to the community yesterday noon to pick up the garments that needed sewing.”
“Why do you discount the fact that Adag might be confused about the day?”
“Because he gave Téite two habits that had been torn and bloodied in the search for Father Ibor, those worn by you and Finnlug when you found him hanging on the tree. Doubtless they will be found in her cabin to prove the point.” Fidelma paused. “Am I to presume that no one thought to tell the girl that Ibor had just been discovered having hanged himself? She did think she was in love with him.”
“I did not see the girl,” Father Febal replied quickly. “Brother Adag did.”
“And Brother Adag admits that he loved Téite,” added Brother Finnlug cynically.
The young man raised his head defiantly.
“I do not deny it. But she didn’t return my love, she loved Father Ibor who rejected her.”
“And that made you angry?” asked Fidelma.
“Yes. Very angry!” replied Brother Adag vehemntly.
Brother Finnlug turned to gaze at his companion in suspicion.
“Angry enough to kill them both?” he whispered.
“No,” Fidelma replied before Brother Adag could put in his denial. “Ibor and Téite were not killed in anger, but in cold blood. Weren’t they, Brother Finnlug?”
Brother Finnlug turned sharply to her, his eyes were suddenly dead.
“Why would I know that, Sister Fidelma?”
“Because you killed them both,” she said quietly.
“That’s nonsense! Why would I do that?” exploded the monk, after a moment’s shocked silence.
“Because when you stole the crucifix and chalice from the church, you were discovered by Father Ibor. You had to kill him. You stabbed him in the heart and then took the body to the forest where you concocted a suicide by hanging. Then you realized the knife wound could not be hidden and so you left the knife lying by his body. As if anyone, hanging by a cord from a tree, would be able to take out a knife and stab themselves in the heart. How, incidentally, was the poor man able to climb to the branch to hang himself? No one has reported to me any means whereby he could have climbed up. Think of the effort involved. The body was placed there by someone else.”
She gazed at Father Febal who was deep in thought. He shook his head, denying he could offer an explanation.
Fidelma returned her gaze to Brother Finnlug.
“You concocted an elaborate plan to deceive everyone as to what had truly happened.”
There was a tension in the vestry now.
“You are insane,” muttered Brother Finnlug.
Fidelma smiled gently.
“You were huntsman to the Lord of Maine. We have already discussed what a generous man he was to those in his service. None went in want, not even when the harvest was bad. When I asked you what reason you had to leave such a gainful employer, you said it was because of your spiritual convictions. Do you maintain that? That you rejected the temporal life for the spiritual life?”
Father Febal was gazing at Brother Finnlug in bemusement. The monk was silent.
“You also revealed to me, unwittingly, perhaps, your resentment at the structure of this community. If it was a spiritual life you wanted, this was surely not it, was it?”
Father Febal intervened softly.
“The truth was that Finnlug was dismissed by the Lord of Maine for stealing and we took him in here.”
“What does that prove?” demanded Finnlug.
“I am not trying to prove anything. I will tell you what you did. You had initially hoped to get away with the robbery. The motive was simple, as you told me; the sale of those precious artifacts would make you rich for life. That would appease your resentment that others had power and riches but you did not. As I have said, Ibor discovered you and you stabbed him and took his body to the forest. When you returned, you realized that you had his blood on your clothing.
“The theft was now discovered and Father Febal sought your help. The blood was not noticed. Maybe you put on a cloak to disguise it. You, naturally, led him to Father Ibor’s body. Everything was going as you planned. Father Ibor had been blamed for the theft. Now Father Febal was led to believe that Ibor must have killed himself in a fit of remorse. Even the fact that Ibor had been stabbed was explained. The fact there was little blood on the ground did not cause any questions. You could pretend that the bloodstains were received in the search for Ibor. Perhaps you, Finnlug, came up with the idea that the missing crucifix and chalice had been taken by some robber.
“The following day Téite, unaware, came to collect the sewing and washing. Adag had gathered the washing as usual, including your habit, the bloodstained one. You had not meant the girl to have it. You hurried to her cottage to make sure she did not suspect. Perhaps you had made your plan even before you went there? You killed her and placed the chalice by her side. After all, the crucifix was such as would still give you wealth and property. It was known that Téite and Ibor had some relationship. Everyone would think the worst. All you had to do was return and bide your time until you could leave the community without arousing suspicion.”
Brother Finnlug’s face was white.
“You can’t prove it,” he whispered without conviction.
“Do I need to? Shall we go to search for the crucifix? Will you tell us where it is ... or shall I tell you?” She stood up decisively as if to leave the room.
Brother Finnlug groaned, raising his hands to his head.
“All right, all right. It is true. You know it is still hidden in my cell. It was my chance to escape ... to have some wealth, a good life.”
Later, Father Febal walked slowly with Fidelma to the gate of the complex of buildings which formed the community.
“How did you know where Brother Finnlug had hidden the crucifix?” he asked.
Sister Fidelma glanced at the grave-looking priest and suddenly allowed a swift mischievous grin to flit across her features.
“I didn’t,” she confessed.
Father Febal
frowned.
“How did you know, then ... ? Know it was Finnlug and what he had done?” he demanded.
“It was only an instinct. Certainly it was a deduction based on the same facts, such as they were. But had Brother Finnlug demanded that I prove my accusation, I do not think I would have been able to under the strictures of the proceedings of a court of law. Sometimes, in this business of obtaining proof, more depends on what the guilty person thinks you know and believes that you can prove than what you are actually able to prove. Had Brother Finnlug not confessed, I might not have been able to clear up this business at all.”
Father Febal was still staring at her aghast as she raised her hand in farewell and began to stride along the road in the direction of Cashel.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“Murder in Repose”—originally published in Great Irish Detective Stories, edited by Peter Haining (UK: Souvenir Press, 1993)
“Murder by Miracle”—originally published in Constable New Crimes 2, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (UK: Constable, 1993); first US publication in The Year’s Best Mystery & Suspense Stories, edited by Edward D. Hoch (Walker & Co., 1994)
“Tarnished Halo”—originally published in Midwinter Mysteries 5, edited by Hilary Hale (UK: Little Brown, 1995)
“Abbey Sinister”—originally published in The Mammoth Book of Historical Detectives, edited by Mike Ashley (UK: Robison, 1995; US: Carroll & Graf, 1995)
“Our Lady of Death”—originally published in Dark Detectives, edited by Steve Jones (US: Fedogan & Bremer, 1999)
“Hemlock at Vespers”—originally appeared in Midwinter Mysteries 3, edited by Hilary Hale (UK: Little Brown, 1993); first US publication in Murder Most Irish, edited by Ed Gorman, Larry Segriff and Martin H. Greenberg (Barnes & Noble, 1996)
“A Canticle for Wulfstan”—originally published in Midwinter Mysteries 4, edited by Hilary Hale (UK: Little Brown, 1994); first US publication in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine (May, 1994)
“At the Tent of Holofernes”—originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine (US: December, 1998)
“The High King’s Sword”—originally published in The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits, edited by Mike Ashley (UK: Robinson, 1993; US: Carroll & Graf, 1993)
“The Poisoned Chalice”—originally published in Classical Whodunnits, edited by Mike Ashley (UK: Robinson, 1996; US: Carroll & Graf 1996)
“Holy Blood”—originally published in Great Irish Stories of Murder and Mystery, edited by Peter Haining (UK: Souvenir Press, 1999)
“A Scream from the Sepulcher”—originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine (US: May, 1998)
“The Horse That Died for Shame”—originally published in Murder at the Races, edited by Peter Haining (UK: Orion Books, 1995)
“Invitation to a Poisoning”—originally published in Past Poisons, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (UK: Headline Books, 1998)
“Those That Trespass”—originally published in Past Poisons II, edited by Maxim Jakubowski (UK: Headline Books, 1999)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PETER TREMAYNE is the fiction-writing pseudonym of Peter Berresford Ellis, the leading Celtic scholar. Born of Anglo-Irish parents in Coventry, England, and taking his degrees in Celtic studies, he has published over a score of books in the field of Celtic studies. These include The Ancient World of the Celts (1998), The Celtic Empire (1990), Celtic Women (1995), Celt and Roman (1998), Hell or Con-naught: the Cromwellian Colonisation of IreLand (1975), A Dictionary of Irish Mythology (1987), The Celtic Chronicle: Retellings of Celtic Myths and Legends (1999) among others. He has received numerous awards and honors for his work, which has been translated into more than a dozen European languages as well as Japanese.
He began writing fiction as Peter Tremayne in 1977, mainly in the field of heroic and supernatural fantasy, using Celtic myth and legend as background. His Lan-Kern sword and sorcery trilogy (1980-1983) and books such as Raven of Destiny (1984), Ravenmoon [US title: Bloodmist] (1988) and Island of Shadows (1991) secured his reputation in the genre. No less than half a dozen of his short stories have been chosen to appear in collections of Great Irish Stories and his own collection of stories, Aisling and Other Irish Tales of Terror (1992), won high literary praise. He began to write the Sister Fidelma mysteries in 1993 primarily to illustrate the role of women as lawyers in seventh-century Ireland. The stories have attracted a wide following on both sides of the Atlantic and in translation.
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forthcoming
Table of Contents
The Sister Fidelma Novels by Peter Tremayne
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Introduction
MURDER IN REPOSE
MURDER BY MIRACLE
TARNISHED HALO
ABBEY SINISTER
OUR LADY OF DEATH
HEMLOCK AT VESPERS
AT THE TENT OF HOLOFERNES
A CANTICLE FOR WULFSTAN
THE HIGH KING’S SWORD
THE POISONED CHALICE
HOLY BLOOD
A SCREAM FROM THE SEPULCHER
THE HORSE THAT DIED FOR SHAME
INVITATION TO A POISONING
THOSE THAT TRESPASS
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hemlock at Vespers: Fifteen Sister Fidelma Mysteries Page 45
