Read Absolution by Murder Online
Authors: Peter Tremayne
Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #Church History, #Fiction, #tpl, #Mystery, #Historical, #Clerical Sleuth, #Medieval Ireland
Absolution by Murder (4 page)
‘Wulfric of Frihop is known to us. He is Alhfrith’s right hand man and Alhfrith is king of Deira,’ Hilda replied sharply. Then she sighed and shrugged and added in a softer tone, ‘And are you here to contribute to the debate, Fidelma of Kildare?’
The young religieuse gave a modest chuckle.
‘That I should dare to raise my voice among so many eloquent orators who have gathered would be an impertinence. No, Mother Abbess. I am here merely to advise on law. Our church, whose teachings your people follow, is subject to the laws of our people and the Abbess Étain, who will be speaking for our church, asked me to attend in case there is need for some advice or explanation in this matter. That is all.’
‘Then you are truly well come to this place, for your counsel is to aid us in arriving at the one great truth,’ replied Hilda. ‘And your counsel concerning Wulfric will be noted, have no fear. I shall speak concerning the matter with my cousin, King Oswy, when he arrives tomorrow. Iona or Rome, both are under the protection of the royal house of Northumbria.’
Sister Fidelma grimaced wryly. Royal protection had not helped Brother Aelfric. She decided, however, to change the subject.
‘I am forgetting one of the purposes of my disturbing you.’
She reached within her habit and brought out two packages.
‘I have journeyed here from Ireland through Dál Riada and the Holy Island of Iona.’
Abbess Hilda’s eyes grew misty.
‘You have stayed on the Holy Island where the great Columba lived and worked?’
‘Well, tell us, did you meet with the abbot?’ asked Colmán, interested.
Fidelma nodded.
‘I saw Cumméne the Fair and he sends greetings to you both and these letters.’ She held out the packages. ‘He makes a strong plea for Northumbria to adhere to the liturgy practised by Colmcille. Further, as a gift to the abbey of Streoneshalh, Cumméne Finn has sent a gift by me. I have left it with your
librarius.
It is a copy of Cumméne’s own book on the miraculous powers of Colmcille, of saintly name.’
librarius.
It is a copy of Cumméne’s own book on the miraculous powers of Colmcille, of saintly name.’
Abbess Hilda took her package from Fidelma’s hand.
‘The Abbot of Iona is wise and generous. How I envy you your visit to such a sanctified place. We owe so much to that miraculous little island. I shall look forward to studying the book later. But this letter draws my attention …’
Sister Fidelma inclined her head.
‘Then I will withdraw and leave you to study the letters from Cumméne Finn.’
Colmán was already deep into his letter and scarcely looked up as she bowed her head and withdrew.
Outside, in the sandstone-flagged cloisters, Sister Fidelma paused and smiled to herself. She found herself in a curiously exhilarated mood in spite of the length of her journey and her fatigue. She had never travelled beyond the confines of Ireland before and now she had not only crossed the grey, stormy sea to Iona, but travelled through the kingdom of the Dál Riada, through the country of Rheged to the land of the Northumbrians
– three different cultures and countries. There was much to take in, much to be considered.
– three different cultures and countries. There was much to take in, much to be considered.
Pressing for her immediate attention was the fact of her arrival at Streoneshalh on the eve of the highly anticipated debate between the churchmen of Rome and those of her own culture and she would not only witness it but be a part of it. Sister Fidelma was possessed of a spirit of time and place, of history and mankind’s place in its unfolding tapestry. She often reflected that, had she not studied law under the great Brehon Morann of Tara, she would have studied history. But law she had studied. Had she not, perhaps the Abbess Etain of Kildare would not have invited her to join her delegation, which had left for Lindisfarne at the invitation of Bishop Colman.
The summons had come to Fidelma while she had been on a pilgrimage to Armagh. In fact, Fidelma had been surprised at it, for when she had left her own house of Kildare Étain had not been abbess. She had known Étain for many years and knew her reputation as a scholar and orator. Étain, in retrospect, had been the correct choice to take the office of abbess on the death of her predecessor. The word had come to Fidelma that Étain had already left for the kingdom of the Saxons and so Fidelma had decided to proceed firstly to the monastery of Bangor and then cross the stormy strait to Dál Riada. Then from Iona she had joined Brother Taran and his companions, who had been setting out on a mission to Northumbria.
There had been only one other female in the band and that had been Brother Taran’s fellow Pict, Sister Gwid. She was a large raw-boned girl, giving an impression of clumsy awkwardness, her hands and feet seemingly too large. Yet she seemed always anxious to please and did not mind doing any work of drudgery no matter how heavy the task. Fidelma had
been astonished to find that Sister Gwid, after her conversion to Christ, had studied at Iona before crossing to spend a year in Ireland, studying at the abbey of Emly during the time when Étain had been a simple instructress there. Fidelma was more than surprised to find that Gwid had specialized in Greek and a study of the meaning of the writings of the apostles.
been astonished to find that Sister Gwid, after her conversion to Christ, had studied at Iona before crossing to spend a year in Ireland, studying at the abbey of Emly during the time when Étain had been a simple instructress there. Fidelma was more than surprised to find that Gwid had specialized in Greek and a study of the meaning of the writings of the apostles.
Sister Gwid confided to Fidelma that she had been on her return journey to Iona when she, too, had been sent a message from the Abbess Étain to join her in Northumbria to act as her secretary during the debate that was to take place. No one objected, therefore, to Gwid and Fidelma joining the party led by Taran on the hazardous journey south from Iona to the kingdom of Oswy.
The journey with Brother Taran had simply confirmed Fidelma’s dislike of the Pictish religieux. He was a vain man, darkly handsome according to some notions, but with looks which made Fidelma regard him as a pompous bantam cock, strutting and preening. Yet, as a man with knowledge of the ways of the Angles and Saxons, she would not argue with his ability in easing their path through the hostile land. But as a man she found him weak and vacillating, one minute attempting to impress, another hopelessly inadequate – as at their confrontation with Wulfric.
Fidelma gave a mental shake of her head. So much for Taran. There were other things to think of now. New sights, new sounds and new people.
She gave a startled ‘oh’ as she walked around a corner and collided with a thickset monk.
Only the fact that he reached out strong hands and caught her saved her from stumbling backwards and falling.
For a moment the young man and woman stared at each other.
It was a moment of pure chemistry. Some empathy passed from the dark brown eyes of the man into Fidelma’s green ones. Then Fidelma noticed the tonsure of Rome on the young man’s crown and realised that he must be one of the Roman delegation and probably a Saxon.
It was a moment of pure chemistry. Some empathy passed from the dark brown eyes of the man into Fidelma’s green ones. Then Fidelma noticed the tonsure of Rome on the young man’s crown and realised that he must be one of the Roman delegation and probably a Saxon.
‘Forgive me,’ she said stiffly, choosing Latin to address him. Realising that he still grasped her forearms, she gently pulled away.
The young monk let go immediately and took a step back, fighting the confusion on his face. He succeeded.
‘Mea culpa,’
he replied gravely, striking his left breast with his right clenched fist, yet with a smile flickering behind his eyes.
he replied gravely, striking his left breast with his right clenched fist, yet with a smile flickering behind his eyes.
Fidelma hesitated and then bowed her head in acknowledgment before moving on, wondering why the face of the young Saxon intrigued her. Perhaps it was the quiet humour that lurked in his gaze. Her experience with Saxons was limited but she had not credited them with being a humorous people. To meet one who was not dour and brooding and took insult at the slightest thing, which, in her experience, all Saxons did, fascinated her. In general, she had found them morose and quick-tempered; they were a people who lived by the sword and, with few exceptions, believed in their gods of war rather than the God of Peace.
She suddenly became annoyed with her thoughts. Odd that a brief encounter could stir such silly notions.
She turned into the part of the abbey made over for the accommodation of those visitors attending the debate, the
domus hospitale.
Most of the religious were accommodated in several large
dormitoria,
but for the many abbots, abbesses, bishops and other dignitaries a special series of
cubicula
had been set
aside as individual quarters. Sister Fidelma herself had been lucky to have been allocated one of these
cubicula,
no more than a tiny cell eight feet by six with a simple wooden cot, a table and chair. Fidelma supposed that she had the intercession of Bishop Colmán to thank for such hospitality. She opened the door of her
cubiculum
and paused in surprise on the threshold.
domus hospitale.
Most of the religious were accommodated in several large
dormitoria,
but for the many abbots, abbesses, bishops and other dignitaries a special series of
cubicula
had been set
aside as individual quarters. Sister Fidelma herself had been lucky to have been allocated one of these
cubicula,
no more than a tiny cell eight feet by six with a simple wooden cot, a table and chair. Fidelma supposed that she had the intercession of Bishop Colmán to thank for such hospitality. She opened the door of her
cubiculum
and paused in surprise on the threshold.
A slightly built, good-looking woman rose from the chair with extended hands.
‘Étain!’ exclaimed Sister Fidelma, recognising the abbess of Kildare.
The Abbess Étain was an attractive woman in her early thirties; the daughter of an Eoghanacht king of Cashel, she had given up a world of indolence and pleasure after her husband had been killed in battle. Her star had risen rapidly, for she was soon acknowledged to be possessed of such skill and oratorical knowledge that she had been able to argue theology on the same footing with the archbishop of Armagh and all the bishops and abbots of Ireland. It was in tribute to her reputation that she had been appointed as abbess of St Brigit’s great foundation at Kildare.
Fidelma moved forward and bowed her head, but Étain took both her hands in a warm embrace. They had been friends for several years before Étain had been elevated to her present position, since when neither had seen the other, for Fidelma had been travelling through Ireland.
‘It is good to see you again, even in this outlandish country.’ Étain spoke with a soft, rich soprano voice. Fidelma had often thought it was like a musical instrument which could sharpen in anger, become vibrant with indignation or be used sweetly, as it was now. ‘I am glad your journey here was safe, Fidelma.’
Fidelma grinned mischievously.
‘Should it have been otherwise, when we journey in the name and under the protection of the one true God?’
Étain returned her smile.
‘At least I journeyed with temporal assistance. I came with some brothers from Durrow. We landed in Rheged and were joined by a group of brethren from that kingdom of Britons. Then, at the border of Rheged and Northumbria, we were officially met by Athelnoth and a band of Saxon warriors who escorted us here. Have you met Athelnoth?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘I have only arrived here within the last hour myself, Mother Abbess,’ she said.
Étain pursed her lips and grimaced disapprovingly.
‘Athelnoth was sent to greet and escort me by King Oswy and the Bishop of Northumbria. He was outspoken against Irish teachings and our influence in Northumbria to the point of insulting us. He is an ordained priest but one who argues for Rome. Once I even had to prevent one of our brothers from physically assaulting Athelnoth, so blunt is his criticism of our liturgy.’
Fidelma shrugged indifferently.
‘From what I hear, Mother Abbess, the debate over our respective liturgies is causing a great deal of tension and argument. I would not have thought it possible that such emotions would be aroused by a discussion on the correct date of the Paschal ceremony—’
Étain grimaced.
‘You must learn to refer to it here as Easter.’
Fidelma frowned.
‘Easter?’
‘The Saxons have accepted most of our teaching of Christian
faith but as for the Paschal feast they insist on naming it after their pagan goddess of fertility, Eostre, whose rituals fall at the time of the Spring equinox. There is much that is still pagan in this land. You will find that many still follow the ways of their old gods and goddesses and that their hearts are still filled with hate and war.’
faith but as for the Paschal feast they insist on naming it after their pagan goddess of fertility, Eostre, whose rituals fall at the time of the Spring equinox. There is much that is still pagan in this land. You will find that many still follow the ways of their old gods and goddesses and that their hearts are still filled with hate and war.’
The Abbess Étain suddenly shivered.
‘I feel there is much that is oppressive here, Fidelma. Oppressive and menacing.’
Sister Fidelma smiled reassuringly.
‘Whenever there is a conflict of opinion, then human tensions rise and give way to fear. I do not think we need worry. There will be much posturing during the verbal conflict. But once we have reached a resolution then all will be forgotten and forgiven.’ She hesitated. ‘When does the debate begin?’
‘The King Oswy and his entourage will not arrive at the abbey until noon tomorrow. The Abbess Hilda has told me that, all being well, she will allow the opening arguments to commence in the late afternoon. Bishop Colmán has asked me to make the opening arguments for our church.’
Fidelma thought she saw some anxiety on the Abbess Étain’s features.
‘Does that worry you, Mother Abbess?’
Étain suddenly smiled and shook her head.
‘No. I revel in debate and argument. I have good companions to advise me, such as yourself.’
‘That reminds me,’ Fidelma replied, ‘I had Sister Gwid as my travelling companion. An intelligent girl whose looks give the wrong impression. She tells me that she is to act as your secretary and Greek translator.’
An indefinable expression showed on Abbess Étain’s face
for a split second. Fidelma could not make up her mind whether it was anger or a lesser emotion.
for a split second. Fidelma could not make up her mind whether it was anger or a lesser emotion.
‘Young Gwid can be an annoying person. A little like a puppy dog, unassertive and too sycophantic at times. But she is an excellent Greek scholar, though I think she spends too much of her time admiring the poems of Sappho rather than construing the Gospels.’ She sounded disapproving, but then shrugged. ‘Yes, I do have good companions to advise me. But there is something else that makes me feel uneasy. I think it is the atmosphere of hostility and dislike I feel from those of the Roman faction. Agilbert the Frank, for example, who has trained many years in Ireland but has a deep devotion to Rome, and that man Wilfrid, who even refused to greet me when the Abbess Hilda introduced us—’
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