Hemlock At Vespers (57 page)

Fidelma leant forward, encouragingly.

“Arguing? With Father Febal?”

Brother Finnlug shook his head.

“I cannot be sure. I passed his cell and heard his voice raised. The other voice was quiet and muffled. It was as if Father Ibor had lost his temper but the person he was arguing with was in control.”

“You have no idea who this other person was?”

“None.”

“And you heard nothing of the substance of the argument?”

“I caught only a few words here and there.”

“And what were these words?”

“Nothing that makes sense. Ibor said, ‘It is the only way.’ Then he paused and after the other person said something, he replied. ‘No, no, no. If it has to end, I shall not be the one to end it.’ That was all I heard.”

Fidelma was quiet as she considered the matter.

“Did you interpret anything from these words, especially in the light of what subsequently happened?”

Brother Finnlug shook his head.

The door of the vestry suddenly opened and Father Febal stood on the threshold, his features wearing a peculiar look of satisfaction. He was clearly a man who had heard some news which pleased him.

“We have found the thief who took the crucifix and chalice from Father Ibor,” he announced.

Brother Finnlug rose swiftly to his feet. His eyes flickered from Farther Febal to Sister Fidelma. Fidelma saw something in his eyes and could not quite interpret the expression. Was it fear?

“Bring the thief forth,” she instructed calmly, remaining seated.

Father Febal shook his head.

“That would be impossible.”

“Impossible?” asked Fidelma with a dangerous note to her voice.

“The thief is dead.”

“You’d best explain,” Fidelma invited. “In detail. Does this thief have a name?”

Father Febal nodded.

“Téite was her name.”

There was a deep intake of breath from Brother Finnlug.

“I take it that you knew her, Brother Finnlug?” Fidelma turned her head inquiringly.

“We all did,” replied Father Febal shortly.

“Who was she?”

“A young girl who lived not far from our community in the forest. She was a seamstress. She sewed garments for our community. She also laundered clothes for us.”

“Where was she found and how was she identified as the thief?”

“Her cabin is within a short distance of where we found Father Ibor,” explained the priest. “I understand from Brother Adag that she had picked up some garments from the community and when she did not return with them, as she had arranged, this morning, Brother Adag went to her cabin and found her—”

Fidelma raised a hand to silence him.

“Let Brother Adag come forth and tell me his story in his own words. It is proper that I hear this matter at first hand. You and Brother Finnlug may wait outside.”

Father Febal looked uncomfortable.

“I think that you had better be warned, Sister.”

“Warned?” Fidelma’s head came up quickly to stare at the priest.

“Brother Adag is slightly simple in nature. In many ways his mind has not matured into adulthood. His role in our community is to do simple manual tasks. He … how shall I explain it? … has a child’s mind.”

“It might be refreshing to speak with one who has remained a child and not developed the contrived attitudes of an adult,” Fidelma smiled thinly. “Bring him hither.”

Brother Adag was a handsome youth but clearly one who was used to taking orders rather than thinking for himself. His eyes were rounded and seem to hold an expression of permanent innocence; of inoffensive naivete. His hands were calloused and showed that he was also a man used to manual work.

“You found the body of the woman, Téite, in her cabin, so I am told?”

The young man drew his brows together as if giving earnest consideration to the question before answering.

“Yes, Sister. When she did not arrive here at midday, with some garments which she had collected the day before and promised to deliver, Father Febal sent me to fetch them. I went to her cabin and she was lying stretched on the floor. There was blood on her clothing. She had been stabbed several times.”

“Ah? So Father Febal sent you to her cabin?”

The youth nodded slowly.

“How old was this woman, Téite? Did you know her?”

“Everyone knew her, Sister, and she was eighteen years and three months of age.”

“You are very exact.” Fidelma smiled at his meticulous diction, as if he considered each word almost before he uttered it.

“Téite told me her age and, as you ask me for it, I told you.” It was a simple statement of fact.

“Was she pretty?”

The youth blushed a little. He dropped his eyes.

“Very pretty, Sister.”

“You liked her?” pressed Fidelma.

The young man seemed agitated.

“No. No, I didn’t.” He protested. His face was now crimson.

“Why ever not?”

“It is the Father’s rule.”

“Father Febal’s rule?”

Brother Adag hung his head and did not reply.

“Rule or not, you still liked her. You may tell me.”

“She was kind to me. She did not make fun like the others.”

“So, what persuaded you that she had stolen the crucifix and chalice from Father Ibor?”

The young Brother turned an ingenuous look upon her.

“Why, the chalice was lying by the side of her body in the cabin.”

Fidelma hid her surprise.

“The chalice only?” She swallowed hard. “Why would someone enter her cottage, kill her and leave such a valuable item by the body?”

Brother Adag clearly did not understand the point she was making. He said nothing.

“What did you do after you found the body?” she continued after a pause.

“Why, I came to tell Father Febal.”

“And left the chalice there?”

Brother Adag sniffed disparagingly.

“I am not stupid. No, I brought it with me. Father Febal has been searching for it these last two days. I brought it back to Father Febal for safekeeping. I even searched for the crucifix but could not find it there.”

“That is all, Adag. Send Father Febal in to me,” Fidelma instructed the youth.

The priest entered a moment later and sat down before Fidelma without waiting to be asked.

“A sad tale,” he muttered. “But at least the matter should be cleared up to your satisfaction now. You may return to give your report to the Abbot.”

“How well did you know this woman, Téite?” asked Fidelma, without commenting.

Father Febal raised his eyebrows a moment and then sighed.

“I have known her since she was a small girl. I went to administer the last rites when her mother died. Téite had barely reached the age of choice then. However, she had a talent with a needle and therefore was able to make a good living. She has lived within the forest these last four years to my knowledge and often repaired or made garments for our community.”

“Did Father Ibor know her?”

Febal hesitated and then gave an odd dismissive gesture with his hand.

“He was a young man. Young men are often attracted to young women.”

Fidelma glanced at the priest curiously.

“So Father Ibor was attracted to the girl?” she asked with emphasis.

“He was in her company more than I found to be usual. I had occasion to reprimand him.”

“Reprimand him? That sounds serious.”

“I felt that he was neglecting his duties to be with the girl.”

“Are you telling me that there was a relationship between Father Ibor and this girl?”

“I am not one to judge such a matter. I know only that they were frequently in one another’s company during the past few weeks, almost since the time he arrived at our little community. I felt that he was ignoring his obligation to his community. That is all.”

“Did he resent your admonition?”

“I really have no idea whether he resented my telling him or not. That was not my concern. My concern was to bring him to an awareness of what was expected of him in this community.”

“You did not have an argument about it?”

“An argument? I am … I was his superior and when I told him of my concern that should have been an end to the matter.”

“Clearly it was not an end to it,” observed Fidelma.

Father Febal gave her an angry look.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“The events that have unfolded since you told Father Ibor that he was spending too much time with Téite have demonstrated that it was not an end to the matter,” Fidelma pointed out coldly. “Or do you have some other interpretation of these events?”

Father Febal hesitated.

“You are right. You are implying that the two of them were in the plot to steal the artifacts from the church and, having done so, Father Ibor was overcome with remorse and killed himself….” The priest’s eyes suddenly widened. “Having killed the girl first,” he added.

Fidelma reflectively stroked the side of her nose with a forefinger.

“It is an explanation,” she conceded. “But it is not one that I particularly favor.”

“Why not?” demanded the priest.

“The hypothesis would be that the young priest was so enamored of the girl that they decided to run away, stealing the valuable objects as a means of securing themselves from want and poverty. We would also have to conclude that, having reached as far as the girl’s cabin, the young priest is overcome with remorse. He quarrels with the girl and stabs her to death. Then, leaving the precious chalice by her body, yet curiously hiding the crucifix, he wanders into the forest and, after traveling some distance, he decides he is so distressed that he hangs himself. Furthermore, while hanging, suffocating to death, he is able to take out a knife and stab himself through the heart.”

“What is wrong with that surmise?”

Fidelma smiled thinly.

“Let us have Brother Adag back here again. You may stay, Father Febal.”

The ingenuous young monk stood looking from Fidelma to Father Febal with an unstudied innocence.

“I am told that it was you who saw Téite when she came to the community yesterday?”

The boy was thoughtful. “Yes. It is my task to gather the clothes that need washing or mending and prepare a bundle for Téite.”

“And this you did yesterday morning?”

“Yes.”

“Téite collected them? These were garments for sewing?”

“And two habits for washing. Father Febal and Brother Finnlug had given me … They had been torn and one bloodied in the search for Father Ibor.”

“Let me be sure of this,” interrupted Fidelma. “Téite collected them yesterday morning?”

Brother Adag looked across at Father Febal, dropped his eyes and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“Yes; yesterday morning.”

“You are sure that she collected them after the search had been made for Father Ibor then?”

“Yes; Father Ibor was found on the day before.”

“Think carefully,” snapped Father Febal irritated. “Think again.”

The young monk flushed and shrugged helplessly.

Father Febal sniffed in annoyance.

“There you are, Sister, you see that little credit may be placed on this simpleton memory. The clothes must have been taken before we found Father Ibor.”

The young monk whirled around. For a moment Fidelma thought that he was going to attack Father Febal for both hands came up, balled into clenched fists. But he kept them tight against his chest, in a defensive attitude. His face was red and there was anger in his eye.

“Simple I may be but at least I cared for Téite.” There was a sob in his voice.

Father Febal took an involuntary step backward.

“Who did not care for Téite?” Fidelma prompted gently. “Father Ibor?”

“Of course, he did not care. But she cared for him. She loved him. Not like—”

The youth was suddenly silent.

“I would take no notice of this boy’s foolishness, Sister,” Father Febal interposed blandly. “We all know what happened.”

“Do we? Since we are talking of people being attracted to this young girl, was Brother Finnlug attracted to her?”

“Finnlug?” Brother Adag grimaced dismissively. “He has no time for women.”

Father Febal looked pained.

“Brother Finnlug has several faults. Women were certainly not one of them.”

“Faults?” pressed Fidelma with interest. “What faults does he have then?”

“Alas, if only he had the gift of spirituality we would be compensated. He was of use to us only in his ability to hunt and gather food for our table. He is not suited for this religious life. Now, I think we have spoken enough. Let us call a halt to this unhappy affair before things are said that may be regretted.”

“We will end it only when we discover the truth of the matter,” replied Fidelma firmly. “Truth is never to be regretted.” She turned to the youth. “I know you liked the girl, Téite. Yet now she is dead and has been murdered. Father Febal’s rule does not apply now. You owe it to your feelings for her to tell us the truth.”

The boy stuck out his chin. “I am telling the truth.”

“Of course, you are. You say that Father Ibor did not like Téite?”

“He did not love her as I did.”

“And how did Téite feel toward Ibor?”

“She was blinded by Father Ibor’s cleverness. She thought that she loved him. I overheard them. He told her to stop … stop pestering, that was his word … stop pestering him. She thought that she loved him just as Father Febal thought that he loved her.”

The priest rose angrily.

“What are you saying, boy?” he thundered. “You are crazy!”

“You cannot deny that you told her that you loved her,” Brother Adag replied, not intimated by the priest’s anger. “I overheard you arguing with her on the day before Father Ibor died.”

Father Febal’s eyes narrowed.

“Ah, now you are not so stupid that you forget times and places and events. The boy cannot be trusted, Sister. I would discount his evidence.”

“I loved Téite and can be trusted!” cried Brother Adag.

“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.”