Absolution by Murder

Chapter Seventeen

On reaching Abbess Hilda’s chamber, Fidelma and Eadulf were told that the king had been waiting for them but had been summoned into the sacrarium. A sister who greeted them at the door told Abbess Abbe that her presence was also required immediately, for the synod was in its closing stages and the final arguments were about to be made. But, she informed them breathlessly, the king required the presence of Fidelma and Eadulf immediately after the ending of the session.

It was Eadulf who suggested that they go to the sacrarium to hear the closing stages of the debate and wait for Oswy there.

There was a curious look on Fidelma’s face, an expression that Eadulf had come to recognise as one denoting deep thought. He had to make the suggestion several times before she acknowledged him.

‘I suppose everyone knows about that male defectorum that opens to the sea?’ she asked. The question was directed at the domina. Athelswith spread her hands with a slightly flustered look.

‘Everyone in the abbey, I would imagine. It is not a secret.’

‘Everyone belonging to this abbey, but what of the visitors?’ insisted Fidelma. ‘For example, I did not know about it.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Sister Athelswith. ‘But only our male guests are told of it. It is for males only. Our brothers find it more modest to go there rather than use the defectorum across the quadrangle from the monasteriolum.’

‘I see. So what if a female wanders along the tunnel and into it by accident? There is no sign on the entrance.’

‘Most of the sisters use the building by the other side of the monasteriolum. They have no need to be in the hypogeum at all unless they work in the kitchens. And those working in the kitchens know of its existence. There is no need to fix a sign on the tunnel.’

Sister Fidelma was thoughtful as she turned to follow Eadulf to the sacrarium.

The atmosphere was tense in the sacrarium and the Abbess Hilda was on her feet addressing the packed benches of clerics.

‘Brothers and sisters in Christ,’ she was saying as Fidelma and Eadulf entered quietly through the side door behind the benches now packed with representatives of the Columban church, ‘let the final submissions be made.’

Colmán rose to his feet, blunt as ever. He had elected to speak first – a choice that Fidelma thought unwise, for the man who speaks last is always the one who is listened to.

‘Brethren, over these last few days you have heard why we of the church of Columba follow our customs concerning the dating of Easter. Our church claims its authority from the Divine John, son of Zebedee, who forsook the sea of Galilee to follow the Messiah. He was the disciple most beloved of Christ, who rested on his master’s breast at the Last Supper. And Jesus did not forsake him. When the Son of the Living God was expiring on the Cross, He had strength enough to confide the care of His mother, the Blessed Mary, to John.

‘This same John ran before Peter to the tomb on the morning of the blessed resurrection and seeing it empty was the first to believe and thence was the first to see the risen Lord by the Sea of Tiberias. John was the blessed of Christ.

‘When Jesus confided the care of His mother and family into the arms of John, He confided His Church to that care. That is why we accept the ways of John. John is our path to Christ.’

Colman resumed his seat amid murmured applause from the Columban benches.

Wilfrid rose. There was a smile on his lips. He looked complacent.

‘We have heard that the representatives of Columba cite the apostle John as the supreme authority by which their customs stand and fall. I therefore say to you that they must fall.’

There was a ripple of anger from the Columban benches.

Abbess Hilda gestured with her hand for silence.

‘We must accord Wilfrid of Ripon the same courtesy as we accorded Colman, bishop of Northumbria,’ she rebuked softly.

Wilfrid was smiling, like a hunter who knows his prey is within his sight.

‘The Easter we of Rome observe is the one that is celebrated by all at Rome, the city where the blessed apostles Peter and Paul lived, taught, suffered and were buried. It is a usage that is universal in Italy, in Gaul, Frankia and Iberia, through which I have travelled for the purpose of study and prayer. In every part of the world, by different nations speaking different tongues, this practice is followed by all at one and the same time. The only exception is this people!’ He pointed derisively to the Columban benches. ‘I mean the Irish, the Picts and the Britons and those of our people who have chosen to follow their erroneous teachings. The only excuse they have for this ignorance is that they come from the two remotest islands in the Western Ocean and then from only parts of them. Because of this remoteness they stand isolated from true knowledge and they pursue a foolish struggle against the whole world. They may be holy but they are few – too few to have precedence over the universal Church of Christ.’

Colmán was on his feet, his face working with anger.

‘You are prevaricating, Wilfrid of Ripon. I have stated the authority of our church, John the Divine Apostle. State your authority or remain silent.’

There was a murmur of applause.

‘Very well. Rome demands obedience from all parts of Christendom because it was to Rome that Christ’s disciple Simon Bar-Jonah went to found His Church. This Simon was he whom we call Peter whom Christ nicknamed “the rock”. In Rome did Peter teach, in Rome did Peter suffer and in Rome did he die a martyr’s death. Peter is our authority and I shall read from the Gospel of Matthew to give power to my case.’

He turned and was handed a book by Wighard, opened at a page. Wilfrid began to read immediately.

‘“And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou Simon Bar-Jonah for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven …”’

Wilfrid paused and gazed round.

‘Our authority comes from Peter who thus holds the keys to the gates of the kingdom of heaven itself!’ Wilfrid sat down amidst rapturous applause from his supporters.

There was a silence when the applause died away. Eadulf suddenly nudged Fidelma and gestured to the dais. The Abbess Abbe had risen and was making her way hurriedly out of the sacrarium.

Their attention was immediately drawn back to the Abbess Hilda, who had risen to her feet once again.

‘Brethren of Christ, the final submissions have been made. It is now up to our sovereign lord, the king, Oswy, by the grace of God, Bretwalda of all the kingdoms, to deliver his judgment; the decision as to which church, Columban or Roman, has precedence in our kingdom. The judgment is now yours to make.’

She turned to Oswy, her features expectant as were those of all the participants of the synod.

Fidelma saw that the tall fair-haired king of Northumbria remained seated. He looked nervous and preoccupied. For several long moments he hesitated, biting at his lip as he stared around at the expectant faces in the sacrarium. Then he slowly rose. His voice was unnaturally sharp, hiding his anxiety.

‘I shall give my judgment tomorrow at noon,’ he said abruptly.

Against a chorus of protests, the king turned and left the sacrarium hurriedly. Alhfrith, the king’s son, was on his feet, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. He turned and rushed from the chapel. Eanflaed, Oswy’s wife, seemed better able to control her feelings, but her smile was bitter as she turned to her chaplain, Romanus, and engaged him in conversation. Ecgfrith, Oswy’s other son, was also smiling as he gathered his retinue and left the sacrarium.

The benches of both factions erupted into argument, voices raised against one another.

Fidelma exchanged a swift glance with Eadulf and motioned towards the doors.

Outside, Eadulf muttered: ‘Well, our brethren seemed to have been expecting an immediate decision. Did you notice that the Abbess Abbe left before the decision and that Brother Taran was not in attendance at all?’

Fidelma made little comment as she led the way back to the Abbess Hilda’s chamber.

Oswy was already there. His face was white and his features taut.

‘There you are!’ he snapped. ‘I was waiting most of the morning to see you. Where have you been? No matter. I wanted to speak with you before the final session of the synod.’

Fidelma was unabashed at his irritation.

‘Have you been told that there has been another murder?’

Oswy frowned.

‘Another? Do you mean Athelnoth?’

‘No – Seaxwulf, the secretary of Wilfrid of Ripon.’

Oswy shook his head slowly.

‘I do not understand. Last night Athelnoth was killed. Now, you tell me, Seaxwulf. For what purpose? Hilda says that you had at first thought Athelnoth had taken his own life in remorse at killing Étain.’

Eadulf coloured a little.

‘I leapt to a wrong conclusion. I soon realised I was in error,’ he said.

Oswy sniffed in annoyance.

‘I could have told you that you were in error,’ he said flatly. ‘Athelnoth was a man to be trusted.’

‘How so?’ demanded Fidelma sharply.

‘Because Athelnoth was my confidant. I have told you that these are dangerous times, that certain factions wish to oust me as king and are using this synod to create civil war in the kingdom.’

Oswy paused, as if seeking confirmation, but Fidelma motioned him to continue.

‘I have had to have eyes in the back of my head. Athelnoth was one of my best informants and advisers. Yesterday I sent him to my army, which waits encamped at Ecga’s Tun.’

Eadulf’s eyes lightened.

‘So that was where Athelnoth was all day yesterday and why he did not return until late last night.’

Oswy compressed his lips a moment, frowning at Eadulf’s aside.

‘He returned with important news for me, news of a plot to assassinate me and seize control of the kingdom. My army has had to march to counter an attack by the rebel army.’

Fidelma’s eyes were sparkling.

‘Some things now become clearer.’

‘Even clearer than you think, sister.’ Oswy was grim. ‘This morning my guards killed the thane Wulfric along with twenty of his warriors. They were attempting to enter the abbey secretly from the tunnel on the cliff top. As you know, at midnight all the gates are locked until the morning Angelus, which is rung at six o’clock. During that time all warriors bearing arms are excluded from the abbey. Athelnoth was sure that Wulfric had an accomplice among the brethren, waiting to assist him and his assassins and conduct them to my chambers.’

‘Indeed, it does become clear,’ Fidelma said.

Eadulf was frowning as he tried to reason what Fidelma was thinking.

‘I do not understand.’

‘Simple,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I think you will find that the person willing to let your assassins into the abbey this morning, Oswy of Northumbria, was the Pictish monk Taran.’

‘What makes you say this?’ demanded Oswy. ‘Why would a Pict concern himself with the ambitions of Northumbrian rebels to overthrow their king?’

‘Firstly because I know that Taran was friendly with Wulfric and that Taran lied about that friendship. Even on the journey here when I first met Wulfric, after he had killed Brother Aelfric, I had the impression that Wulfric recognised Taran, which indicates this plot was long in the hatching. And later I saw Taran meeting Wulfric in friendship. Taran denied this. I believe that Taran was willing to see Northumbria destroyed or at the best divided and at war with itself.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asked Oswy curiously.

‘Because the Picts, as you call the Cruthin, are a people who nurse old grudges and their hate is as long as it is fierce. Taran once told me that his father, a chieftain of the Gododdin, and his mother were both killed by your brother Oswald. Taran believed in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. That was why he was prepared to help those who would assassinate you.’

‘Where is this Brother Taran now?’

‘We last saw him hurrying down to the harbour,’ interposed Eadulf. ‘Do you think that he was seeking a ship, Fidelma? He did not attend the final session of the synod.’

‘Should I send warriors after Taran?’ asked Oswy. ‘Will they be able to catch up with him?’

‘He is harmless now,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘He is, indeed, on the high sea and doubtless fleeing back to the land of the Cruthin. I doubt that Taran will ever trouble your kingdom again. All that can be gained by pursuit and punishment is revenge.’

‘So,’ Eadulf mused slowly, ‘are we saying that all this was some plot to overthrow Oswy and that Étain was killed as part of the plot? But why? I don’t see how.’

‘One question, Oswy.’ Fidelma ignored Eadulf for the moment. ‘Your sister, the Abbess Abbe, did not stay for your pronouncement. Do you know why?’

Oswy shrugged.

‘She knew that I would not make my decision immediately. I told her.’

‘But your sons, Alhfrith, for example, and your wife, did not know.’

‘No. I did not have time to explain to them.’

‘What of this plot?’ demanded Eadulf again. ‘How does Etain’s murder fit in?’

‘The reason—’ Fidelma was halted in mid-sentence as the door burst open and Alhfrith entered, followed by an anxious-faced Hilda and a grim-looking Colman. It was clear that Alhfrith was in a resentful and hostile mood.

‘What is this delay, Father?’ demanded Alhfrith without preamble. ‘All Northumbria waits for your decision.’

Oswy smiled sourly.

‘And you were sure that I would decide for Columba so that you could raise the country against me in the name of Rome.’

Alhfrith started in surprise and then his face hardened.

‘So you prevaricate and delay?’ he sneered. ‘But you cannot put off a decision forever. You are weak, but even you have to declare yourself!’

Oswy’s face reddened in anger, but he kept his voice even.

‘Don’t you wonder why I am still alive?’ he demanded coldly.

Alhfrith hesitated and a cautious look came into his eye.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ His voice was filled with bluster.

‘Don’t look for Wulfric again, he is dead and his assassins with him. And your army of rebels now marching from Helm’s Leah will not appear outside the walls of this abbey. They will be met by my army instead.’

Alhfrith’s face was a grey mask.

‘You are still weak, old man,’ he said bitterly. Abbess Hilda cried out in protest, but Oswy motioned her to silence.

‘Even though you are my son, flesh of my flesh, you forget that I am your king,’ he said, eyes coldly on his son.

The petty king of Deira thrust out his jaw pugnaciously. He had little to lose now.

‘I fought by your side at Winwaed stream ten years ago. You were strong then, Father. But you have weakened since. I know you would rather bow to Iona than to Rome. And Wilfrid and others know it.’

‘They’ll know my strength soon enough,’ returned Oswy quietly. ‘And they will also know your treachery to your father and your king.’

Anger was bubbling up in Alhfrith as he realised that his carefully laid plans had been thwarted. Fidelma saw that he could no longer give check to his feelings. She gave a warning cry to Eadulf, who was standing near him.

The knife was in Alhfrith’s hand before anyone realised it and the young man had launched himself at his father in a murderous attack.

Eadulf sprang for the knife arm but even as he did so Oswy drew his sword to defend himself. Alhfrith in his forward momentum dragged Eadulf with him and, in so doing, he fell forward with Eadulf’s weight on his back.

Alhfrith gave a strangled cry, something like a sob, and the knife dropped from his hand.

There was a silence in the room. Everyone seemed frozen.

Oswy stood staring at the bloodied tip of his sword as if not believing it was there.

Slowly the giant frame of Alhfrith, petty ruler of Deira, crumpled to the floor. Blood was staining his tunic just above the heart.

It was Eadulf who moved first, bending and reaching for the young man’s neck, feeling for the pulse. He looked up at Oswy, who had not moved, and then to the Abbess Hilda before shaking his head.

Abbess Hilda crossed to Oswy and laid a hand on his arm. Her voice was now quiet.

‘There is no blame in this. He brought his death on himself.’

Oswy moved slowly, shaking himself like a man awakening from a dream.

‘Yet he was my son,’ he said softly.

Colmán shook his head.

‘He was Wilfrid’s man. When Wilfrid hears of this he will seek to arm the Roman faction.’

At that Oswy sheathed his bloody sword and turned to Colmán, his old assertiveness re-established.

‘I had no choice. He has been waiting to kill me for some time to seize the throne. I have long known that he has conspired to oust me. He had no allegiance for Rome or Iona but was just using the factions to weaken me. However, his temper got the better of him.’

‘Even so,’ Colmán replied, ‘it is now Wilfrid and Ecgfrith that you must have a care of.’

Oswy shook his head.

‘My army will deal with Alhfrith’s rebels before this day is out and then will march back here.’ He paused and then turned with sorrowing eyes on his bishop. ‘My heart is with Columba, Colmán. but if I declare for Columba, Wilfrid and Ecgfrith will attempt to raise Northumbria against me. They will claim that I am selling out the kingdom to the Irish, Picts and Britons and turning my back on my own race. What am I to do?’

Colmán sighed sadly.

‘Alas, that is the one decision that you must make on your own, Oswy. None can make it for you.’

Oswy laughed bitterly.

‘I was manoeuvred into this synod. Now I am bound to it as it turns like a wheel propelled by water. I may drown as the wheel turns.’

Fidelma suddenly gave a gasp.

‘Drowning. We have forgotten Seaxwulf. Before we know whose hand lay behind the slaughter of Étain, Athelnoth and Seaxwulf we still have some work to do.’

She turned, motioning Eadulf to follow her, and leaving the rest of the room astonished at her abrupt departure.

Outside the abbess’s chamber she turned quickly to Eadulf.

‘I want you to find a local fisherman among the people of Witebia. Ask them how long it usually takes for a corpse to be washed down the coast from the spot where Seaxwulf was thrown in to a point from where it might be recovered. It is essential that we examine that corpse. And let us pray that it is retrieved within hours rather than days.’

‘But why?’ protested Eadulf. ‘I am confused. Were not Alhfrith, Taran and Wulfric behind the murder?’

Fidelma smiled briefly.

‘I am hoping that the final piece of this riddle will be on Seaxwulf’s body.’