Absolution by Murder

Chapter Eighteen

The grey light of dawn was touching the window of Fidelma’s cubiculum. Fidelma was already dressed. This was to be the final day of the great synod, the day when Oswy would have to make his final choice. Unless she could resolve the mystery of the slaughter of Etain, Athelnoth and Seaxwulf, the rumourmongers would take over and a war that might go beyond the borders of Northumbria might commence. She had risen with tension stiffening her body, her mind aching as she tried to resolve the mystery.

The sound of someone hurrying along the corridor caused her heart to beat faster. Some sixth sense recognised the hurried footfalls and she opened the door of the cubiculum, almost colliding with a breathless Eadulf.

‘There is no time to apologise for my manners,’ he said brusquely. ‘The fisherman was right. The body of our late lamented friend, Seaxwulf, has been found. The body has been brought ashore in the harbour.’

Without a word, Fidelma followed the Saxon brother as he hastily led the way from the domus hospitale through the cloisters and out of the abbey gates to the winding path beyond. They traversed the precipitous cliff path to the sea shore, where the river entered into the bay around which the harbour of Witebia had been constructed.

There was no need to ask the way to where the body of the Saxon monk had been brought ashore.

In spite of the early hour, a group of people were gathered inquisitively on the foreshore around something that resembled a sodden sack. They parted to let the two religious through, enquiring eyes particularly following Sister Fidelma.

The body of Seaxwulf lay on its back, eyes glazed and staring upwards. Fidelma flinched. The body had received a battering from the rocks and sea since she had last seen it in the wine cask. The clothes of the monk were almost shredded and weed clung to them.

Brother Eadulf was having a swift exchange with several of the bystanders who, by their looks, appeared to be fishermen.

‘One of them saw the body floating some way out to sea while he was coming in after fishing in his boat. He pulled it alongside and dragged it ashore.’

Fidelma nodded slowly in satisfaction.

‘Well, the fisherman you asked last night said it could come from that spot within six to twelve hours. He was right. And you can see that Seaxwulf did not drown in the sea but in the wine cask of the abbey, look at his mouth.’

She leant over and forced open the mouth of the corpse.

Eadulf let out a sharp exhalation.

‘It is stained reddish – only faintly, but you can see the colour around the lips and in the mouth itself. But then I never doubted your word.’

‘Red wine,’ Fidelma said, ignoring his compliment. ‘He was drowned in red wine, as I said.’

She began to remove the clothing around Seaxwulf’s neck. Then she paused.

‘Look at this. What do you make of it?’ she asked.

Eadulf’s eyes narrowed as he bent forward.

‘Abrasions, some faint bruising fading rapidly, probably due to the immersion in the water. Powerful fingers. A strong man held him down by the shoulders.’

‘Strong hands, indeed. He was held down in the wine cask until he drowned in the wine. I must have come along at that moment. Not until I slipped from the stool and was unconscious, or perhaps until you removed me to my cubiculum, did the murderer drag the body from the cask and then pull it along the tunnel and cast him into the sea. The poor devil.’

‘If only we knew what it was that he had wanted to tell you,’ muttered Eadulf.

‘I think I know,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Look to see if he has a purse.’

Eadulf was fumbling with the monk’s clothing, which was a mangled mess of sea-sodden wool. There was no sign of the traditional pera or crumena that monks usually carried. But Eadulf gave a grunt of astonishment. Inside the clothing he found a small linen sacculus which was sewn to the inner side of the garment. In old times the religious of both sexes would carry only a crumena, a small sack or purse which hung over their shoulders in which they carried coin or personal items. Some, like Athelnoth, carried a pera. But a new fashion was emerging and that was for religious to have a sacculus of linen sewn into the folds of their garments as a means of greater protection for their private belongings. The fashion originated in Frankia where they called it a little pouch or pocket.

‘What do you make of this, Fidelma?’ asked Eadulf wonderingly.

Pinned in a fold of the cloth was a piece of torn vellum, fixed by a small round brooch, worked in bronze with red enamel and curious designs.

She stared at it for a moment and uttered an exclamation of elation.

‘That was exactly what I was seeking.’

Eadulf shrugged. ‘I don’t see how it helps us. Seaxwulf was a Saxon. And I can tell you that the work is Saxon. The motif is ancient, pre-Christian, a symbol representing the ancient goddess Frig—’

Fidelma interrupted. ‘I think it helps a great deal. And I mean the vellum as well as the brooch.’

Eadulf stared in disgust.

‘Another piece of Greek.’

Fidelma nodded contentedly.

‘It reads: “Love the loosener of limbs shakes me again, an inescapable bittersweet creature”.’

Eadulf pursed his lips in annoyance.

‘Did Athelnoth write this as well?’ The monk suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘You have implied that Étain’s death had nothing to do with the plot to overthrow Oswy. That Taran and Wulfric had nothing to do with her death. I have it! Athelnoth killed Etain after all. But he was caught up in the matter of the king’s assassination, revealing it to Oswy, and was killed by Wulfric or Alhfrith. His slaughter was merely a matter of coincidence.’

Fidelma smiled softly, shaking her head.

‘A good explanation, Eadulf, but not the correct one.’

‘Who else had opportunity and motive?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Well, you forget Abbe for one.’

Eadulf groaned, touching his forehead with the palm of his hand.

‘I had forgotten her.’ Then his face lightened. ‘But she would not have the necessary strength to kill any of the victims, would she?’

‘I am not saying it is her. But the person we are dealing with is of cunning disposition, a mind whose thinking is like a path through a labyrinth that one tries to follow at one’s peril.’

Fidelma was quiet for a few minutes as she knelt by the body of Seaxwulf. Finally she stood up.

‘Order these men to remove the body to the abbey,’ she instructed. ‘Tell them to take it to Brother Edgar.’

She turned and began to walk slowly up the path towards the abbey buildings, hands folded in front of her, clasping the brooch and the vellum, her head slightly bent.

Eadulf quickly issued the orders and followed after her. He waited patiently, watching as she walked deep in thought. Suddenly she turned towards him and he had never seen such a smile of triumph on her face before.

‘I think it all fits together now. But first I must visit the librarium and find that copy of the lyric poems of the Hellenistic world that Seaxwulf was reading.’

Eadulf exhaled helplessly.

‘You have lost me. What has the librarium to do with it? What do you mean?’

Sister Fidelma gave a triumphant laugh.

‘I know who our murderer is, that is what I mean.’