Absolution by Murder

Chapter Seven

Fidelma paused outside the door of the cubiculum hospitale that had been assigned to the Abbess Étain. Fidelma had not spoken a word directly to the Saxon monk since they had left Abbess Hilda’s chamber and walked through the gloomy cloisters and corridors to the guests’ quarters. She now found it hard to gather the fortitude to enter the cell. But while Brother Eadulf had assumed that her lack of communication and hesitation were due to some pique over the fact that she had to work with him in resolving the matter, and was content to let the pique run its course, Fidelma now found herself struggling with the fact that this was the moment that she dreaded.

The moment when she was forced to gaze on the body of her friend Étain in death.

The personal shock of Étain’s murder was something she still had to deal with. Étain had been a good friend. Not a close friend, but a friend nevertheless. Fidelma remembered her meeting with her only the evening before when Étain had confided that she was giving up the abbacy of Kildare to marry, to pursue her personal happiness. Fidelma frowned. Marry whom? How could she contact Étain’s betrothed and tell him this tragic news? Was he an Eoghanacht chieftain or some religieux she had met in Ireland? Well, time to sort that out when she returned to Ireland.

She stood for a moment taking a few deep breaths, trying to prepare herself.

‘If you do not wish to view the body, sister, I can perform this task for you.’ Eadulf spoke in a mollifying tone, obviously mistaking her hesitation for trepidation at viewing a body. They were the first words the Saxon monk had addressed directly to her.

Fidelma found herself torn between two reactions.

The first was one of surprise at the fluency of his Irish and at the fact that this was the language in which he chose to address her, in a rich, baritone voice. The second was one of irritation at his slightly patronising tone, which showed his obvious train of thought.

The irritation was the predominant of the two emotions and it gave her the strength she needed.

‘Étain was abbess of my house of Kildare, Brother Eadulf,’ she said firmly. ‘I knew her well. Only that makes me pause, as it would any civilised person.’

Brother Eadulf bit his lip. The woman was quick-tempered and sensitive, he thought; her green eyes were like twin fires.

‘Then all the more reason to save you this task,’ he said soothingly. ‘I am proficient in the art of the apothecaries, having studied at your famous medical school of Tuaim Brecain.’

But his words did not pacify her and only added to her irritation.

‘And I am a dálaigh of the Brehon courts,’ she said stiffly. ‘I presume I do not have to explain the obligation that is incumbent with that office?’

Before he could answer, she had pushed open the door of the cubiculum.

It was gloomy in the cells, in spite of the fact that it was still light outside. There were two more hours to dark but the grey skies had already produced a twilight which made it impossible to see detail, for the window which lit the cell was small and high in the shadowy stone wall.

‘Find a lamp, brother,’ she instructed.

Eadulf hesitated. He was unused to being ordered by a woman. Then he shrugged and turned to an oil lamp hanging on the wall, ready for use when it grew dark. It took a moment to strike a tinder and adjust the wick.

Eadulf, raising the lamp in one hand, entered the room behind Fidelma.

The body of Abbess Étain had not been moved but was still sprawled on its back, as it had fallen in death, lying across the wooden cot which served as the bed in the chamber. She was fully clothed except for her headdress. Her hair, long and blond like spun gold, fell in tresses around her head. The eyes were wide and staring to the ceiling. The mouth was open, twisted in an ugly grimace. Blood covered the lower half of the face and the neck and shoulders.

Compressing her lips together, Sister Fidelma moved forward and forced herself to stare downwards, avoiding the cold open eyes of death. She genuflected and muttered a prayer for her dead abbess. ‘Sancta Brigita intercedat pro amica mea …’ she whispered. Then she reached forward and closed the eyes, adding the prayer for the dead, ‘Requiem aeternam dona ei Domine …’

When she had finished she turned to her companion, who had waited just inside the door.

‘As we will be working together, brother,’ she said coldly, ‘let us agree on what we see.’

Brother Eadulf moved closer to her side, still holding the lamp high. Fidelma intoned dispassionately: ‘There is a jagged cut, almost a tear, from left ear to centre base of the neck, and another cut from the right ear also to the centre, almost forming a “v” beneath the chin. Do you agree?’

Eadulf slowly nodded.

‘I agree, sister. Two separate cuts, obviously.’

‘I see no other visible injuries.’

‘To inflict such cuts, the attacker would have to hold the abbess’s head back, perhaps holding her by the back of the hair, and stab swiftly into the neck by the ear and perform the same stabbing attack again.’

Sister Fidelma was thoughtful.

‘The knife was not a sharp one. The flesh is torn rather than cut. That implies a person of some strength.’

Brother Eadulf smiled thinly.

‘Then we can rule out any of the sisters as suspects.’

Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow.

‘At the moment, no one is ruled out. Strength, like intelligence, is not solely possessed by man.’

‘Very well. But the abbess must have known her attacker.’

‘How do you deduce that?’

‘There is no sign of a struggle. Glance around the room. Nothing seems out of place. Nothing is in disarray. And, observe, the abbess’s headdress is still hung neatly from the peg for her clothes. As you know, among the sisters, it is a rule that the veil should not be discarded before strangers.’

Sister Fidelma had to admit to herself that Brother Eadulf was observant.

‘You argue that Abbess Étain had removed her headdress before or when the attacker came to her cell. You imply that she knew the attacker well enough not to replace the veil on her head?’

‘Just so.’

‘But what if the attacker entered the cell before she knew who it was and then she had no time to reach for her veil before she was assaulted?’

‘A possibility that I ruled out.’

‘How so?’

‘Because there still would have been signs of disturbance. If the abbess had been startled by the entrance of a stranger, she would have attempted firstly to reach her headdress or to struggle with the intruder. No, everything is neat and tidy, even the bed coverings are not disturbed. The only thing spoiling the tranquillity is the abbess lying across her bed with her throat cut.’

Sister Fidelma compressed her lips. Eadulf was right. He had a keen eye.

‘It seems logical,’ she admitted after some thought. ‘But not entirely conclusive. I think I would reserve my judgment on her knowledge of her attacker. But the odds are in your favour.’ She turned and gave Eadulf a sudden searching look. ‘You mentioned that you are a physician?’

Eadulf shook his head.

‘No. Though I have studied at the medical school of Tuaim Brecain, as I have said, and know much, I am not qualified in all the arts of a physician.’

‘I see. Then you will have no objection if we ask the Abbess Hilda to have Étain’s body removed to the mortuarium and examined by the physician of the abbey in case there are other injuries that we might have missed?’

‘I have no objection,’ confirmed Eadulf.

Fidelma nodded absently. ‘I doubt whether there is anything else we might learn from this pitiful cell—’

She suddenly paused and bent down to the floor, coming more slowly to her feet with something held in her hand. It was a tuft of golden strands of hair.

‘What is that?’ Eadulf asked.

‘The confirmation of your theory,’ replied Fidelma flatly.

‘You said that the attacker grabbed Étain’s hair from behind, to hold her neck back while stabbing her in the throat. Such a grip would tear some of the hair from her scalp. And here we have that hair, which the attacker dropped as he or she left the cell.’

Sister Fidelma stood still and gazed around the small chamber, her eyes moving carefully so that she might not miss anything of importance or meaning. She had a curious pricking at the back of her mind that she was overlooking something. She moved across to the side table and looked through the few toilet articles and personal possessions. A pocket missal lay among them. Étain’s crucifix was the only jewellery there. Fidelma had already noted that her ring of office was still on her finger. Why, then, did she feel that something was missing?

‘There is little in the way of any sign to suggest who our miscreant might be, sister.’ Eadulf interrupted her thoughts. ‘We can rule out robbery with greed as the motive,’ he added, indicating the crucifix and ring.

‘Robbery?’ She had to confess that it was the last motive in her thoughts. ‘We are in a house of God.’

‘Beggars and thieves have been known to break into abbeys and churches before,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘But not in this case. There is no sign at all.’

‘The scene of a misdeed is like a piece of parchment on which the transgressor must make some mark,’ Fidelma replied. ‘The mark is there, it is for us to spot it and interpret it.’

Eadulf shot a curious glance at her.

‘The only mark here is the body of the abbess,’ he said softly.

Fidelma turned a withering glance on him.

‘Then, by your own admission, it is still a mark and one to be interpreted.’

Brother Eadulf bit his lip as the rebuke hit home.

He wondered whether the Irish religieuse was always as sharp as this or whether it was some reaction to him.

Curiously, when he had accidentally knocked into her in the cloisters last evening, he could have sworn that some light of understanding, of empathy, had passed between them – some chemical reaction. Yet now it was as if that encounter had never happened and the woman was a hostile stranger.

Well, he ought not to wonder at such hostility. She was a supporter of Columba’s rule while he, by his very corona spinea, had declared for Rome. And the hostilities of those gathered at the abbey were obvious for even the most insensitive to interpret.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hollow rasping cough from the doorway of the cell. Both Fidelma and Eadulf turned together as an elderly religieuse paused on the portal.

‘Pax vobiscum,’ she greeted. ‘Are you Fidelma of Kildare?’

Fidelma acknowledged her identity.

‘I am Sister Athelswith, domina of the domus hospitale of Streoneshalh.’ She kept her eyes focused on Fidelma, making an obvious effort not to let them stray to the cot on which the body of Étain lay. ‘Abbess Hilda thought that you might wish to talk with me for I am in charge of all the arrangements for the accommodation of our brethren during the synod.’

‘Excellent,’ chimed in Brother Eadulf, incurring another glance of displeasure from Fidelma. ‘You are exactly the person to whom we should speak—’

‘But not immediately,’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘First, Sister Athelswith, we would like the physician of your abbey to examine the body of our poor sister as soon as possible. We would wish to speak with the physician as soon as the examination has been made.’

Sister Athelswith looked nervously from Fidelma to Brother Eadulf and back again.

‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I will tell Brother Edgar, our physician, at once.’

‘Then we will meet you at the north door of the abbey shortly after we have finished here.’

Again the troubled eyes of the elderly sister roamed from Fidelma’s face to that of the young Saxon monk. Fidelma was annoyed by her hesitation.

‘Time is of importance, Sister Athelswith,’ she said sharply.

The mistress of the guests’ quarters bobbed her head uncertainly and hurried off about her errand.

Sister Fidelma turned to face Eadulf. Her features were controlled, but her green eyes sparkled with annoyance.

‘I am not used—’ she began, but Eadulf disarmed her with a grin.

‘—to working with someone else? Yes, I can understand that. No more am I. I think we should devise some plan in order that we might carry out our investigation without conflict. We should decide who is in charge of conducting the investigation.’

Fidelma stared at the Saxon in surprise. She sought for words for a moment or two to express her annoyance but they came so disjointedly into her mind that she did not utter them.

‘As we are in the land of the Saxons, maybe I should take charge,’ Eadulf went on, ignoring the storm that seemed about to erupt. ‘After all, I know the law and customs and language of this country.’

Fidelma’s lips had thinned as she controlled herself and found the words she wanted.

‘I concede that it is indisputable that you have such knowledge. Nevertheless, Oswy the king, with the support of the Abbess Hilda of this house and Colmán, Bishop of Northumbria, suggested that I undertake this investigation because of my experience in this field. You were appointed as a political expediency so that the investigation might be seen to be even-handed.’

Brother Eadulf apparently refused to take offence and simply chuckled.

‘By whatever means I was appointed, sister, I am here.’

‘Then, as we are in dispute, I think we should go to the Abbess Hilda and ask her who should stand in preference as being in charge of the investigation.’

The warm brown eyes of Eadulf met the sparkling, fiery green eyes of Fidelma and locked for several long seconds in challenge.

‘Perhaps,’ Eadulf said slowly, ‘perhaps not.’ Suddenly his features split into a grin. ‘Why cannot we decide between ourselves?’

‘It seems that you have already decided that you should take charge,’ Fidelma replied frostily.

‘I’ll compromise. We bring different abilities and talents to this matter. Let no one be in charge.’

Fidelma suddenly realised that the man might have been testing her, exploring her resolve and confidence in herself.

‘That would be the logical solution,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘But to work together one should have an understanding of one another and know how the other’s mind works.’

‘And how can that be learnt except by working together and learning? Shall we attempt it?’

Sister Fidelma gazed into the deep brown eyes of the Saxon monk and found herself colouring. Once more she felt that strange chemical sensation she had experienced on the previous evening.

‘Very well,’ she replied, distantly, ‘we shall attempt it. We will share all our ideas and knowledge in this matter. Now let us go to meet Sister Athelswith at the north door of the abbey. I find this building oddly oppressive and would like to walk in the open and feel the sea breeze on my face.’

She turned without another glance around the cell or casting a look at the body of Abbess Étain. By applying her mind to the problem the murder presented she had already begun to deal with her personal grief.

Fidelma and Eadulf stood at the edge of a crowd that had clustered beyond the north gate of the abbey buildings. A market and fair had been set up as the local merchants attempted to make some wealth from the gathering of illustrious churchmen and princes from the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons..

At the north door of the abbey they had found a good-natured crowd clustered around a beggar, a man from Ireland to judge by his voice and appearance. The crowd were taunting him as he kept shouting a prophecy of death and gloom. Fidelma shook her head as she realised that it was the same man she had seen from the window on the evening before.

Everywhere one went there were prophets and soothsayers these days, proclaiming catastrophe and doom. But then no one really believed in prophecies unless they were ones that could be feared and which foretold ruin and damnation. There was no accounting for the mind of humankind.

Fidelma and Eadulf paused for a while but the fascination of the stalls and tents attracted their attention and, without thinking, they found themselves drawn away from the gates towards the colourful throng. They turned through the tents and fairground booths that had sprung up outside the towering sandstone walls of Streoneshalh.

There was an invigorating salt sea smell to the air. In spite of the growing lateness of the hour, the merchants were still conducting a thriving business. They saw rich-looking groups of people, nobles, thanes, princes and petty kings, moving with stately arrogance around the fair. Beyond, on both sides of the valley, through which a broad river ran into the sea, were dark hills and across the hills numerous tents were pitched, pennants proclaiming the nobility of their inhabitants.

Fidelma remembered that Brother Taran had pointed out that the synod was attracting regal representatives not only from the kingdoms of the Angles and Saxons, but even from the kingdoms of the Britons with whom the Saxons were constantly at war. Eadulf was able to point out pennants belonging to some Frankish nobles, who had crossed the sea from Frankia. She recognised some from Dál Riada and from the lands of the Cruthin, whom the Saxons called Picts. It was truly a debate of importance that attracted so many nations. Oswy was right – the decision of Streoneshalh would chart the course of Christianity not only in Northumbria but in all the Saxon kingdoms for centuries to come.

It seemed to them that the entire settlement of Witebia was endowed with a carnival atmosphere. Wandering minstrels, entertainers of all sorts and merchants and vendors were thronging the town. Brother Eadulf, upon enquiry, pointed out to Fidelma that the prices they were charging were exorbitant and said they should utter a prayer of thanks that they were staying under the patronage of the abbey.

Among the stalls, gold and silver coins were swiftly exchanging hands. A Frisian merchant was taking the opportunity of a rich clientele of thanes and ealdormen, with their retainers, to sell a ship load of slaves. As well as potential buyers, groups of churls, common freemen, gathered round to watch the proceedings with morbid curiosity. So often, in the wake of a war or civil disturbance, could a family find itself taken as prisoners and sold as slaves by the conquerors.

Fidelma viewed the proceedings with open distaste.

‘I feel uneasy at seeing human beings sold like beasts.’

For the first time Eadulf found himself in total agreement with her.

‘We Christians have long declared how wrong it is for an individual to own another as property. We even set aside funds for buying the emancipation of slaves who are known to be Christians. But many who call themselves Christians do not subscribe to the abolition of slavery and the church has no policy or programme for the ending of slavery.’

Fidelma was pleased to hear his agreement.

‘I have even heard that your Saxon Archbishop of Canterbury, Deusdedit, has argued that slaves in good households were better fed and housed than free labourers and churls and that the freedom of a churl was relative rather than absolute. Such views could not be held among the bishops of Ireland, where slavery is forbidden by law.’

‘Yet you hold hostages and those you class as non-freemen,’ Eadulf replied. He suddenly felt that he had to defend the Saxon system of slavery, even though he disagreed with it, simply because it was Saxon. He disliked the idea that a foreigner should sound so superior and disapproving.

Fidelma flushed in annoyance.

‘You have studied in Ireland, Brother Eadulf. You know our system. We have no slaves. Those who trespass against our laws can lose their rights for varying periods, but they are not excluded from our society. They are made to contribute to the welfare of the people until such time as their crime is requited. Some non-freemen can work their own land and pay their taxes. Hostages and prisoners of war remain as contributing to our society until tribute or ransom is paid. But, as well you know, Eadulf, even the lowest of our non-freemen are treated as intelligent beings, as humans with rights and not mere chattels as you Saxons treat your slaves.’

Brother Eadulf opened his mouth angrily to retort in emotional defence of the system, quite forgetting his intellectual condemnation of it.

‘Brother Eadulf! Sister Fidelma!’

A breathless voice interrupted them.

They turned. Sister Fidelma felt suddenly guilty as she saw the elderly Sister Athelswith hurrying to catch up with them.

‘I thought that you said you would be by the north door,’ protested the sister breathlessly.

‘I am sorry.’ Fidelma was contrite. ‘We were carried away by the sights and sounds of the market.’ Sister Athelswith grimaced in disgust.

‘It would be well to avoid such dens of depravity, sister. But then, as you are a foreigner, our Northumbrian markets may well have a curiosity for you.’

She turned and guided them out of the section of the abbey grounds which had been given over to the stalls and booths of the market, where the fair had been pitched, and turned eastward along the top of the dark cliffs overlooking the harbour of Witebia. The sun was already low in the western sky and their shadows stretched before them as they walked.

‘Now, Sister Athelswith—’ began Fidelma. But the domina of the guests’ hostel interrupted breathlessly.

‘I have seen Brother Edgar, our physician. He will perform the autopsy within the hour.’

‘Good,’ Brother Eadulf said approvingly. ‘I doubt whether there will be anything new to add to our knowledge but it is best if the body is so examined.’

‘As mistress of the hostel,’ went on Fidelma, ‘how do you assign cubicula to the visitors?’

‘Many of the guests have pitched their tents around our house. And there are so many attending the debate that our dormitories have become filled to capacity. The cubicula are assigned to special guests.’

‘The Abbess Etain was allotted her chamber by you?’

‘Indeed.’

‘On what basis?’

Sister Athelswith frowned.

‘I do not understand.’

‘Was there any special reason for Étain of Kildare being allotted that particular cubiculum?’

‘No. The guest chambers are allotted on the order of rank. Bishop Colmán, for example, requested that you be allocated a cubiculum because of your rank.’

‘I see. So who had the chambers on either side of the abbess?’

Sister Athelswith had no difficulty in replying.

‘Why, on one side the Abbess Abbe of Coldingham and on the other Bishop Agilbert, the Frank.’

‘One a firm adherent of the church of Columba,’ interrupted Brother Eadulf, ‘the other equally firmly for Rome.’

Fidelma raised an eyebrow and gazed quizzically at him. Eadulf replied to her obvious question with an indifferent shrug.

‘I point this out, Sister Fidelma, in case you search for pro-Roman culprits in this matter.’

Fidelma bit her lip in irritation.

‘I search only for the truth, brother.’ Turning to the puzzled Sister Athelswith, she continued: ‘Is a check kept on who visits the cubicula of your guests? Or is everyone free to wander in and out of the guests’ hostel?’

Sister Athelswith raised her shoulders and let them fall expressively.

‘Why should such a check be made, sister? People are free to come and go as they please in the house of God.’

‘Male and female?’

‘We are a mixed house at Streoneshalh. Male and female are free to visit each other’s cubicula whenever they like.’

‘So you would have no way of knowing who visited the Abbess Étain?’

‘I know of only seven visitors today,’ the elderly religieuse replied complacently.

Sister Fidelma tried to control her exasperation.

‘And these were?’ she prompted.

‘Brother Taran, the Pict, and Sister Gwid, who is secretary to the abbess, visited in the morning. Then Abbess Hilda herself and Bishop Colman came together towards midday. There came a beggar, one of your countrymen, sister, who demanded to see her. He created such an uproar that he had to be removed. Indeed, this same beggar was whipped yesterday morning by order of the Abbess Hilda for disturbing the quiet of our house.’

She paused.

‘You mentioned seven persons,’ prompted Sister Fidelma gently.

‘Brothers Seaxwulf and Agatho. Seaxwulf is the secretary to Wilfrid of Ripon.’

‘And who is this Agatho?’

It was Eadulf who replied.

‘Agatho is a priest in the service of the Abbot of Icanho. He was pointed out to me this morning as being of an eccentric character.’

‘One of the Roman faction then?’ she asked ingenuously.

Eadulf gave a curt nod.

‘So? Can you estimate the time when these visitors saw the abbess? For example, who was the last to see her?’

Sister Athelswith stroked her nose as if the action helped in recalling.

‘Sister Gwid visited early this morning. I remember that well, for they stood at the door of the cubiculum arguing quite heatedly. Then Sister Gwid burst into tears and ran past me along the corridor towards her dormitorium. She is a rather emotional young woman. I gather the abbess had cause to rebuke her. Then Brother Taran came to see her. Abbess Hilda and Bishop Colmán came together, as I have said, and they all went in to the refectory together when the bell for the prandium sounded. The beggar arrived after lunch. Brother Seaxwulf visited but now I am not sure whether that was after the midday meal or before. The last visitor I remember was the priest Agatho, who came in the early afternoon.’

Fidelma had followed Athelswith’s recitation with some amusement. The old woman was clearly something of a busybody, keeping track of every visitor to her guest house as well as their business.

‘So? This Agatho, so far as you know, was the last to see the Abbess Étain alive?’

‘If he was her last visitor of the day,’ interrupted Eadulf hurriedly. There was a defensive tone in his voice.

Sister Fidelma smiled softly.

‘Just so.’

Sister Athelswith glanced unhappily from one to the other.

‘I saw no other visitors after Brother Agatho,’ she replied firmly.

‘And are you in a position to see all visitors?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Only when I am in my officium,’ she replied, colouring a little. ‘I have much to do. Being the domina of the guests’ quarters is a great responsibility. In normal times we provide for the hospitality of forty pilgrims at one time. I have one brother and three sisters to help me in the discharge of my duties. There is a need to clean the dormitoria and the cubicula, to prepare beds and assure ourselves that the needs of prominent visitors have been met. So I am often in the hostel area ensuring that our tasks are carried out. But when I am in my officium I cannot help but observe who passes to and fro to the guests’ quarters.’

Fidelma smiled in mollification. ‘And it is good luck for us that you do so.’

‘Would you take oath, sister,’ pressed Eadulf a little aggressively, ‘that no one else visited Abbess Étain before her body was discovered?’

Sister Athelswith brought her chin up stubbornly.

‘Of course not. As I said at the beginning, we are free to enter when and how we please. I am only sure that the people that I have named entered the Abbess of Kildare’s cubiculum.’

‘And when was the body discovered and who by?’

‘I, myself, discovered the body at half past the hour of five o’clock this afternoon.’

Fidelma was astonished and showed it.

‘How can you be so certain of the hour?’

Sister Athelswith swelled with visible pride.

‘Among the duties of the domina of the domus hospitale of Streoneshalh is that of time-keeper. It is my task to ensure that our clepsydra functions accurately.’

Brother Eadulf was bewildered.

‘Your … what?’

‘Clepsydra is a Greek word,’ Fidelma explained, allowing a slight patronising tone to enter her voice.

‘One of our brethren brought it back from the east,’ Sister Athelswith said proudly. ‘It is a mechanism by which time is measured by the discharge of water.’

‘And exactly how did you note the time of discovery?’ pressed Eadulf.

‘I had just made my check on the clepsydra when a messenger from the sacrarium came to inform me that the assembly had opened but there was no sign of the Abbess of Kildare. I went to her cubiculum to summon her. That is when I found her and sent the messenger straight away to Abbess Hilda. By our clepsydra, the time was lacking a half hour to the sounding of the evening Angelus bell, which task I also have to oversee as time-keeper of Streoneshalh.’

‘That certainly agrees with the time that the messenger arrived in the assembly hall and informed the Abbess Hilda,’ Eadulf confirmed.

‘I was there also,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘And you, Sister Athelswith, you disturbed nothing? All was left exactly as you found it in Étain’s cell?’

The domina of the domus hospitale nodded emphatically.

‘I disturbed nothing.’

Sister Fidelma bit her lip thoughtfully.

‘Well, the shadows are lengthening. I think we should retrace our footsteps to the abbey,’ she said, after a moment’s pause. ‘We should continue by seeking out this priest, Agatho, and seeing what he has to say.’

A figure was hurrying towards them through the gloom from the direction of the abbey gates. It was one of the brethren, a thick-set, moon-faced young man.

‘Ah, brother, sisters. The Abbess Hilda has sent me in great haste to search for you.’

He paused a moment to recover his wheezy breath.

‘Well?’ demanded Fidelma.

‘I have to tell you that the murderer of the Abbess Étain has been discovered and is even now under lock and key within the abbey.’