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.’
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‘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.’
Chapter Eight
Fidelma entered Abbess Hilda’s chamber, closely followed by Eadulf. The abbess was seated while before her stood a tall young man with blond hair and a scar on his face. Fidelma recognized him immediately as the man Brother Taran had identified in the sacrarium as Oswy’s eldest son, Alhfrith. She had an immediate impression, observing him close up, that the scar suited him well, for his features, though handsome, gave an indefinable impression of cruelty – perhaps because the lips were thin and sneering and the eyes ice-blue, cold and lifeless as if they were the eyes of a corpse.
‘This is Alhfrith of Deira,’ announced the abbess.
Brother Eadulf immediately bowed low in the manner of the Saxons when greeting their princes, but Fidelma remained upright, merely giving a hint of a nod of respectful acknowledgment. She would do no more than that even when meeting a provincial king of Ireland, for her rank entitled her to speak on a level with kings, even the High King himself.
Alhfrith, son of Oswy, glanced briefly at Sister Fidelma in disinterest and then proceeded to address himself to Brother Eadulf in Saxon. Fidelma had some knowledge of the language, but the delivery was too fast and accented for her to understand a word. She raised a hand and interrupted the heir-apparent of Northumbria.
‘It would be better,’ she said in Latin, ‘if we observed a language common to all. I have no Saxon. If we do not have a common language then, Eadulf, it behoves you to translate.’
Alhfrith paused in his delivery a
nd made a noise conveying annoyance at being interrupted.
The Abbess Hilda suppressed a smile.
‘As Alhfrith speaks no Latin, I suggest we continue to use Irish as a language we can all understand,’ she said in that language.
Alhfrith turned to Fidelma, his brows drawn together.
‘I have a little Irish, taught by the monks of Columba when they brought Christianity to this land. If you have no Saxon, then I shall speak this language.’ The words were slow and thickly accented, but his knowledge was adequate.
Fidelma made a gesture with her hand, inviting him to continue. To her irritation he turned back to Eadulf and continued to address his remarks to him.
‘There is little need to continue your investigation. We have the culprit locked away.’
Brother Eadulf was about to reply when Sister Fidelma interrupted.
‘Are we to be informed who the culprit is?’
Alhfrith blinked in surprise. Saxon women knew their place. But he had some experience of the boldness of Irish women and had learnt from his step-mother, Fín, something of their arrogance in considering themselves equal to men. He swallowed the sharp reply that rose in his mouth and his eyes narrowed as he gazed at Fidelma.
‘Surely. A beggar from Ireland. One called Canna, the son of Canna.’
Fidelma raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘How was he discovered?’
Brother Eadulf felt uncomfortable about the challenging note in his colleague’s voice. He was accustomed to the manner and customs of Irish women in their own land but uneasy about such attitudes among his own people.
‘The discovery was made easily enough,’ replied Alhfrith coldly. ‘The man went round foretelling the day and time of the Abbess Étain’s death. He is either a great sorcerer or he is the murderer. As a Christian king adhering to Rome,’ he said emphatically, ‘I do not believe in sorcery. Therefore, the only way the man could foretell the day and time of the abbess’s death is if he were the perpetrator of the crime.’
Eadulf was nodding slowly at the logic, but Fidelma smiled sceptically at the Saxon prince.
‘Are there witnesses to the fact that he foretold the exact hour and manner of Abbess Étain’s death?’
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