Alhfrith gestured, a trifle dramatically, to Abbess Hilda.
‘There is a witness and one beyond reproach.’
Sister Fidelma turned questioningly to the abbess.
Hilda seem caught off guard and a little flustered.
‘It is true that yesterday morning this beggar was brought to me and foretold that blood would be spilt on this day.’
‘He was precise?’
Alhfrith hissed in irritation as Hilda shook her head.
‘In truth, all he told me was that blood would be spilt on the day the sun was blotted from the sky. A learned brother from Iona told me that this event did occur this very afternoon when the moon passed between us and the sun.’
Fidelma’s expression grew even more sceptical.
‘But did he name the Abbess Étain and the precise hour?’ she insisted.
‘Not to me—’ began Hilda.
‘But there are other witnesses who will swear he told them,’ interrupted Alhfrith. ‘Why do we waste time? Do you question my word?’
Sister Fidelma turned to the Saxon with a disarming smile. Only a close examination would have told how false the smile was.
‘Your word is not evidence in the legal sense, Alhfrith of Deira. Even under Saxon law, there must be direct evidence of the wrongdoing and not merely hearsay or conjecture. As I understand it, you are merely reporting what someone else has told you. You have not heard this man’s words directly.’
Alhfrith’s face reddened in mortification.
Brother Eadulf suddenly spoke for the first time.
‘Sister Fidelma is right. Your word is not in question, because you are not a witness and cannot testify to what this man said.’
Fidelma hid her surprise at being supported by the Saxon brother. She turned back to the Abbess Hilda.
‘Nothing alters our commission to investigate this matter, Mother Abbess, only that we now have a suspect. Is that correct?’
The Abbess Hilda agreed, though seemingly nervous at being seen to go against her young kinsman.
Alhfrith exhaled in annoyance.
‘This is time-wasting. The Irish woman was killed by one of her own countrymen. The sooner that news is announced the better. At least it will stop the rumours and unjust accusations that she was killed to prevent her speaking at the debate by one of the pro-Roman faction.’
‘If that is the truth, then it shall be announced,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘We have yet to discern whether it is the truth.’
‘Perhaps,’ Brother Eadulf said hurriedly as the Saxon prince’s brows furrowed, ‘you would tell us who the witnesses are against this man and how he came to be arrested?’
Alhfrith hesitated.
‘One of my thanes, Wulfric, overheard the man boasting in the market that he had foretold the death of Étain. He found three people who will swear they heard the beggar announce this before the death of the abbess was discovered. He is guarding the prisoner even now, preparatory to our burning him at the stake for daring to mock the laws of God by claiming omniscient precognition.’
Fidelma stared directly at Alhfrith of Deira.
‘You have already condemned the man before he has been heard.’
‘I have heard him and I have condemned him to death by fire!’ snapped Alhfrith.
Sister Fidelma opened her mouth to protest but Eadulf cut her short.
‘This is in accord with our custom and law, Fidelma,’ he said hurriedly.
Fidelma’s eyes were cold.
‘But Wulfric,’ she breathed slowly. ‘I have already met this Wulfric of Frihop on the road here. Wulfric, the thane of Frihop, who hanged a brother of Columba on a roadside tree for no other reason than that of pleasure. He would make a good witness against any of our nation and faith.’
Alhfrith’s eyes rounded and his mouth opened but no sound would come as he struggled with his shock at her audacity.
Abbess Hilda had risen nervously from her chair. Even Brother Eadulf looked astounded.
‘Sister Fidelma!’ Hilda was the first to recover from the surprise of her implication and spoke sharply. ‘I know of your distress at witnessing the dead body of Brother Aelfric of Lindisfarne but, as I informed you, the matter is under investigation.’
‘Just so,’ Fidelma was abrupt. ‘And the investigation bears on the credibility of Wulfric as a witness. The thane of Frihop is hardly a creditable witness in this matter. You mention three others. Are they independent or does this thane hold them under threat or bribe by payment?’
The meaning of the question registered with Alhfrith, whose features tightened in a scowl of anger.
‘I shall not remain here to be insulted by a … woman, no matter of what rank,’ he snapped. ‘Were she not under the protection of my father I would have her whipped for such insolence. And so far as I am concerned, the beggar will burn at the stake at dawn tomorrow.’
‘Whether guilty or not?’ Fidelma replied heatedly.
‘He is guilty.’
‘Highness,’ Brother Eadulf’s quiet voice halted the petty king of Deira in mid-stride to the door. ‘Highness, it may be as you say – that the beggar is guilty. But we should be allowed to carry on our investigation for much hangs in the balance here. Our commission comes directly from the king, your father. The eyes of Christendom are on this small abbey at Witebia and much is at stake. Guilt must be established beyond any question or it may well be that war will ravage the kingdom and not just Northumbria will be darkened under the raven’s bloody wing. We have an oath and duty to obey the king, your father.’
The last sentence was heavy with emphasis.
Alhfrith paused and glanced from Brother Eadulf to the Abbess Hilda, now purposefully ignoring Sister Fidelma.
‘You have until tomorrow at dawn to prove the beggar entirely innocent … or he bums at the stake. And have a care of that woman,’ he gestured to Fidelma without looking at her. ‘There is a limit beyond which I will not be pushed.’
The door slammed behind the tall form of the son of Oswy.
Abbess Hilda looked at Fidelma reproachfully.
‘Sister, you seem to forget that you are no longer in your own land and our customs and laws are different.’
Sister Fidelma bowed her head.
‘I shall do my best to remember and hope that Brother Eadulf here will advise me when I am wrong. However, my primary aim is to get to the truth of this matter and truth should be served more than princes.’
The abbess sighed deeply.
‘I will inform Oswy the king of this development and, in the meantime, you may carry on the investigation. But remember that Alhfrith is king of Deira, the province in which this abbey stands and a king’s word is law.’
In the corridor outside Brother Eadulf halted and smiled with some degree of admiration at Fidelma.
‘Abbess Hilda is right, sister. You make little headway with our Saxon princes if you do not acknowledge their status. I know it is different in Ireland but you are in Northumbria now. Nevertheless, you have given young Alhfrith something to think over. He seems a vindictive young man, so I would have a care of yourself.’
Fidelma found herself answering his smile.
‘You must remind me when I do something wrong, Brother Eadulf. But it is hard to like someone like Alhfrith.’
‘Kings and princes are not placed on thrones to be liked,’ replied Eadulf. ‘What is your next step?’
‘To see the beggar,’ she replied promptly. ‘Do you want to see the physician, Edgar, for his report on the autopsy or to come with me?’
‘I think that you may need me.’ Eadulf was serious. ‘I would not trust Alhfrith.’
In fact they met with Sister Athelswith, who informed them that Brother Edgar had already conducted an examination of the body, found nothing other than the obvious, and that the body had been taken to the catacombs of the abbey for entombment.
It was Sister Athelswith who conducted them down into the abbey’s hypogeum, which term she used
for the vast underground cellars of the buildings. A circular stone stairwell led twenty feet below the main abbey floor into a stone-flagged area with passageways spreading in all directions leading into cavernous chambers with high vaulted roofs. At the top of the stairs she had paused to light an oil lamp and by its light she guided them through a complex of musty passageways until they reached the catacombs, where the dead of the abbey were entombed in rows of stone sarcophagi. The smell had that curious quality of death which is inexplicable.
Sister Athelswith was leading the way through these damp catacombs, somewhat hurriedly, when an echoing wail rooted her to the spot. The hand in which she held up the lamp trembled violently and she genuflected with undue haste.
Sister Fidelma laid a hand on the nervous domina’s arm. ‘It is only someone sobbing,’ she reassured her.
Holding the lamp high, Sister Athelswith continued to lead onwards.
The source of the sobbing was evident almost immediately. Towards the end of the catacombs there was a small alcove in which two candles burned. The body of Abbess Étain had been removed to it for interment. It lay in funeral garb on a stone slab, the candles burning by its head. At the foot of the bier the figure of a sister lay in the flecto position, prostrating herself before the corpse. It was Sister Gwid. The girl raised herself, still sobbing, and hit the ground, crying out: ‘Domine miserere peccatrice!’
Sister Athelswith started forward, but Fidelma stayed her.
‘Let’s leave her alone with her grief for a while.’
The domina bowed her head in submission and resumed the path forward.
‘The poor sister is distraught. She seems to have had a great attachment to the abbess,’ she observed as she continued onward.
‘We all have different ways of dealing with our grief,’ replied Fidelma.
Beyond the catacombs was a series of storerooms and beyond those was the apotheca or wine cellar, in which stood great casks containing wines imported from Frankia, Gaul and Iberia. Here Fidelma paused, sniffing. The scent of the wines was powerful but some other bitter-sweet odour seemed to permeate the underground chambers, a curious aroma which made her face pucker in distaste.
‘We are below the abbey kitchens, sister,’ Athelswith said, as if in apology. ‘Smells permeate along this area.’
Fidelma made no comment but motioned the domina to continue onwards. A little way further they came on a series of cells, usually kept for the storing of provisions, so Sister Athelswith told them, but also used in extreme circumstances for the imprisonment of miscreants. Brand torches lit the grey, cold subterranean chambers.
Two men sat playing dice in the gloomy light.
It was Sister Athelswith who announced their presence in sharp authoritative Saxon.
The two men rose grumbling to their feet and one of them took a key from a hook by a stout oak door.
Sister Athelswith, her task fulfilled, turned to vanish back in the gloom.
The man was handing the key to Eadulf when he suddenly glanced at Fidelma. He grinned lewdly and said something which his companion found amusing.
Eadulf spoke to them sharply. The two men shrugged and the first man tossed the key on to the table. Fidelma had enough Saxon to hear Eadulf ask for the names of the witnesses against the condemned man. The first warrior grunted some names including that of Wulfric of Frihop. They then returned to their dice game and took no more notice.
‘What did he say?’ whispered Fidelma.
‘I asked for the names of the witnesses.’
‘That I could understand. But what did he say beforehand?’
Eadulf looked embarrassed and shrugged. ‘It was just the mouthing of the ignorant,’ he replied evasively.
Fidelma did not press him further but watched as he unlocked the door.
There was no light inside the tiny, foul-smelling cell.
On the straw, in a corner, sat a man with an unkempt beard and long hair. He had obviously been roughly treated for his face was bruised and there was blood on the tattered garments he wore.
He raised dark hollow eyes to Fidelma and some noise approaching a chuckle gurgled in his throat.
‘A hundred thousand welcomes to this house!’ His voice tried to express confident sarcasm but it croaked nervously.
‘Are you Canna?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Canna, son of Canna of Ard Macha,’ agreed the beggar conversationally. ‘Am I to be allowed the last rites of the Church?’
‘We are not here to perform that service,’ replied Brother Eadulf sharply.
The beggar examined him for the first time.
‘So? A Saxon brother, and one who adheres to Rome. It is no use asking me to confess. I did not kill Abbess Étain of Kildare.’
Fidelma gazed down at the wreckage of the man.
‘Why do you think you stand accused?’
Canna glanced up. His eyes widened as he saw the youthful sister and recognised her as a compatriot.
‘Because I excel at my art.’
‘Which is?’
‘I am an astrologer. I can foretell events by means of the interrogation of the stars.’
Eadulf gave a grunt of disbelief.
‘Do you admit that you foretold the death of the abbess?’
The man nodded complacently.
‘There is no surprise in that. Our art is ancient in Ireland as the good sister will confirm.’
Fidelma nodded agreement.
‘It is true that astrologers have this gift—’
‘Not a gift,’ corrected the beggar. ‘An astrologer studies as in any other science or art. I have studied for many years.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Astrologers have practised their art for many years in Ireland. It was once the prerogative of the druids but still the art continues and many kings and chieftains will not even have their new houses constructed until a horoscope is cast as to the most auspicious time for such an event.’
Eadulf sniffed disparagingly.
‘Are you saying that you cast a horoscope and saw the death of Etain?’
‘I did.’
‘And you named her and the hour of her death?’
‘I did.’
‘And did people hear you say this before the hour of her death?’
‘They did.’
Eadulf stared at the man in disbelief.
‘Yet you swear that you did not kill her or have any part in the encompassing of her death?’
Canna shook his head.
‘I am innocent of her blood. This I swear.’
Eadulf turned to Fidelma.
‘I am a plain man, not given to fanciful notions. I think that Canna must have had prior knowledge of this event. No man can see the future.’
Sister Fidelma shook her head firmly.
‘Among our people the science of astrology has been far advanced. Even the simple people are taught to know the sky and make simple astronomical observations in daily life. Most know the hour of the night throughout the year by the position of the stars.’
‘But to foretell that the sun will be blotted from the sky to the very minute—’ began Eadulf.
‘Easy to do,’ interrupted Canna, annoyed at the Saxon’s tone. ‘I have trained long years to be proficient in my art.’
‘Among our people, it would not be difficult to foretell such a thing,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘And to tell that a person will be killed?’ pressed Eadulf. ‘Is that so simple?’
Fidelma hesitated and bit her lip.
‘More difficult. But I know these people have an art and can do so.’
Canna interrupted with a wheezy laugh.
‘Do you want to know how it is done?’
Sister Fidelma nodded encouragement at the beggar.
‘Tell us how you arrived at your conclusion,’ she invited.
Canna sniffed loudly and reached into his tattered clothing, drawing forth a piece of vellum on which lines and computations were drawn, thrusting it forward to
their gaze.
‘This is simple to relate, brethren. On the first day of this month, which in Ireland is given over to the sacred fires of Bel, the moon stands in the way of the sun at the seventeenth hour of the day, perhaps several minutes after the hour for we are not able to be accurate to the minute or second. Here, in the eighth house, stands Taurus. The eighth house is that which signifies death. Taurus represents the land of Ireland and also is the sign that governs the throat. A death by strangulation or the cutting of the throat or even a hanging is indicated. And from Taurus I deduced such a tragedy would befall a child of Éireann.’
Eadulf looked sceptical but Sister Fidelma, who seemed to follow the logic of the astrologer, merely nodded and indicated that Canna should continue.
‘See here, then.’ Canna pointed to his calculations. ‘We have, at this time, the planet Mercury standing in mutual reception to Venus. Does not Mercury rule the twelfth house, which represents murder, secrecy and deception? And is not Venus the ruler of the eighth house of death, which also represents the female? And Venus sits in the ninth house which is also ruled by Mercury which additionally rules religion in this particular chart. And if all these signs were not enough, by a translation of light, which is practised in our profession, Mercury goes to conjunct the sun which is in eclipse.’
Canna sat back and gazed at them triumphantly.
‘Any child could read the astrology.’
Eadulf sneered to hide his ignorance.
‘Well, I am no child. Tell me plainly what all this means?’
Canna drew his brows together in anger.
‘Plain, then, plain it is to see. The sun went into eclipse just after five o’clock of the afternoon. The planets showed that a death would take place by strangulation or throat cutting; that the victim would be a woman, a woman of Ireland and that she would be a religieuse. The planets also showed that this death would be a murder. Have I not made it plain enough?’
Eadulf stared for a long time at the beggar and then raised his eyes to Fidelma.
‘Though I studied long in your country, sister, I did not study this science. Do you know anything of it?’
Fidelma pursed her lips.
‘Little enough. But enough to know that Canna is making sense according to the strictures of his art.’
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