‘This is Brother Eadulf.’ Oswy introduced the newcomer, continuing to speak in Irish. ‘Brother Eadulf, this is the dálaigh of whom I have already spoken, Sister Fidelma. Do you agree to work with her, bearing in mind what I have told you of the importance of resolving this mystery as soon as possible?’
Brother Eadulf’s brown eyes met the fiery green sparkle of Sister Fidelma’s.
Again Fidelma felt the curious thrill of contact that she had experienced on the previous evening.
‘I am willing.’ His voice was a rich baritone. ‘If it is agreeable to Sister Fidelma.’
‘Sister?’ pressed Oswy.
‘We should begin at once,’ Fidelma said dispassionately, hiding her feeling of confusion under the Saxon’s gaze.
‘In that I agree,’ replied Oswy. ‘Your investigation will be done in my name. You may question anyone, of whatever station in life, whom you wish to question and my warriors stand ready to act upon your commands. I would only say, before I depart, that urgency is the priority. For every hour that rumour and speculation runs unchecked in this place, then the enemies of peace will have increasing power and civil war looms ever nearer.’
Oswy gazed from one to another, smiled briefly and left the room.
Sister Fidelma found her mind racing. There was so much to take in, not least the death of Etain.
She suddenly became aware that Abbess Hilda, Colman and Eadulf were all watching her.
‘I am sorry?’ She was aware that a question must have been asked of her.
Abbess Hilda sniffed.
‘I asked how you wished to proceed.’
‘It would be best to view the scene of the outrage,’ Brother Eadulf said quickly.
Fidelma found herself clenching her teeth in annoyance at having the question answered for her.
The Saxon was right, of course, but she had no wish to be dictated to. She tried to think of another course of action which she could usefully take, simply to contradict him. She could not.
‘Yes,’ she replied reluctantly. ‘We will go to Abbess Étain’s cubiculum. Has anything been disturbed there since the body was discovered?’
Hilda shook her head.
‘Nothing, so far as I am aware. Shall I accompany you?
‘No need,’ Fidelma said quickly, lest Brother Eadulf decided to answer for her again. ‘We will report as and when we require anything.’
She turned, without looking at Eadulf, and strode from the room.
Behind her, Eadulf bowed to the abbess and to Bishop Colmán and hurried after her.
Colmán pursed his lips as the door closed.
‘It is like putting a wolf and a fox together to hunt a hare,’ he said slowly.
Abbess Hilda smiled thinly at the bishop.
‘It would be interesting to know which you see as the wolf and which as the fox.’
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 f
lesh 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.
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