Fidelma had forgotten mention of an argument.
They had reached the officium of the guest quarters and found Sister Athelswith bending over some ledgers.
‘We wish to speak with several brethren in private, sister,’ Fidelma told her. ‘With your permission, we will use your officium as the most convenient place to conduct our questioning. I am sure that you will have no objection?’
From her facial expression, Sister Athelswith had many objections but she knew that Fidelma and Eadulf had the full support of the Abbess Hilda and so she simply exhaled and removed her ledgers.
‘And may we ask you to serve us by summoning these people as we want them?’ pressed Eadulf with a winning smile.
The elderly sister sniffed, trying to hide her displeasure at this interruption to her routine.
‘It will be as you request, brother. I will serve you in whatever way I can.’
‘Good,’ smiled Fidelma brightly. ‘Then bring us Sister Gwid. She should be in her dormitorium.’
It was a short time later when the gawky Sister Gwid entered. She was more in control of her emotions now, although her eyes were still red from crying. She looked from Fidelma to Eadulf with an air of a child lost and bewildered.
‘How are you feeling this morning, sister?’ asked Fidelma, motioning her to take a seat.
Gwid bowed her head and seated herself on a wooden stool before the table that served as Sister Athelswith’s desk.
‘I apologise for my display of emotion,’ she replied. ‘Étain was a good friend to me. The news of her death unnerved me for a while.’
‘But you will do your best to help us?’ Fidelma’s tone was almost cajoling.
Sister Gwid shrugged indifferently and Eadulf felt he had to explain their task and their authority.
‘There is little I can say,’ Sister Gwid became a little more accommodating. ‘You will recall that I was in the sacrarium with you, Sister Fidelma, waiting for the opening of the debate when news came of the Abbess Étain’s death.’
‘Indeed,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘Yet you held the office of her secretary and met with her in her cubiculum yesterday morning.’
Gwid inclined her head in agreement.
‘I did. Can you track down the foul thing that killed her?’ she asked, her voice suddenly fierce.
‘That is what we are here to discover, Gwid,’ Brother Eadulf intervened. ‘Firstly, we must ask some questions.’
Gwid made an inviting gesture with her hand. It made her seem even more awkward, drawing attention to her large bony hands.
‘Ask away.’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf and indicated that he should continue. The Saxon leant forward across the table.
‘You were seen to be arguing with Étain outside her cubiculum yesterday,’ he said abruptly.
‘Étain was my friend,’ Gwid replied abashed.
‘Did you argue with her?’ Eadulf demanded.
‘No!’ The reply came immediately. ‘Étain was … was simply annoyed with me because I had forgotten to collate some facts for her in the preparation of her argument for the debate. That is all.’
It was logical enough that Étain, in preparing to meet with Wilfrid, would be highly strung and quick to temper.
‘Are you from the land of the Picts?’
Fidelma frowned at Eadulf’s abrupt change of tack.
The dark face of Sister Gwid became bewildered.
‘From the land of the Cruthin whom you call “Picts” which is but a corruption of a Latin nickname meaning “painted ones”,’ she said pedantically. ‘It was a custom of our warriors in ancient times to paint themselves when they went into battle – a custom that has long since ceased. I was born when Garnait son of Foth ruled the Cruthin and extended his rule over the kings of Strath-Clòta.’
Fidelma could not help smiling at the fierce pride in the girl’s voice.
‘But not all Picts are Christian,’ Eadulf observed slyly.
‘And certainly not all Saxons are Christian,’ responded Gwid sharply.
‘True. But you were trained in Ireland, weren’t you?’
‘I studied firstly in the abbey of Iona but then crossed to Ireland to study at Emly before finally returning to Iona. It was at Emly that I studied under Sister Étain, as she then was.’
‘So?’ Fidelma leant forward now. ‘How long did you study with Étain?’
‘Only three months. She was teaching philosophy in the faculty of Rodan the Wise. Then she heard from her own mother house of Kildare that the Abbess Ita had died and on hastening back to Kildare she was elected as head of the house. After Étain became Mother Abbess of Kildare, I saw her only once.’
‘When was that?’ Eadulf asked.
‘When I had finished my studies with Rodan and was passing on my way back to Bangor, to get ship to Iona. I sought hospitality at Kildare.’
‘How were you chosen to become secretary to Abbess Étain during this debate?’ demanded Eadulf.
‘I was chosen because Abbess Étain knew of my skills as an interpreter, for I was a prisoner of the Northumbrians for five years, until Finán of Lindisfarne had me freed and sent back to my homeland. Also I am able to construe the Greek of the writings of the Gospels without difficulty. For these reasons, Étain chose me.’
‘I did not ask why, I asked how.’
‘I have no idea. I was waiting for the ship at Bangor when a message reached me asking me to attend the assembly here and serve in the capacity of secretary to Étain. This I agreed to do most willingly. I sailed for Iona the day after and there, of course, I met with you, Sister Fidelma. Brother Taran was organising a mission to Northumbria and, as you know, we both found ourselves, with others of the brethren of Columba, journeying to this place together.’
Sister Fidelma inclined her head in agreement at Gwid’s interpretation of events.
‘And when was the last time you saw the Abbess Etain alive?’ she asked.
Sister Gwid frowned thoughtfully as she considered the answer to the question.
‘As soon as the brethren had concluded the midday meal, the prandium, an hour after the midday Angelus. The abbess, who had eaten with the Abbess Hilda and Bishop Colmán, asked me to accompany her to her cubiculum.’
‘So that was after you had the quarrel with her?’ Fidelma said quickly.
‘I said that it was no quarrel,’ Gwid snapped defensively. ‘And Étain did not keep her temper long. She was a kind woman.’
‘For what purpose did she ask you to attend her after the midday meal?’ queried Eadulf.
‘To discuss the manner of the debate that afternoon,’ replied Gwid. ‘As you know, Étain was scheduled to open the proceedings on behalf of the church of Columba. She wanted to discuss her speech with me, the way she could use quotations from the apostles to appeal to the Saxons. Her Greek was sometimes not of the best.’
‘How long were you with her?’ Fidelma asked.
‘An hour. No more than an hour. We spoke about the detail of her arguments with respect to the references from the Gospels. I stood ready to translate should there be doubt about the quotations she chose.’
‘How did she seem to you when you left her?’ Eadulf asked, rubbing the tip of his nose with his forefinger.
Gwid frowned.
‘I do not follow.’
‘Was she apprehensive? Was she relaxed? How did she seem?’
‘She seemed relaxed enough. Obviously she was preoccupied with her work but no more preoccupied than I have seen her when preparing for one of her tutorials at Emly.’
‘She expressed no alarm? No one had threatened her since she had been here?’
‘Ah, you mean a threat from one of the Roman faction? She told me that once or twice she had been insulted by Roman priests. Athelnoth, for example. But he—’
Gwid suddenly bit her lip.
Fidelma’s eyes sparkled immediately.
‘You were going to say something, sister?’ Her voice was quiet but insist
ent.
Gwid grimaced awkwardly.
‘It is nothing. Something personal and irrelevant.’
Eadulf scowled.
‘We will judge what is irrelevant, sister. What were you going to say?’
‘Athelnoth was very antagonistic to Etain.’
‘Because?’ prompted Fidelma, sensing the woman’s extreme reluctance to make herself clear.
‘It is not seemly that I should speak of the dead abbess in this manner.’
Eadulf gave a bark of exasperation.
‘You have not spoken in any manner as yet. What is not seemly?’
‘We know that Athelnoth is not only pro-Roman but he views Northumbrians as superior to all people,’ Fidelma remarked, remembering what Étain had told her on her first night at Streoneshalh.
Gwid bit her lip again, colouring slightly.
‘The antagonism was one of personal anger rather than one of theological conflict.’
Fidelma was perplexed.
‘You will have to explain this. What do you mean by “personal anger”?’
‘I believe that Athelnoth made advances to the Abbess Étain. Advances of an amorous nature.’
There was a brief silence.
Sister Fidelma’s lips puckered into a long, silent whistle. Étain was an attractive woman, Fidelma had long realised that fact, and Étain was no celibate. She was a woman appreciative of manly attraction. Indeed, Fidelma had placed in the dim recess of her memory what Étain had told her when they had met, of her wish to remarry and resign from the abbacy of Kildare.
Eadulf was shaking his head in surprise.
‘Are you sure of this, Sister Gwid?’
The Pictish religieuse raised her broad shoulders and let them fall in a gesture that was one of part indecision and part resignation.
‘I cannot say that I am sure. All I know is that Étain disliked him intensely and said to me that under some circumstances she could accept some of the new teachings of Rome.’
‘What do you think she meant by that?’
‘I believe she was referring to the teachings on celibacy, brother,’ responded Gwid with some coyness.
‘Did you know, then, Abbess Étain was to announce her resignation as abbess of Kildare after this assembly?’ Fidelma asked suddenly. ‘Did you know she contemplated taking a husband—?’
‘When did Étain make this comment about celibacy?’ Eadulf interrupted.
Fidelma bit her lip in irritation for Eadulf had cut off the spontaneity that she had hoped for in Gwid’s reply. The Pictish sister stirred uneasily.
‘We were talking about how she would respond if the Roman faction brought up the arguments on celibacy. Many of them believe that there should be no mixed houses, and that all the religious, from the brethren to the bishops should remain celibate. It was after this that the abbess made her remark. I did not know that Étain contemplated marriage herself or resigning from the abbacy.’ Gwid frowned. ‘If this is true, it would have been unjust.’
‘Unjust?’
‘Immoral then, immoral that a woman of the abbess’ talent should resign her office to live with a man. Perhaps her death was a form of absolution from an action which would have been vile and sinful.’
Fidelma gazed curiously at her.
‘How do you know that she referred to Athelnoth when she made her remarks? How could you interpret that to mean that the Saxon had made advances to her?’
‘Because Athelnoth disturbed us when we were talking of this matter, requesting to speak alone with Etain. Étain told him that she was busy and he went away. It happened while we were talking of celibacy. She said, so far as I recall, “When a man like that makes advances, I could accept these new teachings of Rome” – or words to that effect.’
Eadulf returned to the questioning.
‘Are you sure she said “when” rather than “if’? Was she implying that Athelnoth had made such advances or was she hypothesising?’ he demanded curtly.
Sister Gwid raised a shoulder and let it fall.
‘I came away with the distinct impression that Athelnoth had already made licentious suggestions to the abbess.’
There was a silence while Fidelma and Eadulf digested the significance of what Gwid had told them.
Fidelma continued after a moment or two of silence.
‘And was there any other person or incident which Étain spoke of in connection with antagonism or dislike from the Roman faction?’
‘Only the subject of Athelnoth was spoken of.’
‘Very well. Thank you, sister. We are sorry to have added to your sorrow.’
The ungainly sister rose and turned for the door.
‘Incidentally – ’
Fidelma’s voice stayed her.
‘– you seemed to indicate that marriage among religious is a vile, sinful practice. What do you think of the controversy of celibacy among the religious?’
Sister Gwid’s mouth tightened grimly.
‘I am in favour of the teaching of the blessed Paul of Tarsus and of Maighnenn, abbot of Kilmainham. Let the sexes not defile each other in the service of the Almighty!’
Eadulf waited until Sister Gwid had left before rounding on Fidelma in annoyance, interrupting her thoughts.
‘If we are working together, sister, you really should not keep information from me.’
Fidelma was about to respond angrily but suddenly realised that Eadulf was right to be annoyed. She had not mentioned Étain’s decision to resign her office to marry. She had not even thought it important and she was not convinced that it was. She sighed under her breath.
‘I am sorry. I was not sure whether Étain’s decision to resign her office was a matter of relevance. Étain only mentioned it to me on the night before her death.’
‘Who was she to marry?’
‘I presume it was someone she met in Ireland. Her intention was to go back to Kildare and resign her office. Then I suppose she would continue to teach in a double house as she did before at Emly.’
‘But you don’t know whom she was to marry?’
‘She did not tell me. What relevance is it here, in Northumbria?’
Eadulf bit his lip and was silent a moment.
‘I find this hard to believe,’ he said suddenly.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow.
‘What in particular?’
‘About Athelnoth. It is reported that he is a haughty man; he seems to believe all foreigners are his inferiors and he is an ardent supporter of Roman rule. Why then would he have developed a passion for Abbess Étain?’
Fidelma was cynical.
‘Was he not a man?’
Eadulf felt a colour on his cheeks.
‘Surely. But even so—’
‘Étain was a very attractive woman,’ Fidelma amplified. ‘Nevertheless, I take your point. But sometimes opposite personalities are attracted to each other.’
‘That is so,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘You have known Sister Gwid for a while. Can we trust her as an accurate observer? Would she have misinterpreted what Étain said or this business with Athelnoth?’
‘She is an awkward girl. One who is intent to please her superiors. But her gawky limbs hide an astute brain. Indeed, I found her almost a pedant on matters of detail. I think we may trust her word.’
‘Then I think we should see this Athelnoth next,’ Eadulf suggested.
Chapter Ten
Sister Athelswith returned with the news that Athelnoth was occupied in the sacrarium listening to the debate and that she could not disturb him without interruption to the entire synod. Fidelma and Eadulf decided to fill in the time by going along to the sacrarium and listening to the proceedings. Since they had arrived at Streoneshalh they had not heard any of the speeches made during the synod. Apparently, in the place of the Abbess Étain, Bishop Colmán himself had opened for the church of Columba with a short résumé of the teachings of the monks of Iona. It was a crisp, concise speech but without oratorical eloquence or guile. Wilfrid�
��s response was short and sarcastic, scoring points off his opponent’s candour.
Fidelma and Eadulf stood at the back of the sacrarium, near to a side door behind the Columban benches, trying to avoid the almost breath-taking odours of burning incense.
A tall, angular man, identified to Fidelma by a sister standing close to them as the venerable bishop Cedd, an original disciple of Aidán, was rising to speak as they entered. The sister whispered that Cedd had just arrived from the land of the East Saxons, where he had been on a mission, and had now been appointed to interpret from Saxon to Irish or from Irish to Saxon as the need arose. Cedd was the eldest of four brothers who had been converted by Aidán and who now led the church of Columba in Northumbria. Chad, another brother, was the bishop of Lastingham, while their brothers Caelin and Cynebill were also attending the assembly. Chad, the sister volunteered, had received his education in Ireland.
‘There has been much speculation as to the date of our Easter celebration,’ Cedd was saying. ‘Our gracious queen, Eanflaed, celebrates according to Rome. Our good king, Oswy, follows the teachings of Columba. Who is right and who is wrong? It can happen that the king has finished the fast and is keeping the Easter Sabbath while the queen and her attendants are still in Lent. This is a situation that sane men cannot countenance.’
‘True,’ called the pugnacious Wilfrid, not bothering to rise from his seat. ‘A situation rectified when you admit your error in your computation of Easter.’
‘A computation sanctioned by Anatolius, who ranks among the learned men of the church,’ replied Cedd, his parchment-like, bony face suffused by two bright spots of pink on the cheek bones.
‘Anatolius of Laodicea? Rubbish!’ Wilfrid had risen to his feet now, spreading his arms in appeal to his pro-Roman brothers. ‘I have no doubt that your calendrical computations were concocted among the Britons scarcely two centuries ago. Rome’s computations were carefully worked out by Victorinus of Aquitaine.’
‘Victorinus!’ A sun-tanned man, scarcely more than thirty years old, sprang up from the Columban benches. He was fair haired and his expression was intense. ‘Everyone knows that those computations were in error.’
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