Eadulf nodded unhappily.
Hilda’s jaws snapped so that Fidelma winced as she heard the teeth grind.
‘Are you making a mistake now?’ she demanded.
Eadulf was looking desperately at Fidelma. She took pity on him.
‘Mother Abbess, Brother Eadulf was not in full possession of the facts. Athelnoth’s death was yet another murder. The murderer remains at large in the abbey.’
Abbess Hilda closed her eyes and was unable to suppress a soft moan escaping her compressed lips.
‘What am I to tell Oswy? The debate enters its third day and there is now bad blood between the factions. There have been no less than three brawls between brothers of Columba and those of Rome. Outside the abbey there are rumours rushing like forest fires, hither and thither. We could all be consumed in them. Do you not realise just how important this debate is?’
‘That I do, Mother Abbess,’ Fidelma said firmly. ‘But it is no good inventing a conclusion that is at odds with the truth.’
‘Heaven give me patience!’ snapped the Abbess Hilda. ‘I am talking of civil war ripping this country apart.’ Her face was drawn.
‘I am well aware of the situation,’ Fidelma assured her, feeling sorry for the burden that must be on her shoulders. ‘But truth must take precedence over such considerations.’
‘And what shall I tell Oswy?’ Hilda’s voice was almost pleading.
‘Tell him that the investigation continues,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And as soon as there is word then you and Oswy shall have it.’
Chapter Fifteen
The bell announcing the serving of the jentaculum was sounding as Fidelma and Eadulf walked away from the chamber of the abbess. Fidelma realised that she was dry-mouthed and hungry. She turned towards the refectory but Eadulf stayed her with a hand on her arm.
‘I have no wish to eat,’ he said. ‘I want to examine the body of Athelnoth more closely.’
‘The physician, Brother Edgar, can take care of that matter.’
Eadulf firmly shook his head.
‘There is something I have in mind. But do not let me prevent you from eating.’
‘That you will not,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘I will meet you in Athelnoth’s cubiculum later. We can talk over the facts as we know them.’
She turned and followed the line of brethren hurrying into the refectory. She took her place, absently nodding a greeting to one or two of the sisters with whom she sat.
A sister was intoning the Beati immaculati prior to the daily reading.
Jugs of cool milk, jars of honey and paximatium, the twice-baked bread, were being distributed to each table.
There was hardly a sound except the monotonous voice of the reciter intoning from the Gospels.
Fidelma had almost finished her food when she became aware of a monk with corn-coloured hair making his way through the tables towards the door of the refectory. It was Seaxwulf. Fidelma was about to ignore him when she noticed a strange look in the young man’s eyes as they fell on her. It was as if he wanted to speak but did not want her to acknowledge him.
As Seaxwulf reached the place where Fidelma sat, he halted and stared down at his sandal. Then he bent down and began to adjust his strap as if it had become loosened.
‘Sister!’
He spoke in a sibilant whisper and, to her surprise, in Greek.
‘Sister, I hope you understand this language. I know you have little Saxon and I have even less Irish. I wish no one to overhear us.’
She was about to turn to say she understood when Seaxwulf’s voice became a hiss.
‘Don’t look at me! I think I am watched. I have news of Étain’s death. Meet me in the apotheca by the casks where the wine is stored within fifteen minutes.’
Seaxwulf rose, as if he had re-tied his sandal strap, and resumed his path out of the refectory.
Fidelma continued finishing her meal, forcing herself to eat leisurely.
Finally she bent her head over her empty bowl, rose, genuflected and made her way out of the hall.
She strolled out of the gate of the abbey and through the grounds. She kept her head down, but her eyes were darting hither and thither as she sought any who might be watching or following her. Only after she had circumvented the buildings and was assured that no one was observing her did she hurry her pace, slipping back into the abbey building and moving to the entrance to the hypogeum, the vaults that ran beneath the abbey building.
She paused at the top of the flight of circular stone steps that led down into the dark catacombs below. There was a wooden shelf just within the door on which several candles had been placed together with an oil lamp from which they could be lit. She took one and lit it, and began to descend into the darkness. It was the route by which Sister Athelswith had conducted her with Brother Eadulf. Fidelma realised that there was probably an easier route to the apotheca but she did not wish to ask anyone the way to her rendezvous with Seaxwulf.
The vaults beneath the abbey had been tunnelled in the first place to accommodate the members of the house who died. The great chambers were lined in sandstone blocks and built with arches to support the floors above. They formed a labyrinth in which many things were stored. Fidelma tried to remember the way to the apotheca where the series of great wooden casks containing wines imported from Frankia, Rome and Iberia were stored.
Fidelma paused at the foot of the stairway and looked about her.
It was cold and dank in the vaults. She shivered, half wishing that she had waited to tell Eadulf where she was going.
She moved quietly down the central way, passing a line of stone shelves on which were several wooden coffins containing the bodies of the brethren of Streoneshalh who had died over the years. The musty smell of death hung over the place. Fidelma bit her lip. She passed by the small chamber in which the body of Abbess Étain lay. That of Deusdedit, the archbishop, she knew, had been carried out of the abbey for cremation, as was the custom with all victims of the Yellow Plague.
She was sure that the kitchen servants did not have to come this way every time they wanted to fill the wine flagons. There would obviously be a shorter way from the kitchens to the wine store.
She frowned, trying to remember the way by which the elderly domina, Sister Athelswith, had conducted her.
She decided to go straight on.
It was oddly draughty in the vaults. A cold breath caused her candle to flicker every now and again, which indicated that there were entrances that allowed a breeze to enter the catacombs. The only way that could possibly be was if the entrances led directly to the outside of the abbey buildings.
She had gone some way before the scent of wine, mixed with the bitter-sweet stench of stale cooking from the great abbey kitchens above, told her that she was nearing the section of the hypogeum reserved for the storage of wine. She halted and peered around. The light of her candle was limited and she could see nothing beyond its immediate ring of light.
‘Seaxwulf!’ she called softly. ‘Are you down here?’
The echoes came back like the rumble of thunder.
She held up her candle, causing grotesque shadows to dance madly in all directions.
‘Seaxwulf!’
She moved around the barrels, peering here and there in case he was sheltering.
Then she halted, head to one side.
There came to her ears a hollow thumping sound. Frowning, she tried to identify the noise. It was like someone knocking gently on wood.
‘Is that you, Seaxwulf?’ she called softly.
There was no answer, yet the knocking continued.
Puzzled, she edged around the great wooden barrels. But there was no sign of Wighard’s effeminate secretary.
Then she located the sound. It was coming from the inside of one of the barrels. She stopped, perplexed.
‘Seaxwulf? Are you in there?’
It seemed an odd place for the monk to be hiding.
The knocking was distinct now. She reached out a
hand and felt the vibration on the wood of the great cask. Thud. Thud. Thud. There was no other answer. She turned and saw a small wooden stool. She manoeuvred it against the side of the wooden cask, which was six feet in height. The stool gave her the extra height so that she could peer over the rim of the cask.
Holding her candle high in one hand, she carefully climbed on to the stool and peered down into the cask.
Seaxwulf lay face down in the vat, floating on the red surface of the wine. There was a ripple in the liquid which was causing the body to move in a regular rhythm, the head knocking against the side of the wooden cask and sending out a hollow thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Startled, Fidelma took a step backwards, missed her footing and toppled from the stool. The candle went flying out of her hand. She flailed out wildly, trying to catch something to prevent the inevitable fall. Then she went backwards. She knew that she had hit the ground by the sudden cascade of lights that exploded before her eyes a split second before everything went dark.
At the end of a long, dark tunnel, Fidelma could hear someone moaning softly. She blinked and tried to focus. The tunnel receded and it became more light. She realised that the moaning was coming from her.
Brother Eadulf’s face swam into her vision. He looked drawn and anxious.
‘Fidelma? Are you all right?’
She blinked again and everything came into sharper focus. She realised that she was lying on the cot in her own cubiculum. Behind Eadulf’s shoulder the anxious grey face of the elderly domina was peering at her with concern.
‘I think so,’ she said ruefully, feeling a thickness in her mouth. ‘I would like some water.’
Sister Athelswith reached forward and pressed a pottery mug into her hand.
The water was cold and refreshing.
‘I fell,’ Fidelma said as she handed it back, realising at once, it seemed a silly thing to say.
Eadulf grinned in relief.
‘You did. You seemed to have toppled off a stool in the apotheca. What on earth were you up to down there?’
Remembrance came back at once. Fidelma struggled to sit up. She had been placed fully clothed on her own cot. The back of her head was sore.
‘Seaxwulf!’
Eadulf frowned uncertainly.
‘What has he to do with it?’ he demanded. ‘Did he attack you?’
Fidelma stared at Eadulf with incomprehension for a moment or two.
‘Didn’t you see?’
Eadulf shook his head, frowning.
‘Perhaps the good sister is distraught,’ muttered Sister Athelswith.
Fidelma reached forward and grabbed the young monk’s hand.
‘Seaxwulf has been killed. Did you not see him?’ she demanded urgently.
Eadulf again shook his head, staring at her. Sister Athelswith gave a gasp and placed a hand over her mouth.
Fidelma struggled to get off the cot, but Eadulf held her back.
‘Careful, you might well have injured yourself.’
‘I am all right,’ snapped Fidelma irritably. ‘How did you find me?’
It was Sister Athelswith who answered.
‘One of the kitchen staff heard a cry from the vaults beneath the kitchen and went down. She found you lying on your back beside a wine cask. She sent for me and I sent for Brother Eadulf who carried you back into your room.’
Fidelma turned back to Eadulf.
‘Did you look into the cask? The one I fell from?’
‘No. I don’t understand.’
‘Then go and do so. Someone has killed Seaxwulf. He was dumped in the cask.’
Without another word, Eadulf rose and left. Fidelma irritably waved the fussing Sister Athelswith away. She rose and went to the table on which a bowl and jug of water stood. She splashed it on her face. Her head was throbbing.
‘You need not wait, sister,’ she said, on finding that Sister Athelswith still stood silently by the door. ‘No word of this must be mentioned until we say so. I will give you further news later.’
With a sniff of hurt pride, Sister Athelswith departed.
Fidelma stood a moment, feeling everything swimming out of focus. She sat down again abruptly and began to massage her temples with her fingertips.
Eadulf returned a moment later. He was breathless from hurrying.
‘Well?’ asked Fidelma before he could speak. ‘Did you see the body?’
‘No.’ Eadulf shook his head. ‘There was no body in the cask.’
Fidelma jerked her head up and stared at the monk.
‘What?’
‘I looked in all the casks. There was no body in any of them.’
Fidelma came to her feet, her mouth tight and her dizziness gone.
‘I saw it there. I think Seaxwulf had been drowned in the wine. I saw it!’
Eadulf smiled reassuringly.
‘I believe you, sister. And since we brought you here someone must have removed it.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘Yes. That must be it.’
‘You had best tell me exactly what happened.’
Fidelma sat back on the bed, rubbing her pulsating forehead with her hands as the ache came back.
‘I told you to take things easy,’ reproved Eadulf. ‘Does your head ache?’
‘Yes,’ she groaned irritably. ‘What do you think, after receiving a crack like that?’
He smiled sympathetically.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll go and have the kitchen prepare a drink that will help you.’
‘A drink? Another of the poisons you claim to have learnt in Tuaim Brecain?’ she moaned.
‘A herbal remedy,’ Eadulf assured her with a grin. ‘A mixture of sage and red clover. Drink it and it will ease the ache in your head. Though I doubt your condition is so serious if you can protest as you do.’ He disappeared but was back almost before she realised it.
‘The remedy will be along shortly. Now tell me what happened,’ he invited.
She told him, simply and without embroidering the story.
‘You should have told me about this assignation before you went off gallivanting in those vaults,’ he admonished.
There was a tap on the door and a sister entered with a steaming pottery mug.
‘Ah, the infusion,’ grinned Eadulf. ‘It may not taste sweetly, sister, but it will cure your head. I guarantee it.’
Fidelma sipped at the noxious brew, screwing her face up.
‘Best to swallow it as fast as possible,’ advised Eadulf.
Fidelma pulled a face at him but took his advice, shutting her eyes and swallowing the warm drink as fast as possible.
‘That was truly horrible,’ she said, as she put down the mug. ‘You seem to be constantly making me imbibe your noxious concoctions. I think you take a pleasure in it.’
‘There is a saying in your language, Fidelma, that the bitterer the medicine the better the cure,’ replied Eadulf complacently. ‘Now where were we … ?’
‘Seaxwulf. You say his body has gone? But why? And why kill Seaxwulf and then go to such pains to hide the body?’
‘He was killed to prevent him from speaking with you. That much is obvious.’
‘But what had Seaxwulf to tell me? What was so important that he had to make a secret rendezvous and then get killed for it?’
‘Perhaps Seaxwulf had learnt the identity of our murderer?’
Fidelma sat down on the cot and clenched her teeth angrily.
‘Three murders, three and we are not even close to a discovery yet.’
Eadulf shook his head.
‘I disagree. We are too close, sister,’ he said with emphasis.
Fidelma glanced up in surprise.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that if we were not close then there would have been only one murder committed. The other two were committed to prevent us gaining the knowledge that those murdered had. We came too close and the murderer was forced to act before we realised that fact.’
Fidelma thought for a moment.
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‘You are right. I am not thinking straight. You are absolutely right, Eadulf.’
Eadulf smiled ruefully.
‘I have also discovered that Athelnoth was not entirely lying to us about the brooch.’
‘How?’
Eadulf held out his hand. In his palm was a small silver brooch. Its workmanship was exquisite and its whorls and circular patterns were emphasised by enamel work and semiprecious stones.
Fidelma took it and held it up, turning it over in her fingers.
‘There is little doubt that this is of Irish workmanship,’ she said. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘When Brother Edgar, the physician, stripped the body of Athelnoth for the post-mortem examination we found that he had a small purse tied against the flesh of his body on a leather thong. There was nothing in the purse save this brooch. Oh, and a small scrap of vellum with some Greek writing.’
‘Show me.’
Eadulf handed it to her a little uncomfortably.
‘My Greek is not good enough to understand it fully.’
Fidelma’s eyes were sparkling. ‘A love poem. “Love shook my heart, like a mountain wind that falls upon oak trees.” Short and simple.’ She sighed softly. ‘Each time we think we have solved a mystery, the mystery only deepens.’
‘I don’t understand. Surely this is an easy riddle? This must be the brooch that Étain dropped and that Athelnoth said he was going to return – the brooch he mislaid when he took us to his cubiculum to show us? And it was obvious that he was writing some love poem to Étain, an attempt to win her favour just as Sister Gwid indicated.’
Fidelma turned worried eyes on Eadulf.
‘If this was the brooch Étain dropped, and Athelnoth were going to return it, why would he keep it in a small purse next to his skin? And with a love poem? Surely the brooch was there at the very time he was pretending to search for it in front of us? If so, Athelnoth was lying again. But for what purpose?’
Eadulf smiled: ‘Because he did have an infatuation for Étain. He wrote the love poem to her. Perhaps he wanted the brooch as a keepsake. People do become enamoured of objects belonging to people they have a passion for. They sometime vent their passion on the object.’
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