“Agreed.”
“We have concluded that it would be impossible for the murderer to enter via the stone-flagged floor.”
Abbot Laisran nodded emphatically.
“Then that leaves one obvious method of entry and exit.”
Now Laisran was truly bewildered.
“I do not see …” he began.
“The chamber door. That is how our murderer gained entry and how he left.”
“Impossible!” Laisran shook his head. “The door was secured from the inside.”
“Nevertheless, that was how it was done. And whoever did it hoped that we would be so bemused by this curiosity that we would not inquire too deeply of the motive, for he hoped the motive was one that was obvious to all: the hatred of Wulfstan and the Saxons. Ideas of sorcery, of evil spirits, of Wulfstan being slain by no human hand, might cloud our judgment, or so our killer desired it to do.”
“Then you know who the killer is?”
Fldelma shook her head.
“I have not questioned all the suspects. I think it is now time that we spoke with the Frankish prince, Dagobert.”
Dagobert was a young man who had been brought from the land of the Franks when he was a child. It was claimed that he was heir to the Frankish empire but his father had been deposed and the young prince had been taken into exile in Ireland until the time came when he could return. He was tall, dark, rather attractive and spoke Irish almost as fluently as a native prince. Laisran had warned Sister Fidelma that the young man was well connected and betrothed to a princess of the kings of Cashel. There would be repercussions if Dagobert was not accorded the full letter of the Brehon Law.
“You know why you are here?” began Sister Fidelma.
“That I do,” the young man smiled. The Saxon pig, Wulfstan, has been slain. Outside the band of Saxons who followed the young whelp, there is a smile on the face of every student in Dur-row. Does that surprise you, Sister Fidelma?”
“Perhaps not. I am told that you were known to have had an argument with him?”
Dagobert nodded.
“What about?”
“He was an arrogant pig. He insulted my ancestry and so I punched him on the nose.”
“Wasn’t that difficult to do, with his bodyguard? I am also told that Raedwald was never far away and he is a muscular young man.”
Dagobert chuckled.
“Raedwald knew when to defend his prince and when not. He diplomatically left the room when the argument started. A man with a sense of honor is Raedwald of the South Saxons. Wulfstan treated him like dirt beneath his feet even though he was a thane and blood cousin.”
Sister Fidelma reached into her robes and drew out the blood-stained embroidered linen kerchief and laid it on the table.
“Do you recognize this?”
Dagobert frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands with a puzzled expression.
“It is certainly mine. There is my motto. But the bloodstains …?”
“It was found by the side of Wulfstan’s body. I found it. It was obviously used to wipe the blood off the weapon that killed him.”
Dagobert’s face whitened.
“I did not kill Wulfstan. He was a pig but he was simply needed a sound thrashing to teach him manners.”
“Then how came this kerchief to be by his side in his chamber?”
“I… I loaned it to someone.”
“Who?”
Dagobert bit his lip, shrugging.
“Unless you wish to be blamed for this crime, Dagobert, you must tell me,” insisted Fidelma.
“Two days ago I loaned the kerchief to Talorgen, the prince of Rheged.”
Finan inclined his head to Sister Fidelma.
“Your reputation as an advocate of the Brehon Court precedes you, Sister,” the dark, lean man greeted her. “Already it is whispered from Tara how you solved a plot to overthrow the High King.”
Fidelma gestured Finan to be seated.
“People sometimes exaggerate another’s prowess, for they love to create heroes and heroines to worship. You are professor of law here?”
“That is so. I am qualified to the level of Sai, being a professor of law only.”
The Sai was a qualification of six years of study and the degree below that of Anruth held by Fidelma.
“And you taught Wulfstan?”
“Each of us has a cross to bear, as did Christ. Mine was the teaching of the Saxon thanes.”
“Not all the Saxons?”
Finan shook his head.
“No. Only the three thanes, as they refused to sit at lessons with churls, and only the express order of the Abbot Laisran made them attend class with the other students. They were not humble before the altar of Christ. In fact, I formed the opinion that they secretly mocked Christ and clung to the worship of their outlandish god Woden.”
“You disliked the Saxons?”
“I hated them!”
The vehemence in the man’s voice made Sister Fidelma raise her eyebrows.
“Isn’t hate an emotion unknown to a Brother of the order, especially one qualified as a Sai?”
“My sister and brother took up the robes of the religious and decided to accept a mission to preach the word of Christ in the lands of the East Saxons. A few years ago I encountered one of the missionaries who had gone in that band. They had arrived in the land of the East Saxons and sought to preach the word of Christ. The heathen Saxons stoned them to death, only two of the band escaping. Among those who met a martyr’s fate were my own sister and brother. I have hated all Saxons ever since.”
Sister Fidelma gazed into the dark eyes of Finan.
“Did you kill Wulfstan?”
Finan returned her scrutiny squarely.
“I could have done so at another time, in another place, I have the hatred in me. But no, Sister Fidelma, I did not kill him. Neither do I have the means to enter a barred room and leave it as though no one had entered.”
Fidelma nodded slowly.
“You may go, Finan.”
The professor of law rose reluctantly. He paused and said reflectively, “Wulfstan and Eadred were not liked by any in this monastery. Many young men with hot tempers have challenged them in combat since they have been here. Dagobert the Frank, for one. Only the fact that such challenges are forbidden on sacred soil has prevented bloodshed thus far.’’
Fidelma nodded absently.
“Is it true that the Saxons are leaving tomorrow?” Finan demanded.
She raised her head to look at him.
“They are returning with the body of Wulfstan to their own land,” she affirmed.
A contented smile crossed Finan’s face.
“I cannot pretend that I regret that, even if it cost one of their lives to prompt the move. I had hoped that they would have left Durrow yesterday.”
She glanced up at the law professor, interested.
“Why would they leave?”
“Some Saxon messenger arrived at the monastery yesterday afternoon seeking Wulfstan and Eadred. I half-hoped that it was a summons to return to their country. However, praise be that they are departing now.”
Fidelma frowned in annoyance.
“Let me remind you, Finan, that unless we find the culprit, not only this center of learning, but all the five kingdoms of Éireann will be at risk, for the Saxons will surely want to take compensation for the death of their prince.”
Talorgen of Rheged was a youth of average stature, fresh-faced and sandy of hair. He already wore a wispy moustache, but his cheeks and chin were clean-shaven.
“Yes. It is no secret that I challenged Wulfstan and Eadred to combat.”
His Irish, though accented, was fluent and he seemed at ease as he sat in the chair Sister Fidelma had indicated.
“Why?”
Talorgen grinned impishly.
“I hear that you have questioned Eadred. From his manner you may judge Wulfstan’s arrogance. It is not hard to be provoked by them, even if th
ey were not Saxons.”
“You do not like Saxons?”
“They are not likable.”
“But you are a prince of Rheged, and it is reported that the Saxons are attacking your land.”
Talorgen nodded, his mouth pinched. “Oswy calls himself Christian king of Northumbria, but he still sends his barbaric hordes against the kingdoms of the Britons. For generations now the people of my land have fought to hold back the Saxons, for their thirst for land and power is great. Owain, my father, sent me here, but I would, by the living Christ, rather be at his side, wielding my sword against the Saxon foreman. My blade should drink the blood of the enemies of my blood.”
Sister Fidelma regarded the flushed-faced young man with curiosity.
“Has your blade already drunk of the blood of your people’s enemies?”
Talorgen frowned abruptly, hesitating, and then his face relaxed. He chuckled.
“You mean, did I kill Wulfstan? That I did not. I swear by the living God! But hear me, Sister Fidelma, it is not that I did not want to. Truly, sometimes the faith of Christ is a hard taskmaster. Wulfstan and his cousin Eadred were so dislikable that I scarcely believe there is anyone in this community who regrets the death of Wulfstan.”
She took out the bloodstained kerchief and laid it on the table.
“This was found by the body of Wulfstan. It was used to wipe the blood from the weapon that killed him. It belongs to Dago-bert.”
“You mean Dagobert…?” The prince of Rheged’s eyes opened wide as he stared from the kerchief to Sister Fidelma.
“Dagobert tells me that he gave you this kerchief in loan two days ago.”
Talorgen examined the kerchief carefully and then slowly nodded.
“He is right. It is the same one, I can tell from the embroidery.”
“How then did it get into Wulfstan’s chamber?”
Talorgen shrugged.
“That I do not know. I remember having it in my chamber yesterday morning. I saw it was gone and thought Dagobert, had collect it.”
Sister Fidelma regarded Talorgen steadily for a moment or two.
“I swear, Sister,” said the prince of Rheged earnestly, “I would not have hesitated to kill Wulfstan outside these walls, but I did not kill him within them.”
“You are forthright, Talorgen.”
The young man shrugged.
“I am sprung of the house of Urien of Rheged, whose praise was sung by our great bard Taliesin. Urien was the Golden King of the North, slain in stealth by a traitor. Our house is evenhanded, just and forthright. We believe in honesty. We meet, our enemies in daylight on the plain of battle, not at night in the darkened recesses of some bedchamber.”
“You say that there are many others in this community who held enmity against Wulfstan? Was there anyone in particular that you had in mind?”
Talorgen pursed his lips.
“Our teacher Finan often told us that he hated the Saxons.”
Sister Fidelma nodded.
“I have spoken with Finan.”
“As you already know, Dagobert quarreled with Wulfstan in the refectory and bloodied his mouth two nights ago. Then there was Riderch of Dumnonia, Fergna of Midhe and-“
Sister Fidelma held up her hand.
“I think that you have made your point, Talorgen. Everyone in Durrow is a suspect.”
Sister Fidelma found Raedwald in the stables making preparations for the journey back to the land of the South Saxons.
“There is a question I would ask you on your own, Raedwald. Need I remind you of my authority?”
The Saxon warrior shook his head.
“I have learnt much of your law and customs since I have been in your country, Sister. I am not as Eadred.”
“And you have learnt some fluency in our tongue,” observed Fidelma “More fluency and understanding than your cousin.”
“It is not my place to criticize the heir-apparent to the kingship of the South Saxons.”
“But I think that you did not like your cousin Wulfstan?”
Raedwald blinked in surprise at her directness and then he shrugged.
“I am merely a thane in the house of Cissa. I cannot like or dislike my appointed king.”
“Why were you not on guard outside the chamber of Wulfstan last night?”
“It was not the custom. Once Wulfstan had secured himself inside, he was well guarded. You have seen the chamber he asked Abbot Laisran to devise for him. Once he was locked inside, there was, apparently, no danger to him. I slept in the next chamber and at his call should he need help.”
“But he did not call?”
“His killer slashed his throat with his first blow. That much was obvious from his body.”
“It becomes obvious that he willingly let the killer into his chamber. Therefore, he knew the killer and trusted him.”
Raedwald’s eyes narrowed.
Fidelma continued.
“Tell me, the messenger who arrived from your country yesterday, what message did he bring Wulfstan?”
Raedwald shook his head.
“That message was for Wulfstan only.”
“Is the messenger still here?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would question him.”
“You may question but he will not answer you.” Raedwald smiled grimly.
Sister Fidelma compressed her lips in annoyance.
“Another Saxon custom? Not even your messengers will speak with women?”
“Another Saxon custom, yes. But this is a custom of kings. The royal messenger has his tongue cut out so that he can never verbally betray the message that he carries from kings and princes to those who might be their enemies.”
Abbot Laisran gestured to those he had summoned to his study chamber, at Sister Fidelma’s request, to be seated. They had entered the room with expressions either of curiosity or defiance, according to their different personalities, as they saw Sister Fi-delma standing before the high-manteled hearth. She seemed absorbed in her own thoughts as she stood, hands folded demurely before her, not apparently noticing them as they seated themselves around. Brother Ultan, as steward of the community, took his stand before the door with hands folded into his habit.
Abbot Laisran gave Fidelma an anxious glance and then he, too, took his seat.
“Why are we here?” demanded Talorgen abruptly.
Fidelma raised her head to return his gaze.
“You are here to learn how Wulfstan died and by whose hand,” she replied sharply.
There was a brief pause before Eadred turned to her with a sneer.
“We already know how my kinsman Wulfstan died, woman. He died by the sorcery of a barbarian. Who that barbarian is, it is not hard to deduce. It was one of the welisc savages, Talorgen.”
Talorgen was on his feet, fists clenched.
“Repeat your charges outside the walls of this abbey and I will meet your steel with mine, Saxon cur!”
Dagobert came to his feet to intervene as Eadred launched forward from his chair toward Talorgen.
“Stop this!” The usually genial features of Laisran were dark with anger. His voice cut the air like a lash.
The students of the ecclesiastical school of Durrow seemed to freeze at the sound. Then Eadred relaxed and dropped back in his seat with a smile that was more a sneer than amusement. Dagobert tugged at Talorgen’s arm and the prince of Rheged sighed and reseated himself, as did the Frankish prince.
Abbot Laisran growled like an angry bear.
“Sister Fidelma is an official of the Brehon Court of Éireann. Whatever the customs in your own lands, in this land she has supreme authority in conducting this investigation and the full backing of the law of this kingdom. Do I make myself clear?”
There was a silence.
“I shall continue,” said Fidelma quietly. “Yet what Eadred says is partially true.”
Eadred stared at her with bewilderment clouding his eyes.
“Oh yes,” smiled Fidelm
a. “One of you at least knows how Wulf-stan died and who is responsible.”
She paused to let her words sink in.
“Let me first tell you how he died.”
“He was stabbed to death in his bed,” Finan, the dark-faced professor of law, pointed out.
“That is true,” agreed Sister Fidelma, “but without the aid of sorcery.”
“How else did the assassin enter a locked room and leave it, still locked from the inside?” demanded Eadred. “How else but sorcery?”
“The killer wanted us to think that it was sorcery. Indeed, the killer prepared an elaborate plan to confuse us and lay the blame away from him. In fact, so elaborate was the plan that it had several layers. One layer was merely to confuse and frighten us by causing us to think the murder was done by a supernatural agency; another was to indicate an obvious suspect, while a third object was to implicate another person.”
“Well,” Laisran sighed, “at the moment I have yet to see through the first layer.”
Sister Fidelma smiled briefly at the rotund Abbot.
“I will leave that to later. Let us firstly consider the method of the killing.”
She had their complete attention now.
“The assassin entered the room by the door. In fact, Wulfstan let his assassin into the bedchamber himself.”
There was an intake of breath from Dagobert.
Unperturbed, she continued.
“Wulfstan knew his killer. Indeed, he had no suspicions, no fear of this man.”
Abbot Laisran regarded her with open-mouthed astonishment.
“Wulfstan let the killer in,” she continued. “The assassin struck. He killed Wulfstan and left his body on the bed. It was an act of swiftness. To spread suspicion, the killer wiped his knife on a linen kerchief which he mistakenly thought belonged to Talorgen, prince of Rheged. As I said, if we managed to see beyond the charade of sorcery, then the assassin sought to put the blame for the murder on Talorgen. He failed to realize that the kerchief was borrowed two days ago from Dagobert. He did not realize that the kerchief prominently carried Dagobert’s motto on it. It was a Latin motto which exhorts ‘Beware what you say!’ “
She paused to let them digest this information.
“How then did the killer now leave the bedchamber and manage to bar the door from the inside?” asked Dagobert.
Hemlock at Vespers sf-9 Page 24