‘And?’ Fidelma was not encouraging.
‘In spite of the coming of the Faith, all our kings from the land of the West Saxons to Bernica still claim such a lineal descent from the god Woden.’
Fidelma pursed her lips cynically. ‘At least my people do not have to claim they descend from gods and goddesses to seek leadership and obedience.’
Eadulf flushed slightly. While Fidelma was logically right, he still felt that criticism of his culture was implied. He decided to deflect the subject.
‘Why would the Hwicce raid this godforsaken coast? We are nearly two hundred kilometres from their kingdom. Why would they raid here? Why leave the place so immaculate and why leave one of their number in a Christian tomb?’
‘That is something which we must discover. Let us leave our pagan friend in the sarcophagus for the time being. Our next step is to search for more evidence before we journey to — what was the name of the place where the young boy, Dewi, reported the Saxons had killed some of the brothers?’
‘Llanferran.’
‘That’s right. Llanferran.’
Eadulf gave a deep sigh. ‘None of this even begins to make sense to me. It is one unreasonable alternative facing another.’
‘When you consider all the possibilities, it is the most reasonable explanation that provides an answer,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Most things are illogical until you have the information which explains them. Come, let us see what else we can discover in this place.’
Fidelma helped Eadulf return the lid to its normal position. She was about to lead the way out of the chapel when something else caught her eye and she paused, staring intently at the altar.
‘We almost missed that,’ she said, nodding towards it.
Eadulf looked at the bare altar and frowned. ‘Missed what?’ he demanded.
Fidelma sighed impatiently. ‘Come, you should know better. Look, observe.’
Eadulf turned back to the altar. ‘There is nothing there,’ he protested. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘Nothing,’ said Fidelma. ‘That is precisely the matter.’
Eadulf was about to question her further when the realisation finally came to him. ‘There is no crucifix there. No altar candles; no icons.’
‘Precisely. Just as we may expect after a raid, the valuables are gone.’
As they turned to leave, just behind the chapel door they discovered another curious object. It was the figure of a man made from twists of straw bound together with pieces of string.
Fidelma was examining it with a thoughtful expression when Eadulf interrupted.
‘I can see no reason why the Hwicce would raid this place,’ he commented. ‘Surely the missing icons and treasures here would not constitute great wealth?’
‘Your people keep slaves, don’t you? Perhaps the incentive lay in the sale of the community.’
They found their way to the
In the chamber which was clearly that of the Father Superior, Fidelma’s sharp eyes noticed that one small, iron-bound box lay discarded in an alcove. It was the sort of box that one might expect to find valuables in, but it was open and empty. Nor, as she pointed out, was there a crucifix in the room. The chamber of a Father Superior would usually contain a fairly valuable cross. That one had hung in the room until recently was evident by the dusty shadow marks outlining its position on the wall.
However, the Father Superior’s personal belongings, toiletries and other items, and a collection of books in Greek, Latin and Hebrew, showing that Father Clidro had been something of a scholar, were all neatly stacked on a shelf. One volume even lay open on his desk with a metal page marker indicating the spot where he had left off reading.
‘This is truly a strange affair,’ observed Eadulf.
‘That I’ll grant you,’ agreed Fidelma, but she could not help adding mischievously, ‘but certainly not one that is sinister in the sense of any dark forces at work.’
‘We have looked through all the buildings. Let us find our way to Llanferran. Our horses are restless.’
They could hear a protesting whinny from the animals they had left tethered outside.
‘They remind me that we have not looked in the stables or animal pens,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We must be thorough.’
Eadulf screwed his face into a dismissive grimace. ‘We know that there is nothing there. Brother Cyngar looked. He told us.’
‘He also told us that he had looked round the community’s buildings and found nothing. Yet we have found a great deal.’
Eadulf nodded glumly. She was right, of course.
They left the
‘Leave it,’ Fidelma advised. ‘It will not take us long to look at the animal enclosures.’
Brother Cyngar had been right. They were empty. All the livestock had gone. However, Fidelma insisted on looking carefully round, trying to spot the slightest thing that was out of the ordinary. From the enclosures they went to the large barn beyond, next to which stood a smith’s forge. The brazier was filled with grey ash, and cold. It was some time since a fire had been kindled here. The barn doors were open. Fidelma halted and looked inside. Cyngar had said he had gone to the barn and glanced inside but found it empty. Certainly, as they stood on the threshold they could see that there were no animals inside. There was nothing supernatural about their disappearance; the ground was stony and hard and the animals could easily have been driven off without trace.
‘Brother Cyngar said that the community possessed two mules. Why are there half a dozen stalls?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Visitors, of course,’ Fidelma responded. ‘The community provided hospitality for travellers and pilgrims passing through here. It would be natural to provide shelter for their horses.’
She walked inside and carefully peered into each individual stall. When she reached the end of the line of stalls on the left, she turned round. Something caught her eye and she glanced up. Eadulf saw the expression on her face. He was still standing in the doorway and she was looking at something directly above his head inside the door.
‘What is it?’ he demanded, thinking that the wild cat had slunk back again.
Fidelma’s features were grim. ‘I think that we have found Father Clidro,’ she said quietly.
Eadulf quickly walked a few paces inside the barn before he turned and looked up.
There was a pulley hanging from a rope attached to one of the main beams of the roof. Another rope stretched from a support beam to the pulley and was threaded through it. At the end of this hung the body of a man.
He wore the tonsure of St John and dark robes which marked him as not an ordinary religieux but a man of rank within the community. But they were ripped, torn and bloodied. The angle of the head showed that the rope had broken his neck. He was an elderly man. A frail man.
Eadulf exhaled sharply and genuflected.
‘Release the rope,’ Fidelma said quietly, pointing to it.
Eadulf went to where the rope was secured and loosened it, lowering the body gently to the straw-covered floor. It was clear that the man was not long dead, something which surprised Fidelma.
‘I think you will find that the old man has been flogged before he was hanged,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘I saw the tears in the back of his robe as I lowered him.’
With Eadulf’s help, Fidelma rolled the corpse over and checked. ‘A severe flogging,’ she confirmed. ‘What manner of man could do this to such an old one?’
‘Do you really think that this is Father Clidro? But if so, he was not killed at the time the community was raided. Look at the way the blood is comparatively fresh! I would say that he was killed not more than a day
