‘The statue? I must say it is an odd interpretation of Our Lady, but who am I to argue? It was important to Brother Mattios.’
‘If you look closely, you will see that it is a Valkyrie with a shield. She has cats at her feet. On the back will be the rune for Ingrid, the wife of my eldest brother. The figurine belonged to my sister-in-law, who sometimes wore it as a pendant. It was her morning gift after their marriage. I am certain of it.’
With a faintly trembling hand and an over-confident smile, the abbess plucked the ornament from the box. Her smile faded to nothing. ‘I can’t quite make it out, but something is there. I do not know how to read runes.’
‘May I see it?’ Ceanna took the gold figurine from her aunt and held it up to one of the torches. ‘There are definitely markings on the back. Can you scratch the ones for Ingrid in the dust, Sandulf? I want my aunt to see the truth. I want the scales to drop from her eyes.’
He didn’t deserve a woman like Ceanna. She’d believed in him. His sense of responsibility towards her filled him, pressing down on his lungs with a choking certainty. He picked up a stick and quickly scratched the runes.
‘See, Aunt.’ Ceanna passed the figurine to her aunt. ‘Sandulf has scratched the runes in the dust. They match precisely with what is on the figurine’s reverse. There is no way he could have seen them.’
‘I... They...could be the same markings.’ The abbess’s voice was little more than a thread on the wind. ‘You mean it is not Our Lady, but some heathen idol?’
‘It seems mighty peculiar to me that someone as devoted as Brother Mattios held such store by something which is so blatantly heathen. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know and that is why he sealed the box.’ Ceanna tilted her head to one side. ‘What do the runes mean, Sandulf?’
‘They mean I belong to Ingrid. My father gave the figurine to my eldest brother’s wife as a morning gift from the family. My father said it was because a woman would need the heart of a warrior to breed strong sons from his eldest son.’
Ceanna looked down at the ground, her cheeks flaming. ‘I see.’
‘I carved the runes myself during the night. Something for a younger brother to do on the occasion of his eldest brother’s wedding, or so my father proclaimed.’ Sandulf forced a smile. Brandt had shouted at him when he discovered Sandulf’s part in it, but Ingrid had been understanding about why he hadn’t defied his father. It was then she had really won his heart—telling him to ignore Brandt’s cross words. ‘Ingrid thought it sweet of me, but kept it locked away, saying it was far too expensive to wear every day. My father insisted on her wearing it the day of the massacre as my eldest brother had been called away.’
‘Was it lost in the massacre?’ Ceanna asked.
Sandulf concentrated and brought the terrible scene to mind. Blood everywhere. Ingrid’s clothes ripped. He could not remember seeing it then. Or even earlier, now that he came to think of it. Ingrid had kept a shawl wrapped about her body even as they sat in the longhouse. ‘I don’t remember it on her corpse, but she would have been wearing it; she won’t have wanted to risk my father’s temper on such an important occasion for my family. She was like that, always eager to ensure things ran smoothly.’
Ceanna took the figurine from her aunt’s hands and placed it back in the box. She handed the box to Sandulf. ‘This belongs to you and your family, not to the man who calls himself Brother Mattios.’
His throat closed with the emotion. With his fingers tightening about the box, he nodded.
‘Do you have an explanation, Aunt, for how this could have come into Brother Mattios’s possession?’ Ceanna crossed her arms and gave her aunt her hardest stare. ‘Or may I finally draw the obvious conclusion? Brother Mattios was not the same Brother Mattios who left Jarrow. Sandulf’s intelligence was accurate after all—you have unwittingly been harbouring a fearsome assassin.’
The abbess shook her head and took a step backwards. The colour had drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking. ‘He had the correct papers. We were anticipating his arrival, you see, to view a manuscript whose provenance was in dispute. Father Callum warned me that he was not all he seemed, that his Latin was not very good for a scholar sent on such a mission, but then Father Callum unexpectedly sickened and died. You must understand that Brother Matt—that that man was utterly charming. So devoted to prayer. So dedicated to silence. Seemingly gentle despite that awful scar on his face.’
‘No one told me about a scar.’ Every sinew in Sandulf’s being tightened. ‘Was it in the shape of a shooting star?’
‘He called it his angel’s kiss,’ her aunt said. ‘And said it made him more devoted. I liked that about him, that he saw God’s hand in everything.’
‘Ingrid’s murderer, Lugh, had a scar on his face which resembled a shooting star,’ Sandulf said.
The abbess’s hands shook. ‘Maybe it could be called a star, a double star with a cross.’
‘Who nursed this Father Callum in his last days?’ Ceanna asked. ‘I take it that he was very healthy until Brother Mattios arrived.’
‘Your stepmother and Brother M—’ The abbess sank to her knees. ‘May God and all the angels forgive me. Father Callum was a good soul. You must take the box far away from here. Destroy it. It must be cursed.’
‘That heathen idol, as you called it, meant a great deal to my father,’ Sandulf said, unable to prevent the words spilling out. ‘Any curse came from the assassin you sheltered.’
Ceanna put out her hand. ‘Sandulf!’
Sandulf gave
