Free Absolution by Murder by Peter Tremayne

you?’
    Sister Fidelma inclined her head.
    ‘I am told that the Abbess Étain has been murdered. She was not only my abbess but she was my friend. I am ready to help.’
    ‘The abbess was due to open the debate of our assembly on behalf of the church of Iona, as you know. There is much
dissension within my land, Sister Fidelma. This matter is delicate. Already rumours are whispered abroad and speculation runs riot. If the abbess was murdered by one of the pro-Roman faction, as seems likely, then there will be such a breach among the people that the truth of Christ may suffer a death blow in the land. Civil war seems likely to rip the people apart. Do you understand?’
    ‘I understand,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Yet there is something much more serious to be considered.’
    Oswy raised his eyebrows in surprise.
    ‘More serious than political repercussions that will reach from Iona, perhaps even the primacy of Armagh, to Rome itself?’ he demanded.
    ‘Yes, more serious even than that,’ Fidelma quietly assured him. ‘Whoever killed Étain of Kildare must be brought to justice. That is the greater right and moral. What others make of it is their concern. The seeking of truth is more serious than any other consideration.’
    For a moment or two Oswy looked blank. Then he smiled ruefully.
    ‘There speaks the representative of the law. I have long missed the discourses of the Brehons of your country, the judges who sit above the king and his court. Here, the king is the law and no one can sit in judgment on a king.’
    Fidelma grimaced indifferently.
    ‘I have heard of the faults of your Saxon system.’
    Abbess Hilda looked shocked.
    ‘My child, remember you speak to the king.’
    But Oswy was grinning.
    ‘Cousin Hilda, do not rebuke her. She acts in accordance with her own culture. In Ireland, a king is not a law-maker, nor
does he rule by the divine right. A king is only an administrator of a law passed down from generation to generation. Any advocate, such as an anruth or an ollamh, may argue law with the highest king in the land. Is that not so, Sister Fidelma?’
    Fidelma smiled tightly.
    ‘You have a keen grasp of our system, Oswy of Northumbria.’
    ‘And you seem to have a sharp mind and do not appear in fear of any faction,’ observed Oswy. ‘That is good. My cousin Hilda has undoubtedly asked you to undertake the task of discovering who killed Étain of Kildare? What is your reply? Will you do it?’
    The door was flung open abruptly.
    Sister Gwid stood framed in the doorway, her large, awkward body strangely contorted. Her hair was askew under her headdress, her mouth was trembling, her eyes were red and bloodshot and the tears streamed down her flaccid white cheeks. For a moment she stood sobbing, staring wildly from one face to another.
    ‘What the—?’ began Oswy in surprise.
    ‘Is it true? Oh God, tell me it is not so!’ wailed the distressed sister, wringing her large red bony hands in acute distress. ‘Is the Abbess Étain dead?’
    Sister Fidelma recovered from her surprise first and hurried across to Sister Gwid, taking the tall girl by the arm and withdrawing her from the room. Outside, in the corridor, she signalled to the worried-looking sister who attended the Abbess Hilda and who had apparently tried to prevent Sister Gwid from entering the chamber.
    ‘It is true, Gwid,’ Fidelma said softly, feeling sorry for the large girl. She motioned to the hovering anchoress. ‘Let this sister take you to your dormitorium. Go and lie down awhile
and I will come to see you as soon as I can.’
    The stocky Pictish sister allowed herself to be guided down the corridor, her great shoulders heaving in renewed anguish.
    Sister Fidelma hesitated a moment before turning back into the room.
    ‘Sister Gwid was a student of the Abbess Étain at Emly,’ she explained, meeting the questioning eyes of the company. ‘She was attending here in the capacity of a secretary to the abbess. I think she had