I hurried over to the abbey church.
The chapel of Saint Denis lies immediately to the left of the narthex as you enter the church. As a final resting place for Fidele it was singularly appropriate, for as well as being one of France’s most important saints Denis was, like Fidele, killed by the single blow of a length of cold steel - in Denis’s case, a sword decapitating his head. After his martyrdom Denis is said to have picked up his head and walked for several miles preaching all the way before he finally dropped. How I wished Fidele could now speak from his grave and reveal who his killer was. In a way, I thought as I entered the chapel, that is what I was hoping he would be able to do.
Fidele’s body was laid out on the altar and was being watched over by a young monk whose name I think was Mark. He stood up as I entered.
‘Don’t disturb yourself, brother,’ I nodded to him. ‘I’ve just come to pay my respects.’
He sat down again and I went over to the body. Fidele was still in his white robe with a bloody gash in the middle where the iron bar had gone in but the bar itself had been removed.
‘Damn!’ I muttered to myself.
The young man looked up.
‘Sorry brother,’ I apologized. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
‘Was there something you wanted, master?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. Well actually there is something: did you lay him out like this?’
The young man came over. ‘We were told not to lay him out, master,’ he said apologetically. ‘Merely to place him on the altar and to make sure no-one disturbs him.’
‘So he hasn’t been washed? He’s exactly as he was when he arrived?’
‘It’s what father abbot ordered.’
‘Quite right,’ I agreed. ‘The body has to remain undisturbed for the coroner. But I notice the iron rod that killed him seems to be missing.’
He looked a little flustered. ‘We had to remove it or the body - that is, Brother Fidele - could not be made to lie flat. Brother Bernard and Brother Neville did it. Even then it was a struggle. The bar was stuck fast.’
‘But you saw it being removed?’
He lowered his eyes. ‘I tried not to, master.’
‘I understand. It can’t have been a pretty sight. But tell me, can you remember whether it was sticking out more at the front or the back?’
The young man looked a little confused. ‘It went right through the body, master. That’s what killed him, wasn’t it?’
‘Quite so, but longer in front or behind? His chest or his back? Please try to think.’
He thought for a moment. Eventually he just shook his head. ‘Sorry master.’
‘Never mind. It was probably too much to ask. Do you know what happened to the iron bar once it was removed?’
‘It was placed over there by the door.’
I looked to where he was pointing. ‘Well it’s not there now.’
‘Maybe the cleaning staff took it away. If it’s important I can ask them.’
‘No no. Probably propping up someone’s vegetable patch by now,’ I smiled. ‘Has anyone else been here other than you and the cleaning staff?’
‘Not while I’ve been here, master.’
‘You’ve been here all day?’
‘Yes master.’
‘And of course you haven’t left the body in all that time?’
He blushed. ‘No master.’
I could tell that wasn’t entirely true. And I sympathized. It can’t be easy sitting here alone for hours with only a corpse for company. He probably left briefly to answer a call of nature or some such. He would only have been gone a minute or two. Hardly worth mentioning really. Unfortunately in that time someone could have come in and removed the murder weapon, possibly the murderer himself.
‘I must ask you again: you are sure you have seen no-one here today?’
‘No, master.’
‘A man perhaps with a limp?’
‘There’s been no-one but you,’ he insisted.
‘Very well.’ I had to leave it there. But there was one more thing I wanted to do before I left. Without asking I quickly rolled the body onto its
The chapel of Saint Denis lies immediately to the left of the narthex as you enter the church. As a final resting place for Fidele it was singularly appropriate, for as well as being one of France’s most important saints Denis was, like Fidele, killed by the single blow of a length of cold steel - in Denis’s case, a sword decapitating his head. After his martyrdom Denis is said to have picked up his head and walked for several miles preaching all the way before he finally dropped. How I wished Fidele could now speak from his grave and reveal who his killer was. In a way, I thought as I entered the chapel, that is what I was hoping he would be able to do.
Fidele’s body was laid out on the altar and was being watched over by a young monk whose name I think was Mark. He stood up as I entered.
‘Don’t disturb yourself, brother,’ I nodded to him. ‘I’ve just come to pay my respects.’
He sat down again and I went over to the body. Fidele was still in his white robe with a bloody gash in the middle where the iron bar had gone in but the bar itself had been removed.
‘Damn!’ I muttered to myself.
The young man looked up.
‘Sorry brother,’ I apologized. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
‘Was there something you wanted, master?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. Well actually there is something: did you lay him out like this?’
The young man came over. ‘We were told not to lay him out, master,’ he said apologetically. ‘Merely to place him on the altar and to make sure no-one disturbs him.’
‘So he hasn’t been washed? He’s exactly as he was when he arrived?’
‘It’s what father abbot ordered.’
‘Quite right,’ I agreed. ‘The body has to remain undisturbed for the coroner. But I notice the iron rod that killed him seems to be missing.’
He looked a little flustered. ‘We had to remove it or the body - that is, Brother Fidele - could not be made to lie flat. Brother Bernard and Brother Neville did it. Even then it was a struggle. The bar was stuck fast.’
‘But you saw it being removed?’
He lowered his eyes. ‘I tried not to, master.’
‘I understand. It can’t have been a pretty sight. But tell me, can you remember whether it was sticking out more at the front or the back?’
The young man looked a little confused. ‘It went right through the body, master. That’s what killed him, wasn’t it?’
‘Quite so, but longer in front or behind? His chest or his back? Please try to think.’
He thought for a moment. Eventually he just shook his head. ‘Sorry master.’
‘Never mind. It was probably too much to ask. Do you know what happened to the iron bar once it was removed?’
‘It was placed over there by the door.’
I looked to where he was pointing. ‘Well it’s not there now.’
‘Maybe the cleaning staff took it away. If it’s important I can ask them.’
‘No no. Probably propping up someone’s vegetable patch by now,’ I smiled. ‘Has anyone else been here other than you and the cleaning staff?’
‘Not while I’ve been here, master.’
‘You’ve been here all day?’
‘Yes master.’
‘And of course you haven’t left the body in all that time?’
He blushed. ‘No master.’
I could tell that wasn’t entirely true. And I sympathized. It can’t be easy sitting here alone for hours with only a corpse for company. He probably left briefly to answer a call of nature or some such. He would only have been gone a minute or two. Hardly worth mentioning really. Unfortunately in that time someone could have come in and removed the murder weapon, possibly the murderer himself.
‘I must ask you again: you are sure you have seen no-one here today?’
‘No, master.’
‘A man perhaps with a limp?’
‘There’s been no-one but you,’ he insisted.
‘Very well.’ I had to leave it there. But there was one more thing I wanted to do before I left. Without asking I quickly rolled the body onto its
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