Absolution by Murder by Peter Tremayne Page B

knowledge.
    The procession had reached its appointed place now and the Abbess Hilda made a motion for all to rise.
    Bishop Colman took a step forward and traced the sign of the Cross in the air. Then he held up his hand and gave the blessing in the style of the church of Iona, using the first, third and fourth fingers to denote the Trinity as opposed to the Roman use of the thumb and the first and second fingers. There was some murmuring from the ranks of the pro-Romans at this but Colman ignored it, asking a blessing in Greek, in which language the services of the church of Iona were usually said.
    Then Deusdedit was helped forward and, in a soft whispering tone that underscored his apparent illness, he gave a blessing in the Roman style and in Latin.
    Everyone became seated except Abbess Hilda.
    ‘Brothers and sisters in Christ, the debate is now begun. Is our church of Northumbria to follow the teachings of Iona, from where this land was raised from the darkness into the light of Christ, or is it to follow those of Rome, from where that light originally spread to this, the outer reaches of the world? The decision will be yours.’
    She glanced to the benches on her right.
    ‘The opening arguments will now be made. Agilbert of Wessex, are you prepared to make your preliminary statement?’
    ‘No!’ came a rasping voice. There was a silence and then a swelling murmur.
    Abbess Hilda raised her hand.
    A lean dark-skinned man, with thin haughty-looking features
and an aquiline nose, rose to his feet.
    ‘Agilbert is a Frank,’ whispered Taran. ‘He studied many years in Ireland.’
    ‘Many years ago,’ Agilbert began – in a hesitant, thickly accented Saxon, which Fidelma had to ask Taran to translate – ‘Cenwealh of Wessex invited me to be bishop in his kingdom. For ten years I fulfilled the office but Cenwealh became dissatisfied, claiming I did not speak his Saxon dialect well enough. And he appointed Wine as bishop above me. I left the land of the West Saxons. Now I am asked to argue for Roman observance. If I am not able to speak to the satisfaction of Cenwealh and the West Saxons, I am not capable of speaking in this place. Therefore, my pupil Wilfrid of Ripon shall open this debate for Rome.’
    Fidelma frowned.
    ‘The Frank seems very touchy.’
    ‘I hear he is on his way back to Frankia because he has taken against all the Saxons.’
    A small, stocky, younger man, with a red face and a brusque, pugnacious manner, had risen.
    ‘I, Wilfrid of Ripon, am prepared to put forward my preliminary arguments.’
    Abbess Hilda inclined her head in acknowledgment.
    ‘And for the cause of Iona, is Abbess Étain of Kildare prepared with her preliminary remarks?’
    The abbess had turned to the benches where those who supported the church of Iona were seated.
    There was no reply.
    Fidelma craned forward and for the first time she suddenly realised that she could not see Étain in the sacrarium. The murmuring became a roar.

    Abbess Abbe’s voice sounded hollowly: ‘It seems the Abbess of Kildare is not in attendance.’
    There was a commotion around one of the doors of the sacrarium and Fidelma caught sight of the figure of one of the brothers. He stood, ashen-faced, chest heaving, as he paused on the threshold.
    ‘Catastrophe!’ His voice was high pitched. ‘Oh brethren, catastrophe!’
    Abbess Hilda gazed at the man with anger on her features.
    ‘Brother Agatho! You forget yourself!’
    The monk hurried forward. Even from a distance Fidelma could see panic on his face.
    ‘Not I! Go to the windows and gaze at the sun! The hand of God is blotting it from the sky … the sky grows dark. Domine dirige nos ! Surely this is a portent of evil on this assembly?’
    The words were translated hurriedly to Sister Fidelma by Taran, for she could not understand the rapid tongue of the Saxon.
    There was a stirring in the sacrarium and many of those gathered hurried towards the windows and stared out.
    It was the austere