“Of course, you are. You say that Father Ibor did not like Téite?”
“He did not love her as I did.”
“And how did Téite feel toward Ibor?”
“She was blinded by Father Ibor’s cleverness. She thought that she loved him. I overheard them. He told her to stop… stop pestering, that was his word… stop pestering him. She thought that she loved him just as Father Febal thought that he loved her.”
The priest rose angrily.
“What are you saying, boy?” he thundered. “You are crazy!”
“You cannot deny that you told her that you loved her,” Brother Adag replied, not intimated by the priest’s anger. “I overheard you arguing with her on the day before Father Ibor died.”
Father Febal’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, now you are not so stupid that you forget times and places and events. The boy cannot be trusted, Sister. I would discount his evidence.”
“I loved Téite and can be trusted!” cried Brother Adag.
“I did not love her…” Father Febal insisted. “I do not love anyone.”
“A priest should love all his flock,” smiled Fidelma in gentle rebuke.
“I refer to the licentious love of women. I merely looked after Téite when her mother died. Without me she would not have survived.”
“But you felt, perhaps, that she owed you something?”
Father Febal scowled at her. “We are not here to speak of Téite but the crime of Father Ibor.”
“Crime? No, I think that we are here to speak of a crime committed against him rather than by him.”
Father Febal paled. “What do you mean?”
“Téite was murdered. But she was not murdered by Father Ibor. Nor was she responsible for stealing the crucifix or the chalice, which was found so conveniently by her body.”
“How have you worked this out?”
“Send for Brother Finnlug. Then we may all discuss the resolution of this matter.”
They sat in the small vestry facing her: Father Febal, Brother Finnlug and Brother Adag. Their faces all wore expressions of curiosity.
“I grant that people behave curiously,” began Fidelma. “Even at the best of times their behavior can be strange; but I doubt that they would behave in the manner that is presented to me.”
She smiled, turning to them each in turn.
“What is your solution to this matter?” sneered the priest.
“Certainly it would not be one where the murder victim appears alive and well after the murderer has hanged himself.”
Father Febal blinked. “Adag must be mistaken.”
“No. Father Ibor and the artifacts vanished the day before yesterday? You immediately raised the alarm. Brother Finnlug tracked Ibor through the forest and you found him hanging from a tree. Isn’t that right?”
“Quite right.”
“Had he killed Téite, as is now being suggested, before he hanged himself, she could not have come to the community yesterday noon to pick up the garments that needed sewing.”
“Why do you discount the fact that Adag might be confused about the day?”
“Because he gave Téite two habits that had been torn and bloodied in the search for Father Ibor, those worn by you and Finnlug when you found him hanging on the tree. Doubtless they will be found in her cabin to prove the point.” Fidelma paused. “Am I to presume that no one thought to tell the girl that Ibor had just been discovered having hanged himself? She did think she was in love with him.”
“I did not see the girl,” Father Febal replied quickly. “Brother Adag did.”
“And Brother Adag admits that he loved Téite,” added Brother Finnlug cynically.
The young man raised his head defiantly.
“I do not deny it. But she didn’t return my love, she loved Father Ibor who rejected her.”
“And that made you angry?” asked Fidelma.
“Yes. Very angry!” replied Brother Adag vehemntly.
Brother Finnlug turned to gaze at his companion in suspicion.
“Angry enough to kill them both?” he whispered.
“No,” Fidelma replied before Brother Adag could put in his denial. “Ibor and Téite were not killed in anger, but in cold blood. Weren’t they, Brother Finnlug?”
Brother Finnlug turned sharply to her, his eyes were suddenly dead.
“Why would I know that, Sister Fidelma?”
“Because you killed them both,” she said quietly.
“That’s nonsense! Why would I do that?” exploded the monk, after a moment’s shocked silence.
“Because when you stole the crucifix and chalice from the church, you were discovered by Father Ibor. You had to kill him. You stabbed him in the heart and then took the body to the forest where you concocted a suicide by hanging. Then you realized the knife wound could not be hidden and so you left the knife lying by his body. As if anyone, hanging by a cord from a tree, would be able to take out a knife and stab themselves in the heart. How, incidentally, was the poor man able to climb to the branch to hang himself? No one has reported to me any means whereby he could have climbed up. Think of the effort involved. The body was placed there by someone else.”
She gazed at Father Febal who was deep in thought. He shook his head, denying he could offer an explanation.
Fidelma returned her gaze to Brother Finnlug.
“You concocted an elaborate plan to deceive everyone as to what had truly happened.”
There was a tension in the vestry now.
“You are insane,” muttered Brother Finnlug.
Fidelma smiled gently.
“You were huntsman to the Lord of Maine. We have already discussed what a generous man he was to those in his service. None went in want, not even when the harvest was bad. When I asked you what reason you had to leave such a gainful employer, you said it was because of your spiritual convictions. Do you maintain that? That you rejected the temporal life for the spiritual life?”
Father Febal was gazing at Brother Finnlug in bemusement. The monk was silent.
“You also revealed to me, unwittingly, perhaps, your resentment at the structure of this community. If it was a spiritual life you wanted, this was surely not it, was it?”
Father Febal intervened softly.
“The truth was that Finnlug was dismissed by the Lord of Maine for stealing and we took him in here.”
“What does that prove?” demanded Finnlug.
“I am not trying to prove anything. I will tell you what you did. You had initially hoped to get away with the robbery. The motive was simple, as you told me; the sale of those precious artifacts would make you rich for life. That would appease your resentment that others had power and riches but you did not. As I have said, Ibor discovered you and you stabbed him and took his body to the forest. When you returned, you realized that you had his blood on your clothing.
“The theft was now discovered and Father Febal sought your help. The blood was not noticed. Maybe you put on a cloak to disguise it. You, naturally, led him to Father Ibor’s body. Everything was going as you planned. Father Ibor had been blamed for the theft. Now Father Febal was led to believe that Ibor must have killed himself in a fit of remorse. Even the fact that Ibor had been stabbed was explained. The fact there was little blood on the ground did not cause any questions. You could pretend that the bloodstains were received in the search for Ibor. Perhaps you, Finnlug, came up with the idea that the missing crucifix and chalice had been taken by some robber.
“The following day Téite, unaware, came to collect the sewing and washing. Adag had gathered the washing as usual, including your habit, the bloodstained one. You had not meant the girl to have it. You hurried to her cottage to make sure she did not suspect. Perhaps you had made your plan even before you went there? You killed her and placed the chalice by her side. After all, the crucifix was such as would still give you wealth and property. It was known that Téite and Ibor had some relationship. Everyone would think the worst. All you had to do was return and bide your time until you could leave the community without arousing suspicion.”