Master of Souls

CHAPTER THREE

T he evening meal had been eaten and the brethren had departed to their various tasks before retiring for the night. Abbot Erc, who had only formally greeted Fidelma and Eadulf before the meal, which — according to a tradition set by the founder of the abbey — was consumed in total silence, now invited them, together with Conri, to accompany him to his chamber to discuss matters. Abbot Erc was elderly and grey-haired, with a sharp angular face, thin lips, small dark eyes and a permanent look of disapproval. Conri had already warned Fidelma that the abbot, who had been a supporter of the old Ui Fidgente regime, did not entirely approve of the presence of Fidelma in the abbey. It seemed that he shared the views of his steward, Brother Cu Mara, who accompanied them to the abbot’s chamber.

The steward was coldly polite towards them. As they entered the room, Eadulf asked him why the meal had been eaten in strict silence.

‘Our blessed founder believed that food and drink, that which sustains life, is a great gift from the Creator, and should therefore be consumed with meditative thought on the wonders of that creation. To speak is both to insult the cook and to scorn one’s own existence, for it is only by food and drink that one exists. Indeed, it is to disdain the Creator himself who gave us that food and drink so that we may live and glorify him. So now it is a rule of the abbey.’

Eadulf was thoughtful.

‘I have not heard such emphasis placed on the contemplation of food. Our minds should be open to receive the food of knowledge as well as paying silent tribute to what we eat. Isn’t there a saying about excusing the ignorant when their feeding is better than their education?’

Abbot Erc, overhearing this, commented irritably: ‘Our meditation on

A fire had been prepared in the chamber and Brother Cu Mara brought a tray of mulled wine. Eadulf raised an eyebrow as he took his goblet with its generous measure. Once again the old abbot caught the expression and interpreted it correctly.

‘We Ui Fidgente have another saying, Brother Eadulf, that it is not an invitation to hospitality without a drink.’ He silently raised his goblet and they responded. ‘Now, it is no longer the time to contemplate the fruits of the earth.’ He gestured to the chairs that had been set before the fire. ‘I have invited you to my chamber to discuss serious matters. Let me say at once, I cannot approve of lord Conri’s wisdom in bringing you here, Fidelma of Cashel. There are many Brehons of repute among the Ui Fidgente who should be able to resolve our problems, without involving Cashel.’

‘Cashel is not involved,’ Fidelma assured him evenly, as she settled into the wooden chair before the fire. ‘I am not confined by territories or kingdoms in the exercise of my duties as a dalaigh. So, let us start with an account of the facts as you know them.’

Abbot Erc sat down, took a sip of the wine, and then placed the goblet on the table at his side, leaning back in his chair. He did not look particularly happy and for a moment Eadulf thought he was going to refuse to co-operate with them. But the abbot simply said: ‘I believe that there is little to add to that which Conri has already told you.’

‘Pretend that he has told me nothing.’ Fidelma smiled but her voice was sharp. ‘It is better to seek knowledge first-hand than to hear it from others.’

‘We are, as you have seen, a conhospitae, a mixed house of males and females,’ Abbot Erc began. ‘Our children are raised to the service of Christ. I cannot say that I approve of this, as I have come to support those who argue for celibacy among the religious.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘However, I have served as abbot here for ten years while Abbess Faife had been seven years as head of the female religieuse. Each year for seven years she has taken groups from the community on the annual pilgrimage to Breanainn’s mount, where our blessed founder was

He paused but no one commented.

‘Well, Abbess Faife departed from our gates with her charges. She travelled overland, south to the abbey of Colman for there was some business to be enacted there between our two abbeys. After that she was to proceed through the territory of the Corco Duibhne to where Breanainn’s mount rises.’

He paused but there was silence again and so he continued.

‘The first time I knew that anything was amiss was when the merchant Mugron appeared at this abbey. Mugron carries on his trade from our nearest sea harbour, An Bhearbha, which is on the coast some eight kilometres from here.’

‘An Bhearbha? A curious name for a port, surely? Doesn’t it mean a place where the water boils?’ asked Eadulf, anxious to improve his knowledge.

‘It is named after a river which enters the sea at that point,’ explained the abbot. ‘The river is turbulent and its currents are unpredictable. Mugron had been dealing among the Corco Duibhne. Due to the inclement weather that prevented him sailing back across the bay, he was returning along the coastal road to the abbey of Colman. It was cold and the snow was starting to drive thickly along the road. Mugron knew the area and knew there was a small stone cabin by the roadside, and he decided to seek shelter there. That was where he found the body of Abbess Faife. She had been stabbed through the heart. He decided to bury the body in a snowdrift as a means of preserving it and then come here with all speed.’

Fidelma asked: ‘What did you do on receipt of the news?’

‘As chance would have it, Conri, who is the Abbess Faife’s nephew, was at the abbey. He and his warriors elected to take Mugron back to the place to recover the body. It was still cold and the snow had preserved… er, preserved things. But there was no sign of the missing six religieuse. Conri and his men returned via Colman’s abbey in order to find out if Abbess Faife and her charges had passed that way before they reached the place where she was discovered.’ ‘And they had?’

Conri intervened. ‘As I told you, lady, all was normal until after they left the abbey of Colman. The Abbess Faife and her six charges had conducted their business there and passed on their way.’

‘And where is this stone cabin where her body was found in relation to the abbey?’

‘As one leaves the abbey and travels on to the peninsula of the land of the Corco Duibhne, along the road that runs south of the mountains by the shore, I would estimate that it was no more than twenty kilometres.’

Eadulf was frowning. ‘Isn’t that close by a place called the Island where once Uaman, who called himself Lord of the Passes, had his stronghold?’

Abbot Erc’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know of that place?’

‘I was once a prisoner of Uaman the Leper. I saw him die and I was not sorry to see his end.’

‘You are right, Brother Eadulf,’ affirmed Conri. ‘The blackened ruins of his stronghold, Uaman’s Tower, stand almost within sight of the place where the abbess’s body was found. They say that the local people destroyed it — the tower, that is.’

Eadulf’s lips thinned with grim satisfaction.

‘I can vouch for that destruction. I saw the people do it after Uaman was drowned, caught by the quicksand that made the journey to his island fortress at low tide so hazardous.’

‘People did suffer grievously through his actions,’ agreed Abbot Erc quietly. ‘Uaman’s bands extracted money from all who travelled through his territory. But I will say one word of good. There lingered in him a remembrance that he was once a prince of the Ui Fidgente and he never harmed the passing religious. Abbess Faife passed through his territory several times in safety on her annual pilgrimage to Breanainn’s mount.’

‘As Brother Eadulf says, Uaman is dead and his men dispersed,’ Conri pointed out quickly. ‘We must concentrate on what explanations now exist.’

Fidelma was sitting with her hands folded in her lap before her.

‘You say, then, this spot is near the coast? Is there any chance that some sea raiders could have come to shore there and carried off the six young women? Saxon and Frankish pirates have often attacked parts of our southern coast in search of such plunder.’

Abbot Erc considered this.

‘A possibility, perhaps. But the weather was very intemperate at that time, especially along these coasts. It would be a foolhardy captain who would lead a raid across the great oceans in such weather.’

‘A possibility not to be discounted, though,’ Fidelma said. ‘Merchant vessels land at these ports. Which reminds me, I would like to speak to this merchant, Mugron.’

‘He can be sent for,’ said Brother Cu Mara. ‘He can be here tomorrow, after the morning meal.’

‘That will be convenient,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I feel that there is no more to be learnt until I see him. We will leave that matter aside. However, there is now the killing of the Venerable Cinaed to be discussed.’

Abbot Erc raised his head in surprise.

‘Are you claiming authority to conduct an investigation into Cinaed’s death as well as the death of Abbess Faife?’ he demanded. It was clear from his tone that he objected to the very idea.

‘I am a dalaigh,’ responded Fidelma quietly. ‘It is unusual for two prominent members of the same community to be murdered. We must ask if there is some connection between these two events.’

‘I don’t see how there could be,’ the abbot retorted in displeasure. ‘Abbess Faife could only have been killed by bandits. I presume that her companions have been abducted as slaves. However, Cinaed was bludgeoned to death in the oratory here. That could only be a result of malice. There seems no connection.’

‘I will make some inquiries all the same,’ Fidelma said firmly.

The old abbot gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, realising that behind her quiet tone was a strong will. He shrugged as if he were no longer interested in what she did.

‘What do you wish to know?’

‘Let us begin with the finding of Cinaed’s body. I understand it was you who discovered it? And this was three days ago?’

‘I did. I went to the oratory to prepare for the annual ceremony to commemorate the feast day of te, who taught our beloved Brennain. Usually it was the Venerable Cinaed and myself who prepared the chapel for the ceremony. The place was in darkness and, at first, I did not think he was there. Then I found his body, behind the altar, with his skull smashed in.’

‘Show me where the wound was,’ said Fidelma.

The old abbot touched the back of his skull.

‘The corpse was lying face down…?’

Abbot Erc shook his head. ‘It was not. He lay upon his back.’

Fidelma pursed her lips but said nothing.

‘Was there any sign of a weapon?’ asked Eadulf.

‘None that we found.’

‘Yet it must have been a heavy weapon to deliver such a blow,’ Eadulf

Fidelma cast an appreciative glance at Eadulf and turned to the abbot.

‘Was anyone seen with blood on his or her clothing? Was a search made for any such clothing?’

It was clear that such a thought had not occurred to him. He glanced at his steward.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Was such a search made?’

The young steward spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

‘I will do so now,’ he said defensively.

Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘A little late, perhaps. But it will do no harm. I presume that there is a communal laundry for the brethren?’

‘There is, indeed, a tech-nigid, a washhouse,’ confirmed the steward.

‘And when is the washing done?’

‘Every week on Cet-ain, the day of the first fast.’

Eadulf’s face brightened. ‘That is tomorrow. So the laundry has not been done since the murder?’

‘I suppose not,’ replied Brother Cu Mara.

‘Who is in charge of the tech-nigid? ’ asked Fidelma.

It was Abbot Erc who responded.

‘At the moment it is Sister Sinnchene. Each month the task of being in charge of the washing is changed. It is Sinnchene’s turn this month.’

‘Sinnchene the young sister who looks after the hospitium?’ Fidelma turned to the steward, who nodded confirmation. ‘Ensure that nothing is touched. Nothing is to be washed until all the clothes are examined, which we will do tomorrow morning.’ She glanced at Eadulf. ‘I am afraid that will be your task while I am questioning the merchant Mugron. Conri’s two warriors will doubtless help you.’

Eadulf accepted the task without enthusiasm.

Fidelma turned back to Abbot Erc.

‘So much for the manner of his death. What of the manner of his life? His work was well known. Had he enemies who would want to take such extreme vengeance on him?’

Abbot Erc appeared shocked at the suggestion.

‘The Venerable Cinaed led a blameless life. Everyone loved him. He had no enemies.’

Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘One thing I have learnt is that you do not

Abbot Erc was indignant. ‘The Venerable Cinaed was a great scholar.’

‘The greater the scholar, the more people grow envious,’ pointed out Eadulf.

Abbot Erc made a dismissing gesture with a frail hand.

‘Scholastic debate is encouraged here but that does not mean that those who disputed with the Venerable Cinaed would murder him because they did not like what he said. Even I did not agree with everything he taught.’

Fidelma pursed her lips cynically.

‘I have come across many such cases where a dispute of ideas leads to a clash of personalities and the growth of hate. Who disputed with him? Let us start somewhere in unravelling this mystery.’

Abbot Erc was shaking his head.

‘Surely you know his scholastic reputation, Sister? No one would… I refuse to believe in such a possibility.’

Fidelma spoke with suppressed irritation.

‘I am not asking questions to while away the time,’ she said pointedly. ‘I know very well the reputation of the Venerable Cinaed. I have read his discourse on the Computus Cummianus and De Trinatate Interpretatio Perversa. While the old saying goes that fame is more lasting than life, nevertheless, he is dead. He has been murdered and the culprit must be found to make amends according to our law, of which I am a representative.’

There was a silence. A young Sister of the Faith had not spoken to the old abbot in such a tone before. He flushed in anger.

Brother Cu Mara, the steward, moved forward nervously.

‘The Venerable Cinaed encouraged lively debate and questioning, lady.’ The steward stressed the title in recognition of her secular authority with a glance at the abbot. ‘He liked to be questioned sharply and was just as sharp in his replies.’

Abbot Erc, reminded of Fidelma’s authority, recovered his equilibrium. ‘My rechtaire is correct. Some of our most renowned debates have seen many scholars gather here; scholars from many colleges in the land — even from the great college of Mungret.’

Fidelma had always wanted to visit Mungret, which lay in the heart of Ui Fidgente territory. It had been founded by Nessan, a disciple of Patrick

The challengers came upon the ‘washerwomen’ at work by the stream. When the challengers found out that the ‘washerwomen’ could speak excellent Latin and Greek and could debate easily with them, they decided they should withdraw. If the washerwomen of Mungret were so learned, what hope had they of debating with the scholars of Mungret?

‘Something amuses you, Sister?’ snapped Abbot Erc.

Fidelma drew herself back to the present.

‘Just a story I had heard,’ she replied.

‘These debates provoked no animosity?’ queried Eadulf.

‘None at all,’ said the abbot. ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma attended many. You may ask him.’

Fidelma raised her head sharply.

‘The Venerable Mac Faosma of Magh Bhile? What do you mean? Does he dwell in this abbey?’

‘Indeed he does. Do you know him?’ replied the abbot in surprise.

‘I know of him. He was spoken of with the same reverence as the Venerable Cinaed. It is astonishing that you have… had,’ she corrected herself, ‘two great philosophers at your abbey.’

The old abbot gestured as if dismissing the point.

‘Ard Fhearta is the home of many good scholars,’ he said shortly.

‘Of course,’ Fidelma replied with a smile. ‘But what is a man of Ulaidh doing here in the country of the Ui Fidgente?’

Once more, to cover the old abbot’s ill composure, it was Brother Cu Mara who answered her.

‘The Venerable Mac Faosma came here three years ago. This was the country in which he had been born. He trained here and then the peregrinatio pro Christo took him to study at Finnian’s great school at Magh

‘So he is not teaching here?’

‘Indeed, he does so now and then. As the abbot says, he took part and even presided in many of our scholastic debates.’

‘How was his relationship with the Venerable Cinaed?’

Brother Cu Mara suddenly looked uncomfortable and glanced at Abbot Erc.

‘He did not agree with everything that the Venerable Cinaed taught.’

Fidelma actually smiled mischievously at the formula of the words.

‘As, indeed, your abbot confesses was his attitude. Well, I do not doubt it. I cannot see room for agreement here with the Venerable Cinaed’s argument for monotheism and his dismissal of the triune godship. That would have been anathema to the Venerable Mac Faosma.’

Abbot Erc seemed surprised by her knowledge but allowed his steward to reply.

‘There were some lively arguments…’ the young steward acknowledged. He caught sight of the abbot’s frown and added: ‘I mean, lively discussions between the two of them.’

Eadulf hid a smile. ‘So not everyone saw this Venerable Cinaed in terms of sweetness and light?’

Abbot Erc cast an irritable look at him. ‘What are you implying, Brother? That the Venerable Mac Faosma killed him because of a disagreement on the subject of the Holy Trinity?’

‘The choice of the term Holy Trinity implies that you, too, did not favour the Venerable Cinaed’s argument for monotheism?’ Fidelma could not resist the mischievous impulse to tease the stern-faced abbot.

Abbot Erc looked startled. ‘What are you saying? The Venerable Cinaed was my friend. Surely we can all hold different opinions without resorting to physical anger?’

‘That, indeed, is the objective we should strive for,’ agreed Fidelma calmly. ‘Alas, mankind often finds it easier to settle disagreements by showing who is physically stronger. Do we not have a saying that might will prevail over right?’

Abbot Erc sniffed. ‘So you think that the Venerable Cinaed was murdered because someone disagreed with his teachings?’

‘I did not say that,’ Fidelma replied. ‘On the other hand, such a theory cannot yet be discounted. Not until we have all the facts gathered in can

The young rechtaire said quickly: ‘Everyone was friendly with the Venerable Cinaed.’

‘He was a very popular man and the sort of man who, in spite of his scholastic status, was humble and approachable by everyone, from the cowherd to his fellow scholars,’ affirmed the abbot.

Fidelma sighed with impatience.

‘I am, of course, talking about particular friends,’ she said pointedly.

The abbot shrugged. ‘I was his friend, of course. We two have been longest in this abbey.’

‘Anyone else? Particular friends, that is?’

‘I knew him well in my capacity as rechtaire,’ offered Brother Cu Mara, ‘but I cannot say I was a close friend. And, of course, Sister Buan. She attended his wants for he was slightly frail. She cleaned and ran messages for him.’

Fidelma nodded. ‘Anyone else?’

‘I take it the Venerable Mac Faosma was not considered a friend?’ observed Eadulf.

Abbot Erc sighed impatiently. ‘Let it be said that Cinaed and Mac Faosma were like chalk and cheese. Cinaed was grounded in his philosophy while Mac Faosma preferred law and history. They both had views on each other’s subjects and argued them. They did not mix much within the abbey except at times of discussion and debate.’

‘Anyone else?’ repeated Fidelma.

‘Brother Eolas, naturally.’

‘Who is Brother Eolas? And why “naturally”?’ Fidelma pressed.

‘He is our librarian, the keeper of all the books we hold here.’

‘You mentioned a Sister Buan who attended to his wants. Who is she?’

A looked of disapproval formed on the face of the abbot and it was the rechtaire who replied.

‘One of our community.’ He seemed to hesitate, unwilling to expand further under the annoyed gaze of his abbot. ‘She… she is… was… a companion of the Venerable Cinaed,’ he ended lamely. ‘As well as helping him, she often travels the surrounding countryside to trade the goods made at the abbey.’

‘Isn’t that your business as steward?’

‘My business is to attend to the smooth running of the abbey. We

Abbot Erc continued to look uncomfortable and suddenly rose from his seat.

‘Since we have raised the subject, I am reminded that Sister Buan found something in the grate of the Venerable Cinaed on the day after the murder. It was a piece of burnt paper and she thought it might be a clue.’ He bent to a chest and took something from it. ‘I kept it just in case,’ he said.

The paper was scorched and torn. He handed it to Fidelma.

The only readable matter she could make out was ‘… midnight. Orat

… alone… Sin…’.

Eadulf peered at it over her shoulder and shook his head.

‘It makes no sense. It could mean anything. Why would this Sister Buan think it was significant?’

‘She said that the Venerable Cinaed must have burnt it on the night he went to the oratory.’

‘Well, we will doubtless have a word with this Sister Buan,’ Fidelma said. ‘Have we now identified all Cinaed’s friends? Is there anyone else… any particular friend of Cinaed?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Abbot Erc replied and made to take back the piece of burnt paper, but Fidelma shook her head with a smile.

‘We’ll hold on to this for the time being,’ she said, putting it carefully in her marsupium.

Slightly put out, the abbot reseated himself.

Conri, who had been silent during most of the discussion, coughed slightly to draw attention to himself and said: ‘My aunt, the Abbess Faife, was a close friend of the Venerable Cinaed. You have forgotten her. She often helped Cinaed in the library, for his eyesight was not of the best as he grew older.’

Abbot Erc flushed.

‘Of course,’ he said stiffly. ‘There was the Abbess Faife, but as she is… no longer with us, I did not think her name need be mentioned.’

Eadulf’s lips twitched in a grimace.

‘On the contrary, it is useful to know there was such a link between the two victims of violent death.’

‘Do you think that there was some connection between the deaths then, Brother Eadulf?’ the steward demanded.

‘Perhaps. We need…’ he avoided Fidelma’s eyes, ‘we need facts before we can speculate.’

‘Your primary task was to find out why the Abbess Faife was killed and where her charges are,’ the abbot exclaimed in disapproval. ‘This cannot be accomplished in this abbey. You should go to the lands of the Corco Duibhne and make inquiries there.’

Fidelma rose abruptly from her seat.

‘You are quite right, Abbot Erc. I do mean to proceed very shortly. But not until I have made those inquiries here that I think necessary. However, as it grows late, and we have had a long ride today, we shall retire now and continue in the morning.’

The abbot also rose, looking confused. He had apparently expected some argument or some further discussion.

The young rechtaire, taking a lantern, conducted them from the abbot’s chamber through the grounds of the abbey to the guests’ quarters.

‘If there is anything you wish, call upon me or Sister Sinnchene.’

He was turning to go when Fidelma stayed him.

‘You will remember that Brother Eadulf will be conducting a search of the clothing in the washroom tomorrow?’

‘I have not forgotten.’

‘Nor that I shall be expecting the merchant, Mugron, at the abbey tomorrow in the morning.’

‘Neither have I forgotten that, lady.’

‘Excellent.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Then first thing in the morning, I would like to talk to you while we await Mugron’s arrival.’

Brother Cu Mara looked surprised.

‘Me, lady?’

‘I need your advice as the rechtaire.’

‘Of course.’ The young man was puzzled but acknowledged her request. ‘I shall be at your service.’

The morning service was over. The bell denoting the end of prayers had scarcely ceased to toll before the community of the entire abbey became a hive of activity as the religious dispersed to their individual tasks. Some had gone to tend the herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, others to the herb gardens or to the fields, although there was little to do in the freezing

Brother Eadulf, with the two warriors who had accompanied Conri, had set off to the tech-nigid. Conri, wanting to be active, had volunteered to ride south along the road to meet Mugron the merchant and escort him to the abbey.

Seizing the quiet time that ensued, Fidelma accompanied Brother Cu Mara to a corner of the herb garden where they could speak without being overheard.

‘Last night you said that you needed my advice, lady,’ the young man said, as they seated themselves on a wooden bench in a sheltered corner.

‘I did,’ agreed Fidelma. She paused to make herself comfortable. ‘I think that you wanted to tell me something about Sister Buan but were dissuaded by the presence of the abbot. Is it not so?’

The young steward flushed and seemed to hesitate. ‘I suppose I was about to say that Sister Buan was more than the Venerable Cinaed’s companion.’

Fidelma gazed at him with interest. ‘In what sense are you speaking?’

‘As in male and female,’ he said as if in embarrassment.

‘Does that cause some concern? Is that not a normal relationship for men and women to follow?’

‘Oh, truly.’

‘Is not this abbey a conhospitae, a mixed house in which male and female live together working for the glory of God and where their children are raised to that ideal? Mind you, I have not seen many children here.’

‘It is so. We are a conhospitae. However, children are not encouraged here and there are some who…’ Brother Cu Mara hesitated.

‘Who would welcome these new ideas of celibacy coming from Rome?’ ended Fidelma.

‘Indeed. The Venerable Mac Faosma, for example, since he arrived here has been a vociferous advocate of the idea of celibacy. He would have all the females expelled from here and the abbey given over to being solely a male house.’

‘I see. Does that meet with the approval of the Abbot Erc?’

The rechtaire grinned cynically. ‘Since the Venerable Mac Faosma came here, things have changed.’

‘So the arguments of Mac Faosma are clearly heeded by the abbot?’

‘Oh, there are many who support the argument for celibacy within the abbey.’

‘But the Venerable Cinaed did not?’

‘He did not and could quote from the holy writings, chapter and verse, to support his contention that the religious life was never meant to deny people what he described as that basic part of their humanity.’

‘That must have brought forth some response from the Venerable Mac Faosma?’

‘Indeed, it did. His words were quite violent and… oh!’

The young man raised a hand to his mouth and looked shocked at the admission he had made.

Fidelma did not comment. ‘I presume that Abbot Erc was well aware of their conflict?’

Brother Cu Mara nodded unhappily.

Fidelma sighed. ‘It seems our inquiry begins to show that poor Cinaed was not so universally loved as it was first claimed. He had a fierce antagonist and that antagonist had supporters in this abbey.’

‘But it was merely a conflict of ideas — celibacy versus non-celibacy. That has been debated within many communities and at many times.’

‘True enough,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘However, to begin to see the garden one must clear away the weeds.’

Brother Cu Mara looked bewildered.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘It is of no consequence. Your information is most useful. Is there anything else that I should have been informed about?’

The young steward continued to look puzzled.

Sister Fidelma unbent.

‘Last night we were asking about people who nurtured possible enmity against the Venerable Cinaed. We are at first informed that everyone loved him. Little by little we learn that the Venerable Mac Faosma was his scholastic enemy and used violent words against him. Not just that, but that the Venerable Mac Faosma had a following. Were they equally violent towards the Venerable Cinaed? Were there others who displayed hostility to him?’

Brother Cu Mara shrugged.

‘I do not think that the Venerable Mac Faosma or any of his supporters would go so far as-’

Fidelma made a quick cutting motion with her hand.

‘Perhaps that is for me to decide… once I am given the relevant information.’

The young steward shook his head.

‘I have only heard cross words exchanged between them during their debates. Although I have heard the Venerable Mac Faosma berating Sister Buan in private for her relationship with Cinaed.’

Fidelma closed her eyes for a moment.

‘You told me last night that you knew Cinaed well. How long have you been rechtaire of the abbey?’

‘Less than a year.’ The words seemed to be an admission of some guilty secret.

‘That is not long,’ Fidelma observed gently. ‘And before you became steward?’

‘I was a scribe.’ Now the words were defensive and the young man had coloured again.

‘I see. Did you work for Cinaed in the library? Were you his copyist?’

Brother Cu Mara hesitated.

‘Brother Faolchair, the assistant librarian, always copied the Venerable Cinaed’s works. I was only promoted to being a scribe when the Venerable Mac Faosma came to the abbey. I worked under his direction.’

There was a brief silence.

‘So? Are you one of the supporters of the Venerable Mac Faosma?’

Brother Cu Mara raised his chin defensively.

‘As steward I am above such things…’

‘But during the time the Venerable Mac Faosma was your superior, you being his scribe, you must have had some sympathy with his ideas?’ pressed Fidelma quickly.

The young man raised his hands helplessly.

‘I… I was impressed by what the Venerable Mac Faosma had to say. I’ll not deny that.’

‘Did you ever enter the arguments… the debates, that is… between Mac Faosma and Cinaed?’

‘I attended them, that is all. And, no, I did not harbour any angry thoughts, towards the Venerable Cinaed, that is. We are all entitled to our opinions but in the end truth will always prevail without our help.’

Fidelma smiled quickly.

‘So, other than your inwardly held beliefs that Cinaed was wrong in his outlook and teachings…?’

‘I harboured no ill will towards him.’

‘And as rechtaire do you declare your stand, that you favour the new ideas of Rome?’

‘I do not!’ The words came indignantly. ‘As steward, holding a high office in the abbey, my beliefs should not be an influence on the others…’ He paused a moment, his lips pressed tightly together.

‘So where do you stand on this matter of celibacy?’

The young man flushed.

‘As I said, I am the steward of the abbey. I have to be independent.’

‘That is a hard thing to be on such a matter,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Did the Venerable Cinaed know your views? Your real views?’

‘I told you, I keep my views to myself. They are no concern of others. However, if you must know, I support Abbot Erc. That doesn’t mean that I killed Cinaed, if that is what you are implying.’

The young man had risen to his feet but Fidelma regarded him with a mild smile.

‘You wear your temper on the sleeve of your robe, Brother Cu Mara. I have not imputed anything but have simply asked you some questions. It is my task as a dalaigh to ask questions and it is your obligation to answer them. Now, be seated and calm yourself.’

Brother Cu Mara stood undecided for a moment or two and then he shrugged and sat down again.

‘Excellent,’ she approved. ‘Now tell me, when did you first learn of the death of the Venerable Cinaed?’

‘When?’ The young man frowned. ‘It is now four days ago. It was before dawn. I had arisen and washed and was about to go to the chapel to attend the service for the Blessed Ite, which we hold on her feast day. She it was who-’

Fidelma interrupted impatiently. ‘I know who Ite was. Go on.’

‘I was on my way there when one of the community came rushing up saying that he had heard shouting from the oratory.’

‘Shouting? As in an argument?’

‘Someone crying for help. It turned out to be the abbot, for I went there without delay and found the abbot in great distress. He had discovered the body of the Venerable Cinaed lying behind the altar and the rest you know.

‘I see. As rechtaire, what steps did you undertake to investigate the crime?’

The young man looked uncomfortable.

‘I am not a dalaigh like you, lady.’ The words were uttered as a protest.

‘So you did nothing?’

‘On the contrary. I asked the members of the community if anyone knew anything.’

‘They did not, of course?’ Fidelma said cynically.

‘They did not. It was generally agreed that some wandering bandit probably entered the abbey grounds and was discovered by Cinaed who then paid with his life for attempting to stop the thief.’

‘Having obliged his assailant by turning his back to him?’

The young man did not understand Fidelma’s sarcasm and said so.

‘By whom was it generally agreed?’ pressed Fidelma, ignoring his remark.

‘By the elders of the community.’

‘Being the abbot… and who else?’

‘The Venerable Mac Faosma, Brother Eolas the librarian, our physician…’

‘Was anything stolen by these wandering bandits?‘interrupted Fidelma.

‘Stolen?’

Fidelma felt the young man was being deliberately obtuse.

‘Presumably, in your oratory, you would have icons and items worthy of theft? Why else would this hypothetical thief break into the abbey?’

The young steward paused a moment and then shook his head.

‘Nothing was taken. The oratory was searched for a weapon. It was not found, showing that the murderer took it away with him.’

‘So much for the theory of the thief,’ Fidelma observed coldly.

Before Brother Cu Mara could respond, Eadulf emerged at the entrance of the herb garden, hurrying towards them with a triumphant expression. He bore a bundle of clothing in his arms.

‘Success!’ he cried.

He held out two robes. They both bore the unmistakable dark patches of bloodstains.