Master of Souls

CHAPTER SIX

The sturdy young brother stood with his arms folded outside the chamber of the Venerable Mac Faosma, his back against the door, barring their progress.

‘He has given instructions that he will not see you, Sister,’ the young man said stubbornly. He had identified himself as Brother Benen, the student and servant of the ageing scholar.

Fidelma began to tap her foot impatiently.

‘I am not here to argue, Brother Benen. Tell the Venerable Mac Faosma that he has no choice under law for I am not here as a religieuse but as a dalaigh investigating the crime of murder. I should not have to remind him that he is compelled to obey the law.’

The young man spread his arms helplessly.

‘I have already taken your message to my master, Sister Fidelma. He is adamant. He will see no woman of the Eoghanacht, especially one who seeks to assert authority in the lands of the Ui Fidgente. Nor one who is accompanied by a foreigner from beyond the seas.’

Fidelma glanced at Eadulf whose face was beginning to redden in ill-concealed anger.

‘Eadulf,’ she said quietly to him, ‘will you go to Conri and tell him that the Venerable Mac Faosma is refusing to see me and suggest that he report this blatant disregard for law to the abbot?’

Eadulf hesitated, looking from Fidelma to the implacable young religieux, and then inclined his head and hurried away.

When he was gone, Fidelma suddenly sat down cross-legged in front of Brother Benen. The young man frowned down at her.

‘What are you doing, Sister?’ he asked in an embarrassed tone. ‘You cannot sit in this corridor outside the door of these chambers.’

‘You will perceive, Brother Benen,’ she replied evenly, ‘that is precisely what I am doing. I have informed you that I am a dalaigh whose power is bestowed by the laws of the five kingdoms. The Venerable Mac Faosma is compelled by law to see me and answer my questions truthfully.’

‘He will not,’ replied the other. ‘There is no physical force that can compel him to do so.’

Fidelma smiled thinly.

‘Physical force defeats the purpose. I shall not speak of that. However, I am asserting the only force that he has left to me. I am declaring that I shall sit here in troscud until the Venerable Mac Faosma decides to redeem his honour and speak to me as a dalaigh as he is legally and now morally obliged to do.’

The young monk frowned.

‘I do not understand, Sister.’

‘Then take my words to the Venerable Mac Faosma and ask your master to instruct you in law. He has time to make his response before the abbot and my witnesses arrive and my apad, my declaration, becomes known to everyone.’

Brother Benen hesitated and then turned into the chamber and closed the door behind him.

As it shut, Fidelma wondered, with a sinking feeling, if she was being too dramatic. But she was so frustrated by the arrogance of the Venerable Mac Faosma that she felt she had no other choice than to resort to the ancient ritual. The troscud was a means of fasting to assert one’s rights when faced with no other means of obtaining redress. It was made clear in the law tract De Chetharslicht Athgabala that, having given notice, she could sit outside the door of the recalcitrant philosopher. If he did not come to arbitration, if he allowed the protester to die on hunger strike, then the moral judgement went against him. Shame and contempt would be his lot until he made recompense. If he failed in this he was not only damned by society but damned in the next world. He would be held to be without honour and without morality.

It was an ancient Irish law that stretched back into antiquity and not even the coming of the New Faith had eliminated it. Even Patrick himself had used the ritual fast, or hunger strike, to assert his rights and the Blessed Cairmmin of Inis Celtra had declared a troscud when King Guaire Aidne of Connacht infringed his rights. Within the memory of some, the population of the kingdom of Laghin had declared a troscud against Colmcille troscud when their rights were challenged.

She had barely settled herself into her position when the door opened and the young Brother Benen re-emerged. He was red-faced and embarrassed, his eyes not focusing on her.

‘He will see you, Sister. He will see you under protest. But he will not see the Saxon brother. On that he is adamant.’

Fidelma slowly rose to her feet.

‘In that case, you may tell Brother Eadulf to wait here for me.’ She knew when to compromise. It was information that she was after and not dominance over the reluctant old man.

The Venerable Mac Faosma was, indeed, elderly but certainly not frail. He was a robust man with a shock of snow-white hair and a fleshy, red face. Had he been given to smiling, he could have been described as cherubic, but his features were sternly drawn with deep frown lines. The lips, though also fleshy, were petulant, with the lower lip stuck out aggressively. The eyes were a strange pale colour that seemed to change like the sea, one moment green, the next blue, the next no colour at all. His large frame reclined in a carved oak chair to one side of a smouldering turf fire set in a large hearth.

He watched Fidelma from under shaggy white eyebrows as she crossed the room towards him. He made no attempt to rise in deference to her status.

Fidelma did not register her feelings but went to a chair on the opposite side of the hearth and sat down.

A low, long whistling sound escaped from the old man.

‘You forget yourself, Sister.’

The voice was deep, used to commanding or questioning students; a voice that boomed throughout the room, resonating in the corners.

Fidelma was not cowed.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgu, dalaigh qualified to the level of anruth. What have I forgotten?’

She kept her voice mild but the challenge was unmistakable.

She had reminded the Venerable Mac Faosma that she was not merely a religieuse, but sister to his king, and holder of a position that allowed her to sit even in the presence of provincial kings without asking permission first. In this way, she also reminded the Venerable Mac Faosma that it was his place to rise when she entered a room.

The Venerable Mac Faosma cleared his throat to disguise either his annoyance or his embarrassment.

‘I have nothing to discuss with you, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he finally said.

‘But I have something to discuss with you, Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she responded evenly.

‘Nothing is so powerful in drawing the spirit of a man downwards as the caresses of a woman,’ snapped the old man.

For a moment Fidelma was nonplussed and then her lips began forming angry words but the Venerable Mac Faosma raised his hand, palm outward as if to placate her.

‘I quote the wise words of the Blessed Augustine of Hippo who argues that to administer the Faith we cannot and should not have intimacy with women.’

‘I am aware of those who preach this idea,’ replied Fidelma, controlling her irritation. ‘Nevertheless, it is a fact that the majority of priests here and even in Gaul and Frankia are married. Was it not Pelagius, the second of his name to be called the Holy Father, who decided less than a century ago that there was no harm in the religious being married so long as they did not hand over church property to their wives or children? In the inheritance of property lies the real reason for this idea that men and women who take to the religious life should not naturally join with one another and have children.’

Venerable Mac Faosma returned her bold gaze from beneath a lowering brow.

‘Nevertheless, there is a growing number of us who believe that light and spirit are good, and darkness and material things are evil, and that a person cannot be married and be perfect. Was it not the Holy Father Gregory the Great who pronounced that all sexual desire is sinful in itself?’

Fidelma snorted in disgust.

‘You mean that such a natural desire is therefore evil? Is it then suggested that the God we worship created such an evil?’

Mac Faosma made to speak but Fidelma interrupted him with a gesture of her hand.

‘While such theological discourse is entertaining, Venerable Mac Faosma, this has little to do with the reason I am here.’

‘I wish to make it clear that I am of the body that believes that we of the religious should live in celibacy,’ replied the old man stubbornly. ‘I adhere to the ruling of the Council of Laodicea that women should not

‘You have made your views known,’ replied Fidelma patiently. ‘But now let us speak of the matter which has brought me here.’

‘And that is?’

‘I believe that you are interested in the work of the Venerable Cinaed who was murdered in this abbey a few days ago?’

‘Interested?’ The word was a sneer. ‘The man was a charlatan and, moreover, a traitor!’

‘I believe that you often debated your views in public.’

‘If his ramblings could be held worthy of debate. I merely put the correct view lest he corrupted the minds of the youthful students at this place.’

‘In what way do you claim that he led his students into error?’

‘In what way…? In ways that you would not be able to comprehend because it requires someone who has studied philosophy to come near to such an understanding.’

Fidelma kept her features immobile as she sought to control her own temper at the arrogance of the old man.

‘Someone qualified to the level of anruth is not entirely devoid of intelligence, Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she said quietly.

‘Someone qualified as an ollamh might think differently.’ The old man sneered but scored a point for an ollamh was the highest degree available in the secular and ecclesiastical colleges of the five kingdoms. ‘What would you know of the argument of the concept of the Holy Trinity?’

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed at the challenge.

‘I know that the term denotes the doctrine that God is a unity of three persons — the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit — and that Tertullian coined the term three centuries ago. I know that it has become an official doctrine in the Creed…’

‘Quicunque vult salvus esse…’ The Venerable Mac Faosma made the opening words into a question, challenging Fidelma to continue. ‘Whosoever will be saved… What is the prime article of the Faith?’

‘… ut unum Deum in Trinitate, et Trinitatem in unitate veneremur

…’ continued Fidelma in Latin. ‘That we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity, neither confounding the Persons nor dividing the substance.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma regarded her carefully for a moment or two.

‘So you possess some basic intelligence?’ he said sourly. ‘Very well. Cinaed was a monotheist. Do you know what that is?’

‘That he believed in one God and not in the three. As I understand it, he would argue that Holy Scripture makes no explicit statement of the trinity. It was the acceptance of Christ as a divinity, at the Council of Nicaea — and not just a divinity that was created but a deity of himself — that caused some of the early philosophers to conceive the idea of the triune God. As I understood it, the creed that was adopted at Nicaea simply accepted the idea of Blessed Gregory the wonder-worker from Neocaesarea.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma was nodding.

‘Challenging those learned Fathers of the Faith is to imperil the soul. Cinaed wrote blasphemous rubbish!’ he snapped. ‘ Qui vult ergo salvus esse, ita de Trinitate sentiat. He, therefore, that will be saved must thus think of the Trinity. Cinaed was wrong. Utterly wrong. Rome has declared that there are neither three gods nor three modes of God but that they are co-equally and co-eternally God.’

Fidelma bowed her head.

‘Of course, that must be the logical outcome otherwise the concept of trinity would deviate from the uncompromising monotheism of the religion of Abraham which Christ gave us a new interpretation of.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma stared at her in irritation.

‘We must accept the Creed that the Blessed Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria has given us, for it is specifically stated that except one believe faithfully, they cannot be saved. And will go down into everlasting fire… qui vero mala, in ignem aeternum!’

Fidelma smiled softly.

‘I would like to think that such a supreme deity would look more kindly on the beings he created with minds to question. I remember that the Venerable Cinaed also questioned the belief that this Creed was even penned by Bishop Athanasius three centuries ago. He claimed that the Creed is Latin in its symbolism and had Athanasius really been the author he would have written it in Greek. He argued that we have enough of Athanasius’s work to see the absence of the phrases that were dear to him. Athanasius would have used words like homoousion for essence or substance and not subsantiam, which is a Latin usage.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma gave a sneering laugh.

‘So, Sister, you claim to be a scholar of language as well as philosophy?’

‘I claim nothing of the sort. I have simply read the Venerable Cinaed’s discourse on the Trinity. All I claim to be is a dalaigh investigating his murder.’

‘And what has his death to do with me?’

‘When did you last see him?’

The question was suddenly sharp and caused the old man to blink rapidly.

‘The day before his body was discovered. I passed him in the tech — screptra. We did not speak. I have no reason to speak to a person whose views are beyond the orthodoxy of the Faith unless in public debate.’

‘You never saw him again?’

‘I have said as much. My servant, Brother Benen, came to me on the following day to say that Cinaed’s body had been discovered. That is all I know about the matter.’

‘So you last saw him in the library.’

‘I have said so.’

‘Speaking of the library, I believe that you borrowed one of Cinaed’s discourses.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma sucked in his breath, a soft sound, between his teeth.

‘You have been busy, Sister. Have you been asking questions about me?’

‘I was searching for that particular book,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Since you did borrow the book, you might be able to tell me why you did so?’

‘We speak of an evil text,’ replied the old man venomously. ‘More insidious than Cinaed’s usual prattling on religion.’

Fidelma folded her hands in front of her and leant back.

‘An evil text?’ she prompted. ‘I am told that this was a discourse on politics.’

‘Cinaed was an Ui Fidgente. This land gave him birth and its colleges gave him education and opportunity. Like a cur, he turned on that birthright.’

‘I think that you must explain what you mean.’

‘You are an Eoghanacht and therefore you will have no understanding.’

‘I am a dalaigh before I am an Eoghanacht just as you should be a

The Venerable Mac Faosma sat silently watching her, his expression fixed. Then he made a gesture with his shoulders. It was as if he had been struggling to respond and then decided he would let the matter pass.

‘Very well. Cinaed wrote an argument denouncing the chiefs of the Ui Fidgente, as he claimed, for betraying their true ancestry as Dairine by claiming to be Dal gCais, descendants of Cormac Cas brother of Eoghan Mor… I am sure that you, as an Eoghanacht, will know the genealogy of the family? Cinaed argued that it was the duty of the chiefs to pay fealty to Cashel and honour the Eoghanacht kings and not try to overthrow them.’

There was humour in Fidelma’s smile. ‘To an Eoghanacht, it sounds a reasonable judgement.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma scowled angrily. ‘To an Ui Fidgente, it is treason.’

‘Not so. Times have moved on since Eoganan raised his clans in rebellion and marched on Cashel.’

‘Our king,’ he emphasised the word, ‘our king Eoganan raised his clans to throw off the curse of Cashel.’

‘And met his end in rebellion on Cnoc Aine. Times move on. The current chieftain has made peace with Cashel and his choice of warlord, Conri, is proof that we can build a new life together and in peace.’

The old man snorted in disgust. ‘That remains to be seen.’

‘So you have borrowed Cinaed’s book which would welcome in this new era of peace. Why?’ Fidelma went on. ‘It was written some time ago and you must have read it before.’

‘Why would any scholar seek to obtain the book of another scholar?’

‘Perhaps you will tell me?’

‘I am currently writing a corrective to his arguments by showing that the Ui Fidgente are truly descendants of Cas, brother of Eoghan Mor, and of the bloodline of the true kings of Cashel.’

‘So you still support the rebellion of the Ui Fidgente?’ Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘Rebellion is your word, not mine. As you said earlier, Fidelma of Cashel, my duty is merely to the truth. I am not concerned to what use the truth is put.’

‘The truth as you see it,’ muttered Fidelma with emphasis. Then she

The old man sat silent for several moments, for so long that Fidelma wondered whether he was simply making a silent defiance. Then he raised his head.

‘Brother Benen!’ he called.

The door opened and the young muscular religieux entered.

‘Go to my study and fetch the book of Cinaed that you will find there on my reading table. Bring it to me here.’

‘At once, Venerable Mac Faosma.’

The old man turned back to Fidelma as the young monk hurried away on his errand.

‘After this, I trust I will be left in peace?’

‘Nothing is guaranteed in this life, Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she replied quietly. ‘I have to continue along the path towards the solution of this mystery no matter where it leads and whom I have to meet along it.’

The old man snorted again.

‘I will be honest with you…’ he began.

‘I trust that you have been honest with me from the start,’ she riposted.

‘I will tell you frankly that I have no sorrow in me that Cinaed is dead. Either he was a fool or, as I believe, he was recreant — a renegade and a scoundrel. The world is better off without such mischief-makers.’

Fidelma examined the old man carefully.

‘Such views can rebound on those who utter them,’ she said softly.

‘I thought you wanted honesty,’ replied the old man sarcastically.

‘Very well. You have been honest. Continue to be so and answer me this… did you personally encompass, or did you cause to be encompassed — by word or deed — the death of Cinaed?’

For the first time, the old man chuckled. It was a dry, rasping sound.

‘Now if I had done so, would I tell you? There is a limit to virtuousness, Sister Fidelma. If everyone were so honest, what need would we have of the likes of a dalaigh and from where would you get your stimulation and satisfaction in solving such conundrums as this murder?’

Fidelma let the corner of her mouth twitch in humour.

‘That, at least, is said in honesty, Venerable Mac Faosma.’

There was a knock at the door and Brother Benen returned. He looked nervous, uncomfortable.

‘Master…’ he began and then paused, looking from the Venerable Mac Faosma to Fidelma and back again.

The old man waited impatiently and when the young man did not speak he heaved a sigh of exasperation.

‘Come, come. Where is the book I sent you for? I do not have all day and have wasted enough time on this matter already.’

Brother Benen licked his lips and then tried to form the words.

‘The book… the book of Cinaed… it is… it is…’

The Venerable Mac Faosma frowned.

‘What? Can’t you find it? Where is it? Mislaid?’

Brother Benen shook his head.

‘I think perhaps it would be easier if you came to your study, Venerable Mac Faosma.’

‘Come to my study?’ The old man was indignant. ‘Can I not rely on anyone to carry out a simple errand that I have to go myself?’

‘If you please…’ begged the young man.

Fidelma rose.

‘Obviously something is worrying this young man, Venerable Mac Faosma. Perhaps we should all go…?’

The Venerable Mac Faosma rose abruptly, showing himself to be as agile on his feet as his physique indicated.

‘There is a way to my study through here,’ he said, not going the way that Brother Benen had gone but moving through his living chamber to where a tapestry hung. He drew it aside to reveal a wooden door, which he unbolted. Then he led the way down a narrow stone passageway and through another wooden door into a chamber that resembled a library, with many manuscript books, and a scribe’s tripod book stand. Tables, stools and writing materials littered the room. There were three doors, one opening, Fidelma estimated, on to the passageway in which she had declared her troscud, while the third was on the opposite wall. The remains of a fire smouldered in the hearth.

The Venerable Mac Faosma began to move to the wooden tripod book stand.

‘I left the book here this morning,’ he said with a frown. ‘It is no longer here.’ He turned to the nervous brother. ‘What does this mean?’

‘Master…’ Brother Benen pointed towards the fire.

The old man frowned but followed the line of his finger.

‘God look down upon us!’ he whispered, moving with surprising rapidity

‘I presume that was Cinaed’s book?’ she asked softly.

‘I do not know how it came there, Sister.’ Brother Benen was almost in tears. ‘At noon, the book was on the stand. I saw it there myself after the Venerable Mac Faosma retired for the midday meal. After that he always has a nap before resuming his labours. I touched nothing. I swear it.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma was standing looking down at the burnt papers in his hand with an expression of irritation.

‘Well, someone touched it and destroyed it.’

‘Is it the only copy?’ asked Fidelma.

‘No one has copied it or ever will,’ snapped the old man. ‘It was waiting for young Brother Faolchair to make a copy but now… now there will be no need for me to write a response.’

Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘That is certainly true.’

The old man frowned and turned to her. ‘What are you implying?’

‘I never imply,’ Fidelma responded quickly. ‘If there is an accusation to be made, I will make it. What is being asserted here is that, between noonday and now, someone entered your study and burnt the Venerable Cinaed’s book. Why would they do that?’

The Venerable Mac Faosma raised his chin sharply.

‘There are plenty in this abbey who would be happy to see this work of treachery destroyed. I am not the only one.’

‘Those same people might go so far as to burn it?’

‘It would seem so.’

Fidelma looked round the room slowly, then went to the hearth and confirmed that the book had been well and truly destroyed. Only a few scorched pages remained, and they were beyond reading except for a few words here and there.

‘There are three doors here. Are they all locked?’

‘My assistant has a spare key to that door, the one that leads into the corridor. The door between my chamber and this room bolts on the inside of my chamber and I always keep my chamber locked so there can be no access from there. That door there,’ he pointed to the third door, ‘leads into the courtyard where I sometimes sit on summer’s days. A key on the inside always locks it. There is no access from there.’

‘You have the only key to that outside door?’

‘I believe so.’ The Venerable Mac Faosma frowned. ‘Anyway, there is no need to make a fuss on my behalf. It is best that the book should be destroyed with its vile insinuations and prejudice. I have no complaint to make.’

Fidelma was about to respond but then thought better of it. She merely commented: ‘I lament every time I see a book destroyed, as it means the loss of human thought if not of knowledge.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma assumed his sneering look again.

‘Then I presume you would be critical of our beloved Patrick to whom we owe so much?’

‘In what respect?’

‘I would have thought that a person with the knowledge you aspire to would have already read the life of Patrick as written by his disciple the Blessed Benignus, who was his successor.’

Fidelma smiled wearily.

‘I suppose you mean the passage in which Benignus admits that Patrick burnt one hundred and eighty books of the Druids because they were not Christian. Indeed, I deplore that destruction, for who knows what knowledge — Christian or not — they would have imparted to us? There has been too much destruction of knowledge simply because someone else disagrees with it. In a civilised world, there is room for all knowledge and the truth will eventually emerge triumphant over prejudice. If we do not believe that, then there is no hope for us. We might as well resort to living as wild animals.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma raised his eyebrows in surprise as her words ended on a note of vehemence.

‘Well, well, you do have a pretension to be a philosopher.’

Fidelma made a cutting motion with her hand to dismiss his words.

‘I have no pretensions to be anything other than what I am and I am content with being what I am. Even if you are not concerned with the destruction of what your own leabhar coimedach, Brother Eolas, believes is a valuable book, I am sure Abbot Erc will consider that a crime has been committed with its burning.’

‘And you, of course, will demand to interrupt my solitude and study by conducting an inquiry into that crime?’ jeered the old scholar. ‘I shall complain to the abbot and I shall protect my right to respect.’

‘Nothing I have done or said has been disrespectful to you, Venerable dalaigh and as sister to King Colgu in whose lands you dwell. I will not seek redress for that out of deference to your age, as you may have forgotten the rights and duties that you owe to the law.’

The Venerable Mac Faosma’s jaw slackened in surprise at her directness and the sharpness of her tone. Before he could frame a response, she had turned and sought the exit through the door into the corridor, which Brother Benen had left unlocked in his haste.

As she closed it behind her, she found Eadulf and Conri accompanied by a harassed-looking Abbot Erc hurrying along the corridor.

‘I am told that you are complaining because the Venerable Mac Faosma does not wish to see you, Sister,’ the abbot said immediately. ‘That is his right, you know, and-’

Fidelma halted as they came up.

‘I have seen and questioned the Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she said shortly.

‘Moreover, it seems that after the etar-suth, the book that he took from the tech-screptra, Cinaed’s political discourse, was deliberately burnt in his study.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened.

‘You mean that he burnt it?’

‘I simply state the fact. I do not accuse anyone — yet.’

Abbot Erc’s harassed expression grew more intent.

‘The Venerable Mac Faosma is a scholar. Why would he want to burn a book?’

Fidelma glanced at the abbot pityingly.

‘Mac Faosma was not exactly an admirer of Cinaed,’ she said with a touch of derision. ‘This work, especially, seems to have upset the old man.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ The abbot was tight-mouthed.

‘Nothing, as yet. The Venerable Mac Faosma has adopted an attitude that is totally hostile to my inquiries. But, for the time being, I shall keep an open mind on what has happened here. Anyway, tomorrow we shall be leaving Ard Fhearta to pursue the matter of the missing members of this community.’

The abbot looked almost relieved for a moment and then his expression grew serious.

‘Do you mean that you have given up trying to find the person who killed the Venerable Cinaed?’

Fidelma immediately shook her head.

‘I do not mean that. I mean that I shall seek some other line of investigation to achieve that end. I shall come to your chamber before the evening meal and bring you up to date with our inquiry before we leave.’

Abbot Erc hesitated and then realised that he had been dismissed. He inclined his head briefly and turned and shuffled away.

Fidelma saw that Eadulf was about to open his mouth and raised a finger to her lips with a frown, indicating with her head towards the closed door of the Venerable Mac Faosma’s study. She glanced at Conri.

‘Let us find a more comfortable place to talk,’ she suggested.

Conri pointed along the corridor and led them down it, through a side door and on to the path to the chapel. The chapel was deserted but its gloom was relieved with candles. They seated themselves in a corner on a bench.

‘Well?’ demanded Eadulf.

Fidelma sketched out her interview with the Venerable Mac Faosma.

There was a brief silence before Eadulf said: ‘So you think that this Mac Faosma took Cinaed’s book and burnt it because he disagreed with it?’

‘It is possible.’

‘And if he is capable of that he might also be capable of killing Cinaed?’

Fidelma grimaced in agreement.

‘It is possible again, but we need more than suspicion to proceed. What I do know is that he is an unrepentant supporter of the Ui Fidgente chief Eoganan.’ She turned to Conri. ‘I know that you are desirous of peace between the Ui Fidgente and the rest of Muman. Let me speak, however, as a dalaigh rather than as an Eoghanacht. Even since Eoganan’s death at Cnoc Aine, I presume that many of the Ui Fidgente are still opposed to my brother’s rule?’

Conri looked slightly embarrassed.

‘There are many, lady. All it needs is a strong leader and the people could easily rise up and be led again down the wrong path into more violence and bloodshed.’

‘The Venerable Mac Faosma might be such a leader?’ queried Eadulf.

Conri shook his head.

‘Such a leader would have to be more of a warrior than a scholar. And one born from the line of Brion, one of our great chieftains. Mac Faosma, as his name suggests, is not of any noble line. Since Eoganan was slain,

‘I do not understand.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘I mean, your reference to Mac Faosma’s name?’

It was Fidelma who explained.

‘It means “son of protection”, which implies that he was someone who was adopted because there was no one left in his blood family to raise him.’

‘Exactly. For someone to gain enough authority with the Ui Fidgente to become leader, they have to have a direct bloodline connection with our chief family. Eoganan’s line, as I say, was virtually wiped out.’

‘Then how was this Donennach accepted as your ruler?’ demanded Eadulf.

‘Because the genealogists could trace Donennach’s descent nine generations back to Brion. Eoganan descended from another son of Br on.’

‘So such a leader might exist, someone else descended from this Brion?’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘And Mac Faosma could be the catalyst trying to stir things?’

‘Both are possible,’ admitted Conri. ‘But I fail to see anyone who is popular enough to attempt to overthrow Donennach.’

Eadulf grinned sourly.

‘A few months ago Uaman might have been that man,’ he pointed out.

Conri sniffed.

‘Uaman the Leper, even living, would not have been accepted under our law,’ he reminded him. ‘A chieftain must be a man without blemish, physical or mental.’

‘Anyway, we might be travelling down a wrong road in considering this,’ Fidelma suddenly intervened. ‘Perhaps the argument over the Ui Fidgente between Mac Faosma and Cinaed has nothing to do with Cinaed’s murder. All I have put forward is that some strong emotions existed between Mac Faosma and Cinaed. We should not discount them.’

Eadulf sighed. ‘So where do we turn now in this matter? You told the abbot that we shall be leaving Ard Fhearta. To go where? Where do we start searching for the missing members of this community?’

‘At the place where they disappeared, in the lands of the Corco Duibhne,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I propose to ask Mugron to take us there when he sails. He told me he was due to go there within the next day or so.’

‘Have you given up on the murder of Cinaed?’

Fidelma frowned in annoyance. Abbot Erc had made a similar suggestion and she had wondered, for a moment, whether it had been made with desire.

‘I never give up on a task half finished. You know that, Eadulf. We can leave Ard Fhearta as soon as the weather is good and Mugron is prepared to sail. Meanwhile, I have not, as yet, questioned Sister Sinnchene or Sister Buan.’