Master of Souls

CHAPTER SEVEN

Fidelma sent Conri to see Mugron, the merchant, in order to make arrangements for the voyage to the land of the Corco Duibhne when he was ready. After he had departed on his errand, she and Eadulf went in search of Sister Buan. They found her in the chambers where the Venerable Cinaed had lived and worked. It was soon obvious that these were Sister Buan’s living quarters as well.

Sister Buan was a fairly plain-looking woman, of an indiscernible age, although Eadulf judged her to be about forty years. She was a slight but sharp-faced woman with somewhat rounded shoulders, corn-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. Her features could have been pleasant had she allowed a smile to sit upon them. Now those features were moulded into an expression of sorrow, the eyes red-rimmed. She bore her grief in every line of her face and movement of her body.

When she opened the door to admit Fidelma and Eadulf she showed no surprise and did not question why they had come.

‘I have been expecting you,’ she said simply, as she stood aside to admit them into the chambers. ‘You are the dalaigh from Cashel and you are her Saxon companion. You were pointed out to me last night in the refectory. I will do my best to answer your questions.’

‘Thank you, Sister Buan,’ said Fidelma as they seated themselves in the cold chamber. The turf fire had been allowed to blacken and die. ‘We have been told that you were the companion of the Venerable Cinaed?’

‘I was his cetmuintir,’ she replied.

Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf.

‘You were his legally married wife?’ he asked in surprise.

Sister Buan raised her chin defiantly.

‘Does that astonish you?’ she demanded. ‘I would not take you for one

‘Of course not,’ Eadulf responded. ‘It’s just that-’

‘Then you must disapprove because Cinaed was a generation or so older than I was.’ The woman made it into a challenge.

‘I was going to say, it is just that no one mentioned your exact legal position,’ Eadulf continued evenly.

‘We are certainly not here to pass any moral judgements, Sister Buan,’ Fidelma added.

‘Buan — that is a martial name, is it not?’ Eadulf went on, trying to persuade the woman of his good intentions. ‘Doesn’t it mean “the victorious one”?’

‘No, Brother Saxon. It is a name which means “lasting” or, rather, “enduring”.’ She became suddenly sad again.

‘How long were you the wife of Cinaed?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Five years.’

Fidelma was wondering why no one at the abbey had bothered to tell her that Cinaed had died leaving a widow.

‘I presume there are no children of this union?’ Eadulf asked.

Sister Buan turned an almost pitying look on him.

‘We have not been blessed with children. Poor Cinaed was not capable of becoming a father when we joined our lives together. It was for companionship that we made the lanamnus, our marriage contract. Even if it were possible, children are frowned on among the community.’

‘How long had you known Cinaed?’

‘Seven years. Cinaed was here when I came to the community, but I did not really know him until I came to work for him.’

‘And you have been in this community for — how long?’

‘I was in this abbey for over twenty years.’

‘What brought you together?’

The slightly built woman shrugged.

‘He wanted someone to keep his chambers tidy. He was given special privileges because of his scholarship. He did not have to participate in physical work because of his age and learning and so he was allowed someone to assist him. He was one of only two scholars here who had that privilege.’

Eadulf grimaced sourly.

‘I suppose the other was the Venerable Mac Faosma?’

‘Just so. And he has Brother Benen to help him.’

There was a tone of censure in the woman’s voice. Fidelma looked at her keenly.

‘You disapprove of that?’

‘What a man does in his private life is no concern of mine,’ she replied, as if uninterested.

Once again Fidelma caught Eadulf’s eye and this time shook her head slightly. It was obvious what the woman meant.

‘So you began to clean for Cinaed and that led to your relationship?’

‘I did and it did.’

‘And you became interested in his work?’ Eadulf asked.

For the first time the woman actually smiled.

‘His work? I had no understanding of it. I am no scholar.’ She held out her hands. ‘These are not the hands of a Latin scholar, Brother Saxon.’

Eadulf glanced at them. They were rough and calloused.

‘What would a scholar want with someone like me?’ There was no bitterness in her voice. Neither of them responded to her question. She went on: ‘Human beings want companionship at times and not simply for intellectual discourse. In Cinaed’s case he wanted someone to nurse him and fetch and carry for him.’

Eadulf looked uncomfortable but she went on without seeming to notice.

‘I knew there was no meeting of minds with Cinaed but he was a wonderful man. I came here to escape poverty.’ Sister Buan sounded slightly bitter. ‘I was disowned by my father after he divorced my mother, who was his second wife.’

Fidelma was interested.

‘For what reason did he divorce her?’

‘Because she fled her marriage contract on becoming enamoured of a young man, so I was told. From fear of my father, she became a fugitive in the mountains. I was told that she perished there.’

‘So she did not take you with her into the mountains?’

Sister Buan shook her head.

‘I was sent to be fostered among the Corco Duibhne, by their chief, and told never to return to my father’s rath again nor seek help from my half-brothers. Nor did I. Thus when I left my foster parents, I decided to seek security in the religious life. Eventually, I came to the abbey and for two years I did all the chores that no one else wanted to do. Then the abbot found I had a talent for bargaining with merchants. So he allowed

‘So I also went to work for Cinaed. I enjoyed working for him, nursing him in sickness, helping him in health, and when he offered to legalise our relationship I could ask for no greater happiness.’

‘You knew that he was regarded as a great scholar?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I knew that he regarded himself as a tired and frail old man who sometimes needed his chest rubbed with oils to keep out the cold vapours of the night.’

‘But you know how highly his work was thought of?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘I know some in this abbey did not think so highly of it,’ she corrected.

‘You mean the Venerable Mac Faosma?’

‘And his followers.’

‘You felt their antagonism?’

‘Isn’t there an old saying — three things that come unbidden — love, jealousy and fear? All three have visited these chambers.’

‘Fear?’

‘The day before he died, poor Cinaed expressed his fear to me.’ Fidelma’s eyes widened.

‘He was fearful? Fearful of whom?’

Sister Buan sighed and shook her head.

‘That, alas, I do not know for sure.’

‘Can you recall what he said? How did he express this fear?’

Sister Buan spread her hands in a negative gesture.

‘He came back here in a state of anxiety after the evening meal in the refectory… It was one of the special feasts that he was obliged to attend. More often he would eat simply in these chambers with me, having dispensation to do so because of his age.’

‘But you imply that you did not attend that particular evening meal? Why?’

‘I was not well. A stomach sickness.’

‘I see. Go on.’

‘I remember that I went to get water for myself and passed that window…’ She pointed across the room to where a window opened on to a small quadrangle. Fidelma suddenly realised it was the same quadrangle that gave access to the Venerable Mac Faosma’s chambers through the door into his study. She rose quickly.

‘Your pardon, Sister Buan. Which is the door to the Venerable Mac Faosma’s chambers?’

‘It is that door directly across the quadrangle from us.’

‘Thank you. Continue. You passed by this window and…?’

‘It was dark, of course, but the quadrangle is lit with torches at night. I saw Cinaed enter the quadrangle from the archway entrance to the right… that leads to the refectory. He was walking slowly with someone and engaged in animated conversation.’ ‘Did you recognise who it was?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Sister Uallann.’

‘The physician?’

‘The same,’ she confirmed. ‘They appeared to be arguing but in low tones and Sister Uallann was throwing her hands in the air as if to make her points. She can be very dramatic at times. A strange woman, given to outbursts of temper. It seemed to me that Cinaed broke off the conversation for he turned and came to our door.’

‘What did he say?’ demanded Fidelma.

Sister Buan shrugged.

‘Nothing.’

Fidelma looked taken aback for a moment.

‘Nothing? You had just seen him in argument. You said he came back here fearful… of what? Of whom? Sister Uallann?’

‘I saw he was agitated. Naturally, I asked him what was amiss and told him what I had seen outside. He said that it was just a silly quarrel, that was all. Something about his work. But I knew Cinaed. Behind his light dismissal of the event, I knew that he was afraid.’

‘How was that fear expressed?’

Sister Buan shrugged again.

‘It is hard to explain. I grew up on the western peninsula. I was fostered by a chieftain there who believed that his fosterlings should learn animal husbandry. I came to know when the animals were fretting. Sheep would know when a wolf was near and you did not have to ask for an explanation. You could see it in their bodies, the movement of their heads. It is the same if you know someone intimately. You become used to their habits, their ways. It was like that with Cinaed. He did not have to say when he was thirsty or when he was tired. I knew. I knew from the way he behaved that evening that there was something on his mind and he was fearful of it.’

‘Did you ask him to tell you what was wrong?’

‘I did. He told me not to worry. He said, and these were his very words, that he would sort things out the next day. He would be going to see the abbot and resolve matters.’

Fidelma and Eadulf sat back for a moment.

‘Resolve matters? With the abbot? That is an interesting choice of words. And he made no further explanation?’

‘None. He said that he would see the abbot after the service — the service for the feast day of the Blessed Ite. He and the abbot usually went to the oratory to prepare it for the service together. I remember hearing him leave and thinking it was very early for him to do so. It was still very dark. I am not sure when it was but I thought it was not long after midnight. All I recall is that it was light when Brother Cu Mara came to me with the news that… that…’

Her features began to crumple and Fidelma reached forward to lay a hand on her arm.

‘And you know nothing more of the matter that he had promised to resolve with Abbot Erc?’ pressed Eadulf gently.

She shook her head, recovering her poise.

‘Have you told anyone else about this?’

‘I told the abbot, of course.’

‘You did? And what did he say?’

‘He said that he had no idea of any matter that needed resolution. He said that Cinaed was probably worried about some detail of his work. Oh, and, of course, I handed a piece of paper I found in the hearth to the abbot. It was not there when I went to bed but I saw it there the next day. Obviously, Cinaed must have burnt it during the night.’

Fidelma drew the paper carefully from her marsupium.

‘And this was the paper?’

Sister Buan looked at it with some surprise and then nodded.

‘The abbot passed it to me,’ explained Fidelma. ‘And what do you make of it?’

‘I think it is the note that enticed poor Cinaed to the chapel that night. See, the words are clear: “midnight” and “Orat…” burnt away could mean “oratory”, and “alone” could be an invitation to go there alone. The next word is part of a name — “Sin”.’

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied the woman’s face.

‘You appear to have an astute eye, Sister Buan.’

‘It is that I am suspicious. Cinaed loved his work and even when that arrogant man Mac Faosma challenged him to public debate, he was not disturbed by it. He was not concerned by the views of others because he had the strength of his convictions. But he was disturbed that night. I do not think it was a matter of a problem with his work. I believe that he was enticed to the oratory by his killer.’

Eadulf examined her keenly.

‘You talk of the debates. Did you attend Cinaed’s debates and could you understand the arguments? Could you understand them enough to realise whether Cinaed’s views were right or that Mac Faosma was simply arrogant?’

Sister Buan shook her head.

‘Of course I did not. I have told you, I could not understand any of the arguments,’ she said in reproof. ‘But I do understand when a man is arrogant in his behaviour. Cinaed treated Mac Faosma with humour. The worst I have ever heard him say of him is that he was trying to be a “master of souls”. That is a derogatory term among our people.’

‘And you say that Cinaed did not mind Mac Faosma’s criticisms?’

‘Whenever Cinaed returned from those debates he was in a good humour,’ replied Sister Buan. ‘They did not worry him — Mac Faosma’s sneering comments and the baying of his students. Truly, I have never seen Cinaed worried until that night, the night before…’

She paused, hesitated a moment and gave way to a quiet sob.

‘Did you ask Sister Uallann what the argument was about?’ asked Fidelma softly.

Sister Buan recovered herself with a sniff.

‘She thinks it beneath her dignity to speak to me as an equal. She is like Mac Faosma in her arrogance.’

‘But you did ask her?’ pressed Eadulf.

‘Of course I asked, but she told me it was on a matter I would not understand and brushed me aside.’

‘So, apart from the abbot and Sister Uallann, we are the only people you have told about this argument?’ Fidelma asked.

‘That is so. I knew someone was coming to investigate the death of Abbess Faife and would naturally seek to understand the events behind Cinaed’s murder. So I have said nothing about this to anyone else.’

Fidelma exchanged a glance with Eadulf.

‘You assumed whoever came here would investigate Cinaed’s death as

Sister Buan suddenly glanced about in an almost conspiratorial manner.

‘I believe so. I overheard something someone said.’

‘What did they say and who was it that said it?’ demanded Fidelma curiously.

Sister Buan looked about her again as if deciding whether some unseen eavesdropper could overhear her.

‘It was the rechtaire.’

Fidelma frowned. ‘Brother Cu Mara?’

She nodded quickly.

‘And what did he say and in what circumstances?’

Sister Buan licked her lips.

‘I was taking the washing to the tech-nigid. It was the day after the burial of Cinaed. I had cleared out his clothes. Those that needed washing I took there so that they could be distributed later to the needy. Brother Cu Mara was in the tech-nigid speaking to Sister Sinnchene. Neither of them saw me because the door was only partially open and as I came up I heard Cinaed’s name spoken by Sister Sinnchene and so I halted and did not go inside.’

‘Why did that make you halt?’ Fidelma queried.

‘Because I knew that Sister Sinnchene had an unhealthy passion for Cinaed and that fact stopped me.’

Yet again Fidelma and Eadulf could not help but exchange a surprised glance.

‘But she is very young,’ pointed out Eadulf.

Sister Buan’s gaze rested on him for a moment.

‘What has that to do with it? I am not that aged. Old men have passions for young women, old women for young men, and so the reverse is possible. That young woman was always simpering after Cinaed.’

‘Simpering is an interesting term,’ Eadulf observed. ‘Was Sister Sinnchene’s passion, as you call it, reciprocated?’

Sister Buan flushed.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There was no foundation to it. But the girl seemed jealous of me. But, as the saying goes, all cows do not come equally well into the field. She did everything she could to lure Cinaed from me. She was a little vixen by nature as well as by name.’

Fidelma was reminded that ‘little vixen’ was the meaning of the name Sinnchene.

‘Why should she want to do so? To lure Cinaed away from you, I mean?’

‘She must answer that question.’

‘What did your husband say?’

‘He said he thought she was a silly child enamoured only of his reputation and prestige. He thought that she wanted to use his position to make a place for herself.’

‘But you and Cinaed were married,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘In some places second marriages are not proscribed,’ Sister Buan replied. ‘A man or woman can marry a second spouse while still married to the first.’

Fidelma knew that some of the old laws of polygamy had survived from the time before the New Faith. But the New Faith frowned on having more than one wife or husband.

‘Do you mean that she attempted to get Cinaed to take her as a dormun?’ she asked. The term was the old one for other female marital partners or concubines.

‘I believe so.’

‘Did you ever challenge Sister Sinnchene about it?’ queried Eadulf.

‘I once told her to leave him alone. But she was insulting and openly defiant. She replied with the old saying that the man with one cow will sometimes want milk.’

‘Were you angry at that?’

‘I knew Cinaed,’ she said emphatically. ‘He had no interest in her. Besides, do not the country folk have another saying — an old bird is not caught with chaff?’

‘Did you ask anyone to advise Sister Sinnchene that the practice is frowned upon by the New Faith?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did. Brother Eolas has some knowledge of the law but when I went to see him he seemed to support the old ways. He quoted some book to me that said there was a dispute in the law on the matter, and concluded that as the Chosen People of God lived in polygamy, so it was much easier to praise the custom than to condemn it.’

Fidelma sighed. She knew the passage from the Bretha Crolige in which the Brehon showed from the ancient texts that the Hebrews dwelt in a plurality of unions. She tried to return to the immediate matter.

‘So you heard Sister Sinnchene and Brother Cu Mara speaking together?’ she said. ‘You did not make your presence known because you thought you might hear what Sister Sinnchene had to say about your husband? Something important?’

‘Once I heard Cinaed’s name spoken, I paused outside the door. Sinnchene had said something about Cinaed and then the rechtaire said, “We cannot be over cautious.” Sinnchene replied, “Surely there is no way that Cinaed would have revealed that secret to the Abbess Faife?” The rechtaire responded, “Yet the abbess’s body was found near that very spot. That must mean there was some connection.” There was a pause and, thinking that I had been discovered, I fell to making a noise as I came in with the clothing for the wash.’

‘You have a good memory, Sister,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Was anything said to you?’

Sister Buan shook her head.

‘Brother Cu Mara pretended that he, too, had brought washing in and made a point of thanking Sister Sinnchene for taking it as he left.’

‘Did Sister Sinnchene say anything else to you?’

‘She scowled at me, which is her usual way, and took the clothing from me in an ungracious manner, so I left.’

‘Did you deduce anything from this exchange?’

Sister Buan shrugged.

‘That this secret, this fear, that Cinaed had on the night before his death, might have been a fear that he had shared with the Abbess Faife.’

‘But how?’

Sister Buan looked puzzled at Fidelma’s question. It was Eadulf who interpreted it for her.

‘Abbess Faife must have been dead over ten days when Cinaed was killed, and she was found a long way away from the abbey. How then could he have shared this secret, or fear, as you put it?’

She appeared not to have considered the point before.

‘I have no way of knowing. The day before Abbess Faife and her followers left for the abbey of Colman, I set out to trade for silver on behalf of our craftsmen. When I returned to the abbey, Cinaed told me the news that Mugron had arrived with word of Abbess Faife’s death. Apparently her companions had disappeared. Cinaed did not tell me of any secret he shared with her but sometimes they would work together in his study, and they combined on writing one or two of his works.’

‘Indeed?’ Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

‘She was a kind woman. Abbess Faife had known Cinaed for many years. She was one of the aire — the nobles of the Ui Fidgente. She was aunt to Conri the warlord who brought you hither.’

‘And you did not mind her working with Cinaed?’ Eadulf suddenly asked.

She looked at him in bewilderment.

‘Why should I do so?’

‘Well, I presume that you would object to Sister Sinnchene working in his study?’ replied Eadulf. ‘Don’t you have a saying here that it is easy to knead when meal is at hand?’

Sister Buan looked as if she was about to smile, then she shook her head.

‘You have a wicked sense of humour, Brother. And I will confess this: Cinaed was not capable of rising to such an occasion.’

‘So Cinaed’s relationship with the abbess was purely to work with her, or she with him, on some of the scholastic projects?’ clarified Eadulf. ‘Do you know which works she co-operated on?’

Sister Buan raised a shoulder and let it fall.

‘I know there was a recent one that had just been completed before the abbess left for Breanainn’s mount. Cinaed had passed it to Brother Eolas the librarian who, having read it, came to see Cinaed in a state of great excitement.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I do not know. Cinaed took him into his study but I heard their voices raised.’

‘Do you know why? Didn’t Cinaed make any comment?’ asked Fidelma. Sister Buan simply made another negative gesture.

‘All I know is that, as he was leaving, I heard Brother Eolas say that the Venerable Mac Faosma would fall in such a rage when he read this work. Ah, yes, I recall… He said that “even with Eoganan two years dead, this will cause division and anger”. Even as he left, I think he was trying to persuade Cinaed not to insist on placing it in the library.’

‘Do you recognise the title Scripta quae ad rempublicum geredam pertinet?’ asked Fidelma.

The woman gestured helplessly. ‘I have told you that I have no knowledge of any other language saving my everyday speech.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘I will ask Brother Eolas about this. I suspect, however,

‘It may be so,’ agreed Sister Buan. ‘He was a great one for preaching how this or that ruler should behave towards their neighbours.’

‘Did Cinaed do all his own calligraphy?’

Sister Buan looked bewildered.

Sister Fidelma was patient. ‘When he wrote his work and made the final draft, did he write it all himself?’

The slight woman brightened. ‘Oh yes. He was proud of his hand. But he did use Brother Faolchair as a copyist. Faolchair made copies of most of Cinaed’s works.’

‘Of course,’ Eadulf said in an aside, ‘Brother Eolas told us that Faolchair was copying that book on precious stones, what was it — De ars sordida gemmae?’

‘A last question,’ Fidelma said, after a moment or two’s thought. ‘How did Cinaed and you get along with Abbot Erc?’

‘Abbot Erc?’ Sister Buan pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘He left us alone. To me he was always remote.’

‘Remote?’

‘I came to this abbey because I had no family to support me. No status except that I was young, strong and ready to work. So I came here and joined the brethren.’ She sniffed. ‘And for the first years I found that life was just as hard. The abbot gave me the chance to trade for the abbey but he disapproved of my marriage to Cinaed.’

‘But when you married, when you became Cinaed’s cetmuintir, the abbot must have acknowledged you as such?’ Fidelma said, making it into a question.

Sister Buan made a sound that seemed to indicate derision.

‘Abbot Erc was so against our union that he refused to perform the ceremony. In fact, no one here would do it for fear of the abbot’s displeasure.’

Fidelma’s brows came together.

‘So Abbot Erc was not such a friend to Cinaed or you?’

‘No friend at all. Had it not been for the visit of an old acquaintance of Cinaed’s from the abbey of Colman, one who was ordained to confirm the marriage contract, we would have had no one to bless our union, for Cinaed was not able, in his frail years, to travel far.’

Fidelma rose slowly from her seat, followed by Eadulf.

‘Thank you, Sister Buan, you have been most helpful. What is your intention now? I presume that you will remain in the abbey?’

The woman looked almost helpless.

‘That I don’t know. No one has advised me on my position. I was cetmuintir to Cinaed. Am I allowed to stay in his chambers? Am I allowed to pursue compensation for his murder? Can I keep his possessions? I do not know my rights in this matter.’

‘No one has spoken to you?’

‘No one. There is no trained Brehon in the community. Only Brother Eolas has some knowledge of the law and he is hardly sympathetic to me.’

‘Then leave it to me, Sister Buan. I will see what the books of law have to say on this matter. But I am sure you have certain rights as his widow.’

Fidelma knew that all religious communities were still subject to the law of the Fenechus. Each abbey was part of the territory of the ruling clan and the clan assembly allotted the use of the lands on which the abbeys and churches stood to the clergy for their support on the condition that it was not regarded as private property. One of the assembly members, a lay person, acted as the liaison between the abbot and bishop and the local ruler who ensured the law was carried out. In this instance, Fidelma had already learnt that Conri was that person.

However, Sister Buan’s case lay in an area of law that Fidelma had not considered before and had little knowledge of. The relationship of individuals and their own property within the abbey needed to be checked. She would have to look up the exact position of Sister Buan within those laws. Was she considered to have the same rights as the wife of a layman? If so those rights were considerable. She was sure the abbey library, the tech-screptra, would have the necessary law books.

Sister Buan rose with a brightness in her eyes.

‘How can I thank you, Sister? You have been most kind to me…’

Fidelma felt a little uncomfortable as the woman grabbed her hands with enthusiasm.

‘No thanks are necessary for I have not yet done anything. But I will do so. I may be away from Ard Fheatra for a short time but have no fear. I shall return and resolve this matter of your status as well as that of the murder of your husband.’

Outside the chamber, Fidelma paused and looked at Eadulf who had grown fairly quiet towards the end of their interview.

‘You seem distracted.’

Eadulf, still deep in thought, raised his head.

‘Distracted? Oh, it’s just that I had a curious feeling of having met Sister Buan somewhere before. But I can’t recall where. It’s irritating, like an itch you want to scratch but can’t find the location of.’

Fidelma smiled indulgently.

‘Well, I find Sister Buan most interesting,’ she said.

Eadulf raised an eyebrow in query.

‘In what way “interesting”?’ he asked.

‘The amount of information that tripped from her lips compared to the stone wall that has been erected by everyone else, from the abbot to the physician, from the steward to the Venerable Mac Faosma. None of them have been as forthcoming as Sister Buan. And her reports of conversations, her interpretations of the burnt note… so exact. The question is “why?”. Why has everyone else sought to give us as little information as possible?’

‘Because they all have something to hide?’ hazarded Eadulf.

‘Or is it that Sister Buan is misdirecting us?’ suggested Fidelma pointedly.

‘I don’t think that she is intelligent enough to play such a deep game.’

‘Never underestimate a woman’s intelligence, Eadulf,’ Fidelma admonished.

Eadulf glanced slyly at her.

‘That is the last thing I would do. If I have learnt nothing else in my life these last few years, I have learnt that simple philosophy. On the other hand,’ Eadulf went on, ‘maybe there is some strange conspiracy here? What was it that Cinaed was fearful of?’

‘And if there was a conspiracy, why would the abbot, if he is part of it, allow Conr to ride to Cashel to bring us here to investigate the matter?’

‘You forget that he did not know who Conri would be bringing to the abbey,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘But I’ll agree that Abbot Erc did not really want us to investigate Cinaed’s death.’

‘It is bewildering,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘One thing is certain, we will have to question everyone again in the light of what Sister Buan has told us.’

‘Might that not endanger her?’

She ignored his question. ‘The person I am now looking forward to

‘Well, from what you have told me about the attitude of the Venerable Mac Faosma, he is certainly responsible for the burning of Cinaed’s book. Therefore, he could well have been responsible for his death. Even if he did not do it physically, he might well have ordered another to do it — that Brother Benen, for example. My suspect is the Venerable Mac Faosma.’

Fidelma smiled without humour.

‘You may well be right. There is a tangled skein here that needs to be unravelled. At least, thanks to Sister Buan, we have some ends of the skein to begin to pick at and hopefully disentangle.’