Suffer Little Children

Fidelma had sat for a long while, arms folded, examining the vessel with curiosity. She wondered what Fianamail, the young king of Laigin, hoped to gain by such an intimidating display. She could understand that demanding the territory of Osraige as an honor price was merely a political move to regain the lost territory, but he was certainly being blatant about it. No one would surely believe that the death of the Venerable Dacán, even though he was a cousin to the Laigin king, merited the return of a land which had held allegiance to Cashel for over five hundred years. Why would Fianamail threaten war over such a matter?

She gazed down on the fluttering silk standard of the Laigin kings, proudly streaking in the sea breeze which caught at the mast head. There were several warriors on deck practicing their weaponry arts, which she felt was rather ostentatious and more for the benefit of observers on the shore than for the Laigin warriors to keep in practice.

Fidelma wished that she had paid more attention to that section of the Book of Acaill, the great law code, which dwelt specifically with the muir-bretha or sea laws. The law should surely say whether such intimidation was allowed. She had a vague feeling that the writhe, placed at the gates of the abbey, meant something in this connection but she was not sure what. She wondered whether the Tech Screptra, the library of the abbey, might have copies of the law books which she could consult on the subject.

The single bell announcing the tierce rang out from the bell house.

Fidelma pulled herself away from the mesmerizing scene, rose and proceeded to walk back, along the wooden walkway along the monastery wall, toward the steps which led to the interior grounds of Ros Ailithir. A familiar figure was standing looking out to sea a little farther along the wall. It was the plump Sister Eisten. She did not notice Fidelma, so intent was her gaze on the inlet.

Fidelma arrived at her side unnoticed.

"A beautiful morning, sister," she greeted.

Sister Eisten started and turned, her mouth rounded in surprise. She blinked and carefully inclined her head.

"Sister Fidelma. Yes. It is beautiful." There was no warmth in her reply.

"How are you today?"

"I am well."

The terse, monosyllabic tones seemed forced.

"That is good. You have come through a bad experience. And is the little boy well now?"

Sister Eisten looked confused.

"Little boy?"

"Yes. Has he recovered from his nightmare?" When she saw that Sister Eisten still did not appear to understand, she added: "The boy whose name is Cosrach. You were nursing him yesterday afternoon."

Sister Eisten blinked rapidly.

"Oh… yes." She did not sound sure.

"Sister Fidelma!"

Fidelma turned as she heard her name called. It was young Sister Necht, hurrying up the steps to the walkway. She seemed anxious and Fidelma had a curious feeling that her anxiety was at finding Sister Eisten with Fidelma.

"Brother Rumann is ready to see you now, sister," Sister Necht announced. "He's waiting impatiently at the hostel."

Fidelma paused and glanced at Eisten. "Are you sure all is well with you?"

"All is well, thank you," she replied without conviction.

"Well, if you have need of a soul-friend, you have but to call upon me."

In the Irish Church, unlike the Roman custom where all were ordered to make a confession of their sins to a priest, each person had an anamchara, or a soul-friend. The position of the soul-friend was one of trust. He or she was not a confessor but more of a confidant, a spiritual guide who acted according to the practices of the faith of the five kingdoms. Fidelma's soul-friend, since she had reached the age of choice, had been Liadin of the Ui Dróna, her girlfriend since childhood. But it did not necessarily follow that the soul-friend had to be of the same sex. Colmcille and others who were leaders of the Faith had chosen soul-friends of the opposite sex.

Eisten was shaking her head swiftly.

"I already have a soul-friend in this abbey," she said uncompromisingly.

Fidelma sighed as she unwillingly turned to follow Sister Necht. Of course all was not well with Eisten. There was something continuing to trouble her. She was about to descend the stairs when Sister Eisten's voice stayed her.

"Tell me, sister…"

Fidelma turned inquiringly back to the morose young anchoress. She was still staring glumly out to sea.

"Tell me, sister, can a soul-friend betray one's confidence?"

"If they do, then I fail to see how they can be a soul-friend," Fidelma replied at once. "It depends on the circumstances."

"Sister!" It was Necht agitating from the foot of the stair.

"Let us talk about this matter later," Fidelma suggested. There was no answer and after a moment she reluctantly went down the stairs after Necht.

In the room now designated for Fidelma to conduct her inquiries in, the portly figure of the fer-tighis, the steward of the abbey, was indeed waiting impatiently.

Fidelma slipped into her seat opposite Brother Rumann, noticing that Cass had already assumed his seat in the corner of the chamber. Fidelma turned to Sister Necht. She had given much thought to whether it was wise to continue to allow the young sister to sit in on all her interrogations. Perhaps she could be trusted to keep everything to herself; perhaps not. Fidelma had finally decided that it was better not to put temptation in her way.

"I will not want your services for a while," she told the disappointed-looking novice. "I am sure you have other duties to fulfill in the hostel."

Brother Rumann looked approving.

"Indeed, she has. There are chambers to be cleaned and tidied here."

When Sister Necht had reluctantly left, Fidelma turned back to the steward.

"How long have you been house steward of the abbey, Brother Rumann?" she opened.

The pudgy features of the man creased in a frown.

"Two years, sister. Why?"

"Indulge me," Fidelma invited pleasantly. "I like to know as much background as possible."

Rumann sniffed as if from boredom.

"Then know that I have served in the abbey since I came here when I reached the age of choice—and that was thirty years ago."

He recited his background in a wooden, petulant tone as if he felt that she had no right to ask.

"So you are forty-seven years of age and steward for two years?" Fidelma's voice was sweetly dangerous as she encapsulated the facts he had given her.

"Exactly."

"You must know everything there is to know about the foundation of Ros Ailithir?"

"Everything." Rumann was nothing if not complacent.

"That is good."

Rumann frowned slightly, wondering whether she was quietly mocking him.

"What do you want to know?" he asked gruffly, when Fidelma asked nothing further for several moments.

"Abbot Brocc requested that you conduct an investigation into the death of Dacán. What was its result?"

"That he was murdered by an unknown assailant. That is all," confessed the steward.

"Let us start then from the time the abbot told you the news of Dacán's death."

"The abbot did not tell me. I was told by Brother Conghus."

"When was this?"

"Shortly after he had told the abbot of his discovery. I met him on the way to inform Brother Tola, our assistant physician. Tola examined the body."

"What did you do?"

"I went to see the abbot to ask what I should do."

"You didn't go to Dacán's chamber first?"

Rumann shook his head.

"What could I have done there before Tola had examined Dacán? The abbot then asked me to take charge of the affair. It was after that when I went to Dacán's chamber. Brother Tola was there just finishing his examination of the body. He said that Dacán had been bound and stabbed several times in the chest. He and his assistant Martan took the body away for further examination."

"I understand that the room was not in any disarray and that a bedside oil lamp was still burning."

Rumann gave a confirming nod of his head.

"Tola extinguished the lamp when he left," Fidelma said. "That implied that you had already left the room when the corpse was carried out."

Rumann looked at Fidelma with some respect.

"You have a sharp mind, sister. In fact, that is so. While Tola was finishing his examination, I quickly looked around the room for a weapon or anything that might identify the assailant. I found nothing. So I left just before Tola had the body carried out."

"You did not examine the room again?"

"No. On the abbot's orders, I had the chamber shut up exactly as it was. I had, however, seen nothing there to help in the discovery of a culprit. But the abbot thought that further investigation might be needed."

"You did not refill the oil in the bedside lamp at any stage?"

Rumann raised an eyebrow in surprise at the question.

"Why would I refill it?"

"No matter." Fidelma smiled quickly. "What then? How did you make your investigation?"

Rumann rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Sister Necht and myself were sleeping in the hostel that night and we slept soundly until the morning bell summoned us. There was only one other guest and he neither heard nor saw anything."

"Who was the guest? Is he still at the monastery?"

"No. He was no one really… Just a traveler. His name was Assid of the Ui Dego."

"Ah yes." She recalled that Brocc had mentioned the name. "Assid of the Ui Dego. Tell me if I am wrong, Rumann, but the Ui Dego dwell just north of Fearna in Laigin, do they not?"

Rumann stirred uncomfortably.

"I believe so," he admitted. "Perhaps Brother Midach could tell you more on that subject."

"Why Brother Midach?" Fidelma thought the point curious.

"Well, he has traveled in those lands," Rumann said a trifle defensively. "I think he was born in or near that territory."

Fidelma gave an exasperated sigh. Laigin seemed to loom down every gloomy path in this investigation.

"Tell me more about this traveler, Assid."

"Little to tell. He came off a coastal barca. I think he was a merchant, perhaps trading along the coast. He left with the afternoon tide on the day Dacán was killed. But only after I had questioned him thoroughly."

Fidelma smiled cynically.

"And after he had assured you that he had heard and seen nothing?"

"Just so."

"The fact that Assid was from Laigin, and that Laigin now plays a prominent role in this matter, surely is enough to suggest that he should have been detained here for questioning further?"

Rumann shook his head.

"How were we to know this then? On what grounds could we keep that man here? Are you suggesting that he is the murderer of his fellow countryman? Besides, like Midach, there are several brothers and sisters in this abbey whose birthplace was in Laigin."

"I am not here to suggest things, Rumann," snapped Fidelma, irritated by the steward's complacency. "I am here to investigate."

The portly religieux sat back abruptly and swallowed. He was unused to being snapped at.

Fidelma, for her part, immediately regretted her irritation and secretly admitted that the steward could hardly have acted otherwise. What grounds were there to have held Assid of the Ui Dego? None. However, the identity of the person who had taken the news of Dacán's murder to Fearna was now obvious.

"This Assid," began Fidelma again, speaking in a more amicable tone, "what makes you so sure that he was a merchant?"

Rumann screwed up his features in a meaningless grimace.

"Who else but merchants travel our coastline in barca and seek hospitality in our hostels? He was not unusual. We often get merchants like him."

"Presumably his crew stayed on board the barc?"

"I believe they did. They certainly did not stay here."

"One wonders, therefore, why he did not also stay on board but sought a night's lodging here?" mused Fidelma. "Which chamber did he occupy?"

"The one currently occupied by Sister Eisten."

"Did he know Dacán?"

"I think so. Yes, I do recall that they greeted one another in friendly fashion. That was on the evening that Assi'd arrived. That was natural, I suppose, both men being from Laigin."

Fidelma suppressed her annoyance. How could she solve this mystery when her principal witness had left the scene? Already she felt an overwhelming sense of frustration.

"Did you not question Assid later about his relationship with Dacán?"

Rumann looked pained and shook his head.

"Why should his relationship to Dacán be of interest to me?"

"But you said they greeted one another in friendship, implying that they knew one another and not by reputation."

"I saw no reason to ask whether Assi'd was a friend of Dacán."

"How else would you find the killer than by asking such questions?" Fidelma demanded sourly.

"I am not a dalaigh" retorted Rumann, indignantly. "I was asked to make an inquiry how Dacán came to be killed in our hostel, not to conduct a legal investigation."

There was some truth to this. Rumann was not trained to investigate. Fidelma was contrite.

"I am sorry," she apologized. "Just tell me as much as you know with regard to this man, Assi'd."

"He arrived on the day before Dacán was killed and left as I have told you, on that day. He sought lodging for the night. His barc anchored in the inlet and was presumably engaged in trading. This is all I know."

"Very well. And there was no one else in the hostel at the time?"

"No."

"Is access to the hostel easy from any part of the abbey buildings?"

"As you have seen, sister, there are no restrictions within the abbey walls."

"So any one of the many hundreds of students as well as the religious here could have entered and killed Dacán?"

"They could," Rumann admitted without hesitation.

"Was anyone particularly close to Dacán during his stay here? Did he have particular friends either among the religious or students?"

"No one was really friendly to him. Not even the abbot. The Venerable Dacán was a man who kept everyone at a distance. Not friendly, at all. Ascetic and indifferent to worldly values. I like to relax some evenings with a board game, brandubh or fidchell. I invited him to engage in a game or two and was dismissed as if I had suggested indulgence in a blasphemous thing."

This, at least, Fidelma thought, was a common point of agreement among those she had questioned about the Venerable Dacán. He was not a friendly soul.

"There was no one at all with whom he spoke more than any other person in the abbey?"

Rumann shrugged eloquently.

"Unless you count our librarian, Sister Grella. That, I presume, was because he did much research in the library."

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

"Ah yes, I have heard that he was at Ros Ailithir to study certain texts. I will see this Sister Grella later."

"Of course, he also taught," Rumann added. "He taught history."

"Can you tell me who were his students?"

"No. You would have to speak to our fer-leginn, our chief professor, Brother Ségán. Brother Ségán has control of all matters pertaining to the studies here. That is, under Abbot Brocc, of course."

"Presumably, in pursuit of his studies, the Venerable Dacán must have written considerably?"

"I would presume so," Rumann replied diffidently. "I often saw him carrying manuscripts and, of course, his wax writing tablets. He was never without the latter."

"Then." Fidelma paused to lend emphasis to her question, "why are there no manuscripts nor used tablets in his chamber?"

Brother Rumann gazed blankly at her.

"Are there not?" he asked in bewilderment.

"No. There are tablets which have been smoothed clean and vellum which has not been used."

The house steward shrugged again. The gesture seemed to come naturally to him.

"It is of surprise to me. Perhaps he stored whatever he wrote in our library. However, I fail to see what this has to do with his death."

"And you had no knowledge of what Dacán was studying?" Fidelma did not bother to reply to his implied question. "Did anyone know why he had come in particular to Ros Ailithir?"

"It is not my business to pry into the affairs of others. Sufficient that Dacán came with the recommendation of the king of Cashel and his presence was approved of by my abbot. I tried, like others here, to be friendly with him but, as I have said, he was not a friendly man. In truth, sister, perhaps I should confess that there was no mourning in the abbey when Dacán passed into the Otherworld."

Fidelma leaned forward with interest.

"I was led to believe, in spite of the fact that he was considered austere, that Dacán was widely beloved by the people and revered as a man of great sanctity."

Brother Rumann pursed his lips cynically.

"I have heard that this is so—and perhaps it is… in Laigin. All I can say is that he was welcomed here at Ros Ailithir but did not reciprocate the warmth of our welcome. So he was generally left to his own devices. Why, even little Sister Necht went in fear of him."

"She did? Why so?"

"Presumably because he was a man whose coldness inspired apprehension."

"I thought his saintly reputation went further than Laigin. In most places, he and his brother Noé are spoken of as one would speak of Colmcille, of Brendan or of Enda."

"One may only speak as one finds, sister. Sometimes reputations are not deserved."

"Tell me, this dislike of Dacén…"

Brother Rumann shook his head in interruption.

"Indifference, sister. Indifference, not dislike, for there were no grounds to promote such a positive response as dislike."

Fidelma bowed her head in acknowledgment of the point.

"Very well. Indifference, if you like. In your estimation you do not think it was enough to promote a feeling in someone here to kill him?"

The eyes of the steward narrowed in his fleshy face.

"Someone here? Are you suggesting that one of our brethren in Ros Ailithir killed him?"

"Perhaps even one of his students who disliked his manner? That has been known."

"Well, I have never heard of such a thing. A student respects his master."

"In ordinary circumstances," she agreed. "Yet we are investigating an extraordinary circumstance. Murder, for that is what we have established, is a most unnatural crime. Whatever path we follow we have to agree that someone in this community must have perpetrated this act. Someone in this community," she repeated with emphasis.

Brother Rumann regarded her with a solemn face and tight mouth.

"I cannot say further than I have. All I was asked to do, all I did, was investigate the circumstance of his death. What else could I have done? I have not the skills of a dalaigh."

Fidelma spread her hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I imply no criticism, Brother Rumann. You have your office and I have mine. We are faced with a delicate situation, not merely in terms of solving this crime but in seeking to prevent a war."

Brother Rumann sniffed loudly.

"If you ask my opinion, I would not put it past Laigin to have engineered this whole matter. They have appealed time and time again to the High King's assembly at Tara for the return of Osraige. Each time, it has been ruled that Osraige was lawfully part of Muman. Now this." He stabbed with his hand into the air.

Fidelma examined the steward with interest.

"Just when did you come to such an opinion, Brother Rumann?" she questioned gently.

"I am of the Corco Lofgde, a man of Muman. When I heard of the honor price that young Fianamail of Laigin was demanding for Dacán's death, I suspected a plot. You were right in the first place."

Fidelma raised an eyebrow at Rumann's angry features.

"Right? In what respect?"

"That I should have been suspicious of the merchant, Assi'd. He was probably the assassin and I let him go!"

She gazed at him for a moment then said: "One thing more, brother. How did you come to know what the demands of Laigin are?"

Rumann blinked. "How? Why the abbot has spoken of nothing else for days."

After Brother Rumann had left, Fidelma sat for a while in silence. Then she realized that Cass was still seated waiting for her to speak. She turned and gave him a tired smile.

"Call Sister Necht, Cass."

A moment later the enthusiastic young sister entered in answer to the ringing of the handbell. It was clear that she had been in the process of scrubbing the floors of the hostel but welcomed the interruption.

"I hear that you went in apprehension of the Venerable Dacán," Fidelma stated without preamble.

The blood seemed to drain momentarily from Necht's face. She shivered.

"I did," she admitted.

"Why?"

"My duties as a novice in the abbey are to tend to the guests' hostel and take care of the wants of the guests. The Venerable Dacán treated me like a bondservant. I even asked Brother Rumann if I could be removed from the duties at the hostel for the period that Dacán was staying here."

"Then you must have disliked him intensely."

Sister Necht hung her head.

"It is against the Faith but, the truth is, I did not like him. I did not like him at all."

"Yet you were not removed from your duties?"

Necht shook her head.

"Brother Rumann said that I must accept it as the will of God and through this adversity I would gain in strength to do the Lord's work."

"You say that as if you do not believe it," remarked Fidelma gently.

"I did not gain any strength. It only intensified my dislike. It was a hateful time. The Venerable Dacán would criticize my tidying of his chamber. In the end, I did not bother tidying at all. Then he would send me on errands at all times of the day and night as his fancy took him. I was a slave."

"So when he died, you shed no tears?"

"Not I!" declared the sister vehemently. Then, realizing what she had said, she flushed. "I meant…"

"I think I know what you meant," Fidelma responded. "Tell me, on the night Dacán was killed, were you on duty in the hostel?"

"I was on duty every night. Brother Rumann will have told you. It was my special duty."

"Did you see Dacán that night?"

"Of course. He and the merchant Assi'd were the only guests here."

"I have been told that they knew each other?" Fidelma made the observation into a question.

Sister Necht nodded.

"I do not think that they were friends though. I heard Assi'd quarrelling with Dacán after the evening meal."

"Quarrelling?"

"Yes. Dacán had retired to his chamber. He usually took some books to study before the completa, the final service of the day. I was passing by his chamber door when I heard voices in argument."

"Are you sure it was Assi'd?"

"Who else could it have been?" countered the girl. "There was no one else staying here."

"So they were quarrelling? About what?"

"I do not know. Their voices were not raised but intense. Angry sounding."

"And what was Dacán studying that night?" Fidelma frowned. "I have been told that nothing has been taken from his chamber. Yet there were no books there nor any writing by Dacán in the room."

Sister Necht shrugged and made no reply.

"When did you last see Dacán?"

"I had just returned from the service for the completa when Dacán summoned me and told me to fetch him a pitcher of cold water."

"Did you visit his chamber after that?"

"No. I avoided him as much as I could. Forgive me this sin, sister, but I hated him and cannot say otherwise."

Sister Fidelma sat back and examined the young novice carefully for a moment.

"You have other duties, Sister Necht, I shall not detain you from them. I will call you when I have further need of you."

The young novice rose looking chagrined.

"You will not tell Brother Rumann of my sin of hatred?" she asked eagerly.

"No. You feared Dacán. Hate is merely the consequence of that fear; we have to fear something to hate it. It is the cloak of protection used by those who are intimidated. But, sister, remember this, that feelings of hate often lead to the suppression of justice. Try to forgive Dacán in death for his autocracy and understand your own fears. You may go now."

"Are you sure there is nothing else I can do?" Necht asked, as she hesitated in the doorway. She looked eager again as if the confession of her hatred of Dacán had cheered her spirits.

Fidelma shook her head.

"I will call you when there is," she assured her.

As she went out, Cass rose and came to sit in the chair vacated by Necht. He regarded Fidelma with sympathy.

"It is not going well, is it? I see only confusion."

Fidelma pulled a face at the young warrior.

"Come let us walk by the seashore for a moment, Cass. I need the breeze to clear my head."

They walked through the complex of the abbey buildings and found a gate in the wall which led onto a narrow path winding down to the sandy strand. The day was still fine, still a little blustery, with the ships rocking at anchor. Fidelma drew in a deep breath of salt sea air and exhaled it loudly with a resounding gasp of satisfaction.

Cass watched her in quiet amusement.

"That is better," she said, and glanced quickly at him. "It clears the head. I have to admit that this is the hardest inquiry that I have undertaken. In other investigations that I have worked on, all the witnesses remained in the one place. All the suspects were gathered. And I was at the scene of the crime within hours, if not minutes, of the deed being done so that the evidence could not evaporate into thin air."

Cass measured his pace to match her shorter stride as they walked slowly along the sea's edge.

"I begin to see some of the difficulties of a dalaigh now, sister. In truth, I had little idea before. I thought that all they had to know about was the law."

Fidelma did not bother to answer.

They passed fishermen on the shore, unloading their morning's catch from the small canoe-like vessels, locally called naomhog, boats of wickerwork frames, covered in codal, a hide tanned in oak bark, and stitched together with thongs of leather. They were easy and light to carry and three men could manage the largest of them. They rode high in the water, dancing swiftly over the fiercest of waves.

Fidelma paused watching as two of these craft came ashore towing the carcass of a great beast of the sea behind them.

She had seen a basking shark brought ashore only once before and presumed that the beast was such a creature.

Cass had never seen anything like it and he moved eagerly forward to examine it.

"I had heard a story that the Blessed Brendan, during his great voyage, once landed on the back of such a monster thinking it was an island. Yet this beast, big as it is, does not look like an island," he called across his shoulder to her.

Fidelma responded to his excitement.

"The fish Brendan is reported to have landed on was said to be far bigger. When Brendan and his companions sat down and made a fire to cook their meal, the fish, feeling the heat, sank into the sea and they barely escaped with their lives into their boat."

An aged fisherman, overhearing her, nodded sagely.

"And that's a true story, sister. But did you ever hear of the great fish, Rosault, which lived in the time of Colmcille?"

Fidelma shook her head, smiling, for she knew old fishermen carried good tales which could often be retold around a fire at night.

"I used to fish up Connacht way when I was a lad," the old man went on, hardly needing an invitation. "The Connacht men told me that there was a holy mountain inland which they called Croagh Patrick, after the blessed saint. At the foot of the mountain was a plain which was called Muir-iasc, which means 'sea-fish.' Do you know how it received its name?"

"Tell us," invited Cass, knowing there was no other answer to give.

"It was named because it was formed by the great body of Rosault when it was cast ashore there during a great storm. The dead beast, as it lay decomposing on the plain, caused a great pestilence through the malodorous vapors which rose from its body and descended on the country. It killed men and animals indiscriminately. There be many things in the sea, sister. Many threatening things."

Fidelma cast a sudden glance towards the Laigin warship.

"Not all of them are creatures of the deep," she observed softly.

The old fisherman caught the direction of her gaze and chuckled.

"I think that you would be right there, sister. And I am thinking that the fishermen of the Corco Loigde might one day have to go casting their spears at stranger creatures than a poor basking shark."

He turned and sank his skinning knife into the great carcass with relish.

Fidelma began to walk along the shore again.

Cass hurried after her. For a few moments they walked on in silence and then Cass observed: "There are signs of war in the air already, sister. It does not bode well."

"I am not oblivious to it," she replied shortly. "Yet I cannot work miracles even though my brother expects it of me."

"Perhaps we have to accept that this war is our destiny. That there will, indeed, be war."

"Destiny!" Fidelma was angry. "I do not believe in the preordination of things, even if some of the Faith do. Destiny is but the tyrant's excuse for his crimes and the fool's excuse for not standing up to the tyrant."

"How can you change what is inevitable?" demanded Cass.

"By first saying that it is not so and then by proceeding to make it otherwise!" she answered with spirit.

If there was anything she did not need at this moment in time it was someone telling her that things were inevitable. Sophocles had once written that that which the gods have brought about must be born with fortitude. Yet to make the excuse that one's self-induced limitations were simply destiny was a philosophy that was alien to Fidelma. The creed of destiny was simply an excuse to save oneself from choice.

Cass raised a hand, opened it and gestured as if in resignation.

"It is a laudable philosophy which you have, Fidelma. But sometimes…"

"Enough!"

There was a catch to her voice that made the young warrior stop. He realized how suddenly vulnerable was this young woman dálaigh of the court. Colgu of Cashel had put great responsibility on his sister's shoulders— perhaps too much? As Cass saw things, the death of Dacán was a riddle that would never be solved. Better to simply prepare for war with the Laigin than squander time in sorting out the tangled and insoluble web of this mystery.

Fidelma suddenly sat down on a rock and gazed at the sea as Cass stood restlessly by. In turning matters over in her mind she was trying to remember what her old master, the Brehon Morann of Tara, had once said to her.

"Better to ask twice than lose your way once, child," he had intoned when she had failed some exercise of the mind by failing to grasp an answer he had given.

What question was she not asking; what answer had she failed to realize the significance of?

Cass was startled when, after a moment or two, Fidelma sprang up and uttered a snort of disgust.

"I must be dull-witted!" she announced.

"Why so?" he demanded as she started to stride swiftly back towards the abbey.

"Here I have been bemoaning to myself the impossibility of the task before I have even begun it."

"I thought that you had already made a very good start on the matter."

"I have but merely skimmed the surface," she replied. "I have asked a question or two but have not yet started to seek the truth. Come, there is much to be done!"

She walked swiftly back to the abbey, through the gate and across the flagged courtyards. Here and there little groups of scholars and some of the teaching religious turned from their huddled bands to surreptitiously examine her as she passed for the news had spread rapidly through the abbey of her purpose there. She ignored them, moving swiftly to the main gateway and there saw the object of her search—the enthusiastic young Sister Necht.

She was about to hail her when Necht looked up and saw Fidelma. She came running towards her, with an undignified gait.

"Sister Fidelma!" she gasped. "I was about to set out to find you. Brother Tola asked me to give you this package. It is from Brother Martan."

She handed Fidelma a rectangular piece of sackcloth. Fidelma took it and unfolded it. Inside were several pieces of long strips of linen, as if torn from a larger piece of material. There were spots of deep brown which Fidelma presumed to be the stains of blood. The color of the linen itself had been enhanced by dyes in particolored fashion consisting of blues and reds. The pieces were frayed and looked fragile. Fidelma took one of the strips and held it, one end in each hand, giving it a sharp tug. It tore easily.

"Not very efficient as a constraint," observed Cass.

Fidelma glanced appraisingly at him.

"No," she replied thoughtfully as she rewrapped the cloth and placed the material in her large satchel purse. "Now, Sister Necht, I need you to conduct us to Sister Grella's library."

To her surprise the young girl shook her head.

"That I cannot do, sister."

"Why, what ails you?" Fidelma demanded testily.

"Nothing. But the abbot has also sent me to seek you out and bring you to him. He says he must see you without delay."

"Very well," Fidelma said reluctantly. "If Abbot Brocc wants to see me then I shall not disappoint him. But why the urgency?"

"Ten minutes ago, Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loígde, arrived in response to a message which Brocc sent him. The chieftain appears very angry."

Chapter Eight

Fidelma and Cass began to follow as Sister Necht led the way towards the chambers of the abbot. After a moment, the young novice noticed Cass following. She halted and looked embarrassed.

"What is it now?" demanded Fidelma.

"I was told to bring only yourself, sister," she explained, with an awkward glance at Cass.

"Very well," Fidelma sighed. "You can wait for me at the hostel, Cass."

The tall warrior made a small grimace of disappointment but took himself off while she continued to follow Necht. The broad-shouldered sister seemed agitated and hurried while Fidelma maintained a more leisurely pace. The young novice had to keep stopping in order to wait for her. Fidelma refused to be hurried and rejected the idea of arriving before the abbot and the chieftain of the Corco Lofgde in a flustered and breathless fashion.

"It's all right, Necht," Fidelma finally said, irritated by the girl's insistence on trying to get her to hurry. "I know the way to the abbot's chambers from here, so you may leave me in safety."

The girl paused and seemed about to protest but Fidelma drew her brows together in annoyance. The expression was enough to dissuade the novice from any arguments that might have been forming on her tongue. She bobbed her head obediently and left Fidelma.

Fidelma continued across the flagged yard into the granite building which housed the abbot's chambers. She had moved into a small, dark hallway and was crossing to the steps which led up to the second floor on which the abbot's main chamber was situated when a shadow stirred in the darkness at the foot of the steps.

"Sister!"

Fidelma halted and peered curiously into the shadows. The figure was familiar.

"Is that Cétach?"

The figure of the boy moved forward into the gloomy light. Fidelma noted the tension in his body, the way his shoulders were positioned, the poise of the head.

"I must speak with you," whispered the young black-haired lad, as if he were scared of being overheard.

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in the gloom.

"It is inconvenient now. I am on my way to see the abbot. Let us meet later…"

"No, wait!" The voice almost rose to a wail of despair. Fidelma found Cétach's hand clutching imploringly at her arm.

"What is it? What are you frightened of?"

"Salbach, the chieftain of the Corco Lofgde, is with the abbot."

"This I know," Fidelma said. "But what is frightening you, Cétach?"

"When you speak with him do not mention me or my brother."

Fidelma tried to examine the boy's features, annoyed that the shadows obscured his expression.

"Are you scared of Salbach?"

"It is too long a story—I cannot tell you now, sister. Please, do not mention us. Do not even say that you know us."

"Why? What do you fear from Salbach?"

The boy's grip tightened on her arm.

"For pity's sake, sister!" His voice was filled with such fear that Fidelma patted his shoulder in reassurance.

"Very well," she said. "You have my promise. But when I am finished, we must talk and you must tell me what this means."

"You promise that you will not mention us?"

"I promise," she replied gravely.

The boy abruptly turned and scurried away into the shadows leaving a bemused Fidelma staring in the gloom.

She waited a moment or two before heaving a sigh and then she began to mount the steps.

Abbot Brocc was waiting impatiently for her. He had apparently been pacing before his table and stopped as she entered his chamber. Her eyes immediately fell on a figure sprawled indolently in a chair before the great fire in the abbot's chamber. The man was leaning back in the carved wooden chair, usually reserved for the abbot, one leg dangling over an arm, a large goblet of wine in one hand. He was a handsome man with hair the color of jet, contrasting with a white skin and ice-blue eyes. He was in his early thirties. There was something saturnine about his slim features. His clothes told of wealth for they were fine woven silks and linens and he wore a small fortune in jewelery. The sword and dagger he wore were worth the full honor price of a ceile, a free clansman of the kingdom. All this Fidelma took in at a glance but one thing, of all the visual information, registered with her; the cold blue eyes of the chieftain had a close, foxy look. Here was a shrewd and cunning man.

"Ah, Fidelma!"

The abbot was clearly relieved as she entered.

"I was told that you had sent for me, Brocc," she said, closing the door behind her.

"I have, indeed. This is Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Lofgde."

Fidelma turned towards the chieftain. Her mouth tightened as the man made no effort to rise but continued to sprawl in his chair, sipping his wine with deliberate slowness.

"Sister Fidelma from Kildare is my cousin, Salbach," the abbot said nervously, seeing the clouds gathering around Fidelma's brows.

Salbach regarded her coldly over the rim of his goblet.

"I am told that you are a dálaigh" he said. There was a tone in his voice as if he found the subject amusing.

"I am Fidelma of the Eóganacht of Cashel, sister to Colgu, heir-apparent of Muman," she replied with a tone of steel. "I am qualified in law to the level of anruth."

Salbach returned her gaze for a moment or two without moving. Then he carefully put down his goblet and, with exaggerated slowness, he eased himself from the chair and stood before her. He bowed ungracefully with a jerky movement of his neck.

That Fidelma had to remind him of his manners in greeting her was a source of irritation to her. It was not because she had an abundance of vanity that made her demand that he recognize her as the sister of the heir-apparent to the kingdom, nor that she was so conceited that she had to draw attention to the fact that she possessed the status of anruth, only one degree below the highest that the colleges of the five kingdoms could bestow. It was the scorn that Salbach implied towards her, which she took as an insult to her sex, that caused her to demand the traditional hero's portion that was due to her. Yet even when she gave way to this emotion she recalled her mentor, the Brehon Morann, saying: "Respect received from fear is not respect. The wolf may be respected but it is never liked." Generally, Fidelma ignored social conventions provided people showed regard and consideration for one another simply as fellow humans. But when she came across individuals who showed no natural respect she felt she had to make the point as example. Salbach appeared to respect no one but himself.

"I apologize, Fidelma of Cashel," he said in a tone which she felt gave no value to his words. "I did not know that you were related to Colgu."

Fidelma seated herself and her expression was bland.

"Why should my relatives dictate good manners?" she demanded softly.

Abbot Brocc coughed hastily.

"Fidelma, Salbach has come in response to the message I sent him."

Fidelma found herself being scrutinized again by the cold blue eyes of Salbach. He returned to his sprawling position in the other chair and took up his wine again. There was something hooded about those eyes. They reminded her of the unblinking eyes of a buzzard regarding its prey before swooping to bear it away.

"That is good," Fidelma replied. "The sooner the crime committed at Rae na Serine is dealt with, the better."

"Crime? I am told that some frightened, superstitious people, afraid of the plague at Rae na Serine, attacked the village in an effort to drive the people into the mountains and fire the place so that the plague might not spread. If there was a crime there, it was a crime of fear and panic."

"Not so. It was a calm and deliberate attack."

Salbach's mouth twitched and his tone was sharp. "I have come here, Sister Fidelma, because I have heard your accusation against one of my bó-aire, a magistrate that I myself appointed but recently. I presumed that there was some mistake."

"I take it that you refer to the man Intat? If so, there is no mistake."

"I am told that you have accused Intat of leading a band of his warriors in the destruction of the entire village? My information is that a band of panic-stricken people from some neighboring village burnt it down."

"You have heard incorrectly."

"That is a serious accusation."

"It is a serious crime," confirmed Fidelma coldly.

"I shall need evidence before I can act on such a charge," Salbach replied stubbornly.

"The evidence will be found in the charred ruins of Rae na Serine."

"That proves the village was burnt and perhaps that people were killed. What evidence is there that Intat was responsible?"

"Cass, of the bodyguard of the King of Cashel, and I rode into the village while the terrible deed was being done. We spoke with the man called Intat. He turned us away with threat to our lives."

Salbach's eyes widened a fraction with incredulity.

"He let you go? Surely, if he were engaged in such a crime, you would not be here to tell of it?"

Fidelma wondered why it seemed that Salbach was attempting to protect his bó-aire.

"Intat did not realize that we had seen what he was doing. We doubled back to the village after we had left him on the highway. Nor did he realize that there were survivors from the village who can give better testimony as to what happened than we can."

Did Salbach swallow nervously? Did a look of apprehension grow over his features?

"There were survivors?"

"Yes." It was Abbot Brocc who replied. "There were half-a-dozen survivors. Some children…"

"Children cannot testify under law," Salbach snapped. "They have no legal obligations until they reach the age of choice."

Fidelma noted that point of law came trotting swiftly from Salbach's tongue.

"There was also one adult with them," she said softly. "And if the one adult is not enough, then bring this man Intat before Cass and myself, and we will testify whether he is the man we saw leading those who held burning brand torches and swords in their hands and who threatened our lives."

"How was Intat identified anyway?" demanded Salbach sullenly. "How could you know the man's name?"

"He was identified by Sister Eisten," answered the abbot.

"Ah! So she is the survivor of whom you speak?"

Salbach's eyes were hooded again. Fidelma would have given anything to hear the thoughts which appeared to be tumbling in his mind. His face was a mask but there seemed to be a frenzy of thoughts behind those hooded eyes.

"It is hard to believe this of Intat." Salbach sighed suddenly, putting down his drained goblet of wine, as if he were finally convinced. "I am saddened to hear of this evidence against him. Are Sister Eisten and the children staying in Ros Ailithir?"

Brocc replied again before Fidelma could speak.

"Yes. We will probably send them shortly to the orphanage run by Molua."

"I would like to see them," pressed Salbach.

"It may be some days before that can be," Fidelma said hurriedly, with a meaningful glance at Brocc. The abbot stared in bewilderment at her. "The abbot has ordered them to be placed in quarantine so that they can be cleared of any contagion from the Yellow Plague."

"But…" began Brocc. Then bit his tongue.

Salbach had not appeared to notice this unfinished protest and was rising to his feet.

"I will be back to question Sister Eisten and the children when it is more convenient," he said. "But, since the matter contained a grave accusation against one of my magistrates, I felt I had to come immediately to test the evidence. I shall set out to find Intat and see what he has to say. If the crime is laid at his door, then he will answer for it before my own Brehon. You may rest assured of that, Sister Fidelma."

"Cashel would expect no less," replied Fidelma gravely.

Salbach stared hard at her, seeking some hidden meaning but Fidelma continued to return his look without expression.

"We are a proud people here, Sister Fidelma," Salbach said. His voice, while soft, was full of hidden meaning. "The Corco Loigde claim their descent from the family of Mil Easpain, who led the ancestors of the Gaels to this land at the beginning of time. A challenge to the honor of one of us is a challenge to the honor of all of us. And if one of us betrays his honor, he betrays us all and will be punished."

He hesitated a moment, as if he would say something else, then he turned to the abbot.

"I will be on my way then, abbot," he began but Fidelma interrupted.

"There are some questions on another matter which you may help me with, Salbach."

Salbach glanced at her in astonishment for he had made clear that the meeting had ended. It was clear he was used to dictating his own way.

"I am busy now…"

"In this I am acting on behalf of the king of Cashel," insisted Fidelma. "It concerns the murder of the Venerable Dacán."

Salbach hesitated as though he would dispute with her but then shrugged indifferently.

"It is a grave business," he conceded. "I know nothing of the death of the old man. So how can I help you?"

"Did you know the Venerable Dacán?"

"Who did not know him by reputation?" Salbach parried.

"I believe you met him?"

The question was merely a guess and Fidelma saw the quick flush on Salbach's face. It had only been an instinct which had made her chance the question.

"I did meet Dacán a few times," Salbach admitted.

"Was that here, at Ros Ailithir?"

Fidelma had to conceal her surprise when Salbach shook his head.

"No. I met him at Cealla, at one of the great residences of the chieftains of Osraige."

"In Osraige? When was this?"

"A year ago."

"May I ask what you were doing in Osraige?"

"Visiting my cousin, Scandlán, who is king there." Salbach could not keep the vanity out of his voice.

Fidelma was again reminded that her brother, Colgu, had told her that the kings of Osraige were related to the chieftains of the Corco Lofgde.

"I see," she said slowly. "Yet you did not meet the Venerable Dacán when he came to Ros Ailithir?"

"No, I did not."

Something prompted Fidelma to doubt him. Yet she could not get beyond that hooded buzzard expression. She realized that she did not like Salbach at all. Then she flushed as she remembered her homily to Sister Necht. In spite of that, Fidelma believed that there was something sinister about Salbach and that was why she disliked him. There was something evil and harsh in those pale eyes of his. He reminded her so much of a bird of prey.

"But you did meet with Assi'd of Laigin?" she switched the question abruptly, still relying on her instinct.

Salbach's mouth slackened a little. There was a momentary glint in his eyes.

"Yes," he admitted slowly. "He came to my fortress at Cuan Dóir to trade."

"He is a coastal trader?"

"Yes. He traded at our copper mines. He brought us Gaulish wine which had been landed in Laigin and we traded copper for the wine."

"So you have known Assi'd for a long time… in his role as a merchant, that is?"

Salbach grimaced negatively.

"I said that I have met him. That is all. He was trading here last summer and the summer before that. Why do you ask these questions?"

"It is my task to do so, chieftain of the Corco Loigde," she replied with patient humor.

"Am I free to go now?" There was a condescending sneer in his voice.

"I trust that we shall hear soon that you have been successful in your search for Intat?"

"I will make a point of informing you," Salbach replied stiffly.

With a brief bow in her direction and a curt nod to the abbot, Salbach left the room.

Abbot Brocc was looking unhappy.

"Salbach is not a person who likes losing face, cousin," he commented anxiously. "I felt I was witness to two cats meeting to dispute the same territory."

"It is a pity then he places himself in such a position where confrontation results," replied Fidelma coldly. "He carries an insufferable arrogance in his demeanor."

The midday Angelus bell struck.

Fidelma felt obliged to join the abbot in the ritual prayer for the hour.

When Brocc raised himself from his knees, he regarded Fidelma for a moment or two in awkwardness.

"There is other news," he began, somewhat hesitantly. "I did not want to say anything in front of Salbach before I told you."

Fidelma waited uncertainly, for her cousin's face had grown unusually solemn.

"Just before Salbach arrived, a messenger came from Cashel. The king, Cathal mac Cathail, died three days ago. Your brother, Colgu, is now king of Muman."

Fidelma's features did not change. As soon as Brocc had mentioned a messenger from Cashel, she knew what it must be about. She had known it was a matter of time even before she had left Cashel. Then she rose and genuflected.

"Sic transit gloria mundi. May our cousin rest in peace," she said. "And may God give Colgu strength for the hard task which he now faces."

"We shall say a mass for the soul of Cathal tonight, sister," Brocc said. "It lacks a short while before the bell sounds for the midday meal. Perhaps you will join me in a cup of wine before going to the refectory?"

To his obvious disappointment, Fidelma shook her head.

"I have much to do before the midday meal, cousin," she replied. "But there is one question which I must now ask you. Brother Conghus told me that a week before Dacán was killed you had especially asked him to keep a close watch on Dacán. Why was that?"

"No mystery to that," the abbot replied immediately. "It was clear that the Venerable Dacán was an unfriendly man. In fact, I had heard that he had upset several of the students here. It was just a precaution to ask Brother Conghus to ensure that Dacán did not encounter trouble through his… how shall we say it?… through his unfortunate personality."

"Thank you, Brocc. I will see you at the midday meal."

Fidelma left the chamber with her thoughts abruptly returning to the young boy, Cétach. Why had the boy not wanted her to mention him and his brother Cosrach? What made him fear Salbach?

Yet this was nothing to do with the murder of the Venerable Dacán and time was swiftly running out before the matter would have to be argued before the High King's assembly at Tara.

She made her way directly back to the hostel and went to look for the boy Cétach. She also recalled that she must speak further with Sister Eisten. The children were not in their chambers; neither was Sister Eisten. Fidelma looked into the other chambers but could not see anyone. The only one of the children from Rae na Serine she could find was one of the little copper-haired sisters, Cera by name. The girl sat playing with a rag doll and would not answer any of Fidelma's questions.

Fidelma gave up trying to coax some information from her and then searched the upstairs chambers before returning to the lower floor. She heard a noise from Brother Rumann's officium and hastened along to it. There she found Cass seated in the chamber with Brother Rumann. They were crouched either side of a brandubh board engaged in the popular game of "black raven." Rumann seemed to be an experienced player for he had taken two of Cass's provincial king pieces, leaving Cass with only his High King and two other provincial king defenders, while his own eight opposing pieces were all intact. Cass was trying vainly to reach the safety of the side of the board, which was divided into forty-nine squares, seven squares one way and seven squares the other. Even as Fidelma looked, Rumann by a deft move placed his pieces so that the High King was clearly opposed without any square to retreat to. Reluctantly, and with some bad grace, Cass conceded the game to the portly brother.

Brother Rumann glanced up with a satisfied smile as he saw Fidelma.

"Do you play this game, sister?"

Fidelma nodded curtly. Every child of a king or chieftain was taught brandubh and other board games of skill as part of their education. The game had a deep significance for the main piece represented the High King at Tara whose defenders were the four provincial kings of Ulaidh, Laigin, Muman and Connacht. The eight attacking pieces had to be checked by the four provincial kings, allowing the center to hold steady or, if threatened, to escape to the side of the board, although this escape was only made in desperation when the player had no other options.

"Perhaps we shall get a chance to test each other's mettle?" invited Rumann eagerly.

"Perhaps we shall," Fidelma returned politely. "But I have little time now."

She motioned with her eyes for Cass to follow her and once outside told him the news from Cashel. Like Fidelma, he was not surprised. The death of Cathal had been imminent when they had left the seat of the Muman kings.

"Your brother inherits a heavy burden, Fidelma," Cass observed. "Does it change matters here at all?"

"No. It only makes the success of our task more pressing." Fidelma went on to ask him whether he had seen either of the young boys, Cétach or Cosrach.

Cass shook his head.

"As if I do not have enough on my hands." Fidelma was exasperated. "Is it not enough that I am trying to solve the mystery of the murder of Dacán without this further mystery concerning these children?"

When Cass looked bewildered, she unbent to tell him of what the boy Cétach had said and of her unfriendly discussion with Salbach.

"I have heard that Salbach is overbearing and arrogantly hot-tempered," Cass confessed. "Perhaps I should have warned you?"

"No. It is best that I made up my own mind."

"Even so, from what you say it appears that he was almost trying to protect Intat from accusation."

"Almost. Maybe he simply wanted proof of the accusations. After all, he had apparently appointed Intat as a magistrate himself."

The bell for the midday meal began to sound.

"Let us forget these mysteries until later," Cass suggested. "The children will probably be at the midday meal anyway. I've never known a child to disappear from a meal. And if they are not there, well, I can look for them this afternoon while you carry on with your investigation."

"That is an excellent suggestion, Cass," Fidelma agreed readily. "I need to question the librarian and the chief professor about the Venerable Dacán's role at Ros Ailithir."

They passed into the refectory hall. Fidelma peered carefully around but saw no sign of the boys, Cétach or Cosrach, nor, for that matter, did she see Sister Eisten. Cass, as he had promised, left the refectory immediately after he had eaten to go in search of them.

It was while Fidelma was passing out of the hall at the end of the meal that she overheard a couple of students hailing a tall, elderly man as Brother Ségán. She halted and examined the chief professor, the fer-leginn of the college. His scrawny, dark, brooding appearance did not seem to match his personality for he greeted the two students with a ready smile and answered their questions with sentences punctuated by a throaty laugh.

Fidelma waited until the proselytes had departed and Brother Ségán was beginning to move off before she saluted him by name.

"Ah, are you Fidelma of Kildare?" Brother Ségán gave her a warm smile and extended a firm hand in greeting. "I had heard that you had arrived here. The Abbot Brocc told me of your coming. I have heard much praise of your judgments in matters of unlawful killing."

"It is about the Venerable Dacán that I wish to speak."

"I thought that it might be so." The lanky professor grinned. "Walk with me," he invited, "and we will talk."

He led the way through an arch and into the walled abbey garden which was called the lúbgort, from the words lúb, a herb, and gort, a fenced-in cultivated plot. Even this late in autumn, various odors pleasantly assailed Fidelma's senses. She always felt at peace in gardens, especially herb gardens, for the scents put her into a tranquil mood. There was no sign of anyone within the enclosure and Brother Sègán led her to a stone seat in a tiny arboretum. On the other side of the arboretum was a well head. A small round stone wall protected it while a wooden beam on pillars supported a rope on which a bucket could be attached.

"They call this Fachtna's holy well," explained Ségán, observing as Fidelma examined the well. "It was the original well of the community when Fachtna chose this site but, alas, the community has far outgrown its supply. There are now other wells in the abbey but, for us, this well remains the sacred well of Fachtna."

He motioned her to be seated.

"Now," he said briskly, "ask away with your questions."

"Did you know Dacán before he came to Ros Ai-lithir?" she began.

Ségán shook his head with a smile.

"I had heard of his great reputation, of course. He was a learned man, an ollamh who was a staruidhe. But if you are asking whether I had ever met the man then I must reply that I had not."

"So he was a professor of history?" Fidelma had no knowledge that Dacán was anything more than a master of divinity.

"Oh yes. History was his speciality," confirmed Sègàn.

"Did you know why Dacán came to Ros Ailithir?"

The chief professor grimaced.

"We do have a reputation, sister," he replied with some amusement. "Among our numerous students are many from the Saxon kingdoms and even from among the Franks not to mention Britons and those from the five kingdoms of Éireann."

"I do not think Dacán came here simply because of the reputation of Ros Ailithir," observed Fidelma candidly. "I think he came here for a specific need."

Ségán reflected for a moment or two.

"Yes, perhaps you are right," he admitted. "Forgive my vanity, for I would like to think that our reputation for learning was the only reason. The simple answer is that he undoubtedly came here to plunder our library for knowledge. For what particular purpose that was, I do not know. You will have to consult our librarian, Sister Grella."

"Did you like Dacán?"

Ségán did not reply immediately, apparently gathering his thoughts. Then he held his head to one side and chuckled softly.

"I do not think 'like' is an appropriate word, sister. I did not dislike him and, in academic terms, we seemed to get along well together."

Fidelma pursed her lips a little.

"That in itself seems unusual," she commented.

"Why so?"

"Because, by those I have already questioned, I have been told that Dacán was universally disliked here. Perhaps that was a motive for murder? I gather that he was austere, cold, unfriendly and an ascetic."

Ségàn now laughed openly, a rich rather comfortable laugh.

"These are hardly attributes for which to condemn a man to hell fire. If we went around killing everyone we disliked then by the time each of us were through there would be no one left to people the earth. Certainly Dacán was not a man possessed of humor, nor was he given to playing the clown. But he was a serious scholar and, as such, I respected him. Yes 'like' is not an exact word but 'respect' is, perhaps, a better term to describe my attitude to him."

"I am told that he taught here as well as studied."

"That is so."

"Presumably he taught history?"

"What else? His interest was in the early stories concerning the coming to Éireann of our forefather Mil Easpain and the Children of the Gael and how Mil's brother Amergin promised the goddess Éire that the land would henceforth be known by her name."

Fidelma was patient.

"That path seems innocuous enough," she commented.

Ségán chuckled again.

"Surely, sister, you were not seriously considering that Dacán was murdered because someone did not like his personality or his interpretation of history?"

"It has been known," replied Fidelma solemnly. "Scholars can be like savage animals when they disagree with one another."

Ségán bowed his head in agreement.

"Yes, we are guilty as charged, sister. Some historians are as trapped in history as history is trapped in them. Dacán was, certainly, a man of his people…"

"What do you mean by that?" queried Fidelma quickly.

"He was a man who was intensely proud of Laigin, that's what I mean. I remember that he and our chief physician, Brother Midach, once…"

He suddenly compressed his lips and looked uneasy.

"Tell me," prompted Fidelma. "Anything, no matter how unimportant, is of value to my investigation."

"I do not want to spread alarm, especially where there is no cause to spread it."

"Truth is always a good cause, chief professor," insisted Fidelma. "Tell me about Brother Midach and Dacán."

"They once had a row in which they nearly came to blows, that is all."

Fidelma's eyes widened.

Here, at last, was something positive.

"What was this fierce argument about?"

"A simple matter of history. That's all. Dacán was boasting about Laigin, as usual. Midach apparently called the men of Laigin no more than foreigners. He claimed that they were simply Gauls who arrived in the province which was then called Galian. The Laigin came as mercenaries to help the banished Labraid Loinseach seize the throne of his uncle Cobhthach. Midach argued that the Gauls carried broad-pointed spears of blue-green iron called laigin and when they had set Labraid on the throne of Galian the kingdom became known by this name—Laigin—after their spears which had won the victory for him."

"I have heard something of that story before," Fidelma confessed. "An innocuous argument, as you say. But I was given to believe that Midach himself was from Laigin?"

"Midach? From Laigin? Whoever told you that? No, Midach is contemptuous of Laigin. But he did come from somewhere along its border. Perhaps that accounts for his prejudice. Yes, that's it. He was from Osraige."

"Osraige?" Fidelma groaned inwardly. Osraige and Laigin! No matter which way one turned there always seemed some connection with Osraige and Laigin. They appeared to permeate this entire mystery.

"Why don't you ask him?" countered the chief professor. "Midach will tell you soon enough."

"So Midach insulted Laigin to Dacán's face," went on Fidelma, without replying to the question. "What did Dacán say to that?"

"He called Midach an ignorant fool and knave. He said the kingdom was older than Muman and that it had taken its name from a Nemedian, the descendant of Magog and Japhet, who had come to this land from Scythia with thirty-two ships. He argued that Liath, son of Laigin, was the hero who founded the kingdom."

"How did such an academic discussion get out of hand?" Fidelma was curious.

"Both argued their case in voluble tones and neither gave way even when the argument transferred into personal abuse. It was only when I and Brother Rumann intervened that each was persuaded to return to his own chambers and take oath not to bring the discussion up again."

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Did you have any clashes with Dacán yourself?"

Sègán shook his head.

"As I said, I respected the man. I left him to run his classes and I think most of his students appreciated his knowledge though, it is true, there were some reports of disharmony and antagonism among a few of them. Abbot Brocc apparently took the disharmony seriously. I think he even asked Brother Conghus to watch that Dacán did not cause serious dissension. But to be truthful, I spent little time with him."

Fidelma reluctantly came to her feet.

"You have been most helpful, chief professor," she said.

Brother Ságán smiled broadly.

"It is little enough. If you have further need of me, anyone will direct you to my college chambers."

Fidelma returned towards the hostel and while crossing the flagged courtyard she came abruptly upon Cass. The warrior's face was tired.

"I have made inquiries and looked everywhere for the two boys, also for Sister Eisten," he greeted Fidelma in disgust. "Unless they are all purposely hiding from us, I would say that they have all left the abbey confines."

Chapter Nine

Sister Grella came as a surprise to Fidelma. She was an attractive woman in her late thirties. Though short in height and inclined to fleshiness, nevertheless she was vivacious in character, with well-kept brown hair and humorous dark eyes. To Fidelma, only a pouting, voluptuous mouth marred her features. She was, at first impression, out of place among the somberness of the abbey, let alone in a library. Yet this was the chief librarian of the abbey. And, in spite of her initial sensual appearance, Sister Grella carried herself in a straight-backed and stately manner, like a queen in the midst of her court. She sat, in an ornately carved oak chair, at the far end of the great library chamber, which was almost as big and as vaulted as the abbey church. It was an impressive building, even by the standards of the great libraries Fidelma had visited elsewhere in the five kingdoms of Éireann.

The books were not kept on shelves but each work was kept in a taig liubhair or book satchel, a leather case which hung on one of a row of pegs along the walls, clearly labeled as to its contents. Fidelma, looking at the impressive collection, was reminded of the story of the death of the saintly Longargán, a most eminent scholar and contemporary of Colmcille. On the night that the Blessed Longargán had died, all the book satchels of Ireland were supposed to have fallen from their pegs as a mark of respect and in symbolism of the loss to learning through his passing.

Most of the books contained in the book satchels were works of reference, frequently consulted by the scholars. But here and there were special works of great value, kept in beautifully ornamented leather covers and embossed with enamels and layers of gold and silver and even studded with precious stones. It was said that Assicos, Patrick's coppersmith, made quadrangular book covers in copper to hold the books of the saintly man. Some of these works were also kept in special cases of wood as well as metal.

Containers of carved wood were used to keep bundles of hazel and aspen wands, on which were cut letters in ancient Ogham, the rods of the poets, but these works were vanishing as the thin rods of wood rotted. Their information was often transferred to the new alphabet and sheets of vellum before they were destroyed.

There were several people in the musty and gloom-shrouded library. In spite of the daylight filtering through the high windows into the Tech Screptra, giant candles, in large wrought-iron stands, were lit. These cast a flickering illumination across the room. The choking atmosphere of the smoke from these candles, thought Fidelma, was hardly conducive to good scholarship. Here and there scribes sat at special tables crouching over sheets of vellum, quills of swan or goose in one hand and a maulstick to support the wrist in the other as they transcribed in elaborate or ornamental fashion some ancient work for posterity. Others sat reading quietly or with occasional sighs and the rustle of the turning page.

Fidelma made her way along the aisles of book satchels and by the various tables of the diligent scholars. No one raised their head as she passed by.

The reflected glint in the dark eyes of Sister Grella showed that the librarian had watched her approach closely. Fidelma came to the head of the hall, where the librarian's chair was placed behind a desk on a dais so that she might overlook the length and breadth of the Tech Screptra.

"Sister Grella? I am…" began Fidelma as she halted before the librarian.

Sister Grella raised a small but shapely hand to silence her. Then she placed a finger across her lips, rose from her seat and gestured towards a side door.

Fidelma interpreted this as an invitation to follow.

On the other side of the door, Fidelma found herself in a small chamber which was filled with shelves of books but with a table and several chairs. There were sheets of vellum on the table and a conical capped ink holder, an adiricin, with a selection of quills and a pen knife for cutting them into nibs. It was obviously a private workroom.

Sister Grella waited until Fidelma had entered and then closed the door behind her and, with another imperial gesture of her hand, pointed to a chair, indicating that Fidelma should be seated. As Fidelma did so, the librarian lowered herself in the same regal posture into a chair facing her.

"I know who you are and why you have come," the librarian said in a soft soprano voice.

Fidelma smiled quizzically at the personable woman.

"In that case, my task will be made that much simpler," she replied.

The librarian arched an eyebrow but she said nothing.

"Have you been librarian at Ros Ailithir a long time?"

Sister Grella was obviously not expecting this question to start with and she frowned.

"I have been leabhar coimedach here for eight years," she replied after a moment's hesitation.

"And before that?" Fidelma pressed.

"I was not at this foundation."

Fidelma had asked merely in order to obtain some background of the librarian but she detected a faint note of suspicion in the other's voice and wondered why.

"Then you must have come here highly recommended to obtain such an important post as librarian without having been trained in this monastery, sister," she commented.

Sister Grella made a dismissive gesture, a cutting motion of her left hand.

"I qualified to the level of sai."

Fidelma knew that to achieve the degree of a sai one had to study at an ecclesiastical school for six years and have a knowledge of scriptures as well as a general knowledge.

"Where did you study?" Her interest was a natural curiosity.

Again, Sister Grella hesitated a little. Then she seemed to make up her mind.

"At the foundation of the Blessed Colmcille known as Cealla."

Fidelma stared at her dumbfounded for a moment.

"Cealla in Osraige?"

"I know of no other," said Grella reprovingly.

"Are you of Osraige then?" That borderland between Muman and Laigin seemed to confront her whatever path she took on this investigation. Fidelma was incredulous of the number of times that the kingdom of Osraige seemed to have connections with Ros Ailithir.

"I was," admitted Sister Grella. "I have yet to see what this has to do with your task. Abbot Brocc informs me that you are a dalaigh come to investigate the death of Dacán of Fearna. But my birthplace and qualifications have surely little to do with that matter?"

Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the other.

The woman had become tense. The veins showed blue against the white skin of the forehead. The mouth was trembling slightly and her facial muscles seemed strained. One shapely hand was toying nervously with the silver crucifix which hung around her neck.

"I am told that the Venerable Dacán spent a considerable portion of his time in the library." Fidelma did not bother to reply to Sister Grella's protest but went straight to her questions about Dacán.

"He was a scholar. The purpose of his visit to Ros Ailithir was to study. Where else should he spend his time?"

"How long was he here?"

"Surely the abbot would have told you that?"

"Two months," Fidelma supplied, realizing that the vivacious-looking librarian was not going to be helpful and that her questions would have to be phrased carefully to extract any information at all from her guarded responses. "And in that two months," Fidelma went on, "he spent most of his time in this library studying. What did he study?"

"He was a scholar of history."

"He was well respected for his knowledge, I know," replied Fidelma patiently. "But what books did he study here?"

"The books that are studied are a matter for the librarian and the scholar," countered Sister Grella woodenly.

Fidelma realized it was time to establish her authority.

"Sister Grella," she said quietly, so softly that the librarian had to bend forward in her chair to catch the words. "I am a dalaigh engaged in the investigation of a murder. I am qualified to the level of anruth. This places certain rights and obligations on any whom I feel that I need to question. I am sure that as a sai you are perfectly aware of those obligations. You will now answer the questions that I put to you without further prevarication."

Sister Grella suddenly sat stiff and upright as Fidelma's voice rose sharply. Her eyes had widened a little, staring in ill-concealed anger at the younger woman. That she was unused to being so roundly rebuked showed by the tinge of red on her cheeks. She swallowed noisily.

"What books did Dacán study here?" repeated Fidelma.

"He… he was interested in the volumes we have which applied to the history of… of Osraige."

Osraige yet again! Fidelma gazed at the now impassive face of the librarian.

"Osraige? Why would an abbey in the land of the Corco Loigde have books on a kingdom that lies many miles from here?"

For the first time Sister Grella's lips twisted into a smile of superiority. It made her look coarse.

"Obviously, Fidelma of Kildare, in spite of your qualification in law, you have little knowledge of the history of this land."

Fidelma shrugged indifferently.

"Everyone is a beginner at another's trade. I am content with law and leave the profession of history to historians. Enlighten me if there is something I need to know of this matter."

"Two hundred years ago there was a chieftain of the Osraige named Lugne. He visited this land of the Corco Loigde and met the chieftain's daughter named Liadán. For a while they dwelt together on an island off the coast here. A son was born to them whom they named

Ciarán and he became one of the great apostles of the Faith in Ireland."

Fidelma had followed the recital with care.

"I have read the story of the birth of the Blessed Ciarán which tells how his mother Liadàn was sleeping one night and a star fell from heaven into her mouth and after this she became pregnant."

The librarian was sharply indignant.

"Storytellers like to embellish their tales with fantasy but the truth, as I tell you, was that Ciarán's father was Lugne of Osraige."

"I do not mean to argue," Fidelma mollified her, "just that the stories of the great apostles of Ireland are manifold."

"I am telling you of the connection between Osraige and the Corco Lofgde," replied the librarian sourly. "Do you want to know it or not?"

"Continue then."

"When Ciarán grew to manhood, his father having died, he set off first to convert the people of his father's kingdom to the new Faith. At that time, two hundred years ago, the majority still had not heard the Word of Christ. He converted Osraige and he is known as its patron saint, even though he chose to site his community at Saighir, which is just north of its border. This is why he is known as Ciarán of Saighir."

Fidelma knew this very well but this time held her tongue.

"I accept that Ciarán had a father from Osraige and a mother from Corco Loigde. Is this what Dacán was studying? A life of Ciarán?"

"The point is that when Ciarán went to bring the Faith to the Osraige he also took many followers from the Corco Loigde including his own widowed mother, Liadán, who founded a community of religieuse not far from Saighir. And with those followers he took his closest friend and relative, Cúcraide mac Dui, who, after Ciarán had defeated the pagan king of the Osraige, was made king in his stead."

Fidelma was now suddenly interested in the story.

"So this is how the kings of the Osraige were chosen from the same family as the chieftains of the Corco Loigde?"

"Exactly. For two hundred years the Osraige have been ruled by the family of the chieftains of the Corco Loigde. This rule has often been considered unjust. During the last hundred years several kings of the Osraige, from Corco Loigde, have met their death from their people, such as Feradach who was slain in his bed."

"And Salbach's cousin Scandlán is also from the Corco Loigde?"

"Just so."

"Is there still a conflict over the kingship?"

"There will always be conflict until Osraige is able to reestablish its own line of kings."

There was a slight vehemence in Grella's voice which did not pass unnoticed.

"Was this why Dacán was interested in studying the connections between Osraige and Corco Loigde?"

Grella was immediately on her guard once more.

"He studied our texts on the history of Osraige and its petty kings, that is all I know."

Fidelma sighed deeply in exasperation.

"Come; it is surely logical? Dacán was of Laigin. Laigin has long held claims over Osraige. Perhaps Laigin was interested in placing the native kings of Osraige back in power if those kings turned their allegiance from Cashel to Laigin? Perhaps that is why Dacán was interested in the history of the kingship?"

Grella flushed and her mouth tightened.

Fidelma realized that she had been right and that Grella knew precisely what the old scholar had been studying.

"Dacán was sent here by Fianamail the new king of Laigin, or by his own brother Abbot Noé of Fearna, who is the advisor to the new king, to gather the background on the kingship of Osraige so that a case might be presented against the Corco Loigde before the High King's assembly. Surely that is so?"

Grella remained silent, staring defiantly at Fidelma.

Fidelma abruptly smiled at the librarian.

"You are placed in an awkward position, Grella. As a woman of Osraige, knowing this, you seem to indicate a support for the dispossessed native kings. But I think it is now clear why the Venerable Dacán had come to Ros Ailithir. So why was he killed? To prevent that knowledge being taken back to Laigin?"

Sister Grella's expression did not alter.

"Come, speak, Grella," insisted Fidelma. "We are all entitled to our opinions. You are a woman of Osraige. You doubtless have an opinion. If you supported the return of the native kings then it would also mean that you had no motive to kill Dacán."

Grella's eyes suddenly flashed angrily.

"I? I, kill Dacán? How dare you suggest…" She bit her lip and attempted to control her anger. Then she spoke quietly. "Yes, of course I have an opinion. Ciarán's legacy hangs like a millstone around our necks. But I am no revolutionary to change things."

Fidelma sat back. She found that she had taken a step forward but it had produced many new mysteries and puzzles.

"So you provided Dacán with all the ancient texts he needed to help him gather this information for the new king of Laigin to lay a fresh claim for the return of Osraige before the High King?"

Sister Grella did not bother to reply but another thought struck Fidelma.

"Dacán was studying the texts and making notes to prepare a report to take back to Laigin, wasn't he?"

"I have admitted as much."

"Then where did he keep all the notes and writings that he made?"

Sister Grella grimaced.

"In his chamber at the hostel, I presume."

"Would it surprise you to know there were only a few plain sheets of vellum, some writing materials, and nothing else except…"

Fidelma drew from her robe the short hazel wand she had found discarded in Dacán's chamber.

Grella took it, turning it over and examining the lettering.

"It is part of the 'Song of Mugain' who was daughter of Cucraide mac Dui, the first Corco Loigde king of Osraige. It lists part of the genealogy of the native kings of Osraige. I did not even know it was missing."

She rose from her chair and went to a corner of the chamber and started to look through containers in which bunches of rods were held. She found one and peered through, making clucking sounds with her tongue.

"Yes; it is a wand from this collection."

"It is in a curious style, more like a will than a genealogy," Fidelma pointed out.

Grella's eyes narrowed.

"Do you understand Ogham?" she demanded sharply.

"I do."

"Well, it is not a will." Grella's voice was querulous. "The symbolism is that of a poem."

"It would seem that Dacán had taken these wands back to his own chamber to transcribe and when he returned them he forgot one of the rods which had fallen to the floor in his room. Would that be a usual thing, his taking material to his chamber?"

Grella shook her head.

"Unusual. Dacán did not work in that way. He did not want anyone to know what he was working on and so he did not usually remove any material from the Tech Screptra. Usually he worked in this very chamber we now sit in. This is my private study as librarian. Nothing was ever removed from this room."

"Then someone did remove at least one of the rods of this 'Son of Mugain,' " Fidelma pointed out. "How else could it have been found in Dacán's chamber?"

"I can make no answer to that question."

"And are you saying that he never left his notes or writings here in the library?"

Sister Grella sat stiffly before her.

"I can assure you that I know nothing of that matter."

"Did you know Assi'd, the merchant?"

The change of tack was so abrupt that Sister Grella asked her to repeat the question.

"I saw him at the evening meal on the night of Dacán's death," Sister Grella replied. "What has this man to do with the matter?"

"Did you observe if Dacán knew Assi'd?"

There was no reaction on Grella's features.

"Assi'd was from Laigin. Most people knew, or at least knew of, Dacán in that kingdom."

"I believe that it was Assi'd who must have taken the news of Dacán's death directly to Fearna," Fidelma continued. "The news of his death traveled swiftly and only a fast sailing barc, taking the coastal route, could have reached Fearna in such a time."

"I could not make a comment on that."

"Well, could it be that Assi'd might have taken Dacán's notes with him?"

"Are you saying that Assi'd stole them?" demanded Grella. She did not seem surprised nor outraged.

"It is a possible explanation."

"Possible, yes," agreed Sister Grella. "But you are surely implying that Assi'd killed Dacán?"

"I have not reached such a conclusion yet."

Fidelma rose from her seat.

Sister Grella regarded her impassively.

"Such an explanation would allow the king at Cashel to wriggle off the hook of responsibility."

Fidelma looked down at her with a trace of a smile.

"How so?"

"Why, if Dacán was killed by a man of Laigin then the Laigin claim for Osraige as Dacán's honor price would become irrelevant, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly so," agreed Fidelma solemnly.

She turned and left Sister Grella still seated in her chair and walked back through the stillness of the Tech Screptra, amid the sighing breaths, rustle of vellum leaves and scratching of quills.

A figure caught her eye among the racks bearing the book satchels. The figure attracted attention mainly because it was obvious that it did not wish to be observed by her, Had it been examining the books she might not have taken any notice. But the figure was so ostentatiously trying to look like an earnest reader in the library that it was immediately worthy of a second glance. Well, if the figure so obviously did not want to be seen by her, Fidelma reasoned that she should not give notice that she had spotted it.

It was the young, eager Sister Necht.

Outside the gloomy, candle-lit Tech Screptra, the day had turned chill, the storm clouds suddenly bunching up from the west again, bringing a slow drizzling rain with them.

Fidelma groaned softly and began to hurry towards the hostel.

In the entrance chamber Brother Rumann had ensured that a slow-burning fire had been lit in the great hearth. Fidelma was glad of its warmth, for the weather was truly disheartening. She wondered if Sister Eisten or the children had reappeared yet and made her way along to their chambers. The doors were open but the chambers stood empty.

Fidelma compressed her lower lip a moment. She realized that not only were the children's chambers empty but there was no sign that they had ever been occupied.

Frowning, Fidelma hurried along the corridor to the chamber which Brother Rumann used as his officium.

The plump cenobite was seated before his brandubh board apparently working out some moves.

He glanced up in surprise as Fidelma entered after only the briefest of knocks.

"Ah, it is you, sister." His face wreathed in a smile and he glanced down at the board. "Have you come to challenge me to that match we spoke of?"

Fidelma gave a quick negative shake of her head.

"Not for the moment, Brother Rumann. I am more interested in where the children are."

"The children?"

"The children of Rae na Serine."

His face seemed to reshape itself as if bewildered.

"Why, the children were taken to Brother Midach after the midday meal. Did you want to see them before they left?"

"Left? For where?"

"Brother Midach was going to give them a final examination, to ensure that there were no signs of the plague, and then Sister Afbnat was to take them to the orphanage along the coast which is cared for by the good sister and Brother Molua. I think that they must have left by now."

"Have they all gone?"

"I think so, sister. Brother Midach would know."

Fidelma found herself hurrying in search of the abbey's chief physician.

Brother Midach turned out to have the rounded features of an entertainer rather than those commonly associated with a physician. They were certainly in keeping with Fidelma's general prejudice that all physicians were possessed of humor, for they were creased with many laughter lines. He was balding, so it was hard to see where his tonsure began and what was natural baldness. His lips were thin, the eyes warmly brown and humorous and there was a careless stubble on his cheeks.

Fidelma entered his chambers without knocking. The physician was alone, apparently engaged in mixing some herbs. He glanced up with a frown.

"I am Fidelma of Kildare," she began.

The physician examined her carefully before replying, but did not pause in what he was doing.

"My colleague, Brother Tola, has spoken of you. Are you seeking him?"

"No. I am told that you examined the children from Rae na Serine this afternoon. Is that so?"

The physician raised his dark, bushy eyebrows.

"That is so. The abbot thought it was best to send them on directly to the care of Brother Molua, who has a house along the coast and cares for orphans. Sister Afbnat was instructed to take them there. I was asked to examine them to see if they were fit."

Fidelma showed her disappointment.

"So they have all gone?"

Midach nodded absently as he continued to pulp leaves by grinding his pestle in a mortar.

"We have no facilities for children here," he explained in a conversational tone. "The two little girls were very healthy," he smiled. "And the sooner the young boy, Tressach, is with others of his kind, the happier he will be. Yes, they will be better off in the house of Molua."

Fidelma was about to turn for the door when she hesitated and frowned at the chief physician.

"You say nothing of the two brothers—Cétach and Cosrach?"

Midach raised his head from the mortar, his eyes suddenly dark and fathomless.

"What two brothers?" he demanded. "There were two sisters…"

"The black-haired boys," she interrupted impatiently.

Midach pulled a doleful face.

"I know nothing of any black-haired boys. I was asked to examine the two girls and a young lad of eight years old."

"You saw nothing of a boy of fourteen and one of ten or so?"

Midach shook his head in mystification.

"Don't tell me that Brother Rumann has made some mistake and there were two other lads to be sent to Molua? I certainly have not seen them…"

Fidelma was already gone hurrying back to the hostel.

Brother Rumann started in surprise as Fidelma burst in on him again.

"The two black-haired boys," she demanded. "Cétach and Cosrach. Where are they?"

Brother Rumann regarded her with a woebegone expression then glanced down at his brandubh board. The pieces had been spilled from their positions, apparently by his jerk of surprise when Fidelma had burst through the door.

"Really, sister. A little patience. I had almost worked out a new ploy. A wonderful means of…"

He paused, observing, for the first time, her agitated expression.

"Is something the matter?"

"I am asking you where the two black-haired boys are—Cétach and Cosrach."

Brother Rumann began to slowly gather the scattered pieces and replace them on the brandubh board.

"Sister Afbnat was told to take all the children to Brother Midach and, if he said that they were healthy enough, then she was to set out for the house of Molua along the coast."

"Brother Midach says that he saw only the two little girls, Ciar and Cera, and the boy of about eight years whose name was Tressach. What has happened to the other two boys?"

Brother Rumann climbed to his feet with an expression of annoyance, his hands clutching the brandubh pieces.

"Are you sure that they did not go with Sister Afbnat?" he asked incredulously.

"Brother Midach knows nothing about them," replied Fidelma with an air of exaggerated patience.

"Then where can they have hidden themselves? Stupid, willful little children. They should have gone with Sister Aibnat. Now it means that a second journey will have to be made to take them to Molua's orphanage."

"When did you last see them?"

"I can't remember. Perhaps when Salbach arrived here. I recall that young Sister Necht was talking to them in their room. The order for the children to be sent to the orphanage came from Brocc shortly afterwards."

"Is there anywhere obvious that they would have hidden themselves?" Fidelma asked, remembering how afraid Cétach had been of Salbach. Could he and his brother have hidden somewhere, waiting for Salbach to leave the abbey? Could they be remaining in hiding not realizing that he had already left?

"There are many hiding places," Rumann assured her. "But don't worry, sister. It will soon be vespers and the bell and hunger will draw them out of their hiding place."

Fidelma was unconvinced.

"It was thought the bell for the midday meal would lure them out for food. If you see Sister Eisten, tell her that I would like to see her."

Brother Rumann nodded absently, turning his attention back to the brandubh game. He slowly began to reassemble the pieces on the board.

Back in her chamber Fidelma stretched exhausted on her cot. She wished she had told Brocc that she wanted the children from Rae na Serine to remain at the abbey until she had resolved the mystery. It had not occurred to her that he would have them removed so soon. For every mystery solved there were new ones to be confronted.

Why had the young boy Cétach pleaded with her not to mention him or his brother, Cosrach, to Salbach? Why had the boys then vanished? Why was Salbach so reluctant to believe her charge against Intat? And had any of these matters a connection with the death of Dacán, which mystery was her main task to solve?

She gave a snort of frustration as she lay on her back with hands clasps behind her head.

So far, there was little that made sense in this investigation. Oh, there were a couple of theories that she could develop but the old Brehon Morann had warned against creating theories before all the evidence was in. What was his favorite saying? "Do not make the cheese until you have first milked the cows." Yet she was acutely aware of the rapid passing of her greatest enemy—time.

She wondered how her brother, Colgu, must be feeling now that he was king of Muman. She felt anxiety for her elder brother.

There would be little time to mourn the dead king, Cathal mac Cathail, their cousin. The main thing now was to prevent the impending war. And that great responsibility rested entirely with her.

She found herself wishing once again that Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham was here with her so that she could discuss her ideas and suspicions with him. Then she felt somehow guilty for the thought and did not know why.

The sound of a door banging abruptly caused her to sit up. She could hear heavy footsteps running across the stone-flagged floor below and then ascending the steps to the second floor of the hostel. Such footsteps did not augur well. By the time the steps reached her door and halted she had swung off her cot and stood facing the door.

It was Cass who came pushing through the door, after a cursory knocking. He was breathing hard from his exertions.

He pulled up sharply in the middle of her chamber and stood with heaving shoulders facing her.

"Sister Fidelma!" He had to pause to recover his breath.

She stared at him, wondering what had made the young warrior so agitated. She quickly worked out that he would have to run a distance over a difficult path to arrive in such a condition. A warrior, such as he, did not lose breath so easily.

"Well, Cass?" she asked quietly. "What is it?"

"Sister Eisten. She has been found."

Fidelma read what was in his eyes.

"Has she been found dead?" she asked softly.

"She has!" confirmed Cass grimly.

Chapter Ten

The body lay by the water's edge on the sandy beach below the abbey walls. It was already dusk but a group of fishermen and several members of the religious community had gathered around with morbid curiosity. Several of them were holding brand torches which illuminated the scene. Fidelma followed Cass towards the group. She observed that Brother Midach was already there, bending to examine the body. There was a middle-aged brother with a nervous, consumptive cough, holding a lantern for Midach to work by. Fidelma assumed that this was the apothecary, Brother Martan. The physician had obviously been summoned by those who had found the young anchoress. Fidelma thought he looked visibly shaken in the flickering light.

"Clear some of these people back," Fidelma instructed Cass quietly, "excepting those who actually found the body."

She bent down by Brother Midach and stared over his shoulder.

Sister Eisten's clothes were waterlogged. Her hair was plastered to her head by sea-water and across her pale, plump white face. Her features looked twisted in the anguish of a violent death. Her magnificent ornate cross was still fastened firmly around her bruised, fleshy neck.

"Not a pleasant sight," Midach grunted, noticing Fidelma at his side for the first time. "Keep the lantern high, Martan," he added quickly, in an aside to the apothecary.

"Violent death never is," murmured Fidelma. "Did she commit suicide?"

Midach stared thoughtfully at Fidelma for a moment and shook his head negatively.

"What makes you ask that question?"

"She had a shock when Rae na Serine was destroyed. I think she might have blamed herself. She went into a malaise when the young baby she had saved died soon afterwards. I saw her this morning and she did not seem truly recovered. Also, it was clearly no attack made in robbery for she still wears a valuable crucifix."

"A good logic, but no; no, I do not think that she committed suicide."

Fidelma examined the physician's assured features quickly and asked: "What makes you say so?"

Brother Midach bent forward and turned the dead girl's head slightly, instructing Brother Martan to bring the lantern closer so that the area could be clearly seen.

Fidelma could see a gaping wound on the back of the skull. Even an immersion in the sea had not washed the blood from it.

"She was attacked from behind?"

"Someone hit her on the back of the head," confirmed Midach. "Only after that blow was her body dumped into the sea."

"Murder then?"

Brother Midach sighed deeply.

"I can come to no other conclusion. There is not only the evidence of the blow on the back of the head. If you have a strong stomach, sister, look at her hands and arms."

Fidelma did so. The wounds and burn marks spoke for themselves.

They were not self-inflicted.

"No. She was bound and tortured before she was killed. Look at those marks around her wrists. They are the marks of a rope. After she was killed, the killer must have untied the bonds and thrown her into the sea."

Stunned, Fidelma stared at the body of the tragic young woman.

"With your permission, brother…" She bent forward and took the cold hands of the dead woman and examined them, looking carefully at the fingers and nails. Brother Midach regarded her with curiosity. Fidelma grimaced with disenchantment.

"I was hoping that she might have been able to fight her attacker and grasp something which might have given us some clue," she explained.

"No. The final blow came probably without her even suspecting it," Midach said. "She would have been placed with her back to her attacker in order for him to deliver that blow."

"Him?" queried Fidelma sharply.

Midach shrugged diffidently.

"Or her, if you like. Though I would not think it likely that a woman could do such a thing."

Fidelma's lips thinned a moment but she made no comment.

Brother Midach stood up, dusting the sand from his robe. He motioned Martan and another brother forward from the shadows and instructed them to carry the body to the abbey.

"I'll have the body taken to the mortuarium and report this matter to the abbot."

"Tell the abbot that I shall speak with him shortly," Fidelma said, also rising and looking towards the small group of people who had been pushed a little further away by Cass.

"Do you think this has some connection with the death of the Venerable Dacán?" Midach paused and glanced back to her across his shoulder.

"That I hope to discover," replied Fidelma.

Midach grimaced and, with Brother Martan hurrying behind him with the lantern, strode back towards the abbey gates.

Fidelma moved across to a group, some of whom now seemed reluctant to be involved for several of them began to sidle away. Cass had obtained a lantern to illuminate the proceedings.

"Who found the body?" Fidelma demanded, looking from one face to another.

She saw two elderly fishermen exchange glances of alarm by the light of their brand torches.

"There is no need to be fearful, my friends," Fidelma reassured them. "All I want to know is where and how you found the body."

One of the fishermen, a ruddy-faced, middle-aged man, shuffled forward.

"My brother and I found it, sister." He spoke in an uncertain, hesitant tone.

"Tell me how?" Fidelma invited in as gentle voice as she could.

"We were out in the bay, near the Laigin warship, and decided to give our nets one more cast before the dusk was upon us. As we trawled our nets we thought we had made a great catch but when we dragged the nets into the boat we saw…" he genuflected fearfully "… we saw the body of the sister there."

"How close were you to the Laigin ship?" Fidelma asked.

"The Laigin ship sits at the entrance of the inlet but it's deep water there and one of the winter feeding grounds of haddock in these parts. Plenty of sea worms and shellfish there for them." The fisherman suddenly spat in disgust. "Then that warship comes along and sits right over the fishing ground."

Fidelma looked sympathetic.

"I understand. So you and your brother moved as close as you could to the warship in order to fish?"

"We did that. We were a few yards off when we netted the poor sister. We brought the body straight back to the shore and raised the alarm."

Cass, who was standing by her shoulder holding his lantern high, bent forward.

"Could it be that she was thrown from the Laigin ship?" he whispered.

Fidelma ignored him for the moment and turned back to the fishermen, who continued to watch her uneasily.

"What are the currents like in the bay?" she asked.

One of them rubbed his chin reflectively.

"At the moment we have an inshore tide. The currents are strong around the rocks though. They sweep all around that headland among the rocks."

"What you are telling me is that the body could have been cast into the sea at any point along that headland."

"Or even on the other side of the headland, sister, and swept around into this inlet."

"And at this time a body would tend to get washed inshore here rather than seaward?" pressed Fidelma.

"That it would," agreed the fisherman readily.

"Very well, you may go now," Fidelma said. Then she raised her voice. "You may all disperse to your homes now."

The small group of morbid onlookers began to break up, almost unwillingly now, in obedience to her command.

Cass was standing peering suspiciously into the darkness across the bay. Fidelma followed his gaze. There were lights flickering on the warship.

"Can you row a boat, Cass?" Fidelma demanded abruptly.

The warrior swung round. She could not quite see his expression in the shadows.

"Of course," he replied. "But…"

"I think it is high time that we paid the Laigin warship a visit."

"Is it wise? If Sister Eisten was murdered and thrown from the ship…?"

"We have no proof nor any reasonable suspicion to that effect," Fidelma replied calmly. "Come, let us find a boat."

The tolling of the bell for vespers caused her to pause.

Cass shifted the lantern so that the light fell momentarily on his face. He looked woebegone.

"We shall miss the evening meal," he protested.

Fidelma chuckled grimly.

"I am sure that we will find something later to keep the great starvation at bay. Now let's find that boat."

Fidelma sat in the stern of the small boat holding the lantern aloft as Cass leant into the oars, propelling the small craft across the dark, hissing waters of the inlet towards the great shadow and twinkling lights of the Laigin warship. As they drew nearer, she could see that there were several lanterns illuminating the deck of the sleek-looking vessel. There were signs of men moving here and there.

They were within a few yards when a voice challenged their approach.

"Respond," muttered Fidelma, as Cass hesitated at the oars.

"Laigin ship, ahoy!" called the warrior. "A dálaigh of the court of the Brehons demands to come aboard."

There were several seconds of silence before the same voice that had hailed them responded.

"Come aboard and welcome."

Cass brought the small craft alongside, under a rope ladder which led up to the side rail. A rope was thrown down for Cass to make the boat secure while Fidelma swung agilely up the ladder and over the rail.

She found half a dozen tough-looking men waiting on the deck and staring at her in surprise.

She heard Cass climbing up behind her. A man with indistinguishable features came forward with the rolling gait of a seaman and stared from Fidelma to Cass. Then he fixed his eyes on Cass.

"What do you want, dálaigh?" he demanded roughly.

Fidelma hissed in irritation.

"It is me whom you should address," she snapped. "I am Sister Fidelma of Kildare, dálaigh of the court of the Brehons."

The man turned in astonishment which he hastily checked.

"From Kildare, eh? Do you represent Laigin?"

Fidelma was annoyed by the complication that her foundation of Kildare was actually situated in the kingdom of Laigin.

"No. I am of the community of Kildare but I represent the kingdom of Muman in this business."

The sailor shuffled his feet a little.

"Sister, I do not wish to appear inhospitable, but this is a warship of the king of Laigin, acting under his orders. I do not see that you have any business here."

"Then let me remind you of the Laws of the Sea," Fidelma replied slowly, with careful emphasis. She wished she had a greater knowledge but was banking on the sailor having a lesser knowledge than her own. "Firstly, I am a dálaigh investigating the crime of murder. Secondly, your ship, even though it is a ship of Laigin, lies at anchor in a bay of Muman. It has not sought the permission or hospitality of Muman."

"You are wrong sister," came the voice of the sailor; his triumphant tones were undisguised. "We lie at anchor here with the full permission of Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loigde."

Fidelma was glad that the light of the lanterns did not fall directly on her face. She swallowed in her total astonishment. Was it true that Salbach had given permission to the Laigin ship to intimidate the abbey of Ros Ailithir? What could this mean? She would certainly not discover if she were forced to leave like a whipped cur with its tail between its legs. A bluff was worth trying. What was it the Brehon Morann had once said? "Without a degree of deception, no great enterprise can ever be concluded."

"The chieftain of the Corco Loigde may well have given you permission but that permission is not legal without the approval of the king at Cashel."

"Cashel is many miles away, sister," sneered the sailor. "What the king of Cashel does not know, he cannot rule upon."

"But I am here. I am the sister of Colgu, king of Cashel. And I can speak in my brother's name."

There was a silence as the sailor digested this. She heard him exhale his breath slowly.

"Very well, lady," replied the man, with a little more respect in his voice. "What do you seek here?"

"I seek to talk to the captain of this vessel in private."

"I am the captain," the man replied. "Come aft to my cabin."

Fidelma glanced at Cass.

"Wait for me here, Cass. I shall not be long."

The warrior looked unhappy in the light of the swinging deck lanterns.

The sailor led the way to the stern of the vessel and conducted her to a cabin below deck. It was small, crowded and smelt strongly of a man living in a confined space, body odors permeated together with the stench of the oil lamps and other smells which she could not place. For a moment or two she regretted not conducting her business on the deck in the fresh air but she did not want to let the eager ears of the sailors and warriors hear what she had to discuss.

"Lady," invited the captain, indicating the only chair in the small crowded cabin while he himself sprawled on the end of a bunk.

Fidelma lowered herself gently into the cramped wooden seat.

"You have the advantage of me, captain," Fidelma began. "You know my name, yet I do not know your name."

The sailor grinned easily.

"Mugrón. A fitting name for a sailor."

Fidelma found herself answering his smile. The name meant "lad of the seals." Then she brought her thoughts back to the matter in hand.

"Well, Mugrón, I would firstly like to know the purpose of your presence in the inlet of Ros Ailithir."

Mugron waved a hand as if to encompass his surroundings.

"I am here at the request of my king, Fianamail of Laigin."

"That does not explain matters. Do you come in peace or war?"

"I came to deliver a message to Brocc, abbot of Ros Ailithir, telling him that my king holds him responsible for the death of his cousin, the Venerable Dacán."

"You have delivered the message. What do you seek here now?"

"I am to wait to ensure that, when the time comes, Brocc answers to his responsibility. My king would not like him to vanish from Ros Ailithir until the High King's assembly meets at Tara. My king's Brehon has told us that this is within the law of distraint. As I said, we also have the permission of Salbach to anchor here."

Fidelma realized, dredging some half-forgotten law from her memory, that under this pretext the ship of Mugron was acting legally. In legal terms the ship was anchored outside the abbey in order to force Brocc to concede his responsibility for the death of Dacán, even though his hand did not commit the deed itself, and until proof was offered that he was not responsible the ship could sit there. The law went further and entitled the Abbot Noé, as closest relative to Dacán, to make a ritual fast against Brocc until culpability was admitted.

"You delivered a message to Brocc when you arrived here. Was that the official apad—the notice of this act?"

"It was," agreed Mugrón. "It was done according to the instruction of the Brehon of my king."

Fidelma compressed her lips angrily.

She should have realized the situation sooner when she saw the bunch of twisted branches of osiers and aspens hanging at the gate of the abbey. This withe, as it was called, was the sign of a distraint against a monastic superior. It was a long time since she had had recourse to the text known as Di Chetharshlicht Athgabála setting out the complex rituals and law on distraint. What she did remember was that she was allowed to make three mistakes in the law without fine because it was so complex. She conceded that her first mistake was in her lapse of memory of the law of distraint.

The weather-beaten face of the sailor creased cynically as he saw the expression on her face.

"The king of Laigin places the law above all things, lady," he said with gentle emphasis.

"It is the law that I shall speak to you about, now that I know your purpose here," Fidelma replied spiritedly.

"What would a simple sailor, such as I, know about the law?" countered Mugrón. "I do as I am told."

"You have admitted that you are here as an instrument of the law, instructed by the Brehon of your king," Fidelma responded quickly. "You know enough law for that."

Mugrón's eyes widened at the way she refused to be intimidated and then he grinned.

"Very well. Of what would you speak?"

"A sister of the Faith was pulled out of the water near your ship a short while ago. She was dead."

"One of my men reported the incident to me," agreed Mugrón. "It happened just before nightfall. Two fisherman had snared the body in their nets. They rowed it to the shore."

"You appear to keep a careful watch on this ship. Did none of your crew see anything suspicious? No sign of the body being put into the sea from the rocks on that headland?"

"Nothing was seen by us. We have little to do with the shore except, with the approval of Salbach, we trade for fresh meat and vegetables with some of the local people."

"And the sister was never on board this ship?"

Mugrón's face colored with annoyance.

"Sister Eisten was not on board this ship," he snapped. "Who claims that she was is a liar!"

Fidelma felt a sudden excitement at his response.

"And how did you know her name was Eisten? I did not mention it." There was granite in her voice.

Mugrón blinked.

"You…"

She interrupted him with a gesture.

"Do not play games with me, Mugrón. How did you know her name? It is the truth that I want."

Mugrón raised his arms in a helpless gesture.

"Very well, the entire truth it shall be. But I have no wish to place my life and ship in danger. Let us keep this matter between us for the time being."

"There will be no danger so long as the truth is told," affirmed Fidelma.

Mugrón rose from his seat, went to the cabin door and called out the name, "Midnat." He returned to his seat and an elderly, bearded man entered a moment later and raised his knuckles to his forehead. He was grizzled and tanned of face and his hair was a dirty, graying color.

"Tell the sister here your name and the position that you hold on this vessel. Then tell her what happened to you when you went ashore today."

The elderly man turned to Fidelma and bobbed his head, drawing back his lips from toothless gums.

"I am Midnat, lady. I am the cook for this vessel. I went ashore today to buy fresh vegetables and oats for the crew."

"At what time was this?"

"Just as the bell for the midday meal was being struck at the abbey."

"Tell Sister Fidelma what happened," interrupted Mugrón. "Exactly as you told me."

The old man glanced at him in surprise.

"About the… ?"

"Get on with it, man," snapped Mugrón. "Tell her everything."

The old man raised a hand and wiped it over his mouth and chin.

"Well, I am returning to my boat. I've bought the vegetables, you see. So, I am going back… well, this sister hails me and asks me whether my captain will be prepared to take two passengers on a voyage."

"She said two passengers?" queried Fidelma. "What exactly did she say?"

"Like that: 'Hey, sailor, do you come from that oceangoing ship?' she says. I nods. 'How much will your captain charge for the passage for two to Britain or Gaul?' Then I realize that she has mistaken me for someone off the Frankish ship yonder. The big merchant ship. She offers, she says, two screpall for the passage."

Fidelma stared at him in astonishment.

"The sister offered such valuable silver coins?"

Midnat nodded emphatically.

"I says: 'Would that I could take it, sister, but I am just the cook from the Laigin warship there. For passage out of this land you need to contact a sailor from the Frankish merchantman at anchor on the other side of the inlet.' No sooner have I said that, then she steps back with a hand to her mouth and eyes wide as if I am the devil incarnate. And she turns and runs away."

The man paused and waited, watching Fidelma's face.

"Is that all?" Fidelma was disappointed.

"It was enough," confirmed Midnat.

"She disappeared and you did not see her again?"

"She runs off along the seashore. I returns to my ship. Then a short while ago, just as dusk is about to descend there's a commotion. I goes on deck to see what it's about. Not far off there's a couple of local fishermen hauling a body out of the water. It's this same sister that offers me the money for a passage."

Fidelma glanced up sharply.

"It was dusk, nearly dark. How could you be sure it was the same sister?"

"There's enough light," said the old cook, "and the body of the sister is wearing a curious cross around its neck. Distinctive enough for me to know that I have not seen another except worn by the sister who asks about the passage to Britain or Gaul."

It was right enough, thought Fidelma. Eisten's Roman cross was fairly distinctive in these parts. But she decided to make certain.

"Curious? In what way?"

"It's a cross without a circle."

"Ah, you mean a Roman cross?" Fidelma pressed.

"I don't know. If you say it is," replied the other diffidently. "But it's large and ornate and with some jewels worth a king's ransom encrusted on it."

It was not surprising that the old sailor might mistake the semi-precious stones for jewels of great wealth. The identification, though tenuous, was enough to convince her of the accuracy of what the man had said.

"That will be all, Midnat," Mugrón dismissed the sailor.

The old cook raised his knuckles to his forehead once more in a farewell salute and left the cabin.

"Well?" asked Mugrón, "does this testimony satisfy you?"

"No, it doesn't," Fidelma replied calmly. "For you still have not explained how you knew the actual name of this unfortunate woman."

Mugron shrugged dismissively.

"Well, there is no great secret in that. I told you that we had the permission of Salbach to anchor here and pursue our distraint against Brocc of Ros Ailithir."

Fidelma nodded.

"When we came here just over a week ago, on instruction of our king's Brehon we went straight to Salbach's fortress at Cuan Dóir to ask his permission."

"And so?" prompted Fidelma, not understanding where Mugrón was leading her.

"At Cuan Ddir I was introduced to this Sister Eisten. When Midnat came to me and described this sister, with her strange crucifix, saying that it was the same sister who was seeking passage, I remembered the crucifix and her name."

"So you are sure that Sister Eisten was at Salbach's fortress a week ago?" Fidelma felt confused by the apparent ceaseless twists the path of this investigation kept taking.

"Indeed. Cuan Dóir lies in the next bay, so not far from here. Why do you seem surprised that she would be there?"

Fidelma did not attempt an explanation.

"There is one thing I would like you to do, Mugrón," she said to the captain of the Laigin warship. "That is, I want you to accompany me to the abbey and make sure that the body of Sister Eisten is the same person as the sister you saw at Salbach's fortress. I want to be absolutely sure."

Mugrón was hesitant.

"Well, I suppose a trip ashore will be better than sitting on this tub buffeted by the seas. Yet I cannot understand what relevance the death of this tragic young woman has to do with the killing of Dacán? Surely that is the more important matter with which you should be concerned?"

He saw the look in Fidelma's eye and raised a hand in placation.

"Yes, yes, Sister Fidelma. I'll come with you but you, as dálaigh, must ensure that no indignity will be done to me by any followers of the Abbot Brocc."

"That I can assure you," Fidelma confirmed.

"Then it is agreed."

"There is another thing," Fidelma said, reaching forward to stay him as Mugrón prepared to rise to his feet.

"Which is?"

"You said that you were introduced to Sister Eisten. Why was that?"

"It was while we were awaiting the arrival of Salbach in the feasting hall that I saw this young religieuse. I was interested in the cross she wore because it was not like the crucifixes worn by our native religious. I could get a good trade for such a cross in Laigin."

"It is true," confirmed Fidelma. "The crucifix was obtained in Bethlehem, for Sister Eisten went on a three-year pilgrimage to the Holy Birthplace of the Christ."

"Exactly as she told me at the time, sister," agreed the captain. "I was told that everyone asks about it. I had asked Sister Eisten's companion to introduce me to assure her that I could be trusted. Alas, the sister valued her cross too much to trade it."

"Who introduced you?" frowned Fidelma. "You have implied that you knew this companion of Sister Eisten."

Mugrón was without any guile.

"Oh yes. Of course I knew her. I had met her when I visited Fearna in the service of the old king. And she recognized me right enough. I was astonished that a lady of Laigin was to be found at the fortress of the chieftain of the Corco Loigde especially when the lady was none other than the former wife of Dacán."

Of all the surprises Fidelma had heard during her investigations at Ros Ailithir this statement came as the biggest shock of all.

"The former wife of the Venerable Dacán?" she repeated slowly, scarcely believing what he said. "Are you absolutely sure of this?"

"Of course I am sure. I had known that Dacán had been married. It was fourteen years ago but I remembered her. An attractive young girl. They were not long together before she divorced him in order to pursue her religious career. I thought she had gone to Cealla."

"And who was this former wife of Dacán?" Fidelma asked quietly. "Does she have a name?"

"Why, of course. Her name is Grella."

Chapter Eleven

After Mugrón had duly identified the body of Sister Eisten as being that of the same religieuse whom he had seen at Salbach's fortress, he had returned to his ship. Fidelma and Cass then made their, way to the abbey kitchens in search of a meal for, having missed the evening meal, they were both ravenous. It took some insistence on Fidelma's part, and an emphasis of her position and relationship with the abbot, to persuade the surly sister in charge to provide them with a pitcher of ale, some barley bread and cold cuts from a larac or leg of beef. A bowl of apples was also provided and they ate voraciously and in silence at a small table in the corner of the now deserted refectory.

Fidelma had not really expected that Mugrón would fail to recognize the body of Sister Eisten but she wanted to be sure beyond any doubt that Eisten had been at Salbach's fortress. She was now faced with one more frustrating mystery, yet one which seemed to hold a slender link to the murder of Dacán. What caused her excitement was Mugrón's identification of Dacán's former wife. Why had Grella failed to mention that essential fact to Fidelma? The apparent answer was that Grella had been attempting to hide some guilt. Had her relationship provided grounds for Dacán's murder?

But there was something else that worried Fidelma. What had Grella and Eisten been doing at Salbach's fortress together? And why had Eisten attempted to book two passages on a ship leaving for Gaul? With whom had she been planning to travel? Was it Grella? And who had tortured and killed Eisten?

Fidelma ruminated on the questions while acknowledging that it was little use asking questions when there was no hope of providing answers.

She glanced across the table to Cass and felt a sense of frustration that she could not even begin to discuss her anxieties with him. She found herself still longing for the presence of Brother Eadulf, wishing that she could thrust and parry with the quick sword of his alert mind; dissecting, analyzing and, perhaps, gradually arriving at a truth. Then she immediately began to feel guilty again.

She suddenly realized that Cass was regarding her with a quizzical smile.

"What next, sister?" he asked, putting down his empty mug of ale and sitting back, obviously satisfied with his meal.

"Next?"

"Your mind has been working like the water-clock in the bell tower. I could almost hear the mechanism of your mind as it worked."

Fidelma grimaced awkwardly.

"There is one obvious person to see next—Sister Grella. We have to find out why she lied, or, rather, why she did not tell me the whole truth."

She rose to her feet, followed by Cass.

"I shall come with you," he said. "From what you told me there is more than a possibility that she could be the murderess. If so, you should not take chances."

This time Fidelma made no objection.

They made their way through the gloomy abbey buildings to the dark, deserted library. There was no sign of anyone working in its cold, murky hall. The seats were forsaken, the books were neatly packed in their satchel bags and there were no candles burning.

Fidelma led the way into the small chamber where Sister Grella had taken her to talk, the room where Dacán had studied. She was surprised to see a fire smoldering in the corner fireplace. While Cass bent to light a candle, Fidelma walked quickly across to the fireplace. Something had caught her eye. She leant down to pick it up.

"What do you make of this?" she asked.

Cass shrugged as he gazed at the short length of burnt twig which she held out to him.

"A stick. What else do you light fires with?"

She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Not usually with such sticks. Examine it more closely."

Cass did so and saw that it was a piece of aspen with some notches of Ogham inscribed on it.

"What does it say?" he asked.

"Nothing that now makes sense. The extract here reads 'the resolve of the honorable one determines the fosterage of my children.' That's all."

Fidelma placed the salvaged piece of Ogham wand in her marsupium and stared with interest at the remains of the fire.

"It means that someone has decided to burn an entire book." She glanced at the holders that Grella had examined earlier in the day. It was as she suspected. "This was the Ogham book that Dacán had been studying. One wand of it, which I discovered, remained in his chamber after his death. I brought it here to show Sister Grella, who identified it as a poem."

"Didn't you think it was part of a will?"

Fidelma pursed her lips in a noncommittal gesture.

"Now why did someone think that it was so important that they needed to destroy it?" she asked as if she did not expect Cass to reply.

With a sigh, Fidelma led the way back through the library and into the corridor outside.

A passing cenobite glanced curiously at them.

"Do you seek Sister Grella?" he inquired politely.

Fidelma affirmed that they did.

"If she is not in the Tech Screptra, Sister Grella will be in her own chambers."

"Where will we find her chambers?" Cass inquired a little impatiently.

The cenobite gave them detailed directions which were easy enough to follow.

The chamber of the librarian of Ros Ailithir, however, was deserted. Fidelma had knocked carefully on the door twice. She made sure the corridor was empty before turning the handle. As she fully expected, the door was not locked.

"Inside, quickly, Cass," she instructed.

He followed her somewhat reluctantly and when he had passed into Sister Grella's chamber she closed the door and fumbled for a candle.

"This is surely wrong, sister," muttered Cass. "We should not be in this room uninvited."

Lighting the candle and standing back, Fidelma regarded Cass scornfully.

"As a dálaigh of the court I can demand the right to search a person or premises where I have a reasonable suspicion of misconduct."

"Then you do believe that Sister Grella killed her former husband and Sister Eisten?"

Fidelma motioned him to silence and began searching the room. For someone who had spent eight years in the abbey, Sister Grella's chamber was exceedingly sparse in personal objects. A book of devotions was placed by the bed and a few toilet articles, combs and such matter. She examined a large pitcher which was full of liquid. Fidelma sniffed suspiciously at it and her lips narrowed into a cynical smile. It was cuirm, the strong mead fermented from malted barley. It seemed Sister Grella liked to drink in the solitude of her chamber.

She turned to some clothes hanging from a line of pegs but was not really interested in them. There was little here of interest. It was only half-heartedly that she turned to a satchel she had spotted hanging on a peg under some of the clothes and rummaged through merely to complete her search. At first, she thought that it contained only a few undergarments. She drew them out and examined them by the light of the candle. Then among them she noticed a linen skirt which caused her to gasp in sudden satisfaction.

"Cass, examine this," she whispered.

The warrior bent forward.

"A parti-colored linen skirt," he began, dismissively. "What… ?"

He paused and suddenly realized what it was.

"Blue and red. The color of the strips which bound Dacán."

Fidelma turned to the hem of the skirt. A long strip of material had, indeed, been torn away. She expelled the air from her lungs with a long, low whistling sound.

"Then Grella is the murderess!" announced Cass in excitement. "Here is the proof."

Fidelma was equally excited but her legal mind urged caution.

"It is only proof of where the material, which bound Dacán, came from. However, this dress does not look like anything that a librarian of an abbey would wear. But, truthfully, Sister Grella does not seem typical of a librarian. Nevertheless, Cass, you may be called upon to witness where I found this skirt."

"That I shall," agreed the warrior willingly. "I do not see that there is cause for any doubt. Grella lied to you about her relationship with Dacán and now we have found this! Is any more proof needed?"

Fidelma did not reply as she repacked the other materials in the satchel but bundled up the skirt into her marsupium. She walked back to the bed to make a final check. As she did so the toe of her shoe hit something on the floor; an obstruction which did not give but sent a sharp pain into her foot.

She bent immediately to the floor and peered at it. There was a loose flagstone on the floor. It was this that she had stubbed her toe on. It stood slightly proud from the other floor stones and rocked a little as she touched it.

"Help me with this, Cass," she instructed.

The warrior took out his large knife and inserted it, easing the stone up. There was a cavity underneath. Fidelma held her candle high and peered in. She pulled forth a bundle of vellum.

Fidelma unrolled the vellum and peered at the careful calligraphy.

"The writings of Dacán," she whispered. "Grella was hiding them all along."

"Then no other proof is needed. She must have killed Dacán!" remarked Cass with satisfaction.

Fidelma was too busy examining the contents of the writing to comment.

"It is a letter to his brother, the Abbot Noe." Then she corrected herself. "No, it is only a draft of a letter. He talks about searching for the heirs of the native kings of Osraige. But he has spilt ink over it and this is why the sheet is discarded. Listen to this, Cass… 'The son of Ulan, according to the record, has just reached the age of choice. He is old enough to be considered for the kingship. I have discovered my quarry to be hiding in the monastery of Finán at Sceilig Mhichil under the protection of his cousin. Tomorrow, I shall depart from here and go there.' Look when this is dated!" She thrust the vellum at Cass and indicated the date. "This must have been written a few hours before he was killed."

"What quarry?" demanded Cass. "It seems an odd choice of words, as if Dacán was a hunter?"

"Do you know this monastery at Sceilig Mhichil?"

"I have never been there but I know it to be a small settlement on a rock-like island in the sea out to the west."

"Dacán never set out to Sceilig Mhichil," she murmured. "He was dead a few hours after writing this."

Fidelma did not replace the vellum in its hiding place but put it in her marsupium along with the skirt. She then bent to put the flagstone back in place and stood up.

"Sister Grella will have much to explain," she observed.

She gazed round the chamber for a moment then blew out the candle and cautiously opened the door. There was no one outside and she moved quickly out, motioning Cass to follow. As she shut the door, she turned sharply on her heel and hurried along the corridor.

"Where now?" demanded Cass, a little aggrieved that he had to ask.

"To find Sister Grella," she replied curtly.

"Where should we start?"

They started by asking Brother Rumann the steward, but when a full hour had produced no sign of the missing librarian, Cass suggested: "Perhaps she has left the abbey?"

"Is there no aistreoir in this abbey?" snapped Fidelma.

"The doorkeeper is Brother Conghus," Cass replied automatically before realizing that she had asked the question rhetorically. He succeeded in receiving a crushing glance of scorn from the fiery green eyes of Fidelma.

"I am aware of that," she said tightly. "It seems, however, that people can pass out of this abbey and vanish as they will. Firstly, Eisten vanished; then the two boys from Rae na Serine, and now the librarian is nowhere to be found."

At least Brother Conghus had not vanished. He was in his small officium next to the gates of the abbey making notations on wax tablets. He glanced up in surprise as Fidelma entered without ceremony.

"Sister? How can I help you?" he asked, slowly rising to his feet.

"I am seeking Sister Grella," replied Fidelma.

The doorkeeper raised a shoulder and let it fall in a negative fashion.

"Then the library… ?" he began, but Fidelma cut him short.

"If she had been there, we would not be here. Neither was she in her chamber. Has she left the abbey?"

Brother Conghus immediately shook his head.

"It is my task to record the comings and goings of people to and from the abbey," he said. "So far as my records show, Sister Grella has not left."

"Do you keep a record every day?"

"Of course."

"But this is not the only entrance to the abbey," she pointed out.

"It is the main entrance," replied Conghus. "The rule is that everyone leaving or entering the abbey must report their movements so that we may know who is within the abbey walls."

"But if she had left by the side entrance… ?"

"She would have informed me. It is the rule," Conghus repeated.

"Earlier this evening, I left the abbey by the rear gate whose path leads to the shore. Then I returned and brought the captain of the Laigin warship with me. He stayed in the abbey a while before departing again to his ship. Do your records speak of this?"

Conghus flushed.

"I was not informed. The onus is on people to obey the rule and you should have informed me."

Fidelma sighed deeply.

"This means that your records are not entirely reliable. They are only reliable in so far as people obey your rules."

"If Sister Grella had left the abbey, she would know the rule," replied Conghus stubbornly.

"Only if she wanted it to be known that she had left," intervened Cass, finding something he could contribute to the conversation.

Conghus replied with a snort of annoyance.

"What do you know of Sister Grella?" Fidelma suddenly asked.

Conghus was bewildered by her question.

"Know of her? She is the librarian of the abbey and has been so ever since I have known her."

"And you know nothing else?"

"I know that she came here from the abbey of Cealla. I know that she is well-qualified in her profession. What else should I know?"

"Was she ever married?" Fidelma asked.

"She has never mentioned anything of a marriage in her past."

"How well did she know Sister Eisten?"

The question came as a sudden intuitive shot but it did not seem to register with Brother Conghus.

"She knew her, that is all I can say. Sister Eisten did some studying in the library earlier in the year and so I presume that the librarian would know her."

"Then it was not a close liaison? They were not particular friends?"

"No more than any other member of the abbey whom Sister Grella knew."

"About a week ago, Sister Grella visited Salbach's fortress at Cuan Dóir. Do you know why?"

"Did she? A week ago?" Conghus looked bemused. "Then we should have a record of that."

He rose and turned to a shelf of wax tablets and started to check their contents, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

"You do not know offhand why she would go to Salbach's fortress?" demanded Fidelma, while the doorkeeper diligently searched for the right tablet.

"None, unless Salbach was presenting a gift to the library. Sometimes, some chieftains find they are possessed of the ancient rods of the poets. Such old Ogham books are rare now, even here in Muman. The abbey offers rewards for the gathering of them. It could be that Salbach found some and decided to present them to our library. But if Grella did go there for that, or any other purpose, she would have informed me that she was leaving the abbey. There is no record of her doing so." He turned aside from his tablets to Fidelma. "I cannot find any reference to Sister Grella having left to go to Cuan Dóir. She did, however, leave here to go to Rae na Serine a week ago."

"Rae na Serine?" Fidelma echoed.

"It is so recorded," replied Brother Conghus with a smirk. "She went to collect a book from Sister Eisten and take some medicines to her."

Fidelma fought back a feeling of utter frustration.

"She could have gone in the opposite direction to Cuan Dóir," she suggested. "Or she and Sister Eisten could have travelled to Cuan Dóir afterwards."

"She would have told us if she was going to visit Cuan Dóir," replied Conghus stoically. "And there is no reference to any such journey."

"If it were noted."

"Of course it would be noted. To visit Salbach on behalf of the abbey would require the permission and blessing of the abbot."

"Who said that it would necessarily be a journey on behalf of the abbey?" queried Fidelma.

"Why else would the librarian visit the local chieftain?"

"Why else, indeed?" Fidelma's patience was at an end. "Thank you for your help, Conghus."

Outside, Cass examined Fidelma's worried expression.

"Do you think that he is hiding something? He seems less than helpful."

"Perhaps he is, perhaps not. I suspect that Brother Conghus simply lives by the rules and cannot conceive of anyone breaking them."

Even as they stood hesitating outside, Conghus came hurrying out and, with a curt nod to the both of them, he scurried across the stone flags of the quadrangle to the tall bell tower.

"It must be nearly time for the completa," muttered Cass.

A few moments later, as if in response to his spoken thought, the bell sounded its chimes to summon the brethren to the service.

The last time Fidelma had attended such a lavish mass had been in Rome in the luxuriant round basilica of St. John of Lateran where the body of Wighard, the murdered archbishop-designate of Canterbury, lay. A dozen bishops and their attendants, and the Holy Father himself, had conducted the service.

The dark, high-walled abbey church was nothing compared to the splendor of the Roman basilica but, nevertheless, it was impressive. Tapestries covered the high granite walls, candles gave out heat, light and an assortment of perfumes. Fidelma sat in a pew reserved for distinguished guests with Cass seated alongside her. All around members of the abbey religious and their students crowded together to pay their respects to the passing of the soul of Cathal of Cashel. Though she examined their faces carefully, Fidelma could see no sign of Sister Grella.

The choristers were raising their voices in the Sanctus.

"Is Naofa, Naofa, Naofa Til, a Thiarna. Dia na Slua …"

"You are Holy, Holy, Holy, oh Lord God of Hosts…"

Something made Fidelma glance across the aisle of the church; some sixth sense which pricked at her mind.

She saw the eyes of young Sister Necht staring intensely at her. The novice had been watching her keenly and now, startled, she dropped her head to peer at her feet. Fidelma was turning away when she realized someone else was staring, but this time the object of scrutiny was Sister Necht herself and the examiner was the pudgy-featured Brother Rumann. Next to Rumann, Brother Midach was also watching the young novice.

What surprised Fidelma was that all trace of jollity had gone from the physician's face and if looks could kill, thought Fidelma, Midach would surely have been guilty of slaying the young woman. Then Midach caught her eye, forced a smile and dropped his gaze to concentrate on the holy office. When she turned her attention back to Brother Rumann, the moon-faced house steward was also concentrating on the words of the service.

Fidelma wondered what this curious digression meant. By the time she could concentrate again on the service the choristers had progressed into the Agnus Dei.

It was when the voices were pausing to begin A Ri an Domhnaigh—Great God—that there came a faint noise. The voices of the choristers hesitated and faded away. The noise therefore grew. There was a murmur of apprehension for the noise was that of a wailing child's voice. It was sobbing in heart-rending fashion.

Everyone peered about looking for the waif but no one could identify the source of the sound. It seemed to echo through the great abbey church, spreading as if through its very granite walls, echoing and re-echoing.

Several of the brethren, more superstitious than logical, genuflected.

Even Abbot Brocc exchanged worried glances with his senior clerics.

Fidelma felt Cass's hand on her arm. The warrior gestured with his head towards the nave and, following his indication, Fidelma saw Brother Midach moving rapidly out of the building.

Before he had reached the door, however, the noise of the crying suddenly ceased. All was deathly still. The sound of the door slamming behind Midach caused the entire congregation to start nervously.

The choir master rapped on his wooden lectern and A Ri an Domhnaigh was started again, hesitantly at first but the voices eventually regained their confidence and strength.

The service continued without further incident. Abbot Brocc spoke eloquently of the sadness of the loss of the old king from the Yellow Plague but with joy of the inauguration of the new king, invoking the blessing of Christ, His Apostles and all the saints of the five kingdoms, for the future prosperity of the kingdom and for the wisdom in government of the new monarch, Colgu.

As the congregation began to break up, after the final blessing, Fidelma told Cass that she would speak with him later and began to push her way through the throng across the nave of the abbey church towards the seat where she had seen the young Sister Necht. By the time she reached the spot, there was no sign of her. She peered around into the dispersing assembly but the novice had vanished.

Suppressing a sigh of annoyance, Fidelma turned for the nearest door, which brought her out of the church opposite the spacious storerooms of the abbey. Although it was night, there were numerous lanterns sending out a shadowy light, obviously lit to help the assembly find their way back to their various dormitories.

Sunk in thought, Fidelma decided not to go straight back to the hostel but followed the path, which Brother Ségán had shown her, leading towards the herb garden. Fidelma wanted to be alone to meditate and the fragrant little garden seemed an ideal place.

It was the faint cry from the shrubbery garden ahead which alerted her to tread softly.

There were two shadows in the arboretum by the head of the well. A slight figure was being held by a stocky, more masculine-looking shadow. It seemed to Fidelma that there was something familiar about that slight figure.

"You arrogant young…"

The voice she recognized as belonging to Brother Midach. It was now sharp and angry.

Even as Fidelma watched, the chief physician raised an open hand and brought it down against the back of the head of the slighter figure.

There was a grunt of pain.

"How dare you lay hands on me!" came a husky voice which Fidelma thought she should know.

Fidelma was about to stride forward and demand to know what was happening when she heard Brother Midach's voice reprimanding the figure.

"You'll do as I tell you. Such an outburst will be the destruction of us all! The sepulcher carries echoes. If we are discovered then there is an end of our hopes for Osraige."

The shadows moved in the darkness and she lost sight of them. There was no movement in the arboretum.

Fidelma listened and could hear nothing.

She moved forward cautiously. It was as if the ground had suddenly opened and swallowed them. She was perplexed for there was no gate out of the walled garden other than the one by which she had entered.

She examined the area as carefully as she could but could see no trace of Midach or his companion, no passage or doorway through which they might have vanished. She even peered down into the darkness of the well, the holy well of the Blessed Fachtna, but she had seen it in daylight and knew that it descended into almost bottomless darkness.

It was not for half an hour that she gave up the puzzle and retraced her steps reluctantly back to the hostel. Cass was waiting for her with ill-concealed impatience.

"I was almost going to send out an alarm for you, sister," he chided. "What with all these people vanishing, I thought you might have gone the same way."

"What was so urgent?" she replied, wondering whether to tell him that she had witnessed yet another astonishing disappearance. "Is there alarm among the brothers because of the voice of the child during the service?"

Cass looked dour.

"Not so much alarm as fear. Even your cousin seems to think it was some ghostly echo of a lost soul."

Fidelma raised a cynical smile.

"Surely there are more intelligent opinions among the scholars?"

"Well, the only one that I have heard is from Brother Rumann, who believes it is some distortion of the sound of water in the well beneath the abbey."

"Ah," sighed Fidelma. "I think I shall leave them to their ignorance for a while yet. But, surely, this was not so urgent as to cause you alarm?"

Cass shook his head.

"After the service, I was on my way back here when I fell into conversation with Brother Martan. He is…"

"The same who has the passion for relics and who, thanks be to God, kept the pieces of linen which bound Dacán. We saw him on the shore earlier with Midach examining Sister Eisten's body."

"Exactly so."

"What then?" pressed Fidelma.

"Brother Martan and I were discussing why anyone should want to kill Dacán. Martan repeated that Dacán was not a likable character."

"That much, at least, we can be sure of," she said wearily.

"He told me that Midach once said that there were several whom he would prefer dead, and named Dacán as one of them."

Fidelma raised her head a little.

"Midach said that? Why did he say this?".

"Apparently, Martan was witness to one great argument that Midach had with Dacán."

"The argument about Laigin? I have heard all about that. Midach insulted Laigin, that was all."

"According to Martan, this was something else." Cass looked embarrassed. "Apparently, it was a row about Sister Necht."

"Necht? What was it about?" Fidelma was suddenly interested.

"It seems that Dacán accused Midach of having a liaison… you know…"

Fidelma set her jaw firmly when he hesitated as if embarrassed.

"I am aware of what is implied," she said tersely. "Dacán accused Midach of having an affair with young Sister Necht? Are you sure? No," she went on hurriedly, "better that I make sure. I think I should speak with Brother Martan."

Cass gave a smile of self-satisfaction.

"That is why I have detained him here. He is in the chamber upstairs awaiting you."

Brother Martan, now that she saw him under a better light, was rather weak looking, A middle-aged man, with pale skin, bad teeth and the cough of a consumptive which caused his speech to be delivered in short, breathless pants. He rose as Fidelma entered the chamber but she waved him to be seated.

"I would firstly like to thank you, Martan, for keeping the strips of linen. They have served us well."

The man's dull-eyed features did not change.

"You have told my colleague here," she gestured to Cass, "that Midach had an argument with Dacán."

She saw a look of alarm spread across Martan's features.

"I did not mean to level any accusation…" he began. "The chief physician has been kind to me and I would not want to place him in harm's way."

Fidelma raised a hand to quell his alarm.

"So far as I know you have merely reported some facts. Did he have such an argument? The truth, Martan, is always the easiest path." She added this because she saw that he had suddenly realized the implication of what he had said.

"I do not want Brother Midach to get into trouble," he said sullenly.

"Did he have an argument or not?" Fidelma demanded sharply.

Martan nodded reluctantly.

"Tell me about it." invited Fidelma.

"It was the day before Dacán was found. I happened to be walking along the corridor to the library. I was going to collect a copy of the Aphorisms of Hippocrates, which the abbey possesses." He spoke with pride. "As I passed down the corridor, I heard voices coming from a small side room, the chamber in which Sister Grella has her officium. It is a room off the main library hall which has an entrance leading into the corridor."

Fidelma waited patiently while the brother paused to collect his thoughts.

"I heard Brother Midach's voice raised in anger and so I stopped outside the door. I was surprised to find him at the library. Also it was unusual that anything would cause anger to Brother Midach because he is usually a most happy and mirthful man."

He paused, looking awkward.

"Go on," invited Fidelma. "You halted outside the open door? What then?"

"It was only that it was unusual to hear Midach so angry," began Martan repetitiously, as if to exonerate himself from the guilt of eavesdropping. He halted as he saw the annoyance spread on Fidelma's face. "I realized that the person he was arguing with was none other than the Venerable Dacán."

"And the cause of the argument?"

"It seems that Dacán was accusing Midach of going through his writings, of reading material that he had no right to. Midach hotly denied it, of course. Dacán was so beside himself in rage that he threatened to report Midach to the abbot."

"Midach replied that he would report Dacán for treating the staff at the hostel as slaves, especially young Sister Necht. At that, Dacán was so angry that he accused Midach of having a relationship with Sister Necht. Midach seemed to take this seriously and replied that he simply had acted as foster-father to Necht. And his relationship was only paternal. Anyway, Midach added, it was none of Dacán's business."

Fidelma was not surprised that Midach could be Necht's foster-father. It was quite common for children to be sent away from home for their education at the age of seven. The process was known as fostering and the foster-parents were required to maintain their fosterlings according to their rank and provide education for them. A girl would often complete her education by the age of fourteen, although some, such as Fidelma herself, could continue to seventeen. Yet fourteen was the age of choice and maturity for a girl. A boy would continue until he was seventeen. Fosterage was a legal contract regarded as being of benefit to both households. There were two types of fosterage in law. One was for "affection" in which no fees were exchanged. The other was where the natural parents paid for the fosterage of their child. Fosterage was the principal method of educating children in society.

"Are you sure he said he was foster-father?"

"The term datán was definitely used."

It was the legal term one used for a foster-father.

"Did you know that Midach was foster-father to Sister Necht?"

Martan shook his head.

"Just what did you think that Brother Midach's relationship was?" she prompted.

"To Necht?"

"Precisely."

"Midach was Necht's anamchara, her soul-friend. That is all I know. As such they were friendly and close with one another."

"So Midach obviously felt responsible for Necht?"

"I suppose so," agreed Martan.

"Did it surprise you that Dacán would accuse Midach of such an affair? Dacàn had a reputation of a man of aloof serenity. What made him suddenly attack Midach?"

"He was no saint. He was a strange, ill-tempered man who tested Midach's temper to the extreme," replied Martan. "All I know is that I overheard Midach reacting badly. He told Dacán not to interfere and if he continued to do so and insult Midach, then Midach would…"

He paused and his eyes rounded as he realized what he was about to say.

"Go on," urged Fidelma. "He obviously threatened physical violence."

"Midach said he would kill him," agreed Martan softly.

There was a pause.

"Do you think he meant it?"

"I do not," protested the apothecary. "Nor do I set myself to judge other people in their personal habits of life. If that was the way of it, that was the way of it. Midach would harm no one."

"That's not what Midach himself threatened," observed Fidelma dryly. "When you learnt of Dacán's death just one day after this argument, did you not find it worrying? I presume that you made no mention of it to Brother Rumann, who had charge of the investigation?"

A tinge of color edged Marian's cheeks.

"I did not report it as I did not believe it of relevance. Midach was not in the abbey when Dacán's body had been found. If you are asking me to say that I suspect Midach of murder, I shall not. Midach is a man who loves life and enjoys life. He would no more think of destroying another life than he would of taking his own life."

"So you did not mention this matter to Rumann?" observed Fidelma. "What made you mention the matter now?"

Martan colored.

"I wish I had not. My only thought was that you should both know that Dacán was not the saintly man most people supposed. He could accuse people unjustly."

"And all this came about because Dacán originally accused Midach of going through his notes and writings in the library?"

"Midach denied that also," Martan reminded her.

"Then one more thing. You say that Midach had left the abbey on the evening before Dacán was killed. He returned six days later, so I am told. Do you know why he left and where he went?"

Martan shook his head.

"I know it was not a journey that was planned. He went by boat. It was probably some medical emergency in one of the villages. It often happens."

"What makes you think it was not planned?"

"Because he told no one except Sister Necht, who came to inform Brother Tola only after he had left the abbey."

"When was that?"

"Just before the completa. He must have sailed on the evening tide or he could not have gone until mid-morning on the next day."

Fidelma's narrowed.

"You are sure of this time?"

"Absolutely."

"Well," Fidelma leant back, "I think you have been of considerable help to us, Martan. You may go but I would appreciate it if you did not mention our discussion to anyone… especially to Brother Midach. Do you understand?"

Martan rose uncertainly.

"I think so, sister. I just hope I have not said the wrong thing…"

"How can truth be the wrong thing to say?" inquired Fidelma gravely.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, as Sister Fidelma was on her way to the library to see if Sister Grella had returned, she received a summons to Abbot Brocc's chambers.

"Cousin, I have a messenger leaving for Cashel this afternoon. I wondered whether you might like to take the opportunity to send messages to your brother?"

Fidelma was just about to make a negative reply when an idea occurred to her.

"Yes. I want my brother to contact the Chief Brehon so that he may order the attendance of the Laigin merchant, Assid of Ui Dego, at the assembly when the matter of the death of Dacán is heard. It is essential that some questions are put to Assid."

"Assid? The merchant who was staying here on the night Dacán was murdered?" A hope sprang into Brocc's eyes. "Do you think that Assid… do you think that he may be responsible… ?"

She disappointed him by shaking her head.

"All I require is his presence at the hearing."

Brocc's look of hope relapsed into a worried frown.

"Ah, I thought at least one mystery might now be solved."

"One mystery?" Fidelma caught the nuance.

"I am given to understand that you were looking for Sister Grella last night?"

"That is so. What has happened to Sister Grella?" she asked with foreboding.

"I wished that I knew. Sister Grella has not been seen since shortly after vespers yesterday. The library has not been opened this morning and Brother Rumann tells me that there was no sign of her chamber being slept in. He inquired of Brother Conghus who then told him that you were making inquiries about her last night."

Fidelma sat down in front of the abbot's table before continuing. "Has she ever disappeared before?"

"Not to my knowledge," replied the abbot. "All this is most distressing, cousin. First, we have Dacán's death; then Sister Eisten is found murdered and now Sister Grella is missing. What am I to make of all this?"

Fidelma momentarily felt sorry for her pompous cousin. He looked like a lost, helpless child, needing someone to tell him what to do.

"I only wish that I could help you, Brocc. At this moment, I am equally as bewildered. But there are some things that I wish to ask you and which I want treated in absolute confidence."

The abbot waited expectantly.

"Do you know much of Brother Midach's background?"

"Brother Midach?" Brocc sounded surprised. "He is a good physician. He has been at Ros Ailithir for four years. Let's see… he came to us from the abbey at Cealla."

"And Sister Necht?"

"She came to the abbey about six months ago."

"Also from Cealla?"

"No. Whatever gave you that idea? I think she came from a village not far from here. Why don't you question her?"

"It was a passing thought." Fidelma was disappointed. "I thought that there was some connection between Midach and Necht."

"Well, he did introduce her to the abbey, that is true. He attended her father in one of the villages and when her father died, leaving her an orphan, Midach proposed her induction as a novice here. I believe that he still acts as her soul-friend."

Fidelma stifled a sigh of disappointment. She had been wondering whether there was some further link with Osraige and between Midach and Necht. What exactly there might be, she was not sure. Osraige was certainly at the core of the mystery.

The abbot did not press her further.

"What am I to make of it all?" he repeated almost pathetically.

Fidelma had considered what ways forward there were and she now realized that, with Sister Grella missing, there was nothing she could do unless she could find some new path to follow. That meant revealing some of the information that she had gathered as a bait to lure other information.

"Did you know that Sister Grella had once been the wife of the Venerable Dacán?" she asked innocently.

Abbot Brocc's jaw dropped expressively.

"What are you saying? Did she tell you this?"

"I was told by someone who knew her in Laigin. So you did not know?"

"I knew only that she came from Cealla and was qualified to the level of sai. But as for being a former wife of the Venerable Dacán—are you absolutely sure…?"

"I have a witness to answer that. I searched her chamber last night. I have that right," she added quickly, as she saw annoyance form on Brocc's features. "Dacán was bound before he was killed. The bindings were, thankfully, preserved by Brother Martan, your apothecary. Last night I found the skirt from which those bindings were torn. The skirt was hidden in a satchel in Sister Grella's chamber."

Abbot Brocc's response, when he realized the implication of this, was to put both his hands to his head and actually whimpered.

Fidelma studied him with a contemptuous eye.

"The reputation of this abbey is shamed," he moaned. "What can I do? You are telling me that Grella is the murderess and the motive is for some sordid matter of passion?"

"You can forget about the shame to the abbey, for the moment, cousin," Fidelma replied dryly. "Let us solve the puzzle first."

"But such news brings a blush to my cheeks," moaned Brocc.

"Then remember that Diogenes once wrote 'blushing is the color of virtue,' " Fidelma countered cynically. "The only shame is to have none."

Brocc drew himself together as she pricked his conceit.

"I do not care for myself," he sniffed a little contritely. "I was only thinking of the reputation of the abbey. So you believe that Grella killed Dacán?"

Fidelma did not bother to comment.

"Did you know, Brocc, that Sister Grella visited the fortress of Salbach at Cuan Dóir about a week ago? If so, did she have your permission to leave the abbey and visit Salbach?"

The abbot stared at her blankly.

"No. I gave Sister Grella permission to ride to Rae na Serine a week ago to visit Sister Eisten who worked there. She was to use the visit to collect a book and take some herbs and medicines from Brother Martan to help fight the plague there. Why would she ride in the opposite direction to see Salbach?"

"Perhaps she first visited Sister Eisten and then they went together to Salbach's fortress?"

"But why?"

An idea abruptly occurred to Fidelma. If Eisten had been seeking passage for herself and Sister Grella then perhaps Grella had fled on board the merchant ship? Fidelma rose and went to the window to look down into the inlet.

Still anchored near to Mugrón's warship was the Frankish merchantman, with its heavy lines. The abbot had joined her and was gazing down in bewilderment.

"What do you see, cousin?"

"I was fearful that the Frankish merchantman had already weighed anchor."

Brocc frowned.

"I believe it is due to sail on the mid-morning tide."

"Then I want you to give authority to Cass to board and search that vessel before it sets sail."

"Search?"

"Yes. A thorough search now, as we talk," Fidelma insisted. "I command it under my authority as a da-laigh." She unbent a little and added, "It is possible that Sister Grella might be on board."

Brocc looked shocked but he did not reply. Instead he rang his bell to summon the scriptor and then issued the necessary orders to find Cass and give him Fidelma's instructions.

"If there is any trouble, tell Cass to inform the Frankish captain that while at anchor in the bay he has to obey the laws of this kingdom," Fidelma instructed the scriptor as he hurried off to perform his task.

"You must explain, cousin," Brocc said, reseating himself. "You are saying that Grella realizes that you have discovered her guilty secret and that she is trying to flee?"

"I wish I could explain fully, cousin," Fidelma responded. "But I am not in possession of all the facts. Can you tell me anything about Sister Eisten and her relationship with your librarian?"

Brocc raised his hands as if in supplication.

"Poor Eisten. There is little to tell. She trained at this very abbey and was initially trained to help the physician, Midach. She specialized in the care of children. She had been with us since the age of fourteen, apart from the three years during which she went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land."

"Brother Conghus told me that she also studied in the library," Fidelma interrupted.

"Eisten was no scholar but she did do some studying in the library earlier in the year."

"And how did Eisten come to be sent to Rae na Serine?"

"So far as I recall, Sister Eisten volunteered to go there and look after the travelers' hostel we maintain there. This was about six months ago. There were some orphans in the vicinity and Eisten took to looking after their needs as well. She did much good work at Rae na Serine."

He paused and picked up a jug of water, raising his eyebrows in inquiring fashion towards Fidelma. She shook her head. Brocc then poured himself a drink and sipped it slowly.

"Go on," Fidelma prompted.

"Well, we knew that the Yellow Plague had reached the village earlier this summer. There seemed no rhyme nor reason as to who its victims were. I and Brother Midach, for example, have had a touch of it but have recovered. So has Sister Grella. But Eisten had not. Yet she did not succumb to it."

"There is no accounting for it," Fidelma agreed solemnly. "Go on."

"Eisten insisted on remaining in the village but we heard that things were getting worse. Midach went to visit her there several times this last week. Finally you brought us the terrible news of Intat's destruction of the village and its surviving inhabitants."

"You knew Intat, of course?"

"Not personally. But I knew that Intat was one of Salbach's right-hand men. You saw how angry Salbach was when he came to the abbey after I had reported what you had told me. At first he seemed to refuse to believe the story. He only accepted it when you told him who you were and he was therefore unable to challenge your authority."

Fidelma leaned forward a little, anger showing on her features.

"It is a poor chieftain who accepts truth only when told him by an authority greater than his. Did it occur to you that Intat might, for some reason, have been acting with Salbach's approval?"

Brocc was horrified.

"Of course not. Salbach is of an ancient line of chieftains of the Corco Loigde. He traces his line back to…"

Fidelma was openly sarcastic.

"I know; he traces his line to Mil Easpain, the founder of the race of the children of the Gael. Yet he would not be the first distinguished chieftain to go contrary to the laws of God and man. Might I remind you that perhaps the very reason we have this situation is because we are prisoners of history? It was a king of Laigin, who was also a descendant of a line of ancient and distinguished kings, who took it upon himself to murder Edirsceál, the High King? That was when this drama began."

"That is ancient history, almost legend."

"As this will be a thousand years from now."

Brocc sat back in his chair slowly shaking his head.

"I will not believe this of Salbach. Besides, what gain is there in this matter for him?"

Fidelma smiled thinly.

"Gain? Indeed, that is a good motive for all our actions. What do we gain from some action or another? Well, if I knew the answer to that, I would know the answer to many a question. I suppose you have known Salbach for a long time?"

"For eighteen years, from the day I came to this abbey. I have known him more closely for the last ten years, since I was elected abbot by the brethren here."

"And what do you know of him?"

"Know? I know that he is regarded as a good chieftain. He has the pride of his ancestry and perhaps he is a little too autocratic at times. All in all, however, I think it may be said that his rule is fair and just."

"I was told that he had ambition."

"Ambition? Don't we all have ambition?"

"Perhaps. And perhaps Salbach's ambitious eyes have looked beyond Corco Lofgde?"

"As is his right, cousin. If he is descended of the line of Ir, related to Mil Easpain who conquered this land at the dawn of time and peopled it with the children of the Gael…"

Fidelma grimaced as if in pain.

"Spare me from the boredom of genealogy. Ambition is fine so long as the sparrow does not crave to become the falcon," she commented dryly. "Anyway, what else can you tell me of Salbach? Did he know Sister Eisten?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"It would surprise you to know that Eisten was at Salbach's fortress with Sister Grella just over a week ago?"

Brocc's expression showed that it did surprise him.

"So you do think there is some connection, then, between poor Sister Eisten's death and that of the Venerable Dacán?" he demanded.

"A connection—yes. How strong, I do not know. But that I am determined to discover."

Abbot Brocc's face had been growing longer as he surveyed the perplexities of the situation.

"It does not seem that you are closer to solving the mystery of Dacán's death, though. And time is not on our side, cousin."

"I am well aware of this, Brocc," replied Fidelma softly.

"Well, remember that I am held ultimately responsible, under the law, for the death of Dacán. I cannot afford to pay the compensation or fines."

"Be at peace, Brocc," Fidelma reassured him. "Laigin is not interested in you nor the seven cufyials of the éric fine. They are interested in the honor price and their eyes are set on the land of Osraige. They will be content with nothing else."

"Yet their warship sits there still." Brocc flung out at hand to the bay beyond the window.

"You can't begrudge Laigin its right under law."

Fidelma replied. "The ship will do nothing. It is there only to remind you of your responsibility as abbot in charge of the community where Dacán met his death."

There was a tap on the door and, in answer to Brocc's call, Cass entered.

Fidelma knew from his glum face that he had no news.

"Nothing," he confirmed. "No sign at all of Sister Grella. The captain was angry but he did not prevent my searching, even into the stinking hold of the vessel. I pledge my honor that she is not on board."

Fidelma felt a heavy burden sinking on her shoulders.

She rose and went to the window again.

The sails of the Frankish merchantman were being unfurled. She could hear the sounds of the cracking and filling of the canvas sail before the morning offshore breeze; she could hear the cry of the orders rising to mingle with the scream of the gulls as they circled and wheeled around the sedately moving vessel.

"Another blank wall," she said almost under her breath. "Yet somewhere there is a door. Somewhere," she added vehemently.

"What path will you follow now, cousin?" asked the abbot anxiously.

Fidelma was turning away from the window when she caught sight of a barc under full sail, sliding swiftly into the inlet, negotiating a course around the heavy merchantman like a dolphin around a ship. An idea formed quickly in her mind and she wondered why she had not thought of it before. She reached her decision almost immediately.

"I shall be leaving the abbey for a while, Brocc," she said. "The path that I must follow is not here."

"Where will you go now?" Brocc looked astounded.

"I need the services of a good swift barc," Fidelma responded, ignoring the abbot's question. "Where can I charter one?"

"A sailor named Ross owns the swiftest barc on the coast," Brocc said, without need for deliberation. "But he knows it and his knowledge is reflected in his price. I see his ship is anchored below. Any fisherman will tell you where he may be found."

"Excellent. While I am away there are some items which I want you to safeguard for me. They constitute evidence in my investigation and I cannot afford to take them on my journey."

Brocc pointed to a large oak cabinet on the far side of his chamber.

"It has two locks," he assured her, "and is quite secure. I usually place the valuables of this abbey in it."

Fidelma took her marsupium, which she had become in the habit of carrying, from her shoulder and placed it on the table. Wordlessly, the abbot took from under his table a set of keys on a ring, which she presumed had been hanging on some secret hook, and went to the cabinet and opened the door. He gestured for Fidelma to bring the marsupium to him and placed it inside. She watched as he secured the door and returned the keys to their resting place.

"Should Sister Grella reappear, I want her to be placed under guard, on my authority, until I return. Is that understood?" she asked Brocc.

The abbot indicated that it was.

Satisfied, Fidelma turned to Cass.

"Come, then, let us seek out this Ross and negotiate a price with him for our journey."

Brocc was standing uncertainly.

"But where are you going? How long shall you be away? If I must imprison Sister Grella, I must have some idea."

Fidelma paused at the door and once again felt sorry for her cousin's woebegone expression. Again she had the feeling of a little boy lost.

"Better that no one knows of where we have gone until we return. In the meantime, if you are able to detain Sister Grella, simply tell her that she is being held as a material witness to the death of her former husband, the Venerable Dacán. With God's help we shall return before a week is passed."

Brocc's jaw dropped in anxiety.

"A full week?" His voice was full of distress but Fidelma had already left his chamber with Cass trailing behind her.

Chapter Thirteen

"That is Na Sceilig. See! There before us on the horizon."

The speaker was Ross, standing on the stern deck of his ship. He was pointing out across the blue stretch of ocean. His deep green eyes, which reflected the changing moods of the sea, were narrowed. He was a short, stocky man, with graying, close-cropped hair; a grizzled veteran of forty years of seafaring. His skin was tanned by the sea winds almost to the color of nut. He was a man with a dour humor and always ready with a loud bellow when he was displeased.

His swift sailing barc was two days out from Ros Ailithir where Fidelma had negotiated a rather exorbitant price with the sailor to take them to the monastery of Ffnan at Sceilig Mhichil and back again. The vessel had followed the coastal lanes, catching a faint wind blowing from the north-east which brought them around the southern extremes of Muman and then Ross had maneuvered his vessel into the fast-flowing tide which sent them racing to the north.

Fidelma shaded her eyes with her hands and gasped at the spectacular rocks that thrust out of the sea before her. There were two islands—stark, fissured pyramids with castellated outcrops rising sheer and terrifying out of the dark, brooding seas—which were situated some eight miles from the mainland. Their sheer terrible magnificence caused Fidelma to catch her breath.

The name Sceilig implied rocks but she had not been prepared for such looming slatey masses.

"On which island is the monastery?" asked Fidelma.

"That bigger island," indicated Ross, pointing to the pyramid-shaped spectacle rising over seven hundred feet out of the water.

"But I cannot see any place to land, let alone a place to construct habitations," Fidelma protested, peering in amazement at the vertical sides of the island.

Ross knowingly tapped the side of his nose with a gnarled forefinger.

"Oh, there is a place to land, right enough and, if you have a head for heights, you may climb up to the monastery, for it rests high up there." He pointed to the high peaks of the island. "The monks call the place Christ's Saddle for it is so high. It is situated between those two points there."

Fidelma became aware of a cacophony of noise from the wheeling seabirds. Great gannets, with six-foot wing-spans, wheeled, soared and circled. Now and then they would plummet vertically, a full sixty feet into the sea in search of fish.

The second island, particularly, seemed to be crowned by a ring of wheeling and crying birds. Fidelma thought at first that, by some miracle, it was snow capped until Ross pointed out that it was the excretions of birds built up over the long centuries.

"They nest on the Little Sceilig," explained Ross. "Not just gannets, but gulls, cormorants, guillemots, kittiwakes, razor-bills, shearwaters and fulmars and even other birds whose names I have forgotten."

Cass, who had been standing silently by, suddenly remarked: "Here is an awesome place to chasten the soul."

Fidelma smiled at him, amazed that his usually stolid mind could be so moved.

"Here is a place to elevate the soul," she corrected, "for it shows just how insignificant we are in the great scheme of creation."

"I still cannot see why you would wish to come to this isolated place," Cass muttered, gazing at the breathtaking cliffs of the island.

Fidelma decided that it was time to relent a little and reveal what was in her mind.

"Remember the vellum we found in Grella's chamber? The letter Dacán wrote to his brother, Abbot Noé? He wrote it on the evening before he was killed and said that he had traced his quarry—remembered he used that word 'quarry'?—to the monastery of Sceilig Mhichil. He was searching for the heir of the native line of kings of Osraige. I am following the belief that he was killed because of that knowledge and that the next step along the path to resolving the mysteries rests on that impregnable island which you see before you."

Cass turned his gaze from the island to Fidelma and then back at the towering gray mass. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"You expect to find whoever it was that Dacán was looking for on the island?"

"Dacán certainly did."

That Ross and his crew, like most seamen of the coastal waters, were highly skilled was demonstrated in the next few minutes as they negotiated to a landing place which had been invisible until they came within a few yards of it. The waves threatened to hurl the vessel against the crashing rocks as the water foamed around them, causing sea spray to drench everyone. It took a while to anchor close enough for anyone to land.

"It is not good that we hold ourselves against the rocks of this landing place," cried Ross, having to shout to make himself heard above the crashing of the waves and cry of the seabirds. "When you have landed we will pull back from the island and stand off until such time as you signal us to pick you up."

Fidelma raised her hand in acknowledgment and prepared herself to leap from the side of the boat onto the narrow granite ledge which constituted a natural quay.

Cass jumped first so as to secure a position and ensure he could catch Fidelma in order that she might land in safety.

As they turned along the narrow strip of rock they saw a brown-robed anchorite hurriedly approaching down a perilously steep path. They saw his brows drawn together in a frown as he examined them in obvious annoyance.

"Bene vobis," Fidelma greeted.

The monk halted abruptly and the look of irritation intensified on his features.

"We spotted a ship coming into land. This place is forbidden to women, sister."

Fidelma raised her eyebrows dangerously.

"Who is the Father Superior here?"

The monk hesitated at her icy tones.

"Father Mel. But, as I have said, sister, our brothers dwell here in isolation from the company of women in accordance with the views of the Blessed Ffnan."

Fidelma knew that there were some monasteries where women were strictly excluded; for some, like Ffnan of Clonard or Enda of Aran, believed that the scriptures taught that women were the creation of the Evil One and should never be looked upon. Such heretical teaching was an anathema to Fidelma, who was not at all approving of the support such an idea received from Rome, which was little less than an attempt to impose celibacy and the isolation of one sex from the other on the argument propounded by Augustine of Hippo that man was created in the image of God but women were not.

"I am Fidelma, sister to Colgu, king of Muman. I am a dalaigh of the court, acting on the commission of the king, my brother."

Never would Fidelma have used this form of introduction had she felt there was any other way of overcoming this officious reception.

"I am here to conduct an inquiry into an unlawful death. Now conduct me to Father Mel at once."

The monk looked horrified and blinked nervously.

"I dare not, sister."

Cass ostentatiously loosened his sword in its scabbard, gazing upwards along the path by which the monk had descended.

"I think you should dare," he said coldly, as if speaking aloud his thoughts.

The monk cast an anxious look at him and then back at Fidelma before compressing lips to conceal his angry frustration. They could see him fighting with his thoughts. After a moment or two he gestured in resignation.

"If you can follow me, then you may reach Father Mel. If not…" There was a trace of a sneer in his voice and he did not finished the sentence.

He turned and started off up the path which was a comfortable climb initially but then it suddenly narrowed. Indeed, the path almost ended and they were ascending along almost sheer falls from one rocky ledge to another although here and there steps had been cut by the monks into the precipitous sides of the rock. It was a tough ascent. The wind blew and buffeted at them, threatening at times to tear them from the climb and send them tumbling down the slopes into the turbulent frothy seas below. Several times Fidelma, her hair streaming, the head-dress dislodged, found herself going down on all fours and clinging on grimly to the rocks of the path in order to steady herself.

The anchorite, used to the ascent, merely quickened his pace and Fidelma, in anger, took chances in her attempt to keep up with the man. Cass, coming behind her, had to reach out a hand to steady her on several occasions. Then, at last, they came to a strange plateau, a small green place set between peaks with two stone crosses. From this point a series of steps led through fangs of rocks to another plateau where a stone wall, running along one side, was the only barrier between the plateau and the sheer cliff falling down to the sea.

Fidelma halted at the spectacular view to the white-capped Little Sceilig and the misty outline of the mainland beyond.

On the plateau was the monastery built by Ffnan just over one hundred years before. There were six clochans, or beehive-shaped huts of rock, with a rectangular-shaped oratory. Beyond them were other buildings and another oratory. Fidelma was surprised to see a small cemetery behind with slabs and crosses. She wondered how this inhospitable crag of an island could hold enough earth to bury anything. It was a wild, even cruel place on which to attempt an existence.

There were several brothers tending a small garden set behind an artificial shelter of stone-slabbed walls. She noticed, also to her surprise, that there were two wells.

"This is truly an amazing place," she whispered to Cass. "No wonder the brothers are so obdurate about their privacy."

The anchorite who had accompanied them had disappeared, presumably into one of the stone buildings.

They had been spotted by the gardeners who had halted their work and were muttering uneasily among themselves.

"I do not think that they are pleased to see you, Fidelma," Cass said, his hand staying on the hilt of his sword.

The anchorite reappeared with the same abruptness as he had vanished.

"This way. Father Mel will speak with you."

They found a wizened-faced old man seated cross-legged in one of the beehive-shaped huts. It was small so that they either had to follow the old man's example and seat themselves on some sheepskins which covered the floor or stay standing, slightly stooped. Fidelma gave the lead by lowering herself into a cross-legged position in front of the old man.

He gazed at her thoughtfully with bright blue eyes. His face seemed hewed out of the rock of his island. Stern and granite-like. The lines were many and were etched deeply into his weather-beaten brown face.

"In hoc loco non ero, ubi enim ovis, ibi mulier… ubi mulier… ibi peccatum," intoned the old man dispassionately.

"I am aware that you have no wish to associate with women," Fidelma replied. "I would not intrude on your rule unless there was a greater purpose."

"Greater purpose? The association of the sexes in the Faith is contrary to the discipline of the Faith," grunted Father Mel.

"On the contrary, if both sexes forsook each other there would soon be no people, Faith or church," returned Fidelma cynically.

"Abneganbant mulierum administrationem separantes eas a monasterüs," intoned Father Mel piously.

"We can sit here and discourse in Latin, if you like," Fidelma sighed. "But I am come on more important matters. I do not wish to impose myself where I am unwelcome, though I find it hard to believe that there are places within the five kingdoms of Éireann where our laws and customs have been so sadly rejected. However, the sooner I can get answers to my questions then the sooner I can depart from this place."

Father Mel allowed an eyebrow to twitch in irritation at her response.

"What is it you wish?" he demanded coldly. "My disciple told me you were a dalaigh with a commission from the temporal king of this land."

"That is so."

"Then what must I do to help you fulfill your commission and allow you to depart swiftly?"

"Do you have anyone from the land of Osraige in this monastery?"

"We welcome everyone into our brotherhood."

Fidelma checked her irritation at the unspecific response.

"That was not what I asked."

"Very well, I am from Osraige myself," replied Father Mel with diffidence. "What would you ask of me?"

"I believe that some time ago someone from Osraige found sanctuary here. A descendant of the native kings. An heir of Illan. If that is so, then I wish to see him for I fear his life is in danger."

Father Mel almost smiled.

"Then perhaps you wish to talk to me? Illan, of whom you speak, was my cousin, though I would not consider myself heir to any temporal glory."

"Is this true?" Dacán had said the heir of Illan was being looked after by his cousin but she was hardly expecting the cousin to be this aging Father Superior.

"I am not in the habit of lying, woman," snapped the old man. "Now, do you believe me to be in danger of my life?"

Fidelma slowly shook her head. Father Mel himself was certainly no threat to the security of the current petty kings of Osraige nor a possible rallying point for any future insurrection.

"No. There is no danger for you. But I am told that there is a young heir of Illan. That his cousin, obviously yourself, was taking care of him."

Father Mel's face was set like stone.

"There is no young heir to Ulan on this island," he said firmly. "You may take my holy oath of office on it."

Could this long, arduous journey have really been for nothing? Had Dacán made that same mistake? Father Mel could not take such an oath unless it were true.

"Is there anything else?" came Father Mel's curt tone.

Fidelma rose to her feet trying to hide her disappointment.

"Nothing. I accept the truth of what you say. You shelter no young heir of Ulan." She hesitated. "Have you been visited by a merchant named Assid of Laigin?"

Father Mel met her gaze evenly.

"There are many merchants that land here. I do not recall all their names."

"Then does the name of the Venerable Dacán mean anything to you?"

"As a scholar of the Faith," replied the Father Superior easily. "Everyone has surely heard of the man."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else," affirmed the old man. "Now, if that is all… ?"

Fidelma led the way from the building, bitterly disappointed. Cass followed with bewilderment on his features.

"Is that all?" he asked. "Surely, we did not come all this way for this?"

"Father Mel would not have taken oath that there was no young heir of Ulan in this monastery if there was," Fidelma pointed out.

"Religious have been known to lie," countered Cass darkly.

They were suddenly aware of an anchorite, a flat-faced, lugubrious-looking man of middle age, blocking their path.

"I…" The man hesitated. "I overheard. You asked if there was anyone from Osraige here. Refugees."

The monk's face mirrored some deep conflict of emotions.

"That's right," she agreed. "What is your name?"

"I am Brother Febal. I tend the gardens here."

The monk abruptly took out of his robes a small object and handed it with all solemnity to Fidelma.

It was a corn doll. It was old, weather-worn, with the stuffing bursting out from broken joins where the weave had burst or torn.

"What's this?" demanded Cass.

Fidelma stared at it and turned it over in her hands. "What can you tell us about this, brother?"

Brother Febal hesitated, throwing a look towards the hut of the Father Superior and he motioned them to follow a little way down the path, out of sight of the main complex of buildings.