Suffer Little Children

Chapter Four

The midday Angelus bell was sounding as Fidelma and her party came within sight of the abbey at Ros Ailithir. The journey had taken longer than she had estimated for, though the day was warm and bright, the road was still sodden and muddy and the passage was difficult.

The abbey was larger than Fidelma had imagined it would be; a vast complex of grey stone buildings standing, as she had already been informed, on the hillside at the head of a narrow inlet of the sea. It was an inlet too long and narrow to be called a bay. She noticed briefly that there were several ships riding at anchor there before turning her gaze back to the diversity of grey buildings. There were several large structures all contained behind tall dark granite walls which followed a oval course around them. At their centre she could make out the imposing abbey church. It was a remarkable and unusual building. Most churches in the five kingdoms were built on circular patterns but this was built in a crucifix style with a long nave and a transept at right angles. Fidelma knew that this style was becoming more popular among the new church builders. Next to this was a lofty cloictheach, or bell house, from which the solemn chimes echoed across the small valley depression which led down to the sea.

One of the children, it was the younger of the two black-haired boys again, gave a low moan and started to tremble. His brother spoke sharply but quietly to him.

‘What ails him?’ Cass demanded. He was standing the closest to the two boys, the younger one being seated on his horse.

‘My brother thinks that we may be harmed if we go where there are grown-ups,’ the elder replied solemnly. ‘He is scared after what happened yesterday.’

Cass smiled gently at the younger boy. ‘Have no fear, son. No one down there will harm you. It is a holy abbey. They will help you.’

The elder whispered sharply to his young sibling again and then, turning, said to Cass: ‘He will be all right now.’

All the children were showing signs of fatigue now; fatigue and agitation after their terrifying experience. In fact, they were all exhausted both physically as well as emotionally. The unease and restiveness of the cold night’s halt had not refreshed them and they had experienced a hard trek that morning from the woods to the coast. Weariness showed on everyone’s face.

‘I had not realised that the abbey was so large,’ Fidelma observed brightly to Cass to instil some air of normality into the depressed company. However, it was also true that she was impressed by the vastness of the buildings which dominated the inlet.

‘I am told that hundreds of proselytes study here,’ replied Cass indifferently.

The bell suddenly ceased its clamouring.

Fidelma motioned them forward again. She felt a passing unease because she had ignored the call to prayer. Time enough to stop and pray when she and her exhausted charges were safely under the protection of the walls of the abbey. She glanced anxiously towards Sister Eisten. The plump young woman seemed to be lost in melancholy thought. Fidelma put this down to the woman’s shock at the death of the baby that morning. Soon after they had set out, she had lapsed into a malaise, a maudlin contemplation, and did not seem to be atall conscious of her surroundings. She walked automatically, her head bent downwards, eyes on the ground, and made no response when spoken to. Fidelma had noticed that she did not even bother to raise her eyes when they had come within sight of Ros Ailithir, and heard the chiming of the bell. Yes; it was better to get the party to the abbey rather than halt to indulge in ritual prayers along the roadway.

As they neared the walls of the abbey, she became aware of a few religieux at work in the surrounding fields. They seemed to be cutting kale, presumably to feed cattle. A few curious glances were cast in their direction but, generally, the men bent diligently to their work in the cold, autumnal morning.

The gates of the abbey stood open. Fidelma frowned when she saw, hanging by the side of the gate, a writhe, or bundle of twisted branches of osiers and aspen. It struck a chord in her memory but she could not identify it. She was still trying to dredge her memory about the symbolism of the writhe when she had to turn her attention to a thickset, middle-aged man in the robes of a religieux who stood in the gateway waiting for them. Where his hair grew long from his tonsure, it was speckled grey. He looked a muscular man and his grim visage seemed a warning that he was not someone to trifle with.

‘Bene vobis,’ he intoned in a deep baritone, making the ritual greeting.

‘Deus vobiscum,’ Sister Fidelma responded automatically and then decided to dispense with the rest of the usual courtesies. ‘These children need food, warmth and rest,’ she said without further preamble, causing the man’s eyes to widen in astonishment. ‘So does the Sister here. They have had a bad experience. I have to warn you that they have been exposed to the Yellow Plague so your physician needs to examine them immediately. Meanwhile, my companion and I wish to be taken to Abbot Brocc.’

The man stuttered in his surprise that a young anchoress should utter so many orders before she had been ritually admitted to the hospitality of the abbey. His brows drew together and he opened his mouth to voice his protest.

Fidelma interrupted before he could speak.

‘I am Fidelma from Cashel. The abbot should be expecting me,’ she added firmly.

The man stood with open mouth, gulping like a fish. Then he drew himself together as Fidelma swept by him, leading her charges through the gates. The monk turned and hurried after her, catching up with her as she entered the large, stone flagged courtyard beyond the gate.

‘Sister Fidelma … we, that is …’ He was clearly flustered at the abrupt manner of her entrance. ‘We have been expecting you this last day or so. We were warned … told … to expect you … I am Brother Conghus, the aistreóir of the abbey. What has happened? Who are these children?’

Fidelma turned to the doorkeeper and replied tersely: ‘Survivors from Rae na Scríne which has been burnt by raiders.’

The religieux stared from the pitiable children to the plump, young Sister Eisten. His eyes widened as he recognised her.

‘Sister Eisten! What has happened?’

The young woman continued to stare moodily into space and did not acknowledge him.

The monk turned back to Fidelma clearly disconcerted.

‘Sister Eisten is known to us in this abbey. She ran a mission at Rae na Scríne. Destroyed by raiders, you say?’

Fidelma inclined her head in brief acknowledgment.

‘The village was attacked by a group of men led by someone called Intat. Only Sister Eisten and these children survived. I demand sanctuary for them.’

‘You also mentioned something about plague?’ Brother Conghus seemed confused.

‘I am told that the reason for this horrendous attack was that there was plague in the village. This is why I ask that the physician of the abbey be summoned. Do you fear the plague here?’

Brother Conghus shook his head.

‘With God’s help, most of us have discovered an immunity in this abbey. We have had four outbreaks of the pestilence during this last year but it has claimed only a few lives from the young scholars. We no longer have fear of the disease. I will get someone to take poor Sister Eisten and her charges to the hostel where they will be well taken care of.’

He turned and waved a hand to a passing young novice. She was a tall girl, slightly broad in the shoulders with a carriage that seemed clumsy.

‘Sister Necht, take this sister and the children to the hostel. Tell Brother Rumann to summon Brother Midach to examine them. Then see that they are fed and rested. I will speak with Midach shortly.’

His orders were issued in a series of staccato bursts. Fidelma noticed that the young girl hesitated, staring in open-mouthed surprise as she seemed to recognise Eisten and the children. Then she seemed to make a conscious effort to pull herself together and hurried forward to shepherd the children and the plaintive, plump Eisten away. Brother Conghus, assured his orders were being obeyed, turned back to Fidelma.

‘Brother Midach is our chief physician while Rumann is our steward. They will take care of Sister Eisten and the children,’ he explained unnecessarily. He pointed the way forward across the courtyard. ‘I will bring you to the abbot. Have you come directly from Cashel?’

‘We have,’ confirmed Cass as they followed him. The warrior in Cass paused to draw attention to a matter Fidelma had neglected. ‘Our horses need a rub down and feeding, brother.’

‘I will attend to your horses just as soon as I have conducted you to the abbot,’ Conghus replied.

The doorkeeper of the abbey started to hurry with somewhat unseemly haste across the paved yard, through the complex of buildings, pausing from time to time to urge them to follow with as much speed as they could. Fidelma and Cass complied, however, with a more leisurely pace which was governed by their fatigue. The walk seemed interminable but, at last, having ascended the stairs of a large building, set slightly apart from the others, the aistreóir halted before a dark oak door and motioned them to wait while he knocked and disappeared behind it. Only moments passed before he re-emerged and, holding wide the door, gestured for them to go inside.

They found themselves in a large vaulted chamber whose cold grey stone walls were relieved by colourful tapestries, each illustrating something of the life of Christ. A fire smouldered in the hearth and there was the smell of incense permeating through the room. The floor was carpeted with soft woollen rugs. The furniture was rich and the ornaments extravagant in their opulence. The abbot of Ros Ailithir did not appear to believe in frugality.

‘Fidelma!’

A tall man rose from behind a dark, polished oak table. He was thin, with a hook nose, piercing blue eyes, and his red hair was cut in the tonsure of the Irish church, shaven at the front to a line from ear to ear and the hair hanging long at the back. There was something about his facial appearance which, to the discerning eye, suggested a relationship to Fidelma.

‘I am your cousin, Brocc,’ the thin man announced. His voice seemed to boom with a deep bass quality. ‘I have not seen you since you were a child.’

The greeting was meant to be a warm one yet there was some false note in the abbot’s voice. It was as if part of histhoughts were elsewhere while he was trying to summon a welcome.

Even when he stretched out both hands to take Fidelma’s own in greeting, they were cold and flaccid and also seemed to belie the attempted tone of welcome in his voice. Fidelma had little recollection of her cousin from her exuberant childhood. Perhaps that was understandable for Abbot Brocc was at least ten or fifteen years her senior.

She returned his greeting with a degree of studied formality and then introduced Cass.

‘Cass has been appointed to assist me in this matter by my brother, Colgú.’

Brocc examined Cass with an uneasy gaze, his eyes going to Cass’s throat where the warrior had loosened his cloak and it had fallen away to reveal the golden necklet of his office. For his part, Cass reached out with a strong grip to take the abbot’s hand. Fidelma saw Brocc’s facial muscles twitch at the power of the grip.

‘Come, be seated, cousin. You also, Cass. My doorkeeper, Brother Conghus, tells me that you arrived with Sister Eisten and some children from Rae na Scríne. Eisten’s mission there comes under the jurisdiction of this abbey and so we are much concerned at what has happened there. Tell me the story.’

Fidelma glanced to Cass as she slumped thankfully into a chair, relaxing for the first time in twenty-four hours in some degree of comfort. The young warrior picked up the invitation that her glance implied and quickly told the story of how they had found Eisten and the children at Rae na Scríne.

Brocc’s face became a mask of anger and he reached up a hand to tap absently on the bridge of his nose.

‘This is an evil business. I will send a messenger at once to Salbach, the chieftain of the Corco Loígde. He will have this man Intat and his men punished for this heinous act. Leavethis matter with me. I shall ensure Salbach hears of this at once.’

‘And Sister Eisten and her charges?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Have no fears for them. We will care for them here. We have a good infirmary and our physician, Brother Midach, has dealt with ten cases of the Yellow Plague over the last year. God has been good to us. Three of the victims he has successfully cured. We have no fear of the plague here. And is it not right that we should have no fear for we are of the Faith and are in God’s good hands?’

‘I am delighted that you view the matter with such a perspective,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘I would expect no less.’

Cass wondered, for a moment, whether she was being ironical at Brocc’s pious attitude.

‘So now,’ Brocc’s cold eyes examined her steadily, ‘let us get down to the main reason for your visit here.’

Fidelma groaned inwardly. She would prefer to have slept and recovered something of her serenity of mind before dealing with the matter. A long deep sleep was what she most desired. She would prefer to have eaten and drunk mulled wine to warm her and then fallen onto a dry bed no matter how hard. But Brocc was probably right. It would be best to get the preliminaries over with.

As she was contemplating her reply, Brocc rose from his seat and went to stand at a window which, she could see, even from her seated position, looked out across the inlet of the sea. The abbot stood, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down.

‘I am aware that time is of the essence, cousin,’ he said slowly. ‘And I am aware that I, as abbot, am held accountable for the Venerable Dacán’s death. If I was in need of reminding of the fact, then the king of Laigin has sent me a token as remembrance.’

Fidelma stared at him for a moment.

‘What do you mean?’ Cass articulated the question that she was about to ask.

Brocc gestured with his head through the window.

‘Look down there, at the mouth of the inlet.’

Fidelma and Cass both rose and went to join the abbot, curiously peering over his shoulder towards the spot he had indicated. There were several ships at anchor in the inlet, among them two large ocean-going vessels. Brocc was specifying one of these larger vessels, riding against its sea anchor, near the exit to the sheltered bay.

‘You are a warrior, Cass.’ Brocc’s bass voice was morose. ‘Can you identify that vessel? You see the one I mean? Not the Frankish merchantman but the other one.’

Cass screwed up his eyes as he examined the lines of the ship.

‘It flies the standard of Fianamail, the king of Laigin,’ he replied with some surprise. ‘It is a Laigin ship of war.’

‘Exactly so,’ sighed Brocc, turning to motion them back to their seats while resuming his own. ‘It appeared a week ago. A Laigin ship of war sent to remind me that Laigin holds me accountable for Dacán’s death. It sits there in the inlet, day in and day out. To emphasise the point, when it initially arrived, its captain came ashore to inform me of the intention of the king of Laigin. Since then no one from the ship has come to the abbey. It just sits at the entrance of the inlet and waits — like a cat waiting for a mouse. If they mean to destroy my peace, then they are succeeding. Doubtless they will wait there until the High King’s assembly makes its decision.’

Cass flushed angrily.

‘This is an outrage to justice,’ he said fiercely. ‘It is intimidation. It is a physical threat.’

‘It is, as I have said, a reminder that Laigin demand their eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. What does the scripture say? If a man destroy the eye of another man, they shall destroy his eye?’

‘That is the law of the Israelites,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘It is not the law of the five kingdoms.’

‘A moot point, cousin. If we are to believe that the Israelites are the chosen of God, then we should follow their law as well as their religion.’

‘Time for theological debate later,’ snapped Cass. ‘Why do they hold you responsible, Brocc? Did you kill the Venerable Dacan?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then Laigin has no reason to threaten you.’ To Cass the matter was simple.

Fidelma turned to him chidingly.

‘Laigin abides by the law. Brocc is abbot here. He is the head of the family of this abbey and, in law, deemed responsible for anything that happens to his guests. If he is unable to pay the fines and compensations due, then the law says his family must do so. Because he is of the Eóganachta, the ruling family of Muman, then the whole of Muman is now held to hostage for the deed. Do you follow the logic now, Cass?’

‘But that is no justice,’ Cass pointed out.

‘It is the law,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘You should know this.’

‘And often law and justice are two things which are not synonymous,’ Brocc observed bitterly. ‘But you are right to state the case as Laigin sees it. There is not much time to present a defence before the High King’s assembly meets at Tara.’

‘Perhaps, then,’ Fidelma tried to stifle a yawn, ‘you had best tell me the essential facts so that I may work out some plan by which my investigation may be conducted.’

Abbot Brocc did not notice her fatigue. Instead, he spread his hands in an eloquent gesture of bewilderment.

‘There is little I can say, cousin. The facts are these; the Venerable Dacán came to this abbey with permission fromKing Cathal to study our collection of ancient books. We have a large number of “rods of the poets”, ancient histories and sagas cut in the Ogham alphabet on wands of hazel and aspen. We pride ourselves on this collection. It is the finest in the five kingdoms. Not even at Tara is there such a collection of genealogical tracts.’

Fidelma accepted Brocc’s pride, She had been instructed in a knowledge of the ancient alphabet which legend said had been given to the Irish by their pagan god of literature, Ogma. The alphabet was represented by a varying number of strokes and notches to and crossing a base line and texts were cut on wooden rods called ‘rods of the poets’. The old alphabet was now falling rapidly in disuse with the adoption of the Latin alphabet due to the incoming of the Christian faith.

Brocc was continuing:

‘We take exceptional pride in our Tech Screptra, our great library, and our scholars have shown that it was our kingdom of Muman which first brought the art of Ogham to the peoples of the five kingdoms. As you may know, this abbey was founded by the Blessed Fachtna Mac Mongaig, a pupil of Ita, nearly a hundred years ago. He established this place not only as a house of worship but a repository of books of knowledge, as a place of learning, a place where people from the four corners of the earth could receive their education. And they came and have been coming here ever since; a never-ending stream of pilgrims in search of knowledge. Our foundation of Ros Ailithir has become renowned throughout the five kingdoms and even beyond them.’

Fidelma could not suppress amusement at the abbot’s sudden burst of enthusiasm for his foundation. Even among the religious, who were supposed to be the examples of humility, conceit was often never far from the surface.

‘And that is why the abbey is named as the promontory of pilgrims,’ Cass said softly, as if he wished to show that he had some knowledge to contribute.

The abbot regarded him with cold appraisal and inclined his head slightly.

‘Just so, warrior. Ros Ailithir — the promontory of pilgrims. Not just pilgrims in the Faith but pilgrims of Truth and Learning.’

Fidelma gestured impatiently.

‘So the Venerable Dacán, with the permission of King Cathal, came here to study. This much we know.’

‘And to do some teaching as a repayment for access to our library,’ added Brocc. ‘His main interest was in deciphering the texts of the “rods of the poets”. Most days he worked in our Tech Screptra.’

‘How long was he a guest here?’

‘About two months.’

‘What happened? I mean, what were the details concerning the manner of his death?’

Brocc sat back, placing both hands, palm downwards, on his table.

‘It happened two weeks ago. It was just before the bell sounded the hour for tierce.’ He turned to Cass, to explain pedantically: ‘The work of the abbey is done between tierce in the morning and vespers in the evening.’

‘Tierce is the third hour of the canonical day,’ explained Fidelma when she saw Cass frowning in bewilderment at the abbot’s explanation.

‘It is the hour when we start our studies and when some of the brothers go into the fields to work, for we have cultivated lands to tend and animals to feed and fish to harvest from the sea.’

‘Go on,’ instructed Fidelma, becoming irritated at the length of time the account was taking. Her eyelids were feeling scratchy and she longed for a short rest, a brief sleep.

‘As I have said, it was just before the bell was due to sound for tierce when Brother Conghus, my aistreóir, that is the doorkeeper of the abbey, who also has the duty to ring thebell, came bursting into my chambers. Naturally, I demanded to know why he could so forget himself …’

‘He then told you that Dacán was dead?’ interrupted Fidelma, trying her best to stifle her impatience at her cousin’s long-winded approach.

Brocc blinked, unused to interference when he was speaking.

‘He had been to Dacán’s cubiculum in the guests’ hostel. It appears that Dacán had not been seen at jentaculum.’ He paused and turned condescendingly to Cass. ‘That is the meal by which we break our fast on rising.’

This time Fidelma did not bother to stifle the yawn. The abbot looked slightly hurt and went on hurriedly.

‘Brother Conghus went to the hostel and found the body of the Venerable Dacán laying on his cot. He had been bound, hand and foot, and then, so it appeared, stabbed several times. The physician was called and made an examination. The stab wounds were straight into the heart and any one could have been fatal. My fer-tighis, the steward of the abbey, was given the task of making an investigation. He questioned those in the abbey but none had heard or seen anything untoward. No explanation of why or who could have done the deed came to light. Because of the fact that the Venerable Dacán was such a distinguished guest, I immediately sent word to King Cathal at Cashel.’

‘Did you also send word to Laigin?’

Brocc shook his head immediately.

‘There was a Laigin merchant staying at the abbey at the time. We have a busy sea route along this coast to Laigin. Doubtless this merchant took word of Dacán’s death to Fearna and to Dacán’s brother, the Abbot Noé.’

Fidelma leaned forward with interest.

‘Did this merchant have a name?’

‘I think it was Assíd. My fer-tighis, Brother Rumann, would know.’

‘When did this merchant leave for Laigin?’

‘I think it was the very day that Dacán’s body was discovered. I am not exactly sure when. Brother Rumann would have such details.’

‘But Brother Rumann found nothing to explain the death?’ interrupted Cass.

As the abbot nodded agreement Fidelma asked: ‘When did you first learn that Laigin held you responsible for the death and was demanding reparation from the King of Muman?’

Brocc looked grim.

‘When that warship arrived and its captain came ashore to tell me that, as abbot, I was being held responsible. Then I received a messenger from Cashel which further informed me that reparation, in the form of the lands of Osraige, was demanded by the new king of Laigin but that King Cathal was sending for you to investigate the matter.’

Fidelma sat back in her chair, placing her hands together, fingertip to fingertip, seeking refuge for a moment in thought.

‘And these are all the facts as you know them, Brocc?’

‘As I know them,’ affirmed Brocc solemnly.

‘Well, the only clear thing is that the Venerable Dacán was murdered,’ Cass summed up morosely. ‘It is also clear the deed was done in this abbey. Therefore it is also clear that reparation has to be paid.’

Fidelma regarded him with a sardonic expression.

‘Indeed, that is our starting point.’ She smiled thinly. ‘However, who is responsible for paying that reparation? That is what we must now discover.’

She rose abruptly to her feet.

Cass followed her example more reluctantly.

‘What now, cousin?’ asked Brocc eagerly, as he gazed up at his young relative.

‘Now? Now, I think that Cass and myself will find something to eat for we have not had anything since yesterday noonand then we must rest a while. We had little sleep in the cold and damp of the forest last night. We’ll begin our investigation after vespers.’

Brocc’s eyes widened.

‘Begin? I thought I had told you all at the abbey we know of this matter.’

Fidelma’s lips thinned wryly.

‘You do not appreciate how a Brehon conducts an investigation. No matter. We will begin to find out who killed Dacán and why.’

‘Do you think you can?’ demanded Brocc, a faint light of expectation growing in his eyes.

‘That is what I am here for.’ Fidelma’s voice was weary.

Brocc looked uncertain. Then he reached forward to a tiny silver bell on the table and rang it.

A fleshy, middle-aged anchorite seemed to burst into the room, his every movement speaking of a frenetic activity, a scarcely concealed energy which seemed to inspire an agitation of his every limb. The nervous restlessness of the man made even Fidelma feel uncomfortable.

‘This is my fer-tighis, the house steward of the abbey,’ introduced Brocc. ‘Brother Rumann will attend to all of your needs. You have but to ask. I will see you again at vespers.’

Brother Rumann seemed to physically propel them before him as he ushered them out of the abbot’s chambers.

‘Having heard from Brother Conghus that you had arrived, I have prepared rooms in the teeh-óiged, sister.’ His voice was as breathless as his appearance was flustered. ‘You will be most comfortable in our guest hostel.’

‘And food?’ queried Cass. Fidelma’s reference to the fact that they had eaten little in the last twenty-four hours had reminded him of that truth and created a gnawing hunger to register in his mind.

Brother Rumann’s head bounced up and down, or so it seemed; a large, fleshy round ball on which the hair grewsparsely. The flesh of his moon face was so creased that it was almost impossible to see whether he was smiling or scowling.

‘A meal is prepared,’ he confirmed. ‘I will lead you to the hostel at once.’

‘The same hostel where the Venerable Dacán stayed?’ queried Fidelma. When Brother Rumann nodded she made no comment.

They followed him through the grey stone aisles of the abbey buildings, across tiny courtyards and along darkened passages.

‘How are Sister Eisten and the children?’ she asked, after some moments of silence.

Brother Rumann made a clucking sound with his tongue, like a nervous mother hen. Fidelma suddenly smiled for that was precisely what Brother Rumann reminded her of as he waddled before them, hands flapping at his sides.

‘Sister Eisten is exhausted and appears to have been greatly shocked by her experience. The children are just tired and need warmth and sleep more than anything else at this time. Brother Midach, our chief physician here, has examined them. There are no signs of any illness among them.’

Brother Rumann paused before a door of a rectangular, two-storeyed building standing by one of the main walls of the abbey, separated from the imposing central church by a square of paved stones in the middle of which stood a well.

‘This is our tech-óiged, sister. We pride ourselves on our guests’ hostel. In summer we have visitors from many places.’

He threw open the door, like a showman performing some difficult feat before a large audience, and then ushered them into the building. They immediately found themselves in a large hall which was both spacious and well decorated with tapestries and icons. A wooden staircase led them to a second floor where the steward showed them to adjoining rooms. Fidelma noticed that their saddle bags had already been placed inside.

‘I trust these quarters will be comfortable enough?’ asked Brother Rumann and, before they could answer, he had turned and bustled off into another room. ‘For this occasion,’ his calling voice beckoned them to follow him, ‘I have ordered your meal to be brought here for convenience. However, from this evening, meals are taken in the refectory which is the building adjoining this one. All our guests usually eat there.’

Fidelma saw, on a table in the room, bowls of steaming broth with platters of bread, cheeses and a jug of wine with pottery goblets. It looked appetising to their hungry eyes.

Fidelma felt her mouth moistening at the sight.

‘This is excellent,’ she said approvingly.

‘My chamber is downstairs, at the far end of the hostel,’ Brother Rumann went on. ‘Should you require any service then you may find me there or, by ringing the bell,’ he indicated a small bronze handbell on the table, ‘you can summon my assistant, Sister Necht, She is one of our young novices and serves the wants of all our guests.’

‘One thing before you go,’ Fidelma said, as Brother Rumann started to bustle towards the door. The plump man halted and turned back inquiringly.

‘About how many people are there in the hostel?’

Brother Rumann frowned.

‘Only yourselves. Oh, and we have placed Sister Eisten and the children here temporarily.’

‘I was told that the abbey has hundreds of students.’

Brother Rumann chuckled wheezily.

‘Do not concern yourself with them. The students’ dormitories are situated on the other side of the abbey. We are a mixed community, of course, as are most houses. The male members of our order predominate. Will that be all, sister?’

‘For the time being,’ agreed Fidelma.

The man clucked his way out. Almost before he was beyond the door, Cass let restraint go to the winds and slid into a seat, drawing a bowl of the steaming broth towards him.

‘Several hundred students and religious.’ He turned a grim expression to Fidelma as she joined him at the table. ‘To find a murderer amongst this number would be like trying to identify a particular grain of sand on a seashore.’

Fidelma pulled a face and then raised the wooden spoon to her mouth, savouring the warmth of the broth.

‘The odds are much more in our favour,’ she said, after an appreciative pause. ‘That is, if the murderer is still in the abbey. From what Brocc says, people have come and gone in the interval since the killing. If I had killed the Venerable Dacán, I doubt whether I would remain here. But that would all depend on who I am and the motive for the killing.’

Cass was cleaning his bowl with satisfaction.

‘The killer might be confident that he will not be caught,’ he suggested.

‘Or she,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The curious thing about this investigation is that, in other inquiries that I have been involved with, there is always some discernible motive that comes immediately to the mind. This is not so in this case.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘A person is found dead. Why? Sometimes there is a robbery. Or the person is intensely disliked. Or there is some other obvious reason as a likely motive for the killing. Knowing the motive we can then start inquiries as to who is most likely to benefit from the crime. Here we have a respectable and elderly scholar who comes to a violent end but no motive immediately springs to mind.’

‘Perhaps there was no motive? Perhaps he was killed by someone who was insane and …’

Fidelma reproved Cass gently.

‘Insanity is in itself a motive.’

Cass shook his head and turned back to the bowl of broth he had been devouring and gazed sadly at the empty dish.

‘I enjoyed that,’ he commented almost in a tone of regret that there was no more. ‘Oatmeal, milk and leeks, I think. Is itdelicious or is it my ravening hunger that adds zest to the food?’

Fidelma grimaced in amusement at his enthusiastic change of conversation.

‘It is said that this broth was a favourite dish of the Blessed Colmcille,’ she observed. ‘And you are right about its ingredients, but I think anything would taste as magnificent when one has not eaten for a while.’

Cass was already cutting a slice of cheese and Fidelma indicated that she would also like a piece. The young warrior placed the slice on her platter and cut another. Then he broke off a hunk of bread. He chewed thoughtfully, at the same time as pouring a cup of wine apiece.

‘Seriously, sister, how can you hope to solve this mystery? It happened over a fortnight ago and I doubt whether the perpetrator of the deed has remained within miles of this place. Even if they have, then there appears to be no witness, no one who saw anything, nothing to lay a path to the culprit.’

Fidelma calmly took a sip of her wine.

‘So, Cass, if you were me, what you would do?’

Cass paused in the act of chewing and blinked. He gave the question some thought.

‘Find out as many details as one can, I suppose, in order to report back to Cashel.’

‘Well,’ Fidelma replied with mock seriousness, ‘at least we appear to be agreed on that. Is there any further advice you would give me, Cass?’

The young warrior flushed.

Fidelma was dálaigh. He knew that. And she was surely mocking him for presuming to tell her how to do her job.

‘I did not mean …’ he began.

She disarmed him with a grin.

‘Do not worry, Cass. If I believed that you spoke with consideration then you would find my tongue sharp and bitter. Perhaps it is good you do not flatter me. Though, truly, Iknow my capabilities as I also know my weaknesses, for only fools take to themselves the respect that is given to their office.’

Cass gazed uneasily into the ice-fire of those green eyes and swallowed.

‘Let us agree, though,’ she continued, ‘that I shall not tell you how to wield your sword in combat if you do not advise me how to perform the art for which I was trained.’

The young man grimaced, a little sulkily.

‘I only meant to say that the problem seems an insurmountable one.’

‘In my experience, all problems start out from that viewpoint. But solving a problem means that you have to start out instead of staying still. Once your viewpoint changes then you change your view.’

‘How then do you propose to start out?’ he asked quickly, trying to pacify the feeling of friction which still lay below Fidelma’s bantering tone.

‘We will start out by questioning Brother Conghus, who found the body, then the physician who examined the body and finally our flustered house-steward, Brother Rumann, who made the initial investigation. All or any of these might have pieces of the puzzle. Then, when we have gathered all the pieces, however small, we will examine them, carefully and assiduously. Perhaps we will be able to fit them together to form a picture, who knows?’

‘You make it seem rather easy.’

‘Not easy,’ she promptly denied. ‘Remember that all information helps. Gather it and store it until you have a use for it. Now, I think I shall get some sleep before …’

As she began to rise a piercing shriek of terror shattered the silence of the guests’ hostel.