Suffer Little Children

Chapter Five

When the penetrating shriek echoed a second time, Fidelma was on her feet and moving down the corridor of the hostel with a rapidity which surprised the young warrior who followed closely on her heels. The cry had come from the first floor of the building. It had sounded high pitched, like the cry of a woman in pain.

At the foot of the stairs Fidelma almost collided with Brother Rumann. He, too, had been hurrying towards the sound of the cry and, without a word, Fidelma and Cass turned after the corpulent steward of the abbey as he made his way along the lower corridor, along which were a series of doors.

The three of them halted abruptly, astonished by the sound of a soft crooning issuing in the stillness.

Brother Rumann stood before a door and pushed it open. Fidelma and Cass peered questioningly over his shoulder.

Inside was the figure of Sister Eisten, seated on the edge of a cot with one of the black-haired lads from Rae na Scríne in her arms. Fidelma recognised him as Cosrach, the younger of the two boys. Sister Eisten was holding him and crooning a soft lullaby. The young boy lay quietly sobbing in her embrace. The sobs were now soft, gulping breaths. Sister Eisten seemed oblivious to the three of them crowding at the door.

It was the elder brother, the other black-haired lad, who, standing behind Sister Eisten, glanced up, saw them andscowled. He moved across the small chamber floor and, without appearing to do so, forced them back through the doorway into the corridor, following them and swinging the door shut behind him. He thrust out his chin; his expression seemed defiant, scowling at their intrusion.

‘We heard a scream, boy,’ Brother Rumann wheezed at him.

‘It was my brother,’ replied the boy with a surly tone. ‘My brother was having a nightmare, that is all. He will be all right now. Sister Eisten heard him and came in to help.’

Fidelma bent forward, smiling reassuringly, trying to recall his name.

‘Then there is nothing to be worried about, is there … your name is Cétach, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ His tone was sullen, almost defensive.

‘Very well, Cétach. Your brother and you have had a bad experience. But it is over now. There is no need to worry.’

‘I am not worried,’ the boy replied scornfully. ‘But my brother is younger than I. He cannot help his dreams.’

Fidelma had the feeling that she was speaking to a man rather than a boy. The lad was wiser than his years.

‘Of course not,’ she readily agreed. ‘You must persuade your brother that you are among friends now who will look after you.’

The boy waited a moment and then said: ‘May I return to my brother now?’

Both boys would need time to get over the experience, thought Fidelma. She smiled again, this time a little falsely, and nodded assent.

As the door of the chamber closed behind the boy, Brother Rumann gave a distressed clucking sound before waddling back along the corridor.

Fidelma slowly retraced her steps to the stairway. Cass measured his pace to her shorter one.

‘Poor little ones,’ observed Cass. ‘A bad thing has happened to them. I hope Salbach will find and punish Intat and his men soon.’

Fidelma nodded absently.

‘At least the boy’s needs seems to have stirred a response in Sister Eisten. I was more worried about her than the children. Children have a resilience. But Eisten took the death of the baby badly this morning.’

‘There was nothing she could have done for it,’ replied Cass logically, dismissing the emotional aspect of the event. ‘Even if we had not been forced to camp in the open last night, the child would surely have died. I saw it had the plague symptoms.’

‘Deus vult,’ Fidelma replied automatically with a fatalism which she did not really believe. God wills it.

The chiming of the bell for vespers, the sixth canonical hour, brought Fidelma reluctantly from a deep sleep. Listening to the chimes, she realised that it was too late to join the brethren in the abbey church and so she dragged herself out of bed and began to intone the prayer of the hour. Most of the rituals of the church in the five kingdoms were still conducted in Greek, the language of the Faith in which the holy scriptures had been written. Many, however, were now turning to the language of Rome — Latin. Latin was replacing Greek as the one indispensable language of the church. Fidelma had little trouble switching from one language to another for she knew Latin as well as Greek, had a knowledge of Hebrew in addition to her native tongue and something of the languages of the Britons and the Saxons, too.

Having discharged her religious responsibility, Fidelma went to the bowl of water which stood on a table in her chamber and washed quickly in the near icy liquid. She towelled herself vigorously before dressing. When she was ready she went into the corridor. The door to Cass’s chamber was opened and it was empty, so she proceeded down thecorridor which was lit, now that dusk had fallen, with a few flickering candles in sheltered holders attached to the stone walls.

‘Ah, Sister Fidelma.’ It was the wheezy figure of Brother Rumann who had appeared in the gloom as she came down the stairs into the main hall on the ground floor of the hostel. ‘Did you miss vespers?’

‘I slept late and the bell awoke me. I made my invocations to Our Lord in my chamber.’

She bit her lip as she said it. She had not meant it to sound so defensive but she felt that there had been a tone of censure in the steward’s voice.

Brother Rumann’s large face creased into what she presumed was a smile, yet of disparagement or sympathy she knew not.

‘The young warrior, Cass, went to the abbey church and is probably on his way directly to the praintech, as we call our refectory, for the evening meal. Shall I conduct you there?’

‘Thank you, brother,’ Fidelma solemnly replied. ‘I would be grateful for your guidance.’

The pudgy religieux took a lighted lantern from its hook on the wall and proceeded to lead the way from the building along the now dark courtyard towards the adjoining building, a large construction into which many religious, both men and women, were filing in what seemed never-ending lines.

‘Do not worry, sister,’ Brother Rumann said. ‘The abbot has given orders that you and the warrior Cass will be seated at his table at mealtimes during your stay with us.’

‘At what should I worry?’ queried Fidelma, glancing curiously at him.

‘We have so many people at the abbey that we have to make three sittings for our meals. Those that have to wait until the third sitting often eat their meals cold, which causes complaint. This is why many of the brothers are now working on constructing a new dining hall at the eastern end of the abbeybuildings. The new praintech is going to accommodate all of us.’

‘A refectory which will contain several hundred souls under one roof?’

Fidelma could not keep the scepticism from her voice.

‘Just so, sister. A great task and one which will be completed soon, le cunamh Dé.’ He added the ‘God willing’ in a pious tone.

They paused in the hallway of the refectory and an attendant came forward to remove and stack their shoes or sandals, for it was the custom in most monastic communities that one sat down at the meal table in bare feet. Rumann then led the way into the crowded hall, along lines of tables packed with the religious of both sexes. The refectory hall was lit with numerous spluttering oil lamps whose pungent smell mingled with the heavy aroma of the smoky turf fire which smouldered in the great hearth at the head of the chamber. The odours were made even more piquant by the intermingling of the contents of incense burners placed at various points throughout the hall. Lamps and fire combined, however, to generate a poor heat against the cold of the autumnal evening. Only after a while, with the compactness of the two hundred bodies, did a warmth emerge.

The Abbot Brocc had already started the Gratias as Brother Rumann hurriedly conducted Fidelma to an empty place at the table, next to an amused looking Cass who smiled a silent greeting at her.

‘Benedic nobis, Domine Deus …’

Fidelma hastily genuflected as she took her place.

‘Did you oversleep?’ whispered Cass cheerfully as he leant towards her.

Fidelma sniffed and ignored the question to which the answer was so obvious.

The Gratias ended and the room was filled with the noise of benches being scraped on the stone flags of the floor.

In spite of the fact that they had eaten only four hours before, Fidelma and Cass ate heartily of the dish of baked fish cooked with wild garlic and served with duilesc, a sea plant gathered from the rocks of the shore. Barley bread was served with this. Jugs of ale, stood on the table and the religious were allowed to help themselves to one pottery goblet each of the brew. The meal was finished with the serving of a dish of apples and some wheaten cakes kneaded with honey.

The meal was eaten without conversation, for this, as Fidelma realised, was the Rule of the Blessed Fachtna. However, during the course of the meal a lector intoned passages from the scriptures from a raised wooden lectern at the end of the room. Fidelma raised a tired smile as the lector chose to begin with a passage from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes: ‘Every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.’

The meal ended at the single chime of a bell and the Abbot Brocc rose to intone another Gratias.

Only when they were leaving the refectory, reclaiming their footwear, did Brocc approach them. At his side came the puffing figure of Brother Rumann.

‘Have you rested well, cousin?’ greeted the abbot.

‘Well enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Now I should like your permission and authority to commence my task.’

‘What can I do? You have only to ask.’

‘I will need someone to act as an assistant, to find those people that I need to question and bring them to me and to run errands on my behalf. Thus they must know the abbey and be able to conduct me where I want to go.’

‘Brother Rumann’s assistant, Sister Necht, shall perform that task,’ smiled the abbot, turning to the portly steward, who jerked his head up and down in agreement at the abbot’s words. ‘What else, cousin?’

‘I shall need a chamber in which to conduct my inquiries. The room next to my chamber in the hostel would serve well.’

‘It is yours for so long as you require it.’

‘I will see this is so,’ added Rumann, eager to please his abbot.

‘Then there is no need to delay further. We shall start at once.’

‘God’s blessing on your work,’ intoned the abbot solemnly. ‘Keep me informed.’

He left the refectory with Brother Rumann clucking after him.

Sister Necht, Brother Rumann’s assistant, was the young, heavy-looking woman whom Fidelma had seen briefly on entering the abbey. She had been asked by Conghus to take charge of Sister Eisten and the children. She was fresh-faced, with reddish, almost copper-burnished, curly hair tumbling under her head-dress. Her shoulders were too broad and her chin too square for her to be called attractive. Fidelma found that she was quick to smile but easy to upset. However, she was eager to please and obviously excited at being given a task which was not usual in the rigid sequentially ordered work that was the daily round of community.

If anything, Sister Necht showed herself to be somewhat in awe of Sister Fidelma. It was obvious that she had been told that Fidelma was sister to the heir-apparent of the kingdom, cousin to the abbot, and was, in her own right, a distinguished dálaigh of the law courts of the land who had stood to give judgment before the High King and even at the request of the Holy Father so far away in Rome. Young Sister Necht was clearly a hero-worshipper.

Fidelma immediately forgave her the nervousness and spaniel-like adoration. The age of innocence would soon pass. Fidelma felt that it was sad that children had so quickly to pass into adulthood. What was it that Publilius Syrus had written? If you would live innocently, do not lose the heart and mind you possessed in your childhood.

Having installed themselves in the chamber in which theyhad eaten their first meal at the abbey, Fidelma sent Necht to bring the aistreóir, Brother Conghus, to them.

‘We will start at the beginning,’ she explained to Cass. ‘Conghus was the first person to discover the body of the Venerable Dacán.’

Cass was unsure of his rôle now. He had no training in law and had never witnessed a dálaigh investigating a crime before. So he took up a seat in a corner of the chamber, in the background, and let Fidelma seat herself at the table on which a lantern had been placed to give light to the proceedings.

It was not long before a slightly breathless Sister Necht returned with the thickset doorkeeper, Brother Conghus, at her heels.

‘I’ve brought him, sister,’ gasped the girl, in a deep, husky voice which seemed her normal tone. ‘Just as you said I should.’

Fidelma tried to suppress a smile and waved the young novice to take a seat by Cass.

‘You may wait there, Sister Necht. You will not speak until I speak to you nor will you ever reveal anything that you may hear in this room. I must have your solemn oath on this, if you are to remain to assist me.’

The novice swore at once and assumed her place.

Fidelma then turned her sharp smile to Brother Conghus who had stood waiting in the doorway.

‘Come in, shut the door and take a seat, brother,’ she instructed firmly.

The doorkeeper did as he was bid.

‘How may I help, sister?’ he asked once he was settled.

‘I must ask you some questions. I have to ask you, officially, if you know the purpose of my visit?’

Conghus shrugged: ‘Who does not?’

‘Very well. Let us go back to the day of the Venerable Dacán’s death. I am told that you were the first to discover the body?’

Conghus grimaced as if in distaste at the memory.

‘That is so.’

‘Describe the circumstances, if you please.’

Conghus paused to gather his thoughts.

‘Dacán was a man of regular habits. His day, so I had perceived, during the two months that he lodged at the abbey, was one of ritual observance. One could almost tell the time of day by his movements.’

He paused again as if reflecting.

‘My job as doorkeeper also includes bellringer. I ring the main hours and services. The bell for matins heralds the beginning of our day which is followed by the jentaculum, our first meal of the day. Because we are a large community and our refectory cannot accommodate everyone, we eat in three separate sittings. Dacán invariable ate at the middle sitting as did I. This timing allows me the opportunity to pursue my duties at the ringing of the hours. After the third sitting for the jentaculum I ring the hour of the tierce when the work of the community starts.’

‘I understand,’ Fidelma said, when the doorkeeper paused and glanced at her in silent question to see if she was following.

‘Well, this particular morning, two weeks ago on the day of Luan, Dacán was not at his place for the breaking of the fast. I made inquiries, for it was so unusual that he would miss a meal. You see …’

‘You have already explained how rigid his habits were,’ Fidelma interrupted quickly.

Conghus blinked and then nodded.

‘Just so. Well, I ascertained that he had not been at the earlier sitting. So after I had eaten, curiosity took me to the hostel to look for him.’

‘Where was his chamber?’

‘On the first floor.’ Conghus began to rise from his seat. ‘I can show you the chamber now …’

Fidelma waved him back to his seat.

‘You may do so in a moment. Let us continue. So, you came to search for Dacán?’

‘I did. There is little more to add. I went to his chamber and called to him. There was no answer. So I opened the door …’

‘No answer?’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘Surely if there was no answer, one might assume that the Venerable Dacán was not in his room? What made you decide to open the door?’

Conghus grimaced, frowning.

‘Why … why, I saw a light flickering under the door. It is dark in the passage so any light shines out. The light attracted me. I reasoned that if Dacán had left a light burning, then I should extinguish it. Frugality is another Rule of the Blessed Fachtna,’ he added sanctimoniously.

‘I see. So you saw a light and then …?’

‘I went in.’

‘What was the cause of the light?’

‘There was an oil lamp lit, it was still burning.’

‘Go on,’ Fidelma urged, when Conghus continued to hesitate.

‘Dacán was laying dead on his bed. That is all.’

Fidelma suppressed a sigh of irritation.

‘Let us try to establish a few more details, Brother Conghus,’ she said patiently. ‘Imagine yourself back at the threshold of the door. Describe what you saw.’

Conghus frowned again and appeared to give some deep thought to the question.

‘The chamber was lit by the oil lamp, which was on a small table at the side of the cot. Dacán was fully dressed. He was lying on his back. The first thing I noticed about him was that his feet and his hands were bound …’

‘With rope?’

Conghus shook his head.

‘With strips of cloth; linen cloth with parti-colours of blueand red. He also had a strip of the same cloth in his mouth. I presumed this was in the nature of a gag. Then I saw that there were bloodstains all over his chest. I realised that he had been killed.’

‘Very well. Now tell me, was there any sign of a knife — the knife that inflicted the wounds?’

‘None that I could see.’

‘Was one found subsequently?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘How were Dacán’s features?’

‘I do not understand,’ frowned Conghus.

‘Was the face calm and reposed? Were the eyes open or shut. How did he look?’

‘Calm, I would say. There was no fear or pain engraved on the dead features, if that is what you mean.’

‘That is precisely what I mean,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘Good. We now progress. You realised that Dacán had been killed. Did you notice anything else about the room? Had it been ransacked? Was it in order? If Dacán was so rigid in his habits it would imply that he would be scrupulously tidy.’

‘The room was tidy so far as I can remember. You are right, of course, Dacán’s fastidiousness was well known. But Sister Necht will tell you more about that.’

Fidelma heard a rustle and turned to frown a warning at the young novice in case she felt the need to respond.

‘So.’ Fidelma returned her gaze to Conghus. ‘We begin to build up a picture. Go on. Having realised that Dacán had been killed, what then?’

‘I made directly to see the abbot. I told him what I had discovered. He sent for our assistant physician, Brother Tóla, who examined the body and confirmed what I knew already. The abbot then placed matters in the hands of Brother Rumann. As steward of the abbey it was his job to conduct an inquiry.’

‘One question here: you said that the abbot sent for theassistant physician, Brother Tóla? Why did he not send for the chief physician? After all, the Venerable Dacán was a man of some standing.’

‘That is true. But our chief physician, Brother Midach, was away from the abbey at that time.’

‘You said that Dacán had been staying here two months,’ observed Fidelma. ‘How well had you come to know him?’

Brother Conghus raised his eyebrows.

‘How well?’ He grimaced wryly. ‘The Venerable Dacán was not a man you came to know at all. He was reserved; austere, if you like. He came with a great reputation for piety and scholarship. But he was a man of brusque manner and testy demeanour. He was a man of regular habits … as I have said before … and never spent time merely gossiping. Whenever he went abroad from his chamber he went for a specific purpose and did not pause to exchange pleasantries or waste an hour or two in conversation.’

‘You paint a very clear picture, Brother Conghus,’ Fidelma said.

Conghus took it as a compliment and preened himself for a moment.

‘As doorkeeper, it is my task to assess people and notice their behaviour.’

‘Physically, what manner of man was he?’

‘Elderly, well over three-score years. A tall man, in spite of his age. Thin, as if he were in need of a good meal. He had long white hair. Dark eyes and sallow skin. Perhaps the only real distinctive feature was a bulbous nose. His features were generally melancholy.’

‘I am told that he came here to study. Do you know much about that?’

Brother Conghus pushed out his lower lip.

‘On that matter you would have to consult the abbey’s librarian.’

‘And what is the name of this librarian?’

‘Sister Grella.’

‘I am told that the Venerable Dacán also taught,’ Fidelma said, making a mental note. ‘Do you know what he taught?’

Conghus shrugged.

‘He taught some history, so I believe. But, it would probably be best if you saw Brother Ségán, our chief professor.’

‘There is something else that puzzles me, though,’ Fidelma said, after a moment’s pause. ‘You say that Dacán was austere. That was the word you used, wasn’t it?’

Conghus nodded agreement.

‘It is an interesting word, very descriptive,’ she went on. ‘Yet why did he have the reputation of one beloved by the people? Usually a man who is ascetic, compassionless and stern, for this is what austere seems to imply, would hardly be a likable person.’

‘We must all speak as we find, sister,’ declared Conghus. ‘Perhaps the reputation, which doubtless was spread from Laigin, was unjustified?’

‘That being so, why were you so worried when Dacán missed a single meal? If he were not that likable, surely human nature might react and say, why bother to go searching for such a man? Why did you go searching for the Venerable Dacán?’

Conghus looked uncomfortable.

‘I am not sure that I follow your thoughts, sister,’ he said stiffly.

‘They are simple enough,’ Fidelma pressed, her voice clear and slow. ‘You seem to have been overly concerned with the fact that a man, whom you deemed unlikable, had missed the breaking of his fast to the extent that you went looking for him. Can you explain that?’

The doorkeeper compressed his lips, stared at her for a moment and then shrugged.

‘A week before Dacán’s death, the abbot called me to himand told me to have a special care for Dacán. That was why I went to his chamber after he had missed his meal.’

It was Fidelma’s turn to be surprised.

‘Did the abbot explain why you should have this special care for Dacán?’ she demanded. ‘Was he afraid that something might happen to the Venerable Dacán?’

Conghus gestured with indifference.

‘I am merely the aistreóir here, sister. I am doorkeeper and bellringer. When my abbot tells me to do something, I will do it, so long as it is not contrary to the laws of God and the Brehons. I will not question my abbot on his motives so long as those motives do not compass harm to his fellow men. It is my duty to obey and not to question.’

Fidelma gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment.

‘That is an interesting philosophy, Conghus. It is one we might discuss at leisure. But let me get this clearly fixed in my mind. It was only a week before Dacán’s murder that the abbot specifically asked you to keep a special watch over Dacan? He did not say why? He did not say whether he might have some reason to be fearful for Dacán’s safety?’

‘It is as I have already said, sister.’

Fidelma stood up with an abruptness that surprised everyone.

‘Very well. Let us go downstairs so that you may show me the chamber that Dacán occupied.’

Conghus came to his feet, blinking a little at the rapid change.

He conducted them out of the room, along the corridor and down the stairs.

Cass and Sister Necht followed closely behind Fidelma. Necht’s face still shone with enthusiastic excitement while Cass merely looked bewildered.

Conghus paused before a door on the ground floor of the hostel, at the far end of the corridor in which Sister Eisten and the children had their rooms.

‘Does any one currently occupy the chamber?’ Fidelma asked as Conghus bent to the handle in order to open the door.

Conghus hesitated and straightened up again.

‘No, sister. It has been left unoccupied since the death of Dacán. In fact, his possessions have also been left untouched in the room by the order of the abbot. I believe that the representatives of Dacán’s brother, Abbot Noé of Fearna, have demanded the return of these personal effects.’

‘So why have they been kept?’ interposed Cass, speaking for the first time since the questioning of Conghus began.

Conghus glanced at him, somewhat startled at his unexpected interruption.

‘I presume that the abbot decided that nothing should be touched until the arrival of the dálaigh and the conclusion of the investigation.’

Conghus bent again, fumbled with the latch and then flung open the door. He was about to enter the dark room when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and held him back.

‘Get me a lantern.’

‘There is an oil lamp beside the bed which I can light.’

‘No,’ Fidelma insisted. ‘I want nothing touched or moved, if nothing has been moved so far. Sister Necht, hand me down that oil lamp behind you.’

The young novice moved with alacrity to take down the lamp from its wall fixture.

Fidelma took the lamp, holding it high, and stood on the threshold peering round.

The chamber was almost as she had envisaged it would be.

There was a bed, a wooden cot with a straw palliasse and blankets in one corner. By it was a small table on which stood an oil lamp. On the floor, just below this, was a pair of worn sandals. From a row of pegs hung three large leather satchels. There was another table at the end of the bed on which were spread some wooden writing tablets covered with a waxsurface and nearby a graib, a stylus of pointed metal, for writing. Next to this was a small pile of vellum sheets and a cow’s horn which was obviously an adircín used for containing dubh or ink made from carbon. A selection of quills taken from crows was piled next to it and a small knife ready for their sharpening. Fidelma realised that Dacán, like most scribes, would make his notes on the wax tablets and then transcribe them for permanence onto his vellum sheets, which would then be bound.

She hesitated a moment more to ensure that she had missed nothing in her initial cursory examination. Then she stepped to the table and stared at the wax writing tablets. Her lips turned down in disappointment when she saw they were empty of characters. The surface had been smoothed clean.

She turned to Conghus.

‘I do not imagine that you would have noticed whether these were clean or written on at the time Dacán’s body was discovered?’

Conghus shook his head negatively.

Fidelma sighed and peered at the vellum sheets. They were equally devoid of content.

She turned round. There were dark stains on the blankets still piled untidily on the bed. It needed no great intelligence to realise that the stains were dried blood. She peered along the pegs on the wall and began to examine the contents of the leather satchels ranged there. They contained a change of underwear, a cloak, some shirts and other garments. There was also some shaving equipment and toiletry articles but little else. Carefully, Fidelma repacked the items into the satchels and hung them back on their pegs.

She stood for a moment, peering round the chamber before, to the surprise of those watching, lowering herself to her knees and carefully examining the floor still holding the lantern in one hand.

It was covered in a thin layer of dust. Brother Conghus wasapparently correct when he said no one had been in the chamber since the murder. Fidelma suddenly reached forward under the bed and drew out what appeared to be a short stick. It was an eighteen-inch wand of aspen wood cut with notches. It was so inconspicuous that it might easily be overlooked.

She heard a faint gasp at the door and turned to see Sister Necht staring from the doorway.

‘Do you recognise this?’ she demanded quickly of the young novice, holding it up in the light.

Necht shook her head immediately.

‘It was … no, I thought it was something else. No, I was wrong. I have not seen it before.’

Still holding her find, Fidelma’s eye fell on the small table by the cot. The only thing on it was the small pottery oil lamp. She transferred the wooden stick to the hand with the lantern and reached down to lift up the lamp with her free hand. It was heavy and obviously filled with oil. She replaced it and transferred the stick back again to her other hand.

She walked back to the threshold, where the others were crowding, waiting expectantly as if she were about to make some profound announcement. She was still absently clutching the aspen wand.

Fidelma turned back into the chamber and stood holding up the lamp high in order to let its light fall on the greater part of the room. Her eyes moved slowly and carefully over the chamber trying not to miss anything.

It was a dark cell of a room. There was only a small window, high up on the wall above the bed, which would give precious little light. Not only was the window small but it was north facing. The light, she reasoned, would be a cold, grey one. A room like this, for someone to function in, would have to be permanently illuminated. She turned and examined the door. There was nothing unusual here. No lock nor bolt, just a normal latch.

‘Is there anything more that you require of me, sister?’Brother Conghus asked after they had all stood in silence a while. ‘The hour approaches for me to ring the bell for the completa.’

The completa or compline was the seventh and last religious service of the day.

Fidelma dragged her gaze reluctantly from the room.

‘Sister?’ Conghus pressed when she appeared to be still lost deep in thought.

With a small breath of a sigh she blinked and focused on him.

‘Oh? Oh yes, but one more thing, Conghus. The strips of coloured linen with which you say Dacán was bound — what happened to them?’

Conghus shrugged.

‘I really cannot say. I presume that the physician would have removed them. Is that all?’

‘You may go now,’ she agreed. ‘But I may wish to speak with you again later.’

Conghus turned and hurried away.

Fidelma glanced towards the young sister.

‘Now, Sister Necht, can you find me the physician, was Brother Tóla his name?’

‘The assistant physician? Of course,’ the novice replied immediately, and was turning eagerly to the task before Fidelma had even told her the nature of the errand.

‘Wait!’ Fidelma chuckled at her enthusiasm. ‘When you find him, bring him here to see me immediately. I will be waiting.’

The young sister scampered away quickly.

Fidelma began to examine the notches on the aspen wand.

‘What is it?’ asked Cass in curiosity. ‘Can you read those ancient letters?’

‘Yes. Can you understand Ogham?’

Cass shook his head regretfully.

‘I have never been taught the art of the old alphabet, sister.’

‘This is one from a bundle of rods of the poets, as they are called. It appears to be a will of sorts. Yet it does not make sense. This one says “let my sweet cousin care for my sons on the rock of Michael as my honourable cousin shall dictate”. Curious.’

‘What does it signify?’ he asked in confusion.

‘Remember what I said about gathering information? It is like gathering the ingredients for a dish. You may gather something here and something there and, when all is complete, you start to construct the meal. Alas, we don’t have all the ingredients yet. But at least we know more than before. We know, importantly, that this was a carefully conceived murder.’

Cass just stared at her.

‘Carefully conceived? The frenzy of the attack makes it appear that the killer fell into a violent rage. That surely means that it was an act of angry impulse and not premeditated.’

‘Perhaps. But it was not a violent rage that caused the old man to be bound hand and foot without a struggle. That speaks of premeditation. And what produced such a rage in the killer? A stranger, a man or women who slew at random, could surely not create the fury which caused such violence?’

She broke off and was silent as if something had just occurred to her.

‘What is the matter?’ Cass pressed when he saw that her mind seemed to have wandered off somewhere else. She kept looking into the chamber with a frown. Finally, she moved back into the room and placed the lantern on the writing table so that it illuminated the room to the best advantage.

‘I wish I knew,’ she confessed hesitantly. ‘I feel that there is something not quite right about this chamber; something that I should be noticing.’