Suffer Little Children

Chapter Seven

The weather had changed again with the bewildering rapidity that was common to the islands and peninsulas of the south-west of Muman. While the sky remained a clear, almost translucent blue, the sun shone with a warmth which made the day more akin to the dying summer than to late autumn. The high winds had been dispelled although a sea breeze remained, blustery but not strong. Therefore, the sea was not totally calm, more choppy and brooding, causing the ships, anchored in the inlet before Ros Ailithir, to jerk now and then at their moorings. Above, in the gull-dominated sky, large, dark-coloured cormorants also wheeled and dived, fighting for a place to fish among the plaintive, protesting shrieks of their companions. Here and there, sooty, white-rumped storm petrels, driven seaward by the previous stormy weather were now returning to the coastline.

Fidelma had perched herself on the top of the thick stone wall of the monastery, where a walkway ran around it as if it were a battlement. She gazed thoughtfully down into the inlet. There were a few local fishing boats, a couple of coastal vessels or barca and an ocean-going vessel which traded with Britain or Gaul. She had been told that it was a Frankish merchantman. But it was the warship of the Laigin king, lying menacingly near the entrance to the harbour, with its sleek, malevolent lines, which took her interest.

Fidelma had sat for a long while, arms folded, examining the vessel with curiosity. She wondered what Fianamail, theyoung king of Laigin, hoped to gain by such an intimidating display. She could understand that demanding the territory of Osraige as an honour 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 practising 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 practise.

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 mesmerising scene, rose and proceeded to walk back, along the wooden walkway along the monastery wall, towards 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’ssoul-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 thedisappointed-looking novice. ‘I am sure you have other duties to fulfil 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 T61a, our assistant physician. Tóla 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 Tóla 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 Tóla 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.

‘Tóla 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 Tóla 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 Tóla 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?’

Ruman raised an eyebrow in surprise at the question.

‘Why would I refill it?’

‘No matter,’ smiled Fidelma 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 traveller. His name was Assid of the Uí Dego.’

‘Ah yes.’ She recalled that Brocc had mentioned the name. ‘Assíd of the Uí Dego. Tell me if I am wrong, Rumann, but the Uí 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 travelled 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 traveller, Assíd.’

‘Little to tell. He came off a coastal barc. 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 Assíd was from Laigin, and that Laigin nowplays 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 Assíd of the Uí Dego? None. However, the identity of the person who had taken the news of Dacán’s murder to Fearna was now obvious.

‘This Assíd,’ 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 infriendly fashion. That was on the evening that Assíd 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 Assíd 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 Assíd was a friend of Dacán.’

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

‘I am not a dálaigh,’ 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 apologised. ‘Just tell me as much as you know with regard to this man, Assíd.’

‘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 Dacan. 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 are 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 Dacan 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 Dacán …’

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 dálaigh.’

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 Loígde, a man of Muman. When I heard of the honour 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, Assíd. 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 realised 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 Dacan,’ 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 bond-servant. I even asked Brother Rumann if I could be removed from the duties at the hostel for the period that Dacan 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 Dacan would criticise 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, realising what she had said, she flushed. ‘I meant …’

‘I think I know what you meant,’ Fidelma responded. ‘Tell me, on the night Dacan 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 Dacan that night.’

‘Of course. He and the merchant Assíd 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 Assíd quarrelling with Dacan 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 Assíd?’

‘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 Dacan 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 Dacan. 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 Dacan 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 dálaigh 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 naomhóg, 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 an 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 vapours 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 Loígde 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 thepreordination 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 realised how suddenly vulnerable was this young woman dálaigh of the court. Colgú 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 realise 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 Tóla 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 colour of the linen itself had been enhanced by dyes in parti-coloured 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.’