Master of Souls sf-16 Page 12

  She appeared not to have considered the point before.

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

  ‘Indeed?’ Fidelma raised an eyebrow.

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

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

  She looked at him in bewilderment.

  ‘Why should I do so?’

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

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

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

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

  Sister Buan raised a shoulder and let it fall.

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

  ‘What did he say?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Did Cinaed do all his own calligraphy?’

  Sister Buan looked bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Remote?’

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

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

  Sister Buan made a sound that seemed to indicate derision.

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

  Fidelma’s brows came together.

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

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

  Fidelma rose slowly from her seat, followed by Eadulf.

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

  The woman looked almost helpless.

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

  ‘No one has spoken to you?’

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

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

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

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

  Sister Buan rose with a brightness in her eyes.

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

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

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

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

  ‘You seem distracted.’

  Eadulf, still deep in thought, raised his head.

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

  Fidelma smiled indulgently.

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

  Eadulf raised an eyebrow in query.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Eadulf glanced slyly at her.

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

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

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

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

  ‘Might that not endanger her?’

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

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

  Fidelma smiled without humour.

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

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Conri had returned to inform Fidelma and Eadulf that Mugron, the merchant, was prepared to take them across the sound to the land of the Corco Duibhne in the morning providing the weather was reasonable. The dangers of the waters round the coast meant that he would not attempt the crossing if there was bad weather. However, the prospects were favourable, for the storms and high winds they had been experiencing should, by tradition, lead to dull, wet weather with softer winds and a warmer temperature.

  ‘It should be a fine morning,’ conceded Conri, ‘but I would not count on it.’

  Eadulf frowned.

  ‘Why not?’ he demanded.

  Conri indicated the sky with a gesture of his hand. The clouds that afternoon were very high and wispy in appearance. Fidelma explained their significance to Eadulf.

  ‘We sometimes call those clouds mares’ tails. They can foretell that bad weather is on the way. Never mind. We still have plenty of tasks to keep us occupied here.’

  When Conri expressed surprise, Fidelma briefly recounted some of the information that Sister Buan had given them.

  Conri made a soft whistling sound.

  ‘I cannot see what link there could be between my aunt’s murder and the killing of the Venerable Cinaed,’ he said. ‘Do you really think there is one?’

  ‘We cannot reject the idea,’ Fidelma replied. ‘All we can say is that while people are not exactly lying to us, they are not telling us the complete truth. We have to ask the question — why?’

  Conri nodded agreement. ‘So what do you mean to do now?’

  ‘I mean to question Sister Sinnchene next.’

  ‘Should I accompany you?’

  Fidelma hesitated, then shook her head firmly.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you and Eadulf did not come with me. This questioning may touch on matters that are delicate for her, which she may better deal with woman to woman than with a male present.’

  ‘That is no problem,’ Eadulf agreed. ‘If there is nothing specific that you want me to do, I heard from one of the brothers that there was to be some chant practice in the abbey church. I would be very interested to hear it.’

  ‘Then I will accompany you, Brother Eadulf,’ Conri volunteered. ‘I know something of the singers.’

  They left Fidelma heading for the tech-nigid and made their way to the main church building of the abbey complex. They could hear the voices of the abbey’s clais, or choir, already raised in what sounded to a surprised Eadulf like some martial war chant. They entered the high-roofed chamber and took their place at the rear of the building. The clais were all males and before them the songmaster stood intently, his very body trembling, as he imparted the tones and rhythms of the music to the singers.

  Their voices rose intensely.

  Regis regum rectissimi prope est dies Domini dies irae et vindictae tenebrarum et nebulae.

  Eadulf listened to the unusual rhythms of what he recognised as a Gallican chant. The melismatic flourishes, the long series of notes on a single syllable, that characterised the chant were utterly unlike the Latin or the wailing chants from Iberia. The melodies of the Gallican chants had arisen among the Gauls, whose language was close to that of their neighbours the Britons. When Christianity had spread to Ireland it was from the Gauls that the early Irish Church had taken their religious music form, mixed a little with their own traditions. At least Eadulf could understand and feel the Latin words. Their spirit was not so different from his own Saxon war chants.

  Day of the King most righteous,

  The day is close at hand,

  The day of wrath and vengeance,

  And darkness on the land.

  The clais sang several more chants in similar tone and metre before returning to the first martial song. When the rehearsal was over the choristers received a blessing from their master, rose and departed. Conr moved to catch the attention of the choirmaster. He was a tall, thin-faced individual. His dark eyes, sleek hair and swarthy features made him look furtive, as if he had a secret to hide. Eadulf noticed that he wore a silver crucifix round his neck, which was notable because it hung from a string of alternately yellow and green coloured stones. He thought they were garnets.

  ‘This is Brother Cill n, the stiuirtheoir canaid,’ Conr said, as he led the man back to where Eadulf waited. ‘Brother Cill n, this is Eadulf from Seaxmund’s Ham.’

  The songmaster bowed his head and, on raising it, examined Brother Eadulf with a wary eye.

  ‘I have heard of your coming, Brother Eadulf, and wonder what the companion of the sister of the king of Muman seeks in our poor songs.’

  ‘Music is a food for the emotions and a feast that everyone enjoys,’ returned Eadulf.

  The master of music sniffed disdainfully.

  ‘Not everyone,’ he corrected. ‘Some may listen to the tune but they do not hear the music.’

  ‘I have heard that this abbey is renowned for its music,’ Eadulf pressed on.

  The choirmaster pulled a face as if to deny it.

  ‘There are many abbeys that produce better music than we — however, we are progressing.’

  ‘Progressing?’

  ‘We are going to perform at the great gathering of Aenach Urmhuman next spring,’ Brother Cill n said with some pride.

  ‘The Assembly of East Muman? I have heard of it.’

  Brother Cill n smiled thinly.

  ‘It is a famous gathering. Each year there is a singing contest at the great stronghold of the kings… er, the chieftains of the Ui Fidgente by Loch Derg. I am hoping that we will win the contest next year.’

  ‘Well, the last piece you sang was an excellent hymn,’ observed Eadulf. ‘I do not think I have heard it before. It seems so full of battle imagery that it is hard to reconcile it with the peace of the Faith.’

  The choirmaster shrugged.

  ‘Yet it was written by Colmcille — the blessed dove of the church. It is called the Altus Prosator. It is a good work but not a great work.’

  ‘It does not sound like a work of peace,’ Eadulf
repeated.

  ‘Perhaps Colmcille saw that war was often the only way forward to assert one’s rights, Brother Eadulf,’ remarked the songmaster wryly. ‘The Ui Fidgente learnt that lesson struggling against the Eoghanacht of Cashel.’

  Conri frowned in annoyance.

  ‘And learnt another lesson when they were defeated,’ he pointed out sharply.

  Brother Cillin was about to reply when one of the choristers approached them and coughed meaningfully to attract the attention of the master of song.

  Brother Cillin frowned irritably at him. ‘Speak, Brother,’ he instructed.

  ‘Your pardon, master, we need to consult you on the unending circle.’

  Brother Cillin’s features became uneasy as he glanced at Eadulf and Conri. With a muttered apology, he turned and stalked off, followed by the abashed-looking chorister.

  ‘A strange, almost surly, character,’ observed Eadulf.

  Conri grinned.

  ‘There is no harm in Brother Cillin. He has a good reputation as a teacher of music, especially in the clais-cheol.’

  ‘Choir-singing? I wish that I had heard more of it. I’d like to know these musical terms-“unending circle”, the chorister said. I’ve not heard of that.’ Eadulf sighed. He paused and then said suddenly: ‘Why is it that the Ui Fidgente resent the Eoghanacht at Cashel so much?’

  Conri stuck out his lower lip in a thoughtful expression before answering.

  ‘The lady Fidelma has never spoken to you of this matter?’

  Eadulf smiled softly.

  ‘She has given me the Eoghanacht side of the story. That is natural. I would hear the Ui Fidgente viewpoint.’

  Conri gave a quick laugh.

  ‘A great diplomat was lost in you, Brother Eadulf. Well, we have been taught over many generations that the Eoghanacht have denied the rights of the Ui Fidgente.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘As you know, Brother, in this land our peoples are bound by genealogists who set forth each family’s line, generation by generation. Our ancestors are important to us, my friend. Those who have gone before often continue to govern us who live now.’