Master of Souls Page 12

  Fidelma drew the paper carefully from her marsupium.

  ‘And this was the paper?’

  Sister Buan looked at it with some surprise and then nodded.

  ‘The abbot passed it to me,’ explained Fidelma. ‘And what do you make of it?’

  ‘I think it is the note that enticed poor Cinaed to the chapel that night. See, the words are clear: “midnight” and “Orat …” burnt away could mean “oratory”, and “alone” could be an invitation to go there alone. The next word is part of a name — “Sin”.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied the woman’s face.

  ‘You appear to have an astute eye, Sister Buan.’

  ‘It is that I am suspicious. Cináed loved his work and even when that arrogant man Mac Faosma challenged him to public debate, he was not disturbed by it. He was not concerned by the views of others because he had the strength of his convictions. But he was disturbed that night. I do not think it was a matter of a problem with his work. I believe that he was enticed to the oratory by his killer.’

  Eadulf examined her keenly.

  ‘You talk of the debates. Did you attend Cináed’s debates and could you understand the arguments? Could you understand them enough to realise whether Cináed’s views were right or that Mac Faosma was simply arrogant?’

  Sister Buan shook her head.

  ‘Of course I did not. I have told you, I could not understand any of the arguments,’ she said in reproof. ‘But I do understand when a man is arrogant in his behaviour. Cináed treated Mac Faosma with humour. The worst I have ever heard him say of him is that he was trying to be a “master of souls”. That is a derogatory term among our people.’

  ‘And you say that Cinaed did not mind Mac Faosma’s criticisms?’

  ‘Whenever Cinaed returned from those debates he was in a good humour,’ replied Sister Buan. ‘They did not worry him — Mac Faosma’s sneering comments and the baying of his students. Truly, I have never seen Cináed worried until that night, the night before …’

  She paused, hesitated a moment and gave way to a quiet sob.

  ‘Did you ask Sister Uallann what the argument was about?’ asked Fidelma softly.

  Sister Buan recovered herself with a sniff.

  ‘She thinks it beneath her dignity to speak to me as an equal. She is like Mac Faosma in her arrogance.’

  ‘But you did ask her?’ pressed Eadulf.

  ‘Of course I asked, but she told me it was on a matter I would not understand and brushed me aside.’

  ‘So, apart from the abbot and Sister Uallann, we are the only people you have told about this argument?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘That is so. I knew someone was coming to investigate the death of Abbess Faife and would naturally seek to understand the events behind Cináed’s murder. So I have said nothing about this to anyone else.’

  Fidelma exchanged a glance with Eadulf.

  ‘You assumed whoever came here would investigate Cináed’s death as well as Faife’s. It is an interesting assumption. Do you think they are connected?’

  Sister Buan suddenly glanced about in an almost conspiratorial manner.

  ‘I believe so. I overheard something someone said.’

  ‘What did they say and who was it that said it?’ demanded Fidelma curiously.

  Sister Buan looked about her again as if deciding whether some unseen eavesdropper could overhear her.

  ‘It was the rechtaire.’

  Fidelma frowned. ‘Brother Cú Mara?’

  She nodded quickly.

  ‘And what did he say and in what circumstances?’

  Sister Buan licked her lips.

  ‘I was taking the washing to the tech-nigid. It was the day after the burial of Cinaed. I had cleared out his clothes. Those that needed washing I took there so that they could be distributed later to the needy. Brother Cú Mara was in the tech-nigid speaking to Sister Sinnchéne. Neither of them saw me because the door was only partially open and as I came up I heard Cináed’s name spoken by Sister Sinnchéne and so I halted and did not go inside.’

  ‘Why did that make you halt?’ Fidelma queried.

  ‘Because I knew that Sister Sinnchéne had an unhealthy passion for Cinaed and that fact stopped me.’

  Yet again Fidelma and Eadulf could not help but exchange a surprised glance.

  ‘But she is very young,’ pointed out Eadulf.

  Sister Buan’s gaze rested on him for a moment.

  ‘What has that to do with it? I am not that aged. Old men have passions for young women, old women for young men, and so the reverse is possible. That young woman was always simpering after Cinaed.’

  ‘Simpering is an interesting term,’ Eadulf observed. ‘Was Sister Sinnchéne’s passion, as you call it, reciprocated?’

  Sister Buan flushed.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There was no foundation to it. But the girl seemed jealous of me. But, as the saying goes, all cows do not come equally well into the field. She did everything she could to lure Cinaed from me. She was a little vixen by nature as well as by name.’

  Fidelma was reminded that ‘little vixen’ was the meaning of the name Sinnchéne.

  ‘Why should she want to do so? To lure Cinaed away from you, I mean?’

  ‘She must answer that question.’

  ‘What did your husband say?’

  ‘He said he thought she was a silly child enamoured only of his reputation and prestige. He thought that she wanted to use his position to make a place for herself.’

  ‘But you and Cinaed were married,’ Eadulf pointed out.

  ‘In some places second marriages are not proscribed,’ Sister Buan replied. ‘A man or woman can marry a second spouse while still married to the first.’

  Fidelma knew that some of the old laws of polygamy had survived from the time before the New Faith. But the New Faith frowned on having more than one wife or husband.

  ‘Do you mean that she attempted to get Cinaed to take her as a dormun?’ she asked. The term was the old one for other female marital partners or concubines.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Did you ever challenge Sister Sinnchéne about it?’ queried Eadulf.

  ‘I once told her to leave him alone. But she was insulting and openly defiant. She replied with the old saying that the man with one cow will sometimes want milk.’

  ‘Were you angry at that?’

  ‘I knew Cinaed,’ she said emphatically. ‘He had no interest in her. Besides, do not the country folk have another saying — an old bird is not caught with chaff?’

  ‘Did you ask anyone to advise Sister Sinnchéne that the practice is frowned upon by the New Faith?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did. Brother Eolas has some knowledge of the law but when I went to see him he seemed to support the old ways. He quoted some book to me that said there was a dispute in the law on the matter, and concluded that as the Chosen People of God lived in polygamy, so it was much easier to praise the custom than to condemn it.’

  Fidelma sighed. She knew the passage from the Bretha Crólige in which the Brehon showed from the ancient texts that the Hebrews dwelt in a plurality of unions. She tried to return to the immediate matter.

  ‘So you heard Sister Sinnchéne and Brother Cú Mara speaking together?’ she said. ‘You did not make your presence known because you thought you might hear what Sister Sinnchéne had to say about your husband? Something important?’

  ‘Once I heard Cináed’s name spoken, I paused outside the door. Sinnchéne had said something about Cináed and then the rechtaire said, “We cannot be over cautious.” Sinnchéne replied, “Surely there is no way that Cinaed would have revealed that secret to the Abbess Faife?” The rechtaire responded, “Yet the abbess’s body was found near that very spot. That must mean there was some connection.” There was a pause and, thinking that I had been discovered, I fell to making a noise as I came in with the clothing for the wash.’

  ‘You have a good memory, S
ister,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Was anything said to you?’

  Sister Buan shook her head.

  ‘Brother Cú Mara pretended that he, too, had brought washing in and made a point of thanking Sister Sinnchéne for taking it as he left.’

  ‘Did Sister Sinnchéne say anything else to you?’

  ‘She scowled at me, which is her usual way, and took the clothing from me in an ungracious manner, so I left.’

  ‘Did you deduce anything from this exchange?’

  Sister Buan shrugged.

  ‘That this secret, this fear, that Cinaed had on the night before his death, might have been a fear that he had shared with the Abbess Faife.’

  ‘But how?’

  Sister Buan looked puzzled at Fidelma’s question. It was Eadulf who interpreted it for her.

  ‘Abbess Faife must have been dead over ten days when Cinaed was killed, and she was found a long way away from the abbey. How then could he have shared this secret, or fear, as you put it?’

  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 Colmán, I set out to trade for silver on behalf of our craftsmen. When I returned to the abbey, Cinaed told me the news that Mugrón had arrived with word of Abbess Faife’s death. Apparently her companions had disappeared. Cináed 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 Uí Fidgente. She was aunt to Conrí the warlord who brought you hither.’

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

  She looked at him in bewilderment.

  ‘Why should I do so?’

  ‘Well, I presume that you would object to Sister Sinnchéne 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 Cináed’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 Bréanainn’s mount. Cináed 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. Cináed 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 Eoganán 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, that it is the political tract that he wrote supporting the new ruler of the Uí Fidgente and decrying the old philosophies of conflict.’

  ‘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 Cináed’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 Cináed’s cétmuintir, 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 Cináed’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 cétmuintir 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 Conrí 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?’