Master of Souls Read online

  ‘Sister Easdan will remain with us for the time being in the guests’ hostel,’ Fidelma replied firmly. ‘That goes for Conrí’s man as well.’

  The steward’s jaw dropped a little in his astonishment. He seemed about to protest again and then he swallowed.

  ‘So be it,’ he said tightly.

  ‘Good.’ Fidelma suddenly smiled in satisfaction. ‘Get someone to see to our horses. We have ridden long and hard today. Make sure that they are well looked after and fed. They belong to Mugrón the trader.’

  They paused only to remove their saddle bags before Fidelma led the way to the hospitium.

  Brother Cú Mara had already set matters in motion and members of the community appeared to be running here and there at his orders.

  When they reached the guests’ hostel, Eadulf looked censoriously at Fidelma.

  ‘You were rather hard on the steward,’ he said.

  ‘No more than he deserved. There is much to be done and a killer to be caught.’

  She turned to the rest of them, to Sister Easdan, Esumaro and the warrior Socht, an old name which suited the man’s temperament well for it meant ‘silence’.

  ‘You heard me tell the steward that you were all under an urgarad, that is a prohibition forbidding you to say anything until I tell you to. You realise that is a solemn undertaking?’

  Sister Easdan and Socht nodded immediately, but she had to explain to Esumaro, who as a Gaul was unaware of what this prohibition meant.

  ‘You see, I want no word of what you have experienced reaching anyone until I hear that Conrí and his men have been successful in rescuing the other prisoners on Seanach’s Island and capturing Olcán and his men.’

  That they could all understand.

  ‘Then we are agreed?’ When they confirmed it, she turned to the impassive warrior. ‘One thing, Socht. Although we are within the walls of the abbey, it does not mean we are safe here. I believe that there is an evil here as great as any we faced on Seanach’s Island. So keep your arms ready at all times and do not sleep too deeply.’

  ‘I understand, lady,’ grunted the warrior.

  ‘That goes for all of you,’ she added, glancing at them. ‘Be watchful.’

  As she finished speaking Sister Sinnchéne entered the hostel. She seemed sullen and a faint look of disapproval crossed her features as her eyes fell on Sister Easdan. It was obvious that she had already received orders from the steward.

  ‘The baths are already prepared for you and Sister Easdan, lady,’ she announced. ‘The Saxon brother, the stranger and the warrior will have to wait their turn.’

  Fidelma returned her sour look with a smile.

  ‘I know, Sister Sinnchéne. The facilities of this hospitium are primitive and you have no separate arrangements for men and women to bathe at the same time.’

  Only Eadulf noticed that she was being humorous.

  The custodian of the hospitium stood stiffly, doubtless recalling the nature of their last meeting.

  ‘Very well,’ Fidelma said, rising to follow. ‘Sister Easdan and I will bathe first.’

  ‘I will take the opportunity to nap,’ Eadulf said, sinking on to one of the beds with a groan. ‘I have promised myself two things on this trip - one, never to get on a small boat ever again, certainly not at sea, and two, to avoid getting on a horse when I can use my two legs to walk.’

  Socht regarded him with astonishment but diplomatically made no comment.

  Some time later, when everyone had bathed and eaten and was feeling relaxed, Fidelma and Eadulf made their way through the abbey complex to Abbot Erc’s chambers. They had left the others in the hospitium and Fidelma had warned them once again not to say anything if anyone seized the opportunity to try to get information from them.

  Abbot Erc was sitting staring moodily into the fire crackling in the hearth in his chamber. Behind his chair stood Brother Cú Mara, a study in peevishness.

  The abbot raised a stern face and bade them enter and seat themselves.

  ‘My steward has reported your arrival with that of one of our missing sisters and a stranger. Yet the lord Conrí has not returned with you. Why is that?’

  ‘All will become clear soon,’ Fidelma replied easily.

  The abbot’s frown deepened.

  ‘My steward also tells me that you refused to answer any of his questions and seemed to be making a secret of your journey and its results. Is that so? For I would look upon that as an insult to this holy establishment.’

  Fidelma returned his angry look with a diplomatic smile.

  ‘No insult is intended to you or your house, Abbot Erc. Let me explain, if I may, for I am sure you will understand my reasoning on this matter.’

  The abbot gestured impatiently and she interpreted it as a sign to continue.

  ‘Sometimes the rule of an abbey must give way to the rule of law,’ she began.

  Brother Cú Mara started to sneer from behind the abbot’s chair. ‘The rule of God comes above all things,’ he interrupted.

  ‘There is no rule of God that is contravened here,’ replied Fidelma evenly. ‘Tell me where it is written in scripture that I must answer the questions of a young rechtaire?’

  Abbot Erc raised a hand as if to dissipate their exchange.

  ‘You were invited to this abbey to resolve a murder and the abduction of some of our members,’ he pointed out. ‘Obviously you have news of this and so we would expect you to inform us what that news is.’

  ‘There can be no restrictions placed on a dálaigh qualified to the level of anruth, as I am, other than by the Chief Brehon of the kingdom.’ Fidelma kept her voice even. ‘However, I expect to be able to tell you everything within the next day or two at the most. My intention is to expose the guilty and not allow them time to escape. Therefore, no word of what has happened must be known within this abbey.’

  Abbot Erc looked shocked.

  ‘Are you implying that the guilty are here in this abbey?’

  ‘I told the Venerable Mac Faosma once that I never imply things. You may take it as a fair interpretation,’ returned Fidelma calmly.

  ‘Then I demand that you tell me what you know,’ snapped the abbot.

  Fidelma’s brows came together.

  ‘Demand?’ Her voice was cold. ‘You demand of a dálaigh?’

  Abbot Erc blinked at her tone. But Brother Cú Mara, young and now a little headstrong, replied somewhat sarcastically.

  ‘You had best remember that times are changing, Fidelma of Cashel. Your laws are becoming outdated. The new Penitentials of Rome are replacing them and the law and its administration will soon be in the hands of abbots and bishops.’

  Fidelma regarded him with a cold and piercing stare.

  ‘God save us from that catastrophe,’ she said reverently, as if in prayer.

  ‘When, in ancient times, the High King Ollamh Fodhla ordered the laws of the Brehons to be gathered so that they could be applied evenly over the five kingdoms, it was guaranteed that no king nor priest stood above the law and every judge had to justify his judgements. All were equal before the law. Abbots as well as kings. When that system is overthrown then our people will truly be in bondage, whether it be to your Roman Penitentials or to some other power.’

  Brother Cú Mara flushed angrily.

  ‘Bondage?’ he snapped. ‘That is something you Eoghanacht of Cashel need give us no lessons in. You keep the Uí Fidgente in bondage!’

  Fidelma had to control her own growing anger.

  ‘Indeed? So you would disagree with the policy of your chieftain, Donennach, that peace with Cashel is better than constant rebellion against the king?’

  Brother Cú Mara seemed to forget himself and took a threatening step forward.

  ‘Cú Mara! Enough!’ cried Abbot Erc sharply. ‘Your fidelity is to this abbey and to the welfare of its people. Remember that and leave us.’

  Brother Cú Mara paused for a moment. His expression seemed to show that he was struggling.

&nbs
p; ‘Leave us!’ repeated the abbot harshly.

  Exhaling with a hissing sound, Brother Cú Mara left the chamber.

  ‘There is an enemy in that one,’ Eadulf whispered softly to Fidelma.

  Abbot Erc grimaced as if trying to make an apology.

  ‘Cú Mara is a young and headstrong man,’ he sighed. ‘Diplomacy is not a gift of youth. Yet he does have a point. The Uí Fidgente were defeated by your brother at Cnoc Aine and our ruling family were killed. Many now feel we are in bondage to Cashel.’

  ‘That’s not exactly accurate, for your new chieftain Donennach traces his lineage back to Fidgennid after whom the Uí Fidgente take their name. Peace for the clan is better than the centuries of continued warfare that have taken place.’

  Abbot Erc bowed his head. ‘Let us not talk of politics, Fidelma. I know that you are gifted with eloquence in such matters.’

  Fidelma was serious. ‘We may have to speak of such matters before long.’

  The abbot looked puzzled. ‘Are you suggesting that politics enter into this matter of murder and abduction? Most of our community here are loyal Uí Fidgente. Most were supporters of our old leadership.’

  ‘Most,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But the Venerable Cinaed was not. I think you disapproved of him, didn’t you?’

  The abbot was trying to fathom the meaning behind her words.

  ‘I will not attempt to deny it. I disapproved of Cináed’s ideas. But that does not mean I killed him. I knew him for many years and we worked together. Yet I simply had no liking for Cináed’s ambition to seek out controversy.’

  ‘You call it an ambition?’ said Fidelma. ‘That is an interesting choice of word.’

  ‘Everything he wrote was designed to contradict orthodoxy. What else is that but courting controversy? He was resolute in his pursuit of controversial arguments so that it can be truly said that he had a strong desire to achieve notoriety in these matters.’

  ‘It might also be called adhering to one’s principles in search of the truth,’ interposed Eadulf, having kept quiet so far during the conversation.

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed the abbot absently. ‘Cináed was a cross to bear in the running of this abbey, for many found him and his views objectionable.’

  ‘Like young Brother Cú Mara?’ Eadulf queried in an innocent tone.

  ‘And others,’ Abbot Erc replied with quick emphasis. ‘But do not misinterpret what I say. As an individual, Cinaed was stimulating in conversation and likeable. I took an opposite view to his. I admit that I disliked his arrogance in contradicting what others knew to be truth - and then there was the matter of him and the woman Sister Buan. I disapproved of that liaison and refused to bless their marriage.’

  ‘That was rather extreme, wasn’t it?’ Fidelma reproved. ‘Why would you disapprove?’

  ‘I believe in the call for celibacy among the clerics.’

  ‘Yet Ard Fhearta is a mixed house, a conhospitae, in which you have men and women raising their children to Christ’s service.’

  Abbot Erc was dismissive.

  ‘One cannot move a mountain in a day. Vincit qui patitur - he prevails who is patient. You are right that this is a conhospitae and Abbess Faife and I shared its governance. Now that Abbess Faife is dead, I am sole governor of the abbey and it will be my rule that prevails. Abbess Faife will not be replaced. Within the year, Ard Fhearta will become a male domain ruled by the new laws. I agree with young Brother Cú Mara. More and more of our abbeys are adopting the Penitentials. We shall change our church laws to the rules we receive from Rome.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘That should be pleasing to you, Brother Saxon, for you wear your tonsure in the manner of Rome and therefore, I presume, you believe in its rule.’

  For a moment Eadulf looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Perhaps I have spent too long in your country - and I seem to recall the writings of the Blessed Ambrose, the bishop of Milan - si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more; si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi.’

  Abbot Erc regarded him with an expression of reproof.

  ‘Well done, Brother Saxon. “If you are at Rome, live in the Roman style; if you are elsewhere, live as they live elsewhere,’” he translated. ‘It is a good philosophy, perhaps. But since you have raised the subject of the teachings of Ambrose let us remember that when the Emperor Theodosius massacred the Greeks in Thessalonika because they killed a Roman governor, Ambrose condemned it as a crime that needed to be expiated by public penance. “The emperor is within the church,” he wrote, “he is not above it.” Thus he made Theodosius make that public penance. You, Sister Fidelma, might do well to remember that fact when you say the church comes within the law. Rome teachers that the church is the law.’

  Fidelma smiled thinly.

  ‘Your scholarship is admitted, Abbot Erc. However, we are, as Eadulf has pointed out, not in Rome. I still need time before I complete my investigations. Until I am ready, I want no one to attempt to question the witnesses I have brought back with me.’

  ‘You are a stubborn woman.’ The abbot was disapproving.

  ‘I am a dálaigh,’ she replied simply.

  Abbot Erc was dismissive. ‘I presume that the lord Conrí. will be returning here?’

  ‘That I can assure you is his intention.’

  ‘Very well. I hope that by the end of two days you will come before me and present me with the information that you are currently withholding. I will instruct Brother Cú Mara that he must accept this ruling.’

  Sister Fidelma rose. ‘Then I am sure that we will have a good outcome to this mystery.’

  With a quick nod of her head in acknowledgement of his office, she left the abbot’s chamber, followed by Eadulf.

  Outside, they paused for a moment.

  ‘Not the most supportive of persons,’ observed Eadulf. ‘He seems to have profited in his ambitions for himself and the abbey by the death of Abbess Faife.’

  ‘That is so,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘One wonders whether he profited by design or accident. That must be borne in mind.’

  ‘Either way, I think that he and Brother Cú Mara need watching.’

  ‘There are many who have secrets here, Eadulf,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘The question is, are those secrets connected with the activities of Seanach’s Island?’

  ‘Hopefully, we will know when Conrí returns.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she replied in a non-committal fashion. ‘I hope we will be able to find out more even before that time. Let us get back to the hospitium.’

  They were leaving the main building when Eadulf suddenly halted and apologised to Fidelma, saying he would catch up with her in a moment. Fidelma saw that he was heading towards the male defaecatorium. She paused under a hanging lantern to wait for him.

  ‘Sister Fidelma!’

  Fidelma swung round at the sound of her name.

  It was Sister Buan, emerging out of the shadows.

  ‘I am glad to see your return.’ The sharp-faced woman smiled. ‘I have been worrying a little about the matter we spoke of.’

  ‘The matter we spoke of?’ frowned Fidelma, trying to stir her memory.

  A look of dismay crossed the other’s face. She raised a hand to her cheek.

  ‘Oh, you have forgotten! I was hoping that you would resolve the legal problem for me. I know that you have other things … more important things … on your mind. But …’

  Memory came back to Fidelma in a flash. So much had happened in the meantime. She had given the matter thought before she had left Ard Fhearta to join Mugrón’s ship. She smiled apologetically, and held out a hand to catch the sleeve of the apparently embarrassed Sister Buan as she was about to turn away.

  ‘You must forgive me, Sister. You are right. There is much on my mind. But I have been checking on your situation. I can tell you the position now, if you like. It is not complicated.’

  ‘Come inside my chamber and let us be comfortable while you tell me. My chamber, as you may recall, is just here.’ The woman indicated a doorway. She seemed almost fa
wning now in her eagerness. Fidelma felt sorry for her. She was about to explain her hesitation when Eadulf came hurrying up through the darkness.

  ‘Ah, there you are …’ He paused when he realised that Fidelma was not alone. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I did not see that you were with Sister Buan.’

  Fidelma gestured towards the door that Sister Buan had just opened.

  ‘I am just going to explain some law to Sister Buan. It will not take a moment, so you can come in and wait for me.’

  Sister Buan was immediately deprecating.

  ‘It does not matter, Sister. Come and see me when you are not so pressed. I do not want to keep you from your companion.’

  Fidelma shook her head with a smile.

  ‘There is no time like the present. It will not take long. And you are right, I have kept you waiting long enough for the information.’

  Sister Buan was almost reluctant as Fidelma and Eadulf entered her chamber and seated themselves. Afterwards, Fidelma realised that Buan might have been embarrassed to discuss her marriage contract before Eadulf, but by then it was too late.

  ‘When we were last here, Buan, you told me that Abbot Erc had been against your marriage to the Venerable Cinaed but you had legally been married by an ordained priest from the abbey of Colman. Can that be proved?’

  The woman nodded quickly. ‘It can.’

  ‘Therefore, under the law, you are legally a cétmuintir.’

  ‘That was my understanding.’

  ‘You asked me for a legal opinion as to whether in these circumstances you could keep the possessions of the Venerable Cinaed, your late husband, and seek some compensation for the manner in which he met his death.’

  ‘I did so.’

  ‘I examined the law texts in the abbey library. As I see it, the Dire text puts limitations on your ability to make a contract without the authorisation of your father, a foster father, or, as a member of the religieuse, the abbess or abbot of your community. But even with those limitations, and even in a marriage, such as apparently yours was, where a wife has brought no goods or property into the marriage, the wife can still impugn contracts relating to personal goods.’