Master of Souls Page 5

  ‘It is named after a river which enters the sea at that point,’ explained the abbot. ‘The river is turbulent and its currents are unpredictable. Mugrón had been dealing among the Corco Duibhne. Due to the inclement weather that prevented him sailing back across the bay, he was returning along the coastal road to the abbey of Colman. It was cold and the snow was starting to drive thickly along the road. Mugrón knew the area and knew there was a small stone cabin by the roadside, and he decided to seek shelter there. That was where he found the body of Abbess Faife. She had been stabbed through the heart. He decided to bury the body in a snowdrift as a means of preserving it and then come here with all speed.’

  Fidelma asked: ‘What did you do on receipt of the news?’

  ‘As chance would have it, Conrí, who is the Abbess Faife’s nephew, was at the abbey. He and his warriors elected to take Mugrón back to the place to recover the body. It was still cold and the snow had preserved … er, preserved things. But there was no sign of the missing six religieuse. Conrí and his men returned via Colmán’s abbey in order to find out if Abbess Faife and her charges had passed that way before they reached the place where she was discovered.’ ‘And they had?’

  Conrí intervened. ‘As I told you, lady, all was normal until after they left the abbey of Colman. The Abbess Faife and her six charges had conducted their business there and passed on their way.’

  ‘And where is this stone cabin where her body was found in relation to the abbey?’

  ‘As one leaves the abbey and travels on to the peninsula of the land of the Corco Duibhne, along the road that runs south of the mountains by the shore, I would estimate that it was no more than twenty kilometres.’

  Eadulf was frowning. ‘Isn’t that close by a place called the Island where once Uaman, who called himself Lord of the Passes, had his stronghold?’

  Abbot Erc’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know of that place?’

  ‘I was once a prisoner of Uaman the Leper. I saw him die and I was not sorry to see his end.’

  ‘You are right, Brother Eadulf,’ affirmed Conrí. ‘The blackened ruins of his stronghold, Uaman’s Tower, stand almost within sight of the place where the abbess’s body was found. They say that the local people destroyed it - the tower, that is.’

  Eadulf’s lips thinned with grim satisfaction.

  ‘I can vouch for that destruction. I saw the people do it after Uaman was drowned, caught by the quicksand that made the journey to his island fortress at low tide so hazardous.’

  ‘People did suffer grievously through his actions,’ agreed Abbot Erc quietly. ‘Uaman’s bands extracted money from all who travelled through his territory. But I will say one word of good. There lingered in him a remembrance that he was once a prince of the Uí Fidgente and he never harmed the passing religious. Abbess Faife passed through his territory several times in safety on her annual pilgrimage to Bréanainn’s mount.’

  ‘As Brother Eadulf says, Uaman is dead and his men dispersed,’ Conrí pointed out quickly. ‘We must concentrate on what explanations now exist.’

  Fidelma was sitting with her hands folded in her lap before her.

  ‘You say, then, this spot is near the coast? Is there any chance that some sea raiders could have come to shore there and carried off the six young women? Saxon and Frankish pirates have often attacked parts of our southern coast in search of such plunder.’

  Abbot Erc considered this.

  ‘A possibility, perhaps. But the weather was very intemperate at that time, especially along these coasts. It would be a foolhardy captain who would lead a raid across the great oceans in such weather.’

  ‘A possibility not to be discounted, though,’ Fidelma said. ‘Merchant vessels land at these ports. Which reminds me, I would like to speak to this merchant, Mugrón.’

  ‘He can be sent for,’ said Brother Cú Mara. ‘He can be here tomorrow, after the morning meal.’

  ‘That will be convenient,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘I feel that there is no more to be learnt until I see him. We will leave that matter aside. However, there is now the killing of the Venerable Cinaed to be discussed.’

  Abbot Erc raised his head in surprise.

  ‘Are you claiming authority to conduct an investigation into Cináed’s death as well as the death of Abbess Faife?’ he demanded. It was clear from his tone that he objected to the very idea.

  ‘I am a dálaigh,’ responded Fidelma quietly. ‘It is unusual for two prominent members of the same community to be murdered. We must ask if there is some connection between these two events.’

  ‘I don’t see how there could be,’ the abbot retorted in displeasure. ‘Abbess Faife could only have been killed by bandits. I presume that her companions have been abducted as slaves. However, Cinaed was bludgeoned to death in the oratory here. That could only be a result of malice. There seems no connection.’

  ‘I will make some inquiries all the same,’ Fidelma said firmly.

  The old abbot gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, realising that behind her quiet tone was a strong will. He shrugged as if he were no longer interested in what she did.

  ‘What do you wish to know?’

  ‘Let us begin with the finding of Cináed’s body. I understand it was you who discovered it? And this was three days ago?’

  ‘I did. I went to the oratory to prepare for the annual ceremony to commemorate the feast day of te, who taught our beloved Brénnain. Usually it was the Venerable Cináed and myself who prepared the chapel for the ceremony. The place was in darkness and, at first, I did not think he was there. Then I found his body, behind the altar, with his skull smashed in.’

  ‘Show me where the wound was,’ said Fidelma.

  The old abbot touched the back of his skull.

  ‘The corpse was lying face down … ?’

  Abbot Erc shook his head. ‘It was not. He lay upon his back.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips but said nothing.

  ‘Was there any sign of a weapon?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘None that we found.’

  ‘Yet it must have been a heavy weapon to deliver such a blow,’ Eadulf observed quietly. ‘And what of the blood? Surely such a wound would have caused much blood to spray out, staining the clothing of whoever was responsible?’

  Fidelma cast an appreciative glance at Eadulf and turned to the abbot.

  ‘Was anyone seen with blood on his or her clothing? Was a search made for any such clothing?’

  It was clear that such a thought had not occurred to him. He glanced at his steward.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Was such a search made?’

  The young steward spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

  ‘I will do so now,’ he said defensively.

  Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘A little late, perhaps. But it will do no harm. I presume that there is a communal laundry for the brethren?’

  ‘There is, indeed, a tech-nigid, a washhouse,’ confirmed the steward.

  ‘And when is the washing done?’

  ‘Every week on Cét-ain, the day of the first fast.’

  Eadulf’s face brightened. ‘That is tomorrow. So the laundry has not been done since the murder?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ replied Brother Cú Mara.

  ‘Who is in charge of the tech-nigid?’ asked Fidelma.

  It was Abbot Erc who responded.

  ‘At the moment it is Sister Sinnchéne. Each month the task of being in charge of the washing is changed. It is Sinnchéne’s turn this month.’

  ‘Sinnchéne the young sister who looks after the hospitium?’ Fidelma turned to the steward, who nodded confirmation. ‘Ensure that nothing is touched. Nothing is to be washed until all the clothes are examined, which we will do tomorrow morning.’ She glanced at Eadulf. ‘I am afraid that will be your task while I am questioning the merchant Mugrón. Conrí’s two warriors will doubtless help you.’

  Eadulf accepted the task without enthusiasm.

  Fidelma turned back to Abbot Er
c.

  ‘So much for the manner of his death. What of the manner of his life? His work was well known. Had he enemies who would want to take such extreme vengeance on him?’

  Abbot Erc appeared shocked at the suggestion.

  ‘The Venerable Cináed led a blameless life. Everyone loved him. He had no enemies.’

  Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘One thing I have learnt is that you do not achieve fame and wide respect without someone feeling that you have done them a wrong. It may be through jealousy of achievement. It may be some slight had been given without intention.’

  Abbot Erc was indignant. ‘The Venerable Cinaed was a great scholar.’

  ‘The greater the scholar, the more people grow envious,’ pointed out Eadulf.

  Abbot Erc made a dismissing gesture with a frail hand.

  ‘Scholastic debate is encouraged here but that does not mean that those who disputed with the Venerable Cinaed would murder him because they did not like what he said. Even I did not agree with everything he taught.’

  Fidelma pursed her lips cynically.

  ‘I have come across many such cases where a dispute of ideas leads to a clash of personalities and the growth of hate. Who disputed with him? Let us start somewhere in unravelling this mystery.’

  Abbot Erc was shaking his head.

  ‘Surely you know his scholastic reputation, Sister? No one would … I refuse to believe in such a possibility.’

  Fidelma spoke with suppressed irritation.

  ‘I am not asking questions to while away the time,’ she said pointedly. ‘I know very well the reputation of the Venerable Cináed. I have read his discourse on the Computus Cummianus and De Trinatate Interpretatio Perversa. While the old saying goes that fame is more lasting than life, nevertheless, he is dead. He has been murdered and the culprit must be found to make amends according to our law, of which I am a representative.’

  There was a silence. A young Sister of the Faith had not spoken to the old abbot in such a tone before. He flushed in anger.

  Brother Cú Mara, the steward, moved forward nervously.

  ‘The Venerable Cinaed encouraged lively debate and questioning, lady.’ The steward stressed the title in recognition of her secular authority with a glance at the abbot. ‘He liked to be questioned sharply and was just as sharp in his replies.’

  Abbot Erc, reminded of Fidelma’s authority, recovered his equilibrium. ‘My rechtaire is correct. Some of our most renowned debates have seen many scholars gather here; scholars from many colleges in the land - even from the great college of Mungret.’

  Fidelma had always wanted to visit Mungret, which lay in the heart of Uí Fidgente territory. It had been founded by Nessan, a disciple of Patrick himself, but was made famous by the Blessed Mongan the Wise who gathered one thousand five hundred religious to worship at a complex that boasted six churches. A saying had entered the language: to be ‘as wise as the women of Mungret’. She suddenly smiled as she remembered the story she had been told in her childhood. The wisdom of the scholars of Mungret had become so proverbial that the scholars of another college grew jealous, and challenged the scholars of Mungret to a debate. On the day of the arrival of the challengers, the scholars of Mungret decided to play a joke. They set out disguised as washerwomen, placing themselves at the ford across the river that bordered their territory, where the challengers would have to cross.

  The challengers came upon the ‘washerwomen’ at work by the stream. When the challengers found out that the ‘washerwomen’ could speak excellent Latin and Greek and could debate easily with them, they decided they should withdraw. If the washerwomen of Mungret were so learned, what hope had they of debating with the scholars of Mungret?

  ‘Something amuses you, Sister?’ snapped Abbot Erc.

  Fidelma drew herself back to the present.

  ‘Just a story I had heard,’ she replied.

  ‘These debates provoked no animosity?’ queried Eadulf.

  ‘None at all,’ said the abbot. ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma attended many. You may ask him.’

  Fidelma raised her head sharply.

  ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma of Magh Bhile? What do you mean? Does he dwell in this abbey?’

  ‘Indeed he does. Do you know him?’ replied the abbot in surprise.

  ‘I know of him. He was spoken of with the same reverence as the Venerable Cinaed. It is astonishing that you have … had,’ she corrected herself, ‘two great philosophers at your abbey.’

  The old abbot gestured as if dismissing the point.

  ‘Ard Fhearta is the home of many good scholars,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Of course,’ Fidelma replied with a smile. ‘But what is a man of Ulaidh doing here in the country of the Uí Fidgente?’

  Once more, to cover the old abbot’s ill composure, it was Brother Cú Mara who answered her.

  ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma came here three years ago. This was the country in which he had been born. He trained here and then the peregrinatio pro Christo took him to study at Finnian’s great school at Magh Bhile. He returned to live out the rest of his days among his own people and to contemplate the mysteries of the Faith.’

  ‘So he is not teaching here?’

  ‘Indeed, he does so now and then. As the abbot says, he took part and even presided in many of our scholastic debates.’

  ‘How was his relationship with the Venerable Cinaed?’

  Brother Cú Mara suddenly looked uncomfortable and glanced at Abbot Erc.

  ‘He did not agree with everything that the Venerable Cinaed taught.’

  Fidelma actually smiled mischievously at the formula of the words.

  ‘As, indeed, your abbot confesses was his attitude. Well, I do not doubt it. I cannot see room for agreement here with the Venerable Cináed’s argument for monotheism and his dismissal of the triune godship. That would have been anathema to the Venerable Mac Faosma.’

  Abbot Erc seemed surprised by her knowledge but allowed his steward to reply.

  ‘There were some lively arguments …’ the young steward acknowledged. He caught sight of the abbot’s frown and added: ‘I mean, lively discussions between the two of them.’

  Eadulf hid a smile. ‘So not everyone saw this Venerable Cinaed in terms of sweetness and light?’

  Abbot Erc cast an irritable look at him. ‘What are you implying, Brother? That the Venerable Mac Faosma killed him because of a disagreement on the subject of the Holy Trinity?’

  ‘The choice of the term Holy Trinity implies that you, too, did not favour the Venerable Cináed’s argument for monotheism?’ Fidelma could not resist the mischievous impulse to tease the stern-faced abbot.

  Abbot Erc looked startled. ‘What are you saying? The Venerable Cinaed was my friend. Surely we can all hold different opinions without resorting to physical anger?’

  ‘That, indeed, is the objective we should strive for,’ agreed Fidelma calmly. ‘Alas, mankind often finds it easier to settle disagreements by showing who is physically stronger. Do we not have a saying that might will prevail over right?’

  Abbot Erc sniffed. ‘So you think that the Venerable Cinaed was murdered because someone disagreed with his teachings?’

  ‘I did not say that,’ Fidelma replied. ‘On the other hand, such a theory cannot yet be discounted. Not until we have all the facts gathered in can we begin to speculate. It is the facts that I want.’ She paused. ‘Now, who were Cináed’s friends in the abbey?’

  The young rechtaire said quickly: ‘Everyone was friendly with the Venerable Cinaed.’

  ‘He was a very popular man and the sort of man who, in spite of his scholastic status, was humble and approachable by everyone, from the cowherd to his fellow scholars,’ affirmed the abbot.

  Fidelma sighed with impatience.

  ‘I am, of course, talking about particular friends,’ she said pointedly.

  The abbot shrugged. ‘I was his friend, of course. We two have been longest in this abbey.’

  ‘Anyone else?
Particular friends, that is?’

  ‘I knew him well in my capacity as rechtaire,’ offered Brother Cú Mara, ‘but I cannot say I was a close friend. And, of course, Sister Buan. She attended his wants for he was slightly frail. She cleaned and ran messages for him.’

  Fidelma nodded. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘I take it the Venerable Mac Faosma was not considered a friend?’ observed Eadulf.

  Abbot Erc sighed impatiently. ‘Let it be said that Cinaed and Mac Faosma were like chalk and cheese. Cináed was grounded in his philosophy while Mac Faosma preferred law and history. They both had views on each other’s subjects and argued them. They did not mix much within the abbey except at times of discussion and debate.’

  ‘Anyone else?’ repeated Fidelma.

  ‘Brother Eolas, naturally.’

  ‘Who is Brother Eolas? And why “naturally”?’ Fidelma pressed.

  ‘He is our librarian, the keeper of all the books we hold here.’

  ‘You mentioned a Sister Buan who attended to his wants. Who is she?’

  A looked of disapproval formed on the face of the abbot and it was the rechtaire who replied.

  ‘One of our community.’ He seemed to hesitate, unwilling to expand further under the annoyed gaze of his abbot. ‘She … she is … was … a companion of the Venerable Cináed,’ he ended lamely. ‘As well as helping him, she often travels the surrounding countryside to trade the goods made at the abbey.’

  ‘Isn’t that your business as steward?’

  ‘My business is to attend to the smooth running of the abbey. We have good craftsmen here, making items from gold and silver and the precious stones, the rocks and crystals, that are found in the surrounding countryside. Sister Buan meets with merchants like Mugrón to purchase the gold and silver for our craftsmen and then to sell the goods they make.’

  Abbot Erc continued to look uncomfortable and suddenly rose from his seat.

  ‘Since we have raised the subject, I am reminded that Sister Buan found something in the grate of the Venerable Cinaed on the day after the murder. It was a piece of burnt paper and she thought it might be a clue.’ He bent to a chest and took something from it. ‘I kept it just in case,’ he said.