Master of Souls Read online

  ‘Lady?’

  She started and guiltily realised that she had drifted off into the world of her remembrance. She brought herself back to the herb garden and to the gaze of the stocky merchant and Conrí. It was Brother Cú Mara who had spoken.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I was trying to recall something, but no matter. Come, let us sit awhile, Mugrón. I want you to tell me the story of how you came to find the body of the Abbess Faife.’

  She and the merchant seated themselves on the wooden bench while Conrí and the steward took up positions nearby.

  ‘It was purely by accident,’ the merchant began and then hesitated. ‘I am not sure where to start.’

  Fidelma smiled encouragement.

  ‘Let us start with how you came to be on that road in the land of the Corco Duibhne.’

  The merchant paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts.

  ‘As you have probably been told, I am the main merchant in this area and dwell on the coast to the south-west of here.’

  ‘I have been told,’ confirmed Fidelma solemnly.

  ‘I have several ships and we do good business along this coast and often have commissions to supply goods to the abbeys.’ He paused. ‘Several weeks ago, I set out to trade some goods with the Corco Duibhne. I deal regularly with them.’

  ‘You set out on foot?’

  Mugrón shook his head.

  ‘The easiest way to transport goods is a short sail from the port of An Bhearbha across the great inlet to the peninsula, which is their territory. In good weather it is a simple run due west, then around a finger of land that pokes up from the peninsula to a group of islands, through these and round into Bréanainn’s Bay. There is a good landing in the bay and that is where many of the merchants of the Corco Duibhne gather. Also it is not a hard climb into the mountains, to Bréanainn’s mount where this abbey keeps a small community at the very spot where the founder—’

  ‘I know of Bréanainn’s mount,‘interrupted Fidelma, suppressing a sigh of restlessness. ‘So you went to Bréanainn’s Bay on the north side of the peninsula by ship to trade. How was it that you were later on foot on the south side of the peninsula heading eastward away from your ship?’ She hesitated as another thought occurred to her. ‘How was it that the Abbess Faife did not take her charges by this quicker and easier route to Bréanainn’s mount? Why, in the midwinter snows, was she taking her charges on foot on what was surely the longest way to her objective?’

  Brother Cú Mara coughed awkwardly.

  ‘If I might remind you, lady? There were two good reasons. One reason being that her first goal was the abbey of Colman where she had business. It is easier to get there on foot from Ard Fhearta. But she always followed the original route of the Blessed Bréanainn on his journey to the mountain—’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ cut in Fidelma sharply. ‘I had forgotten that point for a moment. ‘But it still does not explain why you, Mugrón, should have abandoned your ship for such an arduous route home?’

  Mugrón was smiling broadly.

  ‘As I said, lady, there is no quicker route with fair weather and a westerly wind to bring you from the great bay back to my safe little harbour here. The journey there was fine enough. We had a good breeze blowing off the coast from the east and there were no problems. But not long after we landed and were exchanging cargoes, the winds rose, the snows came down and we were forced to seek shelter close inshore. I had business that would not wait and so I negotiated for a fine horse from a local trader. I left my ship, telling my crew to wait until the weather improved before setting out to return here.

  ‘I took the route south-west through the mountains to pay my respects to Slébéne, the chieftain of the Corco Duibhne, at his fortress of Daingean. It did not put me out of my way. I could also proceed to the abbey of Colman and conclude some other business. Then the ride home would be easy.’

  ‘I see. Go on.’

  Mugrón massaged his forehead with his fingertips for a moment.

  ‘Perhaps I should tell you that Brother Maidiu, who is in charge of the community on Bréanainn’s mount, had come down to see me at the ship. We carried supplies for him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He told me that he was worried as he had been expecting the Abbess Faife and some of her companions. It was the first time that she had not turned up on the day they usually celebrated the enlightenment of the Blessed Bréanainn on the mountain.’

  ‘So she was already overdue?’

  ‘She was.’

  Fidelma turned to the young steward.

  ‘How many are there in this community under Brother Maidíu?’

  Brother Cú Mara smiled.

  ‘To call it a community is merely to flatter it, lady. He has no more than three or four Brothers of the Faith who reside on the mountain all year round. It is a cold and harsh environment and only suitable for those who have a vocation for the life.’

  ‘I see.’ She returned to the merchant. ‘I am sorry. Please continue.’

  ‘When I had made my mind up to continue on horseback, I told Brother Maidiu that I would look out for Abbess Faife along the road as I was sure that she was on the way but had probably been caught up and delayed by the snows.’

  He paused, as if to gather his thoughts again.

  ‘I left the fortress, An Daingean, and rode along the south coast road eastward towards the abbey of Colmán. It is a long straight track with mountains on one side and the sea’s great inlet on the other. On a pleasant, dry day, it is an easy ride. The abbey of Colman lies about thirty-five or so kilometres from Daingean. I was confident of reaching there before nightfall. The wind was from the south-west, so it was, thanks be, at my back, but the snow was falling thickly and it was causing drifts. I was feeling quite exhausted when I reached the place that is called simply the Island, where, until a short time ago, Uaman, Lord of the Passes, had his fortress. It is in blackened ruins now for the people rose up against him—’

  Fidelma nodded quickly.

  ‘We have heard the story,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Near there is a disused coirceogach, a round stone hut, where I have sheltered several times. I thought that I would rest again and try to dry my clothes, keeping out of the snow for a while, rather than press on the remaining distance to the abbey. I had no difficulty locating the place despite the drifting snow, for I had the position of Uaman’s island to guide me.’

  ‘The coirceogach is easy to find,’ added Conrí.

  ‘What was your first impression?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Were there any signs of disturbance around that you noticed?’

  The merchant shook his head.

  ‘Don’t forget, lady, the snow was coming thick and fast. I saw nothing but a white blanket across the ground. I tried to pull my horse into the shelter of some trees and made towards the entrance of the coirceogach. I was aware that I had trodden on something that did not feel right. I don’t know how else to explain it. But it was not hard like ground or rock and when I looked down I saw there was something dark beneath the snow. I scraped away and realised it was a body.’

  He paused and passed a hand over his forehead as if to wipe it

  ‘My first thought was to rebury it but … but then I realised that it was an odd place to bury a body, just under a layer of snow. My curiosity got the better of me and I removed more snow to see if I could discover any reason for this. As I uncovered the features of the corpse I was horrified. I knew the Abbess Faife well. I saw that a terrible blade wound to her breast had killed her. For a while I stood not knowing what to do. Then I made up my mind. I removed the corpse and carried it behind the stone hut and reburied it under the snow, packing the snow tight.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘My idea was to preserve the body as best I could. If I left it where it was, someone else might find it. My thought was then to hurry on to Ard Fhearta to report the matter for, as I say, it was clear that she had been murdered.’
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  ‘And you saw nothing else which would give any indication as to why she came by her death? No sign of what might have happened to her companions?’

  Mugrón shook his head firmly.

  ‘I was halfway to the abbey of Colman when I realised about her companions,’ he confessed. ‘But there had been no sign of anyone else. As I have said, the snow lay thick on the ground. It had been snowing on and off for several days.’

  ‘So there were no other bodies?’

  ‘Not where I found that of the abbess.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘Does that imply there were other bodies in the vicinity?’

  Mugrón nodded. ‘There must have been some wreck along the coast. There was fresh wreckage nearby, floating along the shore, and among it were one or two bodies. There was nothing I could do about them. Remember, I was alone.’

  Fidelma sat back and was silent for a few moments. Then she asked: ‘Your first intention was to enter the coirceogach and get dry. Did you go in at all?’

  The merchant hesitated.

  ‘I did, but only for a moment.’

  ‘And there was nothing inside that presented you with any information as to what might have happened?’

  ‘I saw that the fire had recently been used.’ He frowned. ‘There was some discarded clothing in a corner.’

  Conrí nodded in agreement.

  ‘The rags were still there when we returned. There was also a water-soaked boot by them.’

  Fidelma raised an inquisitive face to the warlord of the Ui Fidgente.

  ‘A boot?’

  Instead of using the word cuarán for an ordinary shoe he had used the word coisbert for something larger.

  ‘It was the sort of boot that a seaman might wear,’ the merchant chimed in. ‘But it was of foreign origin.’

  Fidelma regarded him with interest.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Mugrón smiled complacently.

  ‘It is my trade, lady. If I did not know a native boot from a foreign one, I would be a poor merchant. This boot was one that I would expect to see in Gaul. In fact, I would say it was a type that many of the seamen of Armorica wear.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘When I returned with lord Conrí, we examined the clothes and the boot.’

  ‘What did you do with them?’

  ‘We left them in the hut.’

  There was a silence as Fidelma considered the information. After a while, she said: ‘There is nothing else that you can tell me?’

  ‘Nothing, lady.’

  ‘Nothing that struck your mind about the scene that caused you any thought? Even if it was unrelated to the death of the abbess?’

  The merchant was about to shake his head when he caught himself.

  ‘There was something?’ Fidelma pressed.

  Mugrón shrugged. ‘It was absolutely unrelated. I mentioned the wreckage of the ship and the bodies. A lot of ships have foundered around that coast. I just noticed that it looked very recent. The timbers that lay along the shore had not been discoloured. It was just a passing thought, no more. Then I went on.’

  ‘I see,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘So it might be that your Gaulish boot might have come from a survivor of that wreck. A ship from Gaul.’

  Mugrón responded only with a faint shrug.

  ‘And all this occurred about ten days ago?’ she asked.

  ‘More like fifteen days now.’

  Fidelma gave a soft sigh and sat back.

  ‘Well, Mugrón, I will not detain you further. If I want to talk to you again how shall I find you? At this harbour of yours? An Bhearbha?’

  ‘Ask anyone and they will direct you to me. But within a day or so, I have a cargo to run to Bréanainn’s Bay.’

  ‘Ah, then it may well be that I might need to book a passage on your vessel for my companions and myself.’

  ‘You would be most welcome, lady.’

  The burly merchant rose from the seat and bowed stiffly towards her. As he was turning to leave, Fidelma called softly: ‘Oh, and Mugrón … my thanks for reminding me of a pleasant period in my life. My childhood on the banks of the River Siur. They were good times.’

  The merchant answered with a smile and raised a hand in salutation before leaving the herb garden.

  For some time Fidelma sat in silence, turning over in her mind the information that she had garnered.

  Finally, an anxious clearing of his throat by Brother Cú Mara attracted her attention. She looked up and realised the steward and Conr were waiting for her to speak.

  ‘What now, lady?’ Brother Cú Mara asked anxiously.

  ‘What now, Brother?’ She stood up. ‘Now we shall go in search of Brother Eadulf and discover what he has found out about the bloodstained clothing.’

  She quickly explained to Conrí about Eadulf’s find in the washing house.

  Brother Cú Mara led the way to the tech-nigid, a wooden structure conveniently sited next to a stream which gushed from a spring and made its way across the hillside on which the abbey buildings were distributed. As they approached, Eadulf was emerging with the bloodstained clothing in his arms.

  ‘I have the names of the owners,’ he said in triumph, as he saw them.

  ‘Then let us have a word with them,’ Fidelma replied.

  ‘The first is Brother Feólaigid,’ Eadulf said.

  Brother Cú Mara guffawed immediately.

  They turned on him with some astonishment.

  ‘You seem amused, Brother,’ Fidelma observed coldly. ‘Is there some joke that can be shared with us?’

  The young rechtaire did not lose his expression of amusement.

  ‘I will take you to where Brother Feólaigid is working,’ he said in a tone that held some inner mirth. Fidelma and Eadulf exchanged a look of mutual bewilderment and followed him, with Conrí bringing up the rear.

  Brother Cú Mara led the way to a far corner of the abbey complex, to a building also alongside another of the numerous little streams that were to be found in this countryside. In construction it was rather like the tech-nigid. The doors stood wide open and as they approached Eadulf became aware of an odour he could not quite identify. There was a sound, too. It was halfway between someone chopping wood and the smack of something heavy on flesh.

  ‘This is where Brother Feólaigid works,’ the young steward said, this time scarcely able to conceal the mirth in his voice.

  At the door, peering into the interior of the building, they saw a burly man with an axe, hewing at a carcass. Blood was everywhere. The carcass was that of a pig. The man was expertly reducing it to joints of meat. Around him, hanging on metal hooks, hung large joints and whole carcasses of more pigs and lambs.

  ‘Brother Feólaigid is our butcher.’ There was no disguising the amusement in Brother Cú Mara’s voice. ‘If there was no blood on his robes, it would be more of a mystery than otherwise.’

  Fidelma turned with irritation on her face and was about to launch into a homily on the wasting of a dálaigh’s time. Then she glanced at Eadulf and the look on his face made her suddenly chuckle.

  ‘Well, Brother,’ she turned back to the rechtaire, ‘you have had your little joke on us. But there is still another bloodstained robe to be accounted for.’

  Eadulf was clearly irritated.

  ‘Your brethren would seem to over-indulge in eating the flesh of animals,’ he observed testily to the steward. ‘Such indulgence in meat eating is frowned upon in Rome.’

  The young rechtaire’s expression was smug.

  ‘I have heard the Venerable Mac Faosma quote from an ancient book upon which our religion is founded and which the Greeks called “the beginning” — Genesis. In this holy book God tells Noah, “Every creature that lives and moves shall be food for you.”’

  Conr, not really understanding the cause of Eadulf’s ill-humour and believing him not to know the widespread practice of eating various meats in the country, added: ‘The abbey has many people to sustain, Br
other Eadulf. It has its own flocks of sheep, even cows to provide milk and occasional meat. The cook in this abbey is renowned throughout the lands of the Uí Fidgente for his indrechtan and maróg.’

  Eadulf, who was just being surly and certainly had no real objection to meat eating, did not understand the words that Conrí used and said so.

  It was Fidelma who explained.

  ‘They are meat dishes in which the intestines of a pig, cow or sheep are stuffed with minced meat to which is added grain or diced apple. Then they are boiled and put aside until wanted. They are regarded as great delicacies in many parts of the country. Now let us not waste time. To whom does the other bloodstained robe belong?’

  ‘Sister Uallann,’ Eadulf replied.

  Brother Cú Mara turned away and coughed several times as if to hide some urge to laugh. Fidelma waited impatiently while he recovered.

  ‘Now take us to where this Sister Uallann works,’ she snapped.

  It was Conr who answered.

  ‘There will probably be as good a reason for Sister Uallann’s robes to be bloodstained as there was for the robes of Brother Feólaigid,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Indeed?’ said Fidelma defensively. ‘Do you know this Sister Uallann?’ The warlord of the Uí Fidgente nodded.

  ‘She is the physician of the abbey, lady. It was she who examined and prepared the corpse of my aunt, the Abbess Faife, when we brought it here for burial.’

  Fidelma let out a long, low exasperated sigh.

  ‘And doubtless did the same for the Venerable Cinaed?’

  Brother Cú Mara had regained his composure.

  ‘Indeed, she did, lady. I am afraid the bloodstained clothing that Brother Eadulf has found will lead you nowhere.’

  Eadulf was trying to hide his embarrassment.

  ‘Does this abbey have a woman physician?’

  ‘Do you not have women physicians among your own people?’ demanded Conr in amusement at the other’s discomfiture. ‘In ancient times, there was a cult of women who followed the teachings of Airmed, daughter of the old god of healing. She was said to be the first to identify all the healing herbs. We have always had female physicians.’