Suffer Little Children Page 7

  ‘One thing before you go,’ Fidelma said, as Brother Rumann started to bustle towards the door. The plump man halted and turned back inquiringly.

  ‘About how many people are there in the hostel?’

  Brother Rumann frowned.

  ‘Only yourselves. Oh, and we have placed Sister Eisten and the children here temporarily.’

  ‘I was told that the abbey has hundreds of students.’

  Brother Rumann chuckled wheezily.

  ‘Do not concern yourself with them. The students’ dormitories are situated on the other side of the abbey. We are a mixed community, of course, as are most houses. The male members of our order predominate. Will that be all, sister?’

  ‘For the time being,’ agreed Fidelma.

  The man clucked his way out. Almost before he was beyond the door, Cass let restraint go to the winds and slid into a seat, drawing a bowl of the steaming broth towards him.

  ‘Several hundred students and religious.’ He turned a grim expression to Fidelma as she joined him at the table. ‘To find a murderer amongst this number would be like trying to identify a particular grain of sand on a seashore.’

  Fidelma pulled a face and then raised the wooden spoon to her mouth, savouring the warmth of the broth.

  ‘The odds are much more in our favour,’ she said, after an appreciative pause. ‘That is, if the murderer is still in the abbey. From what Brocc says, people have come and gone in the interval since the killing. If I had killed the Venerable Dacán, I doubt whether I would remain here. But that would all depend on who I am and the motive for the killing.’

  Cass was cleaning his bowl with satisfaction.

  ‘The killer might be confident that he will not be caught,’ he suggested.

  ‘Or she,’ corrected Fidelma. ‘The curious thing about this investigation is that, in other inquiries that I have been involved with, there is always some discernible motive that comes immediately to the mind. This is not so in this case.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘A person is found dead. Why? Sometimes there is a robbery. Or the person is intensely disliked. Or there is some other obvious reason as a likely motive for the killing. Knowing the motive we can then start inquiries as to who is most likely to benefit from the crime. Here we have a respectable and elderly scholar who comes to a violent end but no motive immediately springs to mind.’

  ‘Perhaps there was no motive? Perhaps he was killed by someone who was insane and …’

  Fidelma reproved Cass gently.

  ‘Insanity is in itself a motive.’

  Cass shook his head and turned back to the bowl of broth he had been devouring and gazed sadly at the empty dish.

  ‘I enjoyed that,’ he commented almost in a tone of regret that there was no more. ‘Oatmeal, milk and leeks, I think. Is it delicious or is it my ravening hunger that adds zest to the food?’

  Fidelma grimaced in amusement at his enthusiastic change of conversation.

  ‘It is said that this broth was a favourite dish of the Blessed Colmcille,’ she observed. ‘And you are right about its ingredients, but I think anything would taste as magnificent when one has not eaten for a while.’

  Cass was already cutting a slice of cheese and Fidelma indicated that she would also like a piece. The young warrior placed the slice on her platter and cut another. Then he broke off a hunk of bread. He chewed thoughtfully, at the same time as pouring a cup of wine apiece.

  ‘Seriously, sister, how can you hope to solve this mystery? It happened over a fortnight ago and I doubt whether the perpetrator of the deed has remained within miles of this place. Even if they have, then there appears to be no witness, no one who saw anything, nothing to lay a path to the culprit.’

  Fidelma calmly took a sip of her wine.

  ‘So, Cass, if you were me, what you would do?’

  Cass paused in the act of chewing and blinked. He gave the question some thought.

  ‘Find out as many details as one can, I suppose, in order to report back to Cashel.’

  ‘Well,’ Fidelma replied with mock seriousness, ‘at least we appear to be agreed on that. Is there any further advice you would give me, Cass?’

  The young warrior flushed.

  Fidelma was dálaigh. He knew that. And she was surely mocking him for presuming to tell her how to do her job.

  ‘I did not mean …’ he began.

  She disarmed him with a grin.

  ‘Do not worry, Cass. If I believed that you spoke with consideration then you would find my tongue sharp and bitter. Perhaps it is good you do not flatter me. Though, truly, I know my capabilities as I also know my weaknesses, for only fools take to themselves the respect that is given to their office.’

  Cass gazed uneasily into the ice-fire of those green eyes and swallowed.

  ‘Let us agree, though,’ she continued, ‘that I shall not tell you how to wield your sword in combat if you do not advise me how to perform the art for which I was trained.’

  The young man grimaced, a little sulkily.

  ‘I only meant to say that the problem seems an insurmountable one.’

  ‘In my experience, all problems start out from that viewpoint. But solving a problem means that you have to start out instead of staying still. Once your viewpoint changes then you change your view.’

  ‘How then do you propose to start out?’ he asked quickly, trying to pacify the feeling of friction which still lay below Fidelma’s bantering tone.

  ‘We will start out by questioning Brother Conghus, who found the body, then the physician who examined the body and finally our flustered house-steward, Brother Rumann, who made the initial investigation. All or any of these might have pieces of the puzzle. Then, when we have gathered all the pieces, however small, we will examine them, carefully and assiduously. Perhaps we will be able to fit them together to form a picture, who knows?’

  ‘You make it seem rather easy.’

  ‘Not easy,’ she promptly denied. ‘Remember that all information helps. Gather it and store it until you have a use for it. Now, I think I shall get some sleep before …’

  As she began to rise a piercing shriek of terror shattered the silence of the guests’ hostel.

  Chapter Five

  When the penetrating shriek echoed a second time, Fidelma was on her feet and moving down the corridor of the hostel with a rapidity which surprised the young warrior who followed closely on her heels. The cry had come from the first floor of the building. It had sounded high pitched, like the cry of a woman in pain.

  At the foot of the stairs Fidelma almost collided with Brother Rumann. He, too, had been hurrying towards the sound of the cry and, without a word, Fidelma and Cass turned after the corpulent steward of the abbey as he made his way along the lower corridor, along which were a series of doors.

  The three of them halted abruptly, astonished by the sound of a soft crooning issuing in the stillness.

  Brother Rumann stood before a door and pushed it open. Fidelma and Cass peered questioningly over his shoulder.

  Inside was the figure of Sister Eisten, seated on the edge of a cot with one of the black-haired lads from Rae na Scríne in her arms. Fidelma recognised him as Cosrach, the younger of the two boys. Sister Eisten was holding him and crooning a soft lullaby. The young boy lay quietly sobbing in her embrace. The sobs were now soft, gulping breaths. Sister Eisten seemed oblivious to the three of them crowding at the door.

  It was the elder brother, the other black-haired lad, who, standing behind Sister Eisten, glanced up, saw them and scowled. He moved across the small chamber floor and, without appearing to do so, forced them back through the doorway into the corridor, following them and swinging the door shut behind him. He thrust out his chin; his expression seemed defiant, scowling at their intrusion.

  ‘We heard a scream, boy,’ Brother Rumann wheezed at him.

  ‘It was my brother,’ replied the boy with a surly tone. ‘My brother was having a nightmare, that is all. He will
be all right now. Sister Eisten heard him and came in to help.’

  Fidelma bent forward, smiling reassuringly, trying to recall his name.

  ‘Then there is nothing to be worried about, is there … your name is Cétach, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ His tone was sullen, almost defensive.

  ‘Very well, Cétach. Your brother and you have had a bad experience. But it is over now. There is no need to worry.’

  ‘I am not worried,’ the boy replied scornfully. ‘But my brother is younger than I. He cannot help his dreams.’

  Fidelma had the feeling that she was speaking to a man rather than a boy. The lad was wiser than his years.

  ‘Of course not,’ she readily agreed. ‘You must persuade your brother that you are among friends now who will look after you.’

  The boy waited a moment and then said: ‘May I return to my brother now?’

  Both boys would need time to get over the experience, thought Fidelma. She smiled again, this time a little falsely, and nodded assent.

  As the door of the chamber closed behind the boy, Brother Rumann gave a distressed clucking sound before waddling back along the corridor.

  Fidelma slowly retraced her steps to the stairway. Cass measured his pace to her shorter one.

  ‘Poor little ones,’ observed Cass. ‘A bad thing has happened to them. I hope Salbach will find and punish Intat and his men soon.’

  Fidelma nodded absently.

  ‘At least the boy’s needs seems to have stirred a response in Sister Eisten. I was more worried about her than the children. Children have a resilience. But Eisten took the death of the baby badly this morning.’

  ‘There was nothing she could have done for it,’ replied Cass logically, dismissing the emotional aspect of the event. ‘Even if we had not been forced to camp in the open last night, the child would surely have died. I saw it had the plague symptoms.’

  ‘Deus vult,’ Fidelma replied automatically with a fatalism which she did not really believe. God wills it.

  The chiming of the bell for vespers, the sixth canonical hour, brought Fidelma reluctantly from a deep sleep. Listening to the chimes, she realised that it was too late to join the brethren in the abbey church and so she dragged herself out of bed and began to intone the prayer of the hour. Most of the rituals of the church in the five kingdoms were still conducted in Greek, the language of the Faith in which the holy scriptures had been written. Many, however, were now turning to the language of Rome – Latin. Latin was replacing Greek as the one indispensable language of the church. Fidelma had little trouble switching from one language to another for she knew Latin as well as Greek, had a knowledge of Hebrew in addition to her native tongue and something of the languages of the Britons and the Saxons, too.

  Having discharged her religious responsibility, Fidelma went to the bowl of water which stood on a table in her chamber and washed quickly in the near icy liquid. She towelled herself vigorously before dressing. When she was ready she went into the corridor. The door to Cass’s chamber was opened and it was empty, so she proceeded down the corridor which was lit, now that dusk had fallen, with a few flickering candles in sheltered holders attached to the stone walls.

  ‘Ah, Sister Fidelma.’ It was the wheezy figure of Brother Rumann who had appeared in the gloom as she came down the stairs into the main hall on the ground floor of the hostel. ‘Did you miss vespers?’

  ‘I slept late and the bell awoke me. I made my invocations to Our Lord in my chamber.’

  She bit her lip as she said it. She had not meant it to sound so defensive but she felt that there had been a tone of censure in the steward’s voice.

  Brother Rumann’s large face creased into what she presumed was a smile, yet of disparagement or sympathy she knew not.

  ‘The young warrior, Cass, went to the abbey church and is probably on his way directly to the praintech, as we call our refectory, for the evening meal. Shall I conduct you there?’

  ‘Thank you, brother,’ Fidelma solemnly replied. ‘I would be grateful for your guidance.’

  The pudgy religieux took a lighted lantern from its hook on the wall and proceeded to lead the way from the building along the now dark courtyard towards the adjoining building, a large construction into which many religious, both men and women, were filing in what seemed never-ending lines.

  ‘Do not worry, sister,’ Brother Rumann said. ‘The abbot has given orders that you and the warrior Cass will be seated at his table at mealtimes during your stay with us.’

  ‘At what should I worry?’ queried Fidelma, glancing curiously at him.

  ‘We have so many people at the abbey that we have to make three sittings for our meals. Those that have to wait until the third sitting often eat their meals cold, which causes complaint. This is why many of the brothers are now working on constructing a new dining hall at the eastern end of the abbey buildings. The new praintech is going to accommodate all of us.’

  ‘A refectory which will contain several hundred souls under one roof?’

  Fidelma could not keep the scepticism from her voice.

  ‘Just so, sister. A great task and one which will be completed soon, le cunamh Dé.’ He added the ‘God willing’ in a pious tone.

  They paused in the hallway of the refectory and an attendant came forward to remove and stack their shoes or sandals, for it was the custom in most monastic communities that one sat down at the meal table in bare feet. Rumann then led the way into the crowded hall, along lines of tables packed with the religious of both sexes. The refectory hall was lit with numerous spluttering oil lamps whose pungent smell mingled with the heavy aroma of the smoky turf fire which smouldered in the great hearth at the head of the chamber. The odours were made even more piquant by the intermingling of the contents of incense burners placed at various points throughout the hall. Lamps and fire combined, however, to generate a poor heat against the cold of the autumnal evening. Only after a while, with the compactness of the two hundred bodies, did a warmth emerge.

  The Abbot Brocc had already started the Gratias as Brother Rumann hurriedly conducted Fidelma to an empty place at the table, next to an amused looking Cass who smiled a silent greeting at her.

  ‘Benedic nobis, Domine Deus …’

  Fidelma hastily genuflected as she took her place.

  ‘Did you oversleep?’ whispered Cass cheerfully as he leant towards her.

  Fidelma sniffed and ignored the question to which the answer was so obvious.

  The Gratias ended and the room was filled with the noise of benches being scraped on the stone flags of the floor.

  In spite of the fact that they had eaten only four hours before, Fidelma and Cass ate heartily of the dish of baked fish cooked with wild garlic and served with duilesc, a sea plant gathered from the rocks of the shore. Barley bread was served with this. Jugs of ale, stood on the table and the religious were allowed to help themselves to one pottery goblet each of the brew. The meal was finished with the serving of a dish of apples and some wheaten cakes kneaded with honey.

  The meal was eaten without conversation, for this, as Fidelma realised, was the Rule of the Blessed Fachtna. However, during the course of the meal a lector intoned passages from the scriptures from a raised wooden lectern at the end of the room. Fidelma raised a tired smile as the lector chose to begin with a passage from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes: ‘Every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.’

  The meal ended at the single chime of a bell and the Abbot Brocc rose to intone another Gratias.

  Only when they were leaving the refectory, reclaiming their footwear, did Brocc approach them. At his side came the puffing figure of Brother Rumann.

  ‘Have you rested well, cousin?’ greeted the abbot.

  ‘Well enough,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Now I should like your permission and authority to commence my task.’

  ‘What can I do? You have only to ask.’

  ‘I will need someone to
act as an assistant, to find those people that I need to question and bring them to me and to run errands on my behalf. Thus they must know the abbey and be able to conduct me where I want to go.’

  ‘Brother Rumann’s assistant, Sister Necht, shall perform that task,’ smiled the abbot, turning to the portly steward, who jerked his head up and down in agreement at the abbot’s words. ‘What else, cousin?’

  ‘I shall need a chamber in which to conduct my inquiries. The room next to my chamber in the hostel would serve well.’

  ‘It is yours for so long as you require it.’

  ‘I will see this is so,’ added Rumann, eager to please his abbot.

  ‘Then there is no need to delay further. We shall start at once.’

  ‘God’s blessing on your work,’ intoned the abbot solemnly. ‘Keep me informed.’

  He left the refectory with Brother Rumann clucking after him.

  Sister Necht, Brother Rumann’s assistant, was the young, heavy-looking woman whom Fidelma had seen briefly on entering the abbey. She had been asked by Conghus to take charge of Sister Eisten and the children. She was fresh-faced, with reddish, almost copper-burnished, curly hair tumbling under her head-dress. Her shoulders were too broad and her chin too square for her to be called attractive. Fidelma found that she was quick to smile but easy to upset. However, she was eager to please and obviously excited at being given a task which was not usual in the rigid sequentially ordered work that was the daily round of community.

  If anything, Sister Necht showed herself to be somewhat in awe of Sister Fidelma. It was obvious that she had been told that Fidelma was sister to the heir-apparent of the kingdom, cousin to the abbot, and was, in her own right, a distinguished dálaigh of the law courts of the land who had stood to give judgment before the High King and even at the request of the Holy Father so far away in Rome. Young Sister Necht was clearly a hero-worshipper.