Master of Souls Read online

  Eadulf, who had studied the apothecary’s art for a time at Tuam Brecain, knew the fact well enough. His cheeks were crimson with mortification and he was merely doing his best to avoid Fidelma’s censure. He should have inquired not only about the names of the owners of the garments but about their tasks in the abbey.

  ‘You better return the clothing to Sister Sinnchéne,’ she told him. ‘But I want to see this physician anyway, so we will speak to her now.’

  Eadulf’s mouth became a thin slit of anger as he departed back along the path to the tech-nigid.

  Sober-faced now, Brother Cú Mara led the way along the path towards the main abbey buildings.

  ‘Those are the quarters for the bachelors.’ The rechtaire indicated one building with a gesture of his head. ‘The married rooms are behind there and beyond are the quarters for the unmarried sisters.’

  ‘Are there many people in this abbey?’ inquired Fidelma.

  ‘Scarcely more than five hundred souls,’ Brother Cú Mara replied.

  ‘It is surely enough,’ Fidelma observed with surprise.

  ‘We have heard that the great abbey at Ard Macha boasts the attendance of seven thousand students and then there are members of the Faith who instruct them.’

  Fidelma had passed through Ard Macha, which lay in the northern kingdom of the Uí Néill. She had been sent there to get instructions from Bishop Ultan on her way to the great council in Northumbria, and had found Ard Macha too crowded, too city-like and ostentatious for her. And, she had to confess, she was not impressed with Ultan, who seemed the product of his environment for he, too, was ostentatious and full of his own importance. As his abbey had been founded by the Blessed Patrick, who was now being claimed as the first preacher of the word of Christ in the five kingdoms, Ultan was seeking recognition as the Primate, the head of all the churches in the kingdoms. Violent arguments were springing up, especially from Imleach which the bishop and abbot pointed out had been founded by Ailbe, who had preached Christianity in the five kingdoms before Patrick, as had many others.

  ‘Ard Macha should not be judged by the numbers of people who live there but by what it achieves in the manner of the lives of those it influences,’ Fidelma said now.

  Brother Cú Mara had paused before a stone building set slightly apart from the main structures of the abbey and indicated a door.

  ‘This is the apothecary of Sister Uallann, lady.’

  He tapped gently at the door.

  A voice curtly bade them enter.

  Inside the large room, the pungent scents of a hundred hanging herbs and plants was overwhelming, mixed as they were with an odour rising from a cauldron in which a strange-looking liquid was bubbling over a fire. Benches filled with amphorae, jugs and pots stretched round the room. Above one bench was a shelf containing several ageing manuscript books. At one end was a table made of a thick block of wood that was almost large enough for two people to lie down upon. Its stained and grooved surface showed to what use an apothecary could put it.

  Nearby, at a smaller table, sat a woman with mortar and pestle, pounding something in the bowl.

  She was almost masculine in facial appearance, with wispy dark hair, piercing blue eyes and ruddy skin. She had a large nose and a hint of moustache-like dark downy hair over her upper lip. It was hard to guess her age.

  ‘Well?’ she cried, her voice shrill, as she glanced up at them. ‘I am busy. State your illness. I have little time.’

  The young steward glanced apologetically at Fidelma.

  ‘This is Sister Uallann, lady.’ He turned to the physician. ‘Sister Uallann, this is Fidelma of Cashel. She is the dálaigh come to investigate the deaths of the Abbess Faife and of the Venerable Cinaed.’

  Sister Uallann remained seated.

  ‘Of Cashel? Of Cashel? Does she not know that the Uí Fidgente have no business with Cashel? We owe allegiance to Eoganán. We have no need for a Cashel dálaigh.’

  Conr coughed with embarrassment and moved forward.

  ‘Sister Uallann, do you remember me? I am Conr—’

  The woman sighed pointedly and laid aside her mortar and pestle with a resounding thump on the table.

  ‘Of course I know you, lord Conr. Do you consider that I am senile?’ Conr was embarrassed.

  ‘Eoganán was killed at Cnoc Aine two years ago. The Uí Fidgente have pledged allegiance to Cashel now. Sister Fidelma is blood sister to Colgú, legitimate king of all Muman. She is the dálaigh we have asked to come to investigate the violent deaths of the Abbess Faife and the Venerable Cinaed.’

  Sister Uallann frowned and sat for a moment as if considering this.

  ‘My husband is also dead. Dead by the design of Cashel. The Uí Fidgente are now at peace. Yet still there are violent deaths in the land.’

  Fidelma moved forward and as she did so her feet crunched on something on the floor. She looked down to see several granular crystals on the floor.

  ‘You seem to have spilt something, Sister Uallann.’

  The physician glanced down and appeared embarrassed for a moment.

  ‘It is nothing. I spilt a preparation.’

  Fidelma noticed the crystals clung to the woollen arm of Sister Uallan’s robe and reached out to pluck off a few. She kept them in her hand, wondering what they were.

  ‘I hope that whoever uses the preparation does not have to ingest it. These are as hard as little rocks.’

  ‘What exactly is it that you want?’ snapped Sister Uallann impatiently.

  Fidelma sat down directly opposite the physician, dropping the granules on the floor.

  ‘There are a few questions that I must ask you, Sister Uallann.’

  The physician blinked and focused her pale eyes on Fidelma.

  ‘I understand that you examined the body of Abbess Faife when it was returned here to Ard Fhearta.’

  ‘That is so, that is so.’

  ‘And then you prepared her body for burial?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about the manner of her death?’

  The physician sniffed irritably.

  ‘A wound made by a blade. Simple. Sharp. I would say such a wound would cause death instantaneously. Instantaneously.’

  ‘You cannot say what caused the wound other than a blade?’

  ‘I will say that it was either a sword or a broad dagger. It would be the weapon of a warrior.’

  Fidelma raised her eyebrows slightly.

  ‘Why do you specify a warrior?’

  ‘Because of the sharpness of the blade and its cleanness. Only a warrior tends to keep his blade sharp and clean. That it was sharp and clean is certain from the nature of the wound it inflicted.’

  ‘It is a logical conclusion,’ agreed Fidelma.

  ‘The body had begun to decay but not much because of the cold. It had been lying in snow and ice, I think, and that had slowed the decaying process. So the marks of the wound were clear and the thrust was delivered downwards. Yes, downwards.’

  Again, Fidelma was amazed at this senescent physician’s ability to be certain.

  ‘How do you deduce that?’

  ‘The nature of the wound, the angle of its entry into the breast. I have been treating battle wounds for many years. I know about sword and dagger wounds. I would say that Abbess Faife must have been kneeling on the ground or her assailant was on horseback and she afoot.’

  Fidelma paused for a moment digesting the information.

  ‘Very well. Did you notice anything else which might give a clue as to the assailant?’

  Sister Uallann shook her head.

  ‘Now let us come to the death of the Venerable Cinaed,’ Fidelma went on. ‘You examined his body and prepared it for burial.’

  ‘That was only a few days ago,’ said the physician petulantly.

  ‘But the cause of his death was … ?’

  Sister Uallann glanced at her in surprise.

  ‘I would have thought that you would already be a
ware of that?’

  ‘I need to hear it officially from the physician who examined him.’

  ‘He died instantly from a heavy blow on the back of his skull which smashed the bone and shattered it so that fragments pierced the brain.’

  ‘Just one wound?’

  ‘One blow. There was no need for more.’

  ‘After that blow, are you saying that he could not have moved?’ Sister Uallann stared at her as if in pity.

  ‘If you believe a dead man can move, then he was capable of movement,’ she snapped sarcastically.

  ‘I am trying to clarify the facts,’ replied Fidelma evenly. ‘The blow was struck from behind with such a force that it shattered his skull, is that right?’

  ‘I have said so.’

  ‘But the body was found lying on its back.’

  Sister Uallann was not perturbed.

  ‘Then it is surely logical that, after the blow was struck, the killer turned it over on its back.’

  ‘Clearly logical,’ Fidelma smiled thinly, ‘but it would be a poor dálaigh who does not consult the physician to seek verification of the medical logic. I presume that you knew the Venerable Cinaed well?’

  ‘Well enough.’ It was said in a truculent manner.

  ‘Would you say that you were a close friend of his?’

  ‘Not close. I respected some of his arguments. He was, after all, a careful scholar. Yet I did not agree with his fundamental attitudes.’

  ‘About the Faith?’

  To her surprise Sister Uallann shook her head.

  ‘I did not like his essay Scripta quae ad remplicum geredam pertinent - his writings on how the Uí Fidgente should govern their temporal lives. Cináed had views on everything. Those views angered many people. Eoganán, when he was king of the Uí Fidgente, sent his warriors to seize Cinaed but Abbess Faife, who was in control of the abbey in Abbot Erc’s temporary absence, refused to hand him over.’

  Brother Cú Mara intervened.

  ‘I have heard the story. It happened just before the defeat at Cnoc Aine where Eoganán was killed. Had Eoganán been victorious, I don’t doubt that he would have sent his warriors back to the abbey to seize Cinaed whether the abbess protested or not.’

  ‘Did Abbot Erc support the abbess in her refusal to hand the Venerable Cinaed over?’ asked Fidelma.

  The physician sniffed. ‘By the time he returned, there was no need to make a decision one way or another. Eoganán was defeated at Cnoc Aine. That was where my husband was slain, too,’ Sister Uallann added pointedly. ‘There are many here whose husbands were slaughtered by the Eoghanacht.’

  Fidelma turned to Brother Cú Mara and spoke in a slightly sarcastic tone.

  ‘So, far from the Venerable Cinaed being a scholar beloved by everyone, we now find out that he had many enemies. Not least, the supporters of the late Eoganán!’

  ‘Ah, poor Eoganán,’ Sister Uallann exclaimed in a whisper.

  Fidelma turned quickly back to her.

  ‘You have made clear your views, Sister. You believe that your people should not have made peace with Cashel?’

  To her surprise, the physician shook her head.

  ‘I am of the Corco Duibhne but my husband was Uí Fidgente.’

  ‘And you are saying that the Venerable Cináed made enemies among the Uí Fidgente because of his political writings?’

  ‘We dwell in the territory of the Uí Fidgente but Cinaed believed, even before the disaster at Cnoc Aine, that we should owe allegiance to the Eoghanacht of Cashel and not to our own rulers.’ She stopped, eyes narrowing suddenly. ‘I have said enough.’

  Fidelma sat for a few moments staring at the grim-faced physician and then she stood up.

  ‘I am grateful for what you have said, Sister Uallann,’ she said quietly. Outside they found Eadulf, having returned from the tech-nigid, looking for them. Eadulf was about to ask how Fidelma had fared when he caught the warning look on her face. She turned to Brother Cú Mara.

  ‘All I need ask you is to guide us to your tech-screptra, then we shan’t need your assistance until after the etar-suth.’ She used the term ‘middle fruits’ which was the more popular name in monastic foundations for the etar-shod or ‘middle meal’ of the day.’

  ‘The library?’ queried the rechtaire with a frown.

  ‘That is what I said. I need a word with Brother Eolas, your librarian.’ Fidelma added to Eadulf, ‘I think there may be some important information that we could find there.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Even Eadulf was impressed by the size of the tech-screptra, the great library of Ard Fhearta. He knew of the fame of the Irish ecclesiastical colleges for learning. That meant that each one had need for books for students and therefore they had good general libraries. He had seen that these libraries contained not only works in the native language but books in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. As he followed Fidelma into the room he paused in astonishment at the rows and rows of racks with their pegs from which hung leather book satchels, the tiaga liubhair which not only were employed to carry books from place to place, being slung from the shoulder by one or more straps, but provided an excellent means of keeping the books in good condition in the libraries. Eadulf estimated that there were many hundreds, hanging along the racks.

  There were also shelves on which stood many obviously valued volumes in elaborately wrought and beautifully ornamented leather covers, some of which were kept in lebor chomet or book holders made partly or wholly of metals. Eadulf had noticed that special books were kept in very ornate and valuable metal and wood boxes, which were piously called book shrines. He noticed that the tech-screptra had several of these set to one side.

  In the centre of the library was a row of desks occupied by the copyists and scribes. Each had a wooden chair and a desk of yew wood, a plinth topped by a frame on which the book or manuscript page rested. A maulstick was used to steady the hand of the copyist. Half a dozen men now bent to their task using quills from geese or swans and writing on vellum or parchment. Other scholars, simply researching from the books, were using the standard writing tablets, wooden frames in which melted wax had been allowed to set. These could then be a temporary means of making notes with a raibh, a sharp-pointed stylus of metal. After the notes had been used, or transcribed into the vellum books, the wax could be melted again and remoulded into the tablet to be used again.

  A round-shouldered man, his arms folded before him in the sleeves of his robe, came shuffling forward as they entered. He seemed smaller than he actually was because of his hunched appearance. It was obviously the product of many years bent to his literary endeavours. He peered from one to another.

  ‘I am the leabhar coimedach,’ he intoned in a whisper. ‘How can I be of service?’

  ‘I am Fidelma of—’

  ‘The dálaigh from Cashel?’ interrupted the librarian, still whispering. ‘You are most welcome, lady. I saw you and your companion, Brother Eadulf, at the evening prayers yesterday. I know why you are here. The tech-screptra is at your disposal.’

  ‘Thank you. I take it that you are Brother Eolas?’ When the man bowed his head in acknowledgement of the fact, she went on, ‘I am interested in the works of the Venerable Cinaed.’

  ‘The Venerable Cinaed? Come this way.’ He led them to a corner of the library. ‘This is the section of original books and writings made by our brethren. We have had many scholars who have contributed to our library during the many decades of our history. See, there, that book contains the hymns of Colman moccu Clusaig who stayed here during the year of the Yellow Plague. He wrote many of his hymns here, including Sén Dé, the Blessing of God. Our master of song, Brother Cilln, became a great friend of Colman. If you have an interest in music, you must speak to Brother Cilln about his own songs before you leave. And in that volume,’ pointing, ‘we have some letters which the abbot of Iona, Cuimine Ailbhe, wrote to the Venerable Cinaed arguing about the dating of the Cásc.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘You Saxons call it Easter. I believe
you insist on retaining the feast of your goddess of fertility?’ There was disapproval in his voice. ‘Abbot Cuimine has accepted the new dating that Rome has adopted. However, like many of our great scholars, the Venerable Cinaed disagreed with him and believed that Rome was wrong in its calculations. But Abbot Cuimine Ailbhe remained a friend of the Venerable Cinaed and sent him his own work De Poententiarum Mensura as a gift which is now in the book shrine there’ — he gestured to it — ‘as one of the great works we hold and—’

  ‘But the works of the Venerable Cinaed themselves …’ Fidelma interrupted, trying not to show her impatience. After all, librarians always tended to be boastful of the works they held in their libraries.

  ‘Of course,’ Brother Eolas replied, a little cestfallen. ‘Here they are.’ He indicated a shelf and picked up a writing tablet. ‘In fact, I have been making a catalogue of his works here.’

  Eadulf glanced at the tablet. ‘It seems a rather long list.’

  Brother Eolas smiled in satisfaction. ‘The Venerable Cinaed was one of our best scholars. He had many interests. I think that you would call him eclectic. He even wrote a discourse entitled De ars sordida gemmae, denouncing the local trade in precious stones, which he handed to Brother Faolchair to copy just a short time before his death. But his Disputatius Computus Cummianus is a classic and—’

  ‘And De Trinitate Interpretatio Perversa?’ Eadulf asked.

  The librarian looked a little shocked. ‘You have read that?’

  ‘I know people who have,’ admitted Eadulf truthfully, trying not to look at Fidelma.

  ‘It is not well liked in some quarters of this abbey,’ the librarian said shortly. ‘He wrote far better things. His poems in our native tongue, for example, and his setting down of some of our old tales and historic traditions are regarded as excellent and—’

  ‘What of his Scripta quae ad rempublicum geredam pertinent?’ Fidelma asked sharply.

  Brother Eolas gave a shake of his head.

  ‘You appear to be interested in his most controversial works. Ah well, we have them all here but, while the Venerable Cinaed had his followers, he also had his enemies as well.’