Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied the woman’s face.
‘You appear to have an astute eye, Sister Buan.’
‘It is that I am suspicious. Cináed loved his work and even when that arrogant man Mac Faosma challenged him to public debate, he was not disturbed by it. He was not concerned by the views of others because he had the strength of his convictions. But he was disturbed that night. I do not think it was a matter of a problem with his work. I believe that he was enticed to the oratory by his killer.’
Eadulf examined her keenly.
‘You talk of the debates. Did you attend Cináed’s debates and could you understand the arguments? Could you understand them enough to realise whether Cináed’s views were right or that Mac Faosma was simply arrogant?’
Sister Buan shook her head.
‘Of course I did not. I have told you, I could not understand any of the arguments,’ she said in reproof. ‘But I do understand when a man is arrogant in his behaviour. Cináed treated Mac Faosma with humour. The worst I have ever heard him say of him is that he was trying to be a “master of souls”. That is a derogatory term among our people.’
‘And you say that Cinaed did not mind Mac Faosma’s criticisms?’
‘Whenever Cinaed returned from those debates he was in a good humour,’ replied Sister Buan. ‘They did not worry him — Mac Faosma’s sneering comments and the baying of his students. Truly, I have never seen Cináed worried until that night, the night before …’
She paused, hesitated a moment and gave way to a quiet sob.
‘Did you ask Sister Uallann what the argument was about?’ asked Fidelma softly.
Sister Buan recovered herself with a sniff.
‘She thinks it beneath her dignity to speak to me as an equal. She is like Mac Faosma in her arrogance.’
‘But you did ask her?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘Of course I asked, but she told me it was on a matter I would not understand and brushed me aside.’
‘So, apart from the abbot and Sister Uallann, we are the only people you have told about this argument?’ Fidelma asked.
‘That is so. I knew someone was coming to investigate the death of Abbess Faife and would naturally seek to understand the events behind Cináed’s murder. So I have said nothing about this to anyone else.’
Fidelma exchanged a glance with Eadulf.
‘You assumed whoever came here would investigate Cináed’s death as
well as Faife’s. It is an interesting assumption. Do you think they are connected?’
Sister Buan suddenly glanced about in an almost conspiratorial manner.
‘I believe so. I overheard something someone said.’
‘What did they say and who was it that said it?’ demanded Fidelma curiously.
Sister Buan looked about her again as if deciding whether some unseen eavesdropper could overhear her.
‘It was the
rechtaire
.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Brother Cú Mara?’
She nodded quickly.
‘And what did he say and in what circumstances?’
Sister Buan licked her lips.
‘I was taking the washing to the
tech-nigid
. It was the day after the burial of Cinaed. I had cleared out his clothes. Those that needed washing I took there so that they could be distributed later to the needy. Brother Cú Mara was in the
tech-nigid
speaking to Sister Sinnchéne. Neither of them saw me because the door was only partially open and as I came up I heard Cináed’s name spoken by Sister Sinnchéne and so I halted and did not go inside.’
‘Why did that make you halt?’ Fidelma queried.
‘Because I knew that Sister Sinnchéne had an unhealthy passion for Cinaed and that fact stopped me.’
Yet again Fidelma and Eadulf could not help but exchange a surprised glance.
‘But she is very young,’ pointed out Eadulf.
Sister Buan’s gaze rested on him for a moment.
‘What has that to do with it? I am not that aged. Old men have passions for young women, old women for young men, and so the reverse is possible. That young woman was always simpering after Cinaed.’
‘Simpering is an interesting term,’ Eadulf observed. ‘Was Sister Sinnchéne’s passion, as you call it, reciprocated?’
Sister Buan flushed.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There was no foundation to it. But the girl seemed jealous of me. But, as the saying goes, all cows do not come equally well into the field. She did everything she could to lure Cinaed from me. She was a little vixen by nature as well as by name.’
Fidelma was reminded that ‘little vixen’ was the meaning of the name Sinnchéne.
‘Why should she want to do so? To lure Cinaed away from you, I mean?’
‘She must answer that question.’
‘What did your husband say?’
‘He said he thought she was a silly child enamoured only of his reputation and prestige. He thought that she wanted to use his position to make a place for herself.’
‘But you and Cinaed were married,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘In some places second marriages are not proscribed,’ Sister Buan replied. ‘A man or woman can marry a second spouse while still married to the first.’
Fidelma knew that some of the old laws of polygamy had survived from the time before the New Faith. But the New Faith frowned on having more than one wife or husband.
‘Do you mean that she attempted to get Cinaed to take her as a
dormun
?’ she asked. The term was the old one for other female marital partners or concubines.
‘I believe so.’
‘Did you ever challenge Sister Sinnchéne about it?’ queried Eadulf.
‘I once told her to leave him alone. But she was insulting and openly defiant. She replied with the old saying that the man with one cow will sometimes want milk.’
‘Were you angry at that?’
‘I knew Cinaed,’ she said emphatically. ‘He had no interest in her. Besides, do not the country folk have another saying — an old bird is not caught with chaff?’
‘Did you ask anyone to advise Sister Sinnchéne that the practice is frowned upon by the New Faith?’
‘As a matter of fact, I did. Brother Eolas has some knowledge of the law but when I went to see him he seemed to support the old ways. He quoted some book to me that said there was a dispute in the law on the matter, and concluded that as the Chosen People of God lived in polygamy, so it was much easier to praise the custom than to condemn it.’
Fidelma sighed. She knew the passage from the
Bretha Crólige
in which the Brehon showed from the ancient texts that the Hebrews dwelt in a plurality of unions. She tried to return to the immediate matter.
‘So you heard Sister Sinnchéne and Brother Cú Mara speaking together?’ she said. ‘You did not make your presence known because you thought you might hear what Sister Sinnchéne had to say about your husband? Something important?’
‘Once I heard Cináed’s name spoken, I paused outside the door. Sinnchéne had said something about Cináed and then the
rechtaire
said, “We cannot be over cautious.” Sinnchéne replied, “Surely there is no way that Cinaed would have revealed that secret to the Abbess Faife?” The
rechtaire
responded, “Yet the abbess’s body was found near that very spot. That must mean there was some connection.” There was a pause and, thinking that I had been discovered, I fell to making a noise as I came in with the clothing for the wash.’
‘You have a good memory, Sister,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Was anything said to you?’
Sister Buan shook her head.
‘Brother Cú Mara pretended that he, too, had brought washing in and made a point of thanking Sister Sinnchéne for taking it as he left.’
‘Did Sister Sinnchéne say anything else to you?’
‘She scowled at me, which is her usual way, and took the clothing from me in an ungracious manner, so I left.’
‘Did you deduce anything from this exchange?’
Sister Buan shrugged.
‘That this secret, this fear, that Cinaed had on the night before his death, might have been a fear that he had shared with the Abbess Faife.’
‘But how?’
Sister Buan looked puzzled at Fidelma’s question. It was Eadulf who interpreted it for her.
‘Abbess Faife must have been dead over ten days when Cinaed was killed, and she was found a long way away from the abbey. How then could he have shared this secret, or fear, as you put it?’
She appeared not to have considered the point before.
‘I have no way of knowing. The day before Abbess Faife and her followers left for the abbey of Colmán, I set out to trade for silver on behalf of our craftsmen. When I returned to the abbey, Cinaed told me the news that Mugrón had arrived with word of Abbess Faife’s death. Apparently her companions had disappeared. Cináed did not tell me of any secret he shared with her but sometimes they would work together in his study, and they combined on writing one or two of his works.’
‘Indeed?’ Fidelma raised an eyebrow.
‘She was a kind woman. Abbess Faife had known Cinaed for many years. She was one of the
aire
— the nobles of the Uí Fidgente. She was aunt to Conrí the warlord who brought you hither.’
‘And you did not mind her working with Cináed?’ Eadulf suddenly asked.
She looked at him in bewilderment.
‘Why should I do so?’
‘Well, I presume that you would object to Sister Sinnchéne working in his study?’ replied Eadulf. ‘Don’t you have a saying here that it is easy to knead when meal is at hand?’
Sister Buan looked as if she was about to smile, then she shook her head.
‘You have a wicked sense of humour, Brother. And I will confess this: Cinaed was not capable of rising to such an occasion.’
‘So Cináed’s relationship with the abbess was purely to work with her, or she with him, on some of the scholastic projects?’ clarified Eadulf. ‘Do you know which works she co-operated on?’
Sister Buan raised a shoulder and let it fall.
‘I know there was a recent one that had just been completed before the abbess left for Bréanainn’s mount. Cináed had passed it to Brother Eolas the librarian who, having read it, came to see Cinaed in a state of great excitement.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I do not know. Cináed took him into his study but I heard their voices raised.’
‘Do you know why? Didn’t Cinaed make any comment?’ asked Fidelma. Sister Buan simply made another negative gesture.
‘All I know is that, as he was leaving, I heard Brother Eolas say that the Venerable Mac Faosma would fall in such a rage when he read this work. Ah, yes, I recall … He said that “even with Eoganán two years dead, this will cause division and anger”. Even as he left, I think he was trying to persuade Cinaed not to insist on placing it in the library.’
‘Do you recognise the title
Scripta quae ad rempublicum geredam pertinet
?’ asked Fidelma.
The woman gestured helplessly. ‘I have told you that I have no knowledge of any other language saving my everyday speech.’
Fidelma sighed. ‘I will ask Brother Eolas about this. I suspect, however,
that it is the political tract that he wrote supporting the new ruler of the Uí Fidgente and decrying the old philosophies of conflict.’
‘It may be so,’ agreed Sister Buan. ‘He was a great one for preaching how this or that ruler should behave towards their neighbours.’
‘Did Cinaed do all his own calligraphy?’
Sister Buan looked bewildered.
Sister Fidelma was patient. ‘When he wrote his work and made the final draft, did he write it all himself?’
The slight woman brightened. ‘Oh yes. He was proud of his hand. But he did use Brother Faolchair as a copyist. Faolchair made copies of most of Cináed’s works.’
‘Of course,’ Eadulf said in an aside, ‘Brother Eolas told us that Faolchair was copying that book on precious stones, what was it -
De ars sordida gemmae
?’
‘A last question,’ Fidelma said, after a moment or two’s thought. ‘How did Cinaed and you get along with Abbot Erc?’
‘Abbot Erc?’ Sister Buan pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘He left us alone. To me he was always remote.’
‘Remote?’
‘I came to this abbey because I had no family to support me. No status except that I was young, strong and ready to work. So I came here and joined the brethren.’ She sniffed. ‘And for the first years I found that life was just as hard. The abbot gave me the chance to trade for the abbey but he disapproved of my marriage to Cinaed.’
‘But when you married, when you became Cináed’s
cétmuintir,
the abbot must have acknowledged you as such?’ Fidelma said, making it into a question.
Sister Buan made a sound that seemed to indicate derision.