‘Cú Mara! Enough!’ cried Abbot Erc sharply. ‘Your fidelity is to this abbey and to the welfare of its people. Remember that and leave us.’
Brother Cú Mara paused for a moment. His expression seemed to show that he was struggling.
‘Leave us!’ repeated the abbot harshly.
Exhaling with a hissing sound, Brother Cú Mara left the chamber.
‘There is an enemy in that one,’ Eadulf whispered softly to Fidelma.
Abbot Erc grimaced as if trying to make an apology.
‘Cú Mara is a young and headstrong man,’ he sighed. ‘Diplomacy is not a gift of youth. Yet he does have a point. The Uí Fidgente were defeated by your brother at Cnoc Aine and our ruling family were killed. Many now feel we are in bondage to Cashel.’
‘That’s not exactly accurate, for your new chieftain Donennach traces his lineage back to Fidgennid after whom the Uí Fidgente take their name. Peace for the clan is better than the centuries of continued warfare that have taken place.’
Abbot Erc bowed his head. ‘Let us not talk of politics, Fidelma. I know that you are gifted with eloquence in such matters.’
Fidelma was serious. ‘We may have to speak of such matters before long.’
The abbot looked puzzled. ‘Are you suggesting that politics enter into this matter of murder and abduction? Most of our community here are loyal Uí Fidgente. Most were supporters of our old leadership.’
‘Most,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘But the Venerable Cinaed was not. I think you disapproved of him, didn’t you?’
The abbot was trying to fathom the meaning behind her words.
‘I will not attempt to deny it. I disapproved of Cináed’s ideas. But that does not mean I killed him. I knew him for many years and we worked together. Yet I simply had no liking for Cináed’s ambition to seek out controversy.’
‘You call it an ambition?’ said Fidelma. ‘That is an interesting choice of word.’
‘Everything he wrote was designed to contradict orthodoxy. What else is that but courting controversy? He was resolute in his pursuit of controversial arguments so that it can be truly said that he had a strong desire to achieve notoriety in these matters.’
‘It might also be called adhering to one’s principles in search of the truth,’ interposed Eadulf, having kept quiet so far during the conversation.
‘Perhaps,’ agreed the abbot absently. ‘Cináed was a cross to bear in the running of this abbey, for many found him and his views objectionable.’
‘Like young Brother Cú Mara?’ Eadulf queried in an innocent tone.
‘And others,’ Abbot Erc replied with quick emphasis. ‘But do not misinterpret what I say. As an individual, Cinaed was stimulating in conversation
and likeable. I took an opposite view to his. I admit that I disliked his arrogance in contradicting what others knew to be truth - and then there was the matter of him and the woman Sister Buan. I disapproved of that liaison and refused to bless their marriage.’
‘That was rather extreme, wasn’t it?’ Fidelma reproved. ‘Why would you disapprove?’
‘I believe in the call for celibacy among the clerics.’
‘Yet Ard Fhearta is a mixed house, a
conhospitae
, in which you have men and women raising their children to Christ’s service.’
Abbot Erc was dismissive.
‘One cannot move a mountain in a day.
Vincit qui patitur
- he prevails who is patient. You are right that this is a conhospitae and Abbess Faife and I shared its governance. Now that Abbess Faife is dead, I am sole governor of the abbey and it will be my rule that prevails. Abbess Faife will not be replaced. Within the year, Ard Fhearta will become a male domain ruled by the new laws. I agree with young Brother Cú Mara. More and more of our abbeys are adopting the Penitentials. We shall change our church laws to the rules we receive from Rome.’ He glanced at Eadulf. ‘That should be pleasing to you, Brother Saxon, for you wear your tonsure in the manner of Rome and therefore, I presume, you believe in its rule.’
For a moment Eadulf looked uncomfortable.
‘Perhaps I have spent too long in your country - and I seem to recall the writings of the Blessed Ambrose, the bishop of Milan -
si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more; si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi
.’
Abbot Erc regarded him with an expression of reproof.
‘Well done, Brother Saxon. “If you are at Rome, live in the Roman style; if you are elsewhere, live as they live elsewhere,’” he translated. ‘It is a good philosophy, perhaps. But since you have raised the subject of the teachings of Ambrose let us remember that when the Emperor Theodosius massacred the Greeks in Thessalonika because they killed a Roman governor, Ambrose condemned it as a crime that needed to be expiated by public penance. “The emperor is within the church,” he wrote, “he is not above it.” Thus he made Theodosius make that public penance. You, Sister Fidelma, might do well to remember that fact when you say the church comes within the law. Rome teachers that the church is the law.’
Fidelma smiled thinly.
‘Your scholarship is admitted, Abbot Erc. However, we are, as Eadulf
has pointed out, not in Rome. I still need time before I complete my investigations. Until I am ready, I want no one to attempt to question the witnesses I have brought back with me.’
‘You are a stubborn woman.’ The abbot was disapproving.
‘I am a
dálaigh
,’ she replied simply.
Abbot Erc was dismissive. ‘I presume that the lord Conrí. will be returning here?’
‘That I can assure you is his intention.’
‘Very well. I hope that by the end of two days you will come before me and present me with the information that you are currently withholding. I will instruct Brother Cú Mara that he must accept this ruling.’
Sister Fidelma rose. ‘Then I am sure that we will have a good outcome to this mystery.’
With a quick nod of her head in acknowledgement of his office, she left the abbot’s chamber, followed by Eadulf.
Outside, they paused for a moment.
‘Not the most supportive of persons,’ observed Eadulf. ‘He seems to have profited in his ambitions for himself and the abbey by the death of Abbess Faife.’
‘That is so,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘One wonders whether he profited by design or accident. That must be borne in mind.’
‘Either way, I think that he and Brother Cú Mara need watching.’
‘There are many who have secrets here, Eadulf,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘The question is, are those secrets connected with the activities of Seanach’s Island?’
‘Hopefully, we will know when Conrí returns.’
‘Perhaps,’ she replied in a non-committal fashion. ‘I hope we will be able to find out more even before that time. Let us get back to the
hospitium.’
They were leaving the main building when Eadulf suddenly halted and apologised to Fidelma, saying he would catch up with her in a moment. Fidelma saw that he was heading towards the male
defaecatorium
. She paused under a hanging lantern to wait for him.
‘Sister Fidelma!’
Fidelma swung round at the sound of her name.
It was Sister Buan, emerging out of the shadows.
‘I am glad to see your return.’ The sharp-faced woman smiled. ‘I have been worrying a little about the matter we spoke of.’
‘The matter we spoke of?’ frowned Fidelma, trying to stir her memory.
A look of dismay crossed the other’s face. She raised a hand to her cheek.
‘Oh, you have forgotten! I was hoping that you would resolve the legal problem for me. I know that you have other things … more important things … on your mind. But …’
Memory came back to Fidelma in a flash. So much had happened in the meantime. She had given the matter thought before she had left Ard Fhearta to join Mugrón’s ship. She smiled apologetically, and held out a hand to catch the sleeve of the apparently embarrassed Sister Buan as she was about to turn away.
‘You must forgive me, Sister. You are right. There is much on my mind. But I have been checking on your situation. I can tell you the position now, if you like. It is not complicated.’
‘Come inside my chamber and let us be comfortable while you tell me. My chamber, as you may recall, is just here.’ The woman indicated a doorway. She seemed almost fawning now in her eagerness. Fidelma felt sorry for her. She was about to explain her hesitation when Eadulf came hurrying up through the darkness.
‘Ah, there you are …’ He paused when he realised that Fidelma was not alone. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I did not see that you were with Sister Buan.’
Fidelma gestured towards the door that Sister Buan had just opened.
‘I am just going to explain some law to Sister Buan. It will not take a moment, so you can come in and wait for me.’
Sister Buan was immediately deprecating.
‘It does not matter, Sister. Come and see me when you are not so pressed. I do not want to keep you from your companion.’
Fidelma shook her head with a smile.
‘There is no time like the present. It will not take long. And you are right, I have kept you waiting long enough for the information.’
Sister Buan was almost reluctant as Fidelma and Eadulf entered her chamber and seated themselves. Afterwards, Fidelma realised that Buan might have been embarrassed to discuss her marriage contract before Eadulf, but by then it was too late.
‘When we were last here, Buan, you told me that Abbot Erc had been against your marriage to the Venerable Cinaed but you had legally been married by an ordained priest from the abbey of Colman. Can that be proved?’
The woman nodded quickly. ‘It can.’
‘Therefore, under the law, you are legally a
cétmuintir
.’
‘That was my understanding.’
‘You asked me for a legal opinion as to whether in these circumstances you could keep the possessions of the Venerable Cinaed, your late husband, and seek some compensation for the manner in which he met his death.’
‘I did so.’
‘I examined the law texts in the abbey library. As I see it, the Dire text puts limitations on your ability to make a contract without the authorisation of your father, a foster father, or, as a member of the religieuse, the abbess or abbot of your community. But even with those limitations, and even in a marriage, such as apparently yours was, where a wife has brought no goods or property into the marriage, the wife can still impugn contracts relating to personal goods.’
‘What does that mean, Sister?’ asked the woman, looking bewildered.
‘I am sorry.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘I should say that the
Bretha Crólige
, one of our central law texts, says that you can go before a Brehon and be assessed by that judge in proportion to your
míad
, that is a legal term meaning your “dignity” or worth, rather like an honour-price. In other words, you can claim compensation. In fact, as a religieuse you are better off than a lay person. Your rank as a lay person, from what you say, would be a lesser rank than that of the Venerable Cinaed. But here, in the abbey, as a religieuse you are recognised as being part of a marriage of equals. Therefore the division of inheritable assets, the
díbad
, means that you inherit two-thirds of the assets of Cinaed while one-third has to go to the abbey.’
Sister Buan smiled broadly.
‘It is so kind of you to have taken this trouble for me, Sister. I have been really worried. The law can be very frightening.’
‘Dura lex sed lex
,’ intoned Eadulf solemnly.
‘Exactly so,’ agreed Sister Buan with a smile of relief. ‘It is good to know that I have a legal right to retain something.’
Fidelma rose and Eadulf with her.
‘I am only too glad to be of some help.’
‘Are you any the closer to finding out who killed Cinaed?’ asked Sister Buan as they were crossing the threshold. ‘It is frightening to think that someone in this abbey is his killer and not yet discovered.’
‘You need have no fear,’ Fidelma replied with assurance. ‘I am
progressing very well in the investigation and soon we shall be able to put your mind at rest.’
They left Sister Buan and made their way back to the
hospitium
as the abbey bell began tolling the hour of the final prayers of the evening.
A
fter they had eaten the next morning, Fidelma asked Sister Easdan to show her and Eadulf to the workroom where she and her companions plied their art. Sister Sinnchéne, who seemed in a slightly more agreeable mood, came to tidy the
hospitium
and asked if there was anything else that was required of her that morning as she had to distribute the robes that she had washed the previous day to members of the community. Fidelma had not forgotten that one of Sister Sinnchéne’s chores at present was running the
tech-nigid
or washing room of the abbey.
‘I think not,’ Fidelma replied. ‘If anyone wants us we shall be at the workshop where Sister Easdan and her companions worked.’
It was an isolated two-storey building with a flat roof, situated on the southern side of the abbey complex, sticking out at right angles to the main dormitory building but separated from it by a narrow passageway. It had been built on the south side, Sister Easdan explained, so that it caught the maximum amount of sun. Light was precious to the task of cutting and polishing the stones. The workroom contained a long central table or workbench, access to water and, along one side, a series of cupboards and other benches with all manner of implements and tools.
Fidelma stood still on the threshold, casting her eye about the place. ‘What is it that you wish to see, lady?’ asked Sister Easdan. ‘The place looks exactly as we left it.’
‘You and your companions were all known as experts in this art, that of stone polishing?’
‘Known only within the abbey,’ the girl corrected pedantically. ‘We were, indeed.’
‘But surely your names and reputation were known outside the abbey?’
‘The abbey was well known for our work but Abbot Erc insisted that we should not be known by name outside the abbey.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because he wanted the reputation for the abbey, I suppose, and not for individuals. He wanted to avoid personal vanity.’
‘You and your companions have all done this work for some time?’
‘I started my training as soon as I came to the abbey, which was just after I reached the age of choice. Most of the others have worked about ten years or so at the art.’
Eadulf pointed to some implements on a bench.
‘Are those bows?’ he asked curiously. ‘In what manner would you use those?’
Sister Easdan smiled easily.
‘They are what we call bow lathes, Brother. We work the stone with them and drill holes in the stones with them so that we may string necklaces. It takes a long time to prepare a single necklace, including the cutting and polishing of the stones. Sometimes we have to use special liquids to lubricate the crystals for the grinding and polishing.’
Fidelma was silent for a while, looking at the range of work tools.
‘If the expertise of you and your companions was not known outside the abbey, how do you think it came to the ears of those who abducted you?’ asked Fidelma.
Sister Easdan considered the matter silently for a while and then she said: ‘I suppose the only answer is that the information came from inside the abbey. Or, of course, the merchant Mugrón would have known.’
‘But the information would have had to be specific,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘Your abductors would have had to know that you were all travelling with Abbess Faife on your way to Bréanainn’s mount, and to know exactly by what road and the day on which you would be passing the spot where you were attacked.’
‘Only a few people would have known that.’
‘Did Sister Sinnchéne know it?’
‘There is no reason why she should.’
‘Did you know that she asked Abbess Faife if she could join you?’
As the girl was shaking her head, something caught Fidelma’s eye, flickering in the rays of the sun, something that sparkled and flashed in a thousand little points of light on the workbench.
She moved to it and ran a finger over it and then, with a pinching
movement, held up a few of the hard grains she had encountered and turned to Sister Easdan.
‘What exactly is this?’ she asked.
Sister Easdan peered at the granular crystals and then grimaced.
‘It is only powdered stone.’
‘Corundum?’ Eadulf intervened.
‘Exactly so,’ Sister Easdan replied. ‘We use it in the grinding process of the precious stones. We choose a particular crystallised rock, crystal we know is especially hard. The crystals are almost opaque and we have to smash them until they fragment into little pieces, just as you see there. We sort them until we find splinters that we can use with the bow lathe to drill holes into those stones we wish to string together. Other particles, the finer ones, we use to grind against the stones to produce the shapes which are required. The process is called lec-
géraigid.’
Fidelma’s eyes suddenly widened. A look of triumph began to spread across her features but she swiftly controlled it.
‘You said once that the Venerable Cinaed visited here?’
Sister Easdan made an affirmative gesture.
‘When was this?’
‘Some time ago.’
‘Months?’
‘About two months, only a short time before we left. Why?’
‘He came to this workshop and talked to you and your companions, you said. Remind me, about what?’
Sister Easdan shrugged.
‘Just generally about our work, the techniques. Although, now I think of it, he was especially interested in where the stones were found, their type and value … I think he was especially interested in their value.’
Fidelma smiled at Eadulf.
‘I think I am beginning to see the connection,’ she said with some relief in her tone. ‘I think I finally see where the Venerable Cinaed may be involved in all this.’
‘I don’t understand,’ replied Eadulf in bewilderment.
‘We were concerned with a book that the Venerable Cinaed had written. We were concentrating on his political work. Don’t you remember? We should have been thinking about his new work -
De ars sordida gemmae,
a critical tract on the local trade in these gemstones.’
‘Do you mean that he was murdered because of a book he wrote on our work?’ gasped Sister Easdan.
‘We must find out some more,’ Fidelma replied. ‘It is a pity that book was destroyed but I believe we can guess the reason now.’ She gave a last glance around the workshop and sighed. ‘I have seen all that I need to see.’
They moved through the door and paused while Sister Easdan turned to lock it.
It was a slight sound, a movement of air, which caused Eadulf to turn with a cry of alarm and throw himself at Fidelma, knocking her sideways from the step.
As they both fell sprawling, a heavy stone block smashed into the spot where Fidelma had been standing a moment before.
Sister Easdan turned with a scream, staring at the shattered stone. Eadulf was already on his feet, hauling Fidelma up but scanning the upper storey of the stone building. He saw at once the gap in the parapet from which the stone had fallen.
‘How do you get to the upper floor?’ he shouted to the still shocked Sister Easdan. ‘Quickly now!’
Unable to speak, she simply pointed to a side door.
It was unlocked. Eadulf was through it and racing up a narrow enclosed stone stairway that led along the side of the building, passing the second floor and up to the flat roof. There was no one there. He looked around. He made his way to the parapet where the stone block was missing. He bent to examine the markings where the block had stood.
There was a noise behind him.
He swung round in a defensive position and found Fidelma had arrived. ‘A loose block?’ she asked.
He pulled a face.
‘A loose block that was helped,’ he replied sharply, pointing to the scratch marks. ‘Someone has deliberately prised it loose. They meant to kill you, I think.’
Fidelma took the news in her stride.
‘That means that we are fairly close to a resolution,’ she said calmly. ‘But how did they get off this roof so quickly?’ she added, looking about.
The answer was obvious. The end of the building was close to the main dormitory block of the abbey. A leap of a metre would take one on to a flat narrow walkway designed for the maintenance of that building’s roof, and the walkway led to a small door.
‘Shall I follow?’ Eadulf asked.
Fidelma made a negative gesture.
‘They are long gone, I think. You will never be able to identify the culprit.’
There came the sound of footsteps below from the narrow passage that led between the two buildings at ground level. Sister Sinnchéne was walking along with a basket of clothing in her arms, obviously carrying out the task of delivering the washing. Fidelma turned back to the stairway.
‘We should see that Sister Easdan is all right,’ she said. ‘She had a shock.’
As they rejoined Sister Easdan in the workshop, Brother Cú Mara entered.
‘There is some debris on the ground outside, a stone seems to have fallen,’ he announced worriedly.
‘We know,’ Fidelma smile thinly. ‘A loose stone has fallen by accident but no harm has been done.’
The steward hesitated a moment and cleared his throat.
‘I came to offer my apologies for my rudeness yesterday,’ he said stiffly.
‘As steward of this abbey, I should not give way to personal emotion. I am sorry.’
Eadulf examined the steward with narrowed eyes. ‘How did you know we were here?’ he asked abruptly.
Brother Cú Mara frowned. ‘Sister Sinnchéné passed as I was speaking to Sister Uallann and Sister Buan and I asked her if she knew where you were.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Fidelma said solemnly. ‘Your apology is accepted, Brother Cú Mara, these are stressful days for us all. It might have helped if I had been told earlier that the missing members of the community were all stone cutters and polishers, though.’
‘I don’t see how?’ At once the young steward was defensive again.
Sister Fidelma answered with a smile.
‘That is my job,’ she pointed out softly. ‘But I can only make deductions from information when it is provided. At least I have that information now.’
She left the workshop with Eadulf and the young Sister Easdan trailing in their wake, leaving the steward of the abbey looking thoughtfully after them.
Late in the afternoon they heard a commotion at the main gates of the abbey. It was Socht who came to report to them, quiet and unemotional as ever. A member of the community had arrived in a breathless condition from the port of An Bhearbha with news that two warships were entering the harbour. They belonged to Tadcán, lord of Baile Tadc, and Conrí had been spotted on board. News swiftly spread that he was coming to Ard Fhearta with prisoners and the other missing members of the community. There was an excited movement to the main gates to await the arrival of the Uí Fidgente warlord. Fidelma and Eadulf, accompanied by Socht, joined the others and saw that most of the major figures of the abbey were already assembled there.
Fidelma noticed that only the Venerable Mac Faosma and Abbot Erc were absent. Sister Uallann, the physician, stood with folded arms next to Sister Buan. Nearby was Brother Cillín. Even Brother Eolas had been enticed from his library with the nervous young Brother Faolchair.
When Conri. and half a dozen warriors arrived they were escorting only one prisoner but behind them came the five missing young women of the community. Sister Easdan raced forward to greet them, laughing. They all threw their arms about each other, laughing, crying and making a considerable noise, much to the disapproval of some of the senior members of the abbey,
The prisoner was a dark, brooding man whose coarse features maintained an impassive expression. His hands were bound before him with rope.
Conrí. grinned as he saw Fidelma and Eadulf, raising his hand in salute.
‘It was easy,’ he reported immediately. ‘Our two warships came upon Seanach’s Island at first light and when they saw our overwhelming force they laid down their arms immediately … all except this man.’ He prodded the man with his sword tip. ‘Allow me to present our friend Olcán. He wanted his band to fight to the death but was finally persuaded not to do so himself.’
Fidelma regarded him with a keen scrutiny. Olcán tried to meet her gaze arrogantly. She turned to Conrí.
‘Where are the other prisoners?’
‘Have no fear, lady. I have left them in the capable hands of Tadcán at the harbour. They are still shackled on one of his warships and await your word as to what should be done with them. A curious bunch. Most of them are northerners, men from the Uí Maine and some of the Uí Briúin Aí. They claim to follow Olcán purely for payment. The hermits refused
to leave Seanach’s Island and are now trying to rebuild their community. I have returned the missing members of the community to the abbey, as you can see. The boxes of’ - he lowered his voice - ‘of stones we found are under guard on the ships.’