âChrist is God's son,' she said firmly. âTherefore He would approve of the homage of reason, for if there is no doubt there can be no faith.'
âYou are a philosopher, Fidelma of Kildare. But I did not expect a religieuse to question her Faith.'
âI have lived too long not to be a sceptic, Cass of Cashel. One should go through life being sceptical of all things and particularly of oneself. But now, we have exhausted the subject and should retire. We have much to do in the morning.'
She rose and Cass reluctantly followed her example.
After he had left her chamber, she lay back on her cot and this time she doused the lamp.
She tried hard to conjure what facts she had learnt about the
Venerable Dacán's death to her mind. However, she found other thoughts now dominating her senses. They concerned Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham. As she thought of him, she had a curious feeling of loneliness again, as if of home-sickness.
She missed their debates. She missed the way she could tease Eadulf over their conflicting opinions and philosophies; the way he would always rise good-naturedly to the bait. Their arguments would rage but there was no enmity between them. They would learn together as they examined their interpretations and debated their ideas.
She missed Eadulf. She could not deny that.
Cass was a simple man. He was agreeable enough; congenial company; a man who held a good moral code. But, for her, he was without the sharp humour which she needed; without a broad perspective of knowledge with which her own knowledge could contest. Now that she considered it, Cass reminded her a little of someone responsible for an unpleasant episode in her early life. When she was seventeen she had fallen in love with a young warrior named Cian. He had been in the élite bodyguard of the High King, who was Cellach at that time. She had been young and carefree but in love. Cian had not cared for her intellectual pursuits and had eventually left her for another. His rejection of her had left her disillusioned. She felt bitter, although the years had tempered her attitude. But she had never forgotten her experience, nor really recovered from it. Perhaps she had never allowed herself to do so.
Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham had been the only man of her own age in whose company she had felt really at ease and able to express herself.
Perhaps she had started the argument on Faith as a means of testing Cass.
Then, why should she want to test Cass? For what purpose? Because she wanted Eadulf's company and was looking for a surrogate?
She gave a hiss of breath in the darkness, scandalised by the idea. A ridiculous idea.
After all, she had spent several days in Cass's company on the journey here and there had been no problem.
Perhaps the key to the situation lay in the fact that she was, indeed, trying to recreate Eadulf and that recreation had been prompted by the fact that she was investigating a murder with Cass as her companion whereas, before, it was Eadulf who had been her comrade, the sounding board against which she could bounce her ideas.
But why should she want to recreate Eadulf?
She exhaled again sharply as if to expel the very thoughts from her mind. Then she turned over and buried her face angrily into the pillow.
The weather had changed again with the bewildering rapidity that was common to the islands and peninsulas of the south-west of Muman. While the sky remained a clear, almost translucent blue, the sun shone with a warmth which made the day more akin to the dying summer than to late autumn. The high winds had been dispelled although a sea breeze remained, blustery but not strong. Therefore, the sea was not totally calm, more choppy and brooding, causing the ships, anchored in the inlet before Ros Ailithir, to jerk now and then at their moorings. Above, in the gull-dominated sky, large, dark-coloured cormorants also wheeled and dived, fighting for a place to fish among the plaintive, protesting shrieks of their companions. Here and there, sooty, white-rumped storm petrels, driven seaward by the previous stormy weather were now returning to the coastline.
Fidelma had perched herself on the top of the thick stone wall of the monastery, where a walkway ran around it as if it were a battlement. She gazed thoughtfully down into the inlet. There were a few local fishing boats, a couple of coastal vessels or
barca
and an ocean-going vessel which traded with Britain or Gaul. She had been told that it was a Frankish merchantman. But it was the warship of the Laigin king, lying menacingly near the entrance to the harbour, with its sleek, malevolent lines, which took her interest.
Fidelma had sat for a long while, arms folded, examining the vessel with curiosity. She wondered what Fianamail, the
young king of Laigin, hoped to gain by such an intimidating display. She could understand that demanding the territory of Osraige as an honour price was merely a political move to regain the lost territory, but he was certainly being blatant about it. No one would surely believe that the death of the Venerable Dacán, even though he was a cousin to the Laigin king, merited the return of a land which had held allegiance to Cashel for over five hundred years. Why would Fianamail threaten war over such a matter?
She gazed down on the fluttering silk standard of the Laigin kings, proudly streaking in the sea breeze which caught at the mast head. There were several warriors on deck practising their weaponry arts, which she felt was rather ostentatious and more for the benefit of observers on the shore than for the Laigin warriors to keep in practise.
Fidelma wished that she had paid more attention to that section of the Book of Acaill, the great law code, which dwelt specifically with the
muir-bretha
or sea laws. The law should surely say whether such intimidation was allowed. She had a vague feeling that the writhe, placed at the gates of the abbey, meant something in this connection but she was not sure what. She wondered whether the Tech Screptra, the library of the abbey, might have copies of the law books which she could consult on the subject.
The single bell announcing the tierce rang out from the bell house.
Fidelma pulled herself away from the mesmerising scene, rose and proceeded to walk back, along the wooden walkway along the monastery wall, towards the steps which led to the interior grounds of Ros Ailithir. A familiar figure was standing looking out to sea a little farther along the wall. It was the plump Sister Eisten. She did not notice Fidelma, so intent was her gaze on the inlet.
Fidelma arrived at her side unnoticed.
âA beautiful morning, sister,' she greeted.
Sister Eisten started and turned, her mouth rounded in surprise. She blinked and carefully inclined her head.
âSister Fidelma. Yes. It is beautiful.' There was no warmth in her reply.
âHow are you today?'
âI am well.'
The terse, monosyllabic tones seemed forced.
âThat is good. You have come through a bad experience. And is the little boy well now?'
Sister Eisten looked confused.
âLittle boy?'
âYes. Has he recovered from his nightmare?' When she saw that Sister Eisten still did not appear to understand, she added: âThe boy whose name is Cosrach. You were nursing him yesterday afternoon.'
Sister Eisten blinked rapidly.
âOh ⦠yes.' She did not sound sure.
âSister Fidelma!'
Fidelma turned as she heard her name called. It was young Sister Necht, hurrying up the steps to the walkway. She seemed anxious and Fidelma had a curious feeling that her anxiety was at finding Sister Eisten with Fidelma.
âBrother Rumann is ready to see you now, sister,' Sister Necht announced. âHe's waiting impatiently at the hostel.'
Fidelma paused and glanced at Eisten. âAre you sure all is well with you?'
âAll is well, thank you,' she replied without conviction.
âWell, if you have need of a soul-friend, you have but to call upon me.'
In the Irish Church, unlike the Roman custom where all were ordered to make a confession of their sins to a priest, each person had an
anamchara,
or a soul-friend. The position of the soul-friend was one of trust. He or she was not a confessor but more of a confidant, a spiritual guide who acted according to the practices of the faith of the five kingdoms. Fidelma's
soul-friend, since she had reached the age of choice, had been Liadin of the Ui Dróna, her girlfriend since childhood. But it did not necessarily follow that the soul-friend had to be of the same sex. Colmcille and others who were leaders of the Faith had chosen soul-friends of the opposite sex.
Eisten was shaking her head swiftly.
âI already have a soul-friend in this abbey,' she said uncompromisingly.
Fidelma sighed as she unwillingly turned to follow Sister Necht. Of course all was not well with Eisten. There was something continuing to trouble her. She was about to descend the stairs when Sister Eisten's voice stayed her.
âTell me, sister â¦'
Fidelma turned inquiringly back to the morose young anchoress. She was still staring glumly out to sea.
âTell me, sister, can a soul-friend betray one's confidence?'
âIf they do, then I fail to see how they can be a soul-friend,' Fidelma replied at once. âIt depends on the circumstances.'
âSister!' It was Necht agitating from the foot of the stair.
âLet us talk about this matter later,' Fidelma suggested. There was no answer and after a moment she reluctantly went down the stairs after Necht.
Â
In the room now designated for Fidelma to conduct her inquiries in, the portly figure of the
fer-tighis,
the steward of the abbey, was indeed waiting impatiently.
Fidelma slipped into her seat opposite Brother Rumann, noticing that Cass had already assumed his seat in the corner of the chamber. Fidelma turned to Sister Necht. She had given much thought to whether it was wise to continue to allow the young sister to sit in on all her interrogations. Perhaps she could be trusted to keep everything to herself; perhaps not. Fidelma had finally decided that it was better not to put temptation in her way.
âI will not want your services for a while,' she told the
disappointed-looking novice. âI am sure you have other duties to fulfil in the hostel.'
Brother Rumann looked approving.
âIndeed, she has. There are chambers to be cleaned and tidied here.'
When Sister Necht had reluctantly left, Fidelma turned back to the steward.
âHow long have you been house steward of the abbey, Brother Rumann?' she opened.
The pudgy features of the man creased in a frown.
âTwo years, sister. Why?'
âIndulge me,' Fidelma invited pleasantly. âI like to know as much background as possible.'
Rumann sniffed as if from boredom.
âThen know that I have served in the abbey since I came here when I reached the age of choice â and that was thirty years ago.'
He recited his background in a wooden, petulant tone as if he felt that she had no right to ask.
âSo you are forty-seven years of age and steward for two years?' Fidelma's voice was sweetly dangerous as she encapsulated the facts he had given her.
âExactly.'
âYou must know everything there is to know about the foundation of Ros Ailithir?'
âEverything.' Rumann was nothing if not complacent.
âThat is good.'
Rumann frowned slightly, wondering whether she was quietly mocking him.
âWhat do you want to know?' he asked gruffly, when Fidelma asked nothing further for several moments.
âAbbot Brocc requested that you conduct an investigation into the death of Dacán. What was its result?'
âThat he was murdered by an unknown assailant. That is all,' confessed the steward.
âLet us start then from the time the abbot told you the news of Dacán's death.'
âThe abbot did not tell me. I was told by Brother Conghus.'
âWhen was this?'
âShortly after he had told the abbot of his discovery. I met him on the way to inform Brother T61a, our assistant physician. Tóla examined the body.'
âWhat did you do?'
âI went to see the abbot to ask what I should do.'
âYou didn't go to Dacán's chamber first?'
Rumann shook his head.
âWhat could I have done there before Tóla had examined Dacán? The abbot then asked me to take charge of the affair. It was after that when I went to Dacán's chamber. Brother Tóla was there just finishing his examination of the body. He said that Dacán had been bound and stabbed several times in the chest. He and his assistant Martan took the body away for further examination.'
âI understand that the room was not in any disarray and that a bedside oil lamp was still burning.'
Rumann gave a confirming nod of his head.
âTóla extinguished the lamp when he left,' Fidelma said. âThat implied that you had already left the room when the corpse was carried out.'
Rumann looked at Fidelma with some respect.
âYou have a sharp mind, sister. In fact, that is so. While Tóla was finishing his examination, I quickly looked around the room for a weapon or anything that might identify the assailant. I found nothing. So I left just before Tóla had the body carried out.'
âYou did not examine the room again?'
âNo. On the abbot's orders, I had the chamber shut up exactly as it was. I had, however, seen nothing there to help in the discovery of a culprit. But the abbot thought that further investigation might be needed.'
âYou did not refill the oil in the bedside lamp at any stage?'
Ruman raised an eyebrow in surprise at the question.
âWhy would I refill it?'
âNo matter,' smiled Fidelma quickly. âWhat then? How did you make your investigation?'
Rumann rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
âSister Necht and myself were sleeping in the hostel that night and we slept soundly until the morning bell summoned us. There was only one other guest and he neither heard nor saw anything.'
âWho was the guest? Is he still at the monastery?'
âNo. He was no one really ⦠Just a traveller. His name was Assid of the Uà Dego.'
âAh yes.' She recalled that Brocc had mentioned the name. âAssÃd of the UÃ Dego. Tell me if I am wrong, Rumann, but the UÃ Dego dwell just north of Fearna in Laigin, do they not?'
Rumann stirred uncomfortably.
âI believe so,' he admitted. âPerhaps Brother Midach could tell you more on that subject.'
âWhy Brother Midach?' Fidelma thought the point curious.
âWell, he has travelled in those lands,' Rumann said a trifle defensively. âI think he was born in or near that territory.'
Fidelma gave an exasperated sigh. Laigin seemed to loom down every gloomy path in this investigation.
âTell me more about this traveller, AssÃd.'
âLittle to tell. He came off a coastal
barc.
I think he was a merchant, perhaps trading along the coast. He left with the afternoon tide on the day Dacán was killed. But only after I had questioned him thoroughly.'
Fidelma smiled cynically.
âAnd after he had assured you that he had heard and seen nothing?'
âJust so.'
âThe fact that AssÃd was from Laigin, and that Laigin now
plays a prominent role in this matter, surely is enough to suggest that he should have been detained here for questioning further?'
Rumann shook his head.
âHow were we to know this then? On what grounds could we keep that man here? Are you suggesting that he is the murderer of his fellow countryman? Besides, like Midach, there are several brothers and sisters in this abbey whose birthplace was in Laigin.'