He hesitated a moment, as if he would say something else, then he turned to the abbot.
âI will be on my way then, abbot,' he began but Fidelma interrupted.
âThere are some questions on another matter which you may help me with, Salbach.'
Salbach glanced at her in astonishment for he had made clear that the meeting had ended. It was clear he was used to dictating his own way.
âI am busy now â¦'
âIn this I am acting on behalf of the king of Cashel,' insisted Fidelma. âIt concerns the murder of the Venerable Dacán.'
Salbach hesitated as though he would dispute with her but then shrugged indifferently.
âIt is a grave business,' he conceded. âI know nothing of the death of the old man. So how can I help you?'
âDid you know the Venerable Dacán?'
âWho did not know him by reputation?' Salbach parried.
âI believe you met him?'
The question was merely a guess and Fidelma saw the quick flush on Salbach's face. It had only been an instinct which had made her chance the question.
âI did meet Dacan a few times,' Salbach admitted.
âWas that here, at Ros Ailithir?'
Fidelma had to conceal her surprise when Salbach shook his head.
âNo. I met him at Cealla, at one of the great residences of the chieftains of Osraige.'
âIn Osraige? When was this?'
âA year ago.'
âMay I ask what you were doing in Osraige?'
âVisiting my cousin, Scandlán, who is king there.' Salbach could not keep the vanity out of his voice.
Fidelma was again reminded that her brother, Colgú, had told her that the kings of Osraige were related to the chieftains of the Corco LoÃgde.
âI see,' she said slowly. âYet you did not meet the Venerable Dacan when he came to Ros Ailithir?'
âNo, I did not.'
Something prompted Fidelma to doubt him. Yet she could not get beyond that hooded buzzard expression. She realised that she did not like Salbach at all. Then she flushed as she remembered her homily to Sister Necht. In spite of that, Fidelma believed that there was something sinister about Salbach and that was why she disliked him. There was something evil and harsh in those pale eyes of his. He reminded her so much of a bird of prey.
âBut you did meet with AssÃd of Laigin?' she switched the question abruptly, still relying on her instinct.
Salbach's mouth slackened a little. There was a momentary glint in his eyes.
âYes,' he admitted slowly. âHe came to my fortress at Cuan Dóir to trade.'
âHe is a coastal trader?'
âYes. He traded at our copper mines. He brought us Gaulish wine which had been landed in Laigin and we traded copper for the wine.'
âSo you have known AssÃd for a long time ⦠in his rôle as a merchant, that is?'
Salbach grimaced negatively.
âI said that I have met him. That is all. He was trading here last summer and the summer before that. Why do you ask these questions?'
âIt is my task to do so, chieftain of the Corco LoÃgde,' she replied with patient humour.
âAm I free to go now?' There was a condescending sneer in his voice.
âI trust that we shall hear soon that you have been successful in your search for Intat?'
âI will make a point of informing you,' Salbach replied stiffly.
With a brief bow in her direction and a curt nod to the abbot, Salbach left the room.
Abbot Brocc was looking unhappy.
âSalbach is not a person who likes losing face, cousin,' he commented anxiously. âI felt I was witness to two cats meeting to dispute the same territory.'
âIt is a pity then he places himself in such a position where confrontation results,' replied Fidelma coldly. âHe carries an insufferable arrogance in his demeanour.'
The midday Angelus bell struck.
Fidelma felt obliged to join the abbot in the ritual prayer for the hour.
When Brocc raised himself from his knees, he regarded Fidelma for a moment or two in awkwardness.
âThere is other news,' he began, somewhat hesitantly. âI did not want to say anything in front of Salbach before I told you.'
Fidelma waited uncertainly, for her cousin's face had grown unusually solemn.
âJust before Salbach arrived, a messenger came from Cashel. The king, Cathal mac Cathail, died three days ago. Your brother, Colgú, is now king of Muman.'
Fidelma's features did not change. As soon as Brocc had mentioned a messenger from Cashel, she knew what it must be about. She had known it was a matter of time even before she had left Cashel. Then she rose and genuflected.
âSic transit gloria mundi.
May our cousin rest in peace,' she said. âAnd may God give Colgú strength for the hard task which he now faces.'
âWe shall say a mass for the soul of Cathal tonight, sister,' Brocc said. âIt lacks a short while before the bell sounds for the midday meal. Perhaps you will join me in a cup of wine before going to the refectory?'
To his obvious disappointment, Fidelma shook her head.
âI have much to do before the midday meal, cousin,' she replied. âBut there is one question which I must now ask you. Brother Conghus told me that a week before Dacan was killed you had especially asked him to keep a close watch on Dacan. Why was that?'
âNo mystery to that,' the abbot replied immediately. âIt was clear that the Venerable Dacan was an unfriendly man. In fact, I had heard that he had upset several of the students here. It was just a precaution to ask Brother Conghus to ensure that Dacan did not encounter trouble through his ⦠how shall we say it? ⦠through his unfortunate personality.'
âThank you, Brocc. I will see you at the midday meal.'
Fidelma left the chamber with her thoughts abruptly returning to the young boy, Cétach. Why had the boy not wanted her to mention him and his brother Cosrach? What made him fear Salbach?
Yet this was nothing to do with the murder of the Venerable Dacan and time was swiftly running out before the matter would have to be argued before the High King's assembly at Tara.
She made her way directly back to the hostel and went to look for the boy Cétach. She also recalled that she must speak further with Sister Eisten. The children were not in their
chambers; neither was Sister Eisten. Fidelma looked into the other chambers but could not see anyone. The only one of the children from Rae na ScrÃne she could find was one of the little copper-haired sisters, Cera by name. The girl sat playing with a rag doll and would not answer any of Fidelma's questions.
Fidelma gave up trying to coax some information from her and then searched the upstairs chambers before returning to the lower floor. She heard a noise from Brother Rumann's
officium
and hastened along to it. There she found Cass seated in the chamber with Brother Rumann. They were crouched either side of a
brandubh
board engaged in the popular game of âblack raven'. Rumann seemed to be an experienced player for he had taken two of Cass's provincial king pieces, leaving Cass with only his High King and two other provincial king defenders, while his own eight opposing pieces were all intact. Cass was trying vainly to reach the safety of the side of the board, which was divided into forty-nine squares, seven squares one way and seven squares the other. Even as Fidelma looked, Rumann by a deft move placed his pieces so that the High King was clearly opposed without any square to retreat to. Reluctantly, and with some bad grace, Cass conceded the game to the portly brother.
Brother Rumann glanced up with a satisfied smile as he saw Fidelma.
âDo you play this game, sister?'
Fidelma nodded curtly. Every child of a king or chieftain was taught
brandubh
and other board games of skill as part of their education. The game had a deep significance for the main piece represented the High King at Tara whose defenders were the four provincial kings of Ulaidh, Laigin, Muman and Connacht. The eight attacking pieces had to be checked by the four provincial kings, allowing the centre to hold steady or, if threatened, to escape to the side of the board, although this escape was only made in desperation when the player had no other options.
âPerhaps we shall get a chance to test each other's mettle?' invited Rumann eagerly.
âPerhaps we shall,' Fidelma returned politely. âBut I have little time now.'
She motioned with her eyes for Cass to follow her and once outside told him the news from Cashel. Like Fidelma, he was not surprised. The death of Cathal had been imminent when they had left the seat of the Muman kings.
âYour brother inherits a heavy burden, Fidelma,' Cass observed. âDoes it change matters here at all?'
âNo. It only makes the success of our task more pressing.' Fidelma went on to ask him whether he had seen either of the young boys, Cétach or Cosrach.
Cass shook his head.
âAs if I do not have enough on my hands.' Fidelma was exasperated. âIs it not enough that I am trying to solve the mystery of the murder of Dacán without this further mystery concerning these children?'
When Cass looked bewildered, she unbent to tell him of what the boy Cétach had said and of her unfriendly discussion with Salbach.
âI have heard that Salbach is overbearing and arrogantly hot-tempered,' Cass confessed. âPerhaps I should have warned you?'
âNo. It is best that I made up my own mind.'
âEven so, from what you say it appears that he was almost trying to protect Intat from accusation.'
âAlmost. Maybe he simply wanted proof of the accusations. After all, he had apparently appointed Intat as a magistrate himself.'
The bell for the midday meal began to sound.
âLet us forget these mysteries until later,' Cass suggested. âThe children will probably be at the midday meal anyway. I've never known a child to disappear from a meal. And if they
are not there, well, I can look for them this afternoon while you carry on with your investigation.'
âThat is an excellent suggestion, Cass,' Fidelma agreed readily. âI need to question the librarian and the chief professor about the Venerable Dacán's rôle at Ros Ailithir.'
They passed into the refectory hall. Fidelma peered carefully around but saw no sign of the boys, Cétach or Cosrach, nor, for that matter, did she see Sister Eisten. Cass, as he had promised, left the refectory immediately after he had eaten to go in search of them.
It was while Fidelma was passing out of the hall at the end of the meal that she overheard a couple of students hailing a tall, elderly man as Brother Ségán. She halted and examined the chief professor, the
fer-leginn
of the college. His scrawny, dark, brooding appearance did not seem to match his personality for he greeted the two students with a ready smile and answered their questions with sentences punctuated by a throaty laugh.
Fidelma waited until the proselytes had departed and Brother Ségán was beginning move off before she saluted him by name.
âAh, are you Fidelma of Kildare?' Brother Ségán gave her a warm smile and extended a firm hand in greeting. âI had heard that you had arrived here. The Abbot Brocc told me of your coming. I have heard much praise of your judgments in matters of unlawful killing.'
âIt is about the Venerable Dacan that I wish to speak.'
âI thought that it might be so,' grinned the lanky professor. âWalk with me,' he invited, âand we will talk.'
He led the way through an arch and into the walled abbey garden which was called the
lúbgort
, from the words
lúb,
a herb, and
gort,
a fenced-in cultivate plot. Even this late in autumn, various odours pleasantly assailed Fidelma's senses. She always felt at peace in gardens, especially herb gardens, for the scents put her into a tranquil
mood. There was no sign of anyone within the enclosure and Brother Ségán led her to a stone seat in a tiny arboretum. On the other side of the arboretum was a well head. A small round stone wall protected it while a wooden beam on pillars supported a rope on which a bucket could be attached.
âThey call this Fachtna's holy well,' explained Ségán, observing as Fidelma examined the well. âIt was the original well of the community when Fachtna chose this site but, alas, the community has far outgrown its supply. There are now other wells in the abbey but, for us, this well remains the sacred well of Fachtna.'
He motioned her to be seated.
âNow,' he said briskly, âask away with your questions.'