âDid you know Dacán before he came to Ros Ailithir?' she began.
Ségán shook his head with a smile.
âI had heard of his great reputation, of course. He was a learned man, an
ollamh
who was a
staruidhe.
But if you are asking whether I had ever met the man then I must reply that I had not.'
âSo he was a professor of history?' Fidelma had no knowledge that Dacan was anything more than a master of divinity.
âOh yes. History was his speciality,' confirmed Ségán.
âDid you know why Dacan came to Ros Ailithir?'
The chief professor grimaced.
âWe do have a reputation, sister,' he replied with some amusement. âAmong our numerous students are many from the Saxon kingdoms and even from among the Franks not to mention Britons and those from the five kingdoms of Ãireann. '
âI do not think Dacan came here simply because of the reputation of Ros Ailithir,' observed Fidelma candidly. âI think he came here for a specific need.'
Ségán reflected for a moment or two.
âYes, perhaps you are right,' he admitted. âForgive my vanity, for I would like to think that our reputation for learning was the only reason. The simple answer is that he undoubtedly came here to plunder our library for knowledge. For what particular purpose that was, I do not know. You will have to consult our librarian, Sister Grella.'
âDid you like Dacán?'
Ségán did not reply immediately, apparently gathering his thoughts. Then he held his head to one side and chuckled softly.
âI do not think “like” is an appropriate word, sister. I did not dislike him and, in academic terms, we seemed to get along well together.'
Fidelma pursed her lips a little.
âThat in itself seems unusual,' she commented.
âWhy so?'
âBecause, by those I have already questioned, I have been told that Dacan was universally disliked here. Perhaps that was a motive for murder? I gather that he was austere, cold, unfriendly and an ascetic.'
Ségán now laughed openly, a rich rather comfortable laugh.
âThese are hardly attributes for which to condemn a man to hell fire. If we went around killing everyone we disliked then by the time each of us were through there would be no one left to people the earth. Certainly Dacán was not a man possessed of humour, nor was he given to playing the clown. But he was a serious scholar and, as such, I respected him. Yes “like” is not an exact word but “respect” is, perhaps, a better term to describe my attitude to him.'
âI am told that he taught here as well as studied.'
âThat is so.'
âPresumably he taught history?'
âWhat else? His interest was in the early stories concerning the coming to Ãireann of our forefather MÃl Easpain and the
Children of the Gael and how Mil's brother Amergin promised the goddess Ãire that the land would henceforth be known by her name.'
Fidelma was patient.
âThat path seems innocuous enough,' she commented.
Ségán chuckled again.
âSurely, sister, you were not seriously considering that Dacán was murdered because someone did not like his personality or his interpretation of history?'
âIt has been known,' replied Fidelma solemnly. âScholars can be like savage animals when they disagree with one another.'
Ségán bowed his head in agreement.
âYes, we are guilty as charged, sister. Some historians are as trapped in history as history is trapped in them. Dacán was, certainly, a man of his people â¦'
âWhat do you mean by that?' queried Fidelma quickly.
âHe was a man who was intensely proud of Laigin, that's what I mean. I remember that he and our chief physician, Brother Midach, once â¦'
He suddenly compressed his lips and looked uneasy.
âTell me,' prompted Fidelma. âAnything, no matter how unimportant, is of value to my investigation.'
âI do not want to spread alarm, especially where there is no cause to spread it.'
âTruth is always a good cause, chief professor,' insisted Fidelma. âTell me about Brother Midach and Dacán.'
âThey once had a row in which they nearly came to blows, that is all.'
Fidelma's eyes widened.
Here, at last, was something positive.
âWhat was this fierce argument about?'
âA simple matter of history. That's all. Dacán was boasting about Laigin, as usual. Midach apparently call the men of Laigin no more than foreigners. He claimed that they were
simply Gauls who arrived in the province which was then called Galian. The Laigin came as mercenaries to help the banished Labraid Loinseach seize the throne of his uncle Cobhthach. Midach argued that the Gauls carried broad-pointed spears of blue-green iron called
laigin
and when they had set Labraid on the throne of Galian the kingdom became known by this name; Laigin â after their spears which had won the victory for him.'
âI have heard something of that story before,' Fidelma confessed. âAn innocuous argument, as you say. But I was given to believe that Midach himself was from Laigin?'
âMidach? From Laigin? Whoever told you that? No, Midach is contemptuous of Laigin. But he did come from somewhere along its border. Perhaps that accounts for his prejudice. Yes, that's it. He was from Osraige.'
âOsraige?' Fidelma groaned inwardly. Osraige and Laigin! No matter which way one turned there always seemed some connection with Osraige and Laigin. They appeared to permeate this entire mystery.
âWhy don't you ask him?' countered the chief professor. âMidach will tell you soon enough.'
âSo Midach insulted Laigin to Dacán's face,' went on Fidelma, without replying to the question. âWhat did Dacán say to that?'
âHe called Midach an ignorant fool and knave. He said the kingdom was older than Muman and that it had taken its name from a Nemedian, the descendant of Magog and Japhet, who had come to this land from Scythia with thirty-two ships. He argued that Liath, son of Laigin, was the hero who founded the kingdom.'
âHow did such an academic discussion get out of hand?' Fidelma was curious.
âBoth argued their case in voluble tones and neither gave way even when the argument transferred into personal abuse. It was only when I and Brother Rumann intervened that each
was persuaded to return to his own chambers and take oath not to bring the discussion up again.'
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.
âDid you have any clashes with Dacán yourself?'
Ségán shook his head.
âAs I said, I respected the man. I left him to run his classes and I think most of his students appreciated his knowledge though, it is true, there were some reports of disharmony and antagonism among a few of them. Abbot Brocc apparently took the disharmony seriously. I think he even asked Brother Conghus to watch that Dacán did not cause serious dissension. But to be truthful, I spent little time with him.'
Fidelma reluctantly came to her feet.
âYou have been most helpful, chief professor,' she said.
Brother Ségán smiled broadly.
âIt is little enough. If you have further need of me, anyone will direct you to my college chambers.'
Fidelma returned towards the hostel and while crossing the flagged courtyard she came abruptly upon Cass. The warrior's face was tired.
âI have made inquiries and looked everywhere for the two boys, also for Sister Eisten,' he greeted Fidelma in disgust. âUnless they are all purposely hiding from us, I would say that they have all left the abbey confines.'
Sister Grella came as a surprise to Fidelma. She was an attractive woman in her late thirties. Though short in height and inclined to fleshiness, nevertheless she was vivacious in character, with well-kept brown hair and humorous dark eyes. To Fidelma, only a pouting, voluptuous mouth marred her features. She was, at first impression, out of place among the sombreness of the abbey, let alone in a library. Yet this was the chief librarian of the abbey. And, in spite of her initial sensual appearance, Sister Grella carried herself in a straight-backed and stately manner, like a queen in the midst of her court. She sat, in an ornately carved oak chair, at the far end of the great library chamber, which was almost as big and as vaulted as the abbey church. It was an impressive building, even by the standards of the great libraries Fidelma had visited elsewhere in the five kingdoms of Ãireann.
The books were not kept on shelves but each work was kept in a
taig liubhair
or book satchel, a leather case which hung on one of a row of pegs along the walls, clearly labelled as to its contents. Fidelma, looking at the impressive collection, was reminded of the story of the death of the saintly Longargán, a most eminent scholar and contemporary of Colmcille. On the night that the Blessed Longargán had died, all the book satchels of Ireland were supposed to have fallen from their pegs as a mark of respect and in symbolism of the loss to learning through his passing.
Most of the books contained in the book satchels were works of reference, frequently consulted by the scholars. But here and there were special works of great value, kept in beautifully ornamented leather covers and embossed with enamels and layers of gold and silver and even studded with precious stones. It was said that Assicos, Patrick's coppersmith, made quadrangular book covers in copper to hold the books of the saintly man. Some of these works were also kept in special cases of wood as well as metal.
Containers of carved wood were used to keep bundles of hazel and aspen wands, on which were cut letters in ancient Ogham, the rods of the poets, but these works were vanishing as the thin rods of wood rotted. Their information was often transferred to the new alphabet and sheets of vellum before they were destroyed.
There were several people in the musty and gloom-shrouded library. In spite of the daylight filtering through the high windows into the Tech Screptra, giant candles, in large wrought-iron stands, were lit. These cast a flickering illumination across the room. The choking atmosphere of the smoke from these candles, thought Fidelma, was hardly conducive to good scholarship. Here and there scribes sat at special tables crouching over sheets of vellum, quills of swan or goose in one hand and a maulstick to support the wrist in the other as they transcribed in elaborate or ornamental fashion some ancient work for posterity. Others sat reading quietly or with occasional sighs and the rustle of the turning page.
Fidelma made her way along the aisles of book satchels and by the various tables of the diligent scholars. No one raised their head as she passed by.
The reflected glint in the dark eyes of Sister Grella showed that the librarian had watched her approach closely. Fidelma came to the head of the hall, where the librarian's chair was placed behind a desk on a dais so that she might overlook the length and breadth of the Tech Screptra.
âSister Grella? I am â¦' began Fidelma as she halted before the librarian.
Sister Grella raised a small but shapely hand to silence her. Then she placed a finger across her lips, rose from her seat and gestured towards a side door.
Fidelma interpreted this as an invitation to follow.
On the other side of the door, Fidelma found herself in a small chamber which was filled with shelves of books but with a table and several chairs. There were sheets of vellum on the table and a conical capped ink holder, an
adirÃcÃn,
with a selection of quills and a pen knife for cutting them into nibs. It was obviously a private workroom.
Sister Grella waited until Fidelma had entered and then closed the door behind her and, with another imperial gesture of her hand, pointed to a chair, indicating that Fidelma should be seated. As Fidelma did so, the librarian lowered herself in the same regal posture into a chair facing her.
âI know who you are and why you have come,' the librarian said in a soft soprano voice.
Fidelma smiled quizzically at the personable woman.
âIn that case, my task will be made that much simpler,' she replied.
The librarian arched an eyebrow but she said nothing.
âHave you been librarian at Ros Ailithir a long time?'
Sister Grella was obviously not expecting this question to start with and she frowned.
âI have been
leabhar coimedach
here for eight years,' she replied after a moment's hesitation.
âAnd before that?' Fidelma pressed.
âI was not at this foundation.'
Fidelma had asked merely in order to obtain some background of the librarian but she detected a faint note of suspicion in the other's voice and wondered why.
âThen you must have come here highly recommended to
obtain such an important post as librarian without having been trained in this monastery, sister,' she commented.
Sister Grella made a dismissive gesture, a cutting motion of her left hand.
âI qualified to the level of
sai.
'
Fidelma knew that to achieve the degree of a
sai
one had to study at an ecclesiastical school for six years and have a knowledge of scriptures as well as a general knowledge.
âWhere did you study?' Her interest was a natural curiosity.
Again, Sister Grella hesitated a little. Then she seemed to make up her mind.
âAt the foundation of the Blessed Colmcille known as Cealla.'
Fidelma stared at her dumbfounded for a moment.
âCealla in Osraige?'
âI know of no other,' said Grella reprovingly.
âAre you of Osraige then?' That borderland between Muman and Laigin seemed to confront her whatever path she took on this investigation. Fidelma was incredulous of the number of times that the kingdom of Osraige seemed to have connections with Ros Ailithir.
âI was,' admitted Sister Grella. âI have yet to see what this has to do with your task. Abbot Brocc informs me that you are a
dálaigh
come to investigate the death of Dacán of Fearna. But my birthplace and qualifications have surely little to do with that matter?'
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the other.
The woman had become tense. The veins showed blue against the white skin of the forehead. The mouth was trembling slightly and her facial muscles seemed strained. One shapely hand was toying nervously with the silver crucifix which hung around her neck.
âI am told that the Venerable Dacán spent a considerable portion of his time in the library.' Fidelma did not bother to
reply to Sister Grella's protest but went straight to her questions about Dacán.
âHe was a scholar. The purpose of his visit to Ros Ailithir was to study. Where else should he spend his time?'
âHow long was he here?'
âSurely the abbot would have told you that?'
âTwo months,' Fidelma supplied, realising that the vivacious-looking librarian was not going to be helpful and that her questions would have to be phrased carefully to extract any information at all from her guarded responses. âAnd in that two months,' Fidelma went on, âhe spent most of his time in this library studying. What did he study?'
âHe was a scholar of history.'
âHe was well respected for his knowledge, I know,' replied Fidelma patiently. âBut what books did he study here?'
âThe books that are studied are a matter for the librarian and the scholar,' countered Sister Grella woodenly.
Fidelma realised it was time to establish her authority.
âSister Grella,' she said quietly, so softly that the librarian had to bend forward in her chair to catch the words. âI am a
dálaigh
engaged in the investigation of a murder. I am qualified to the level of
anruth.
This places certain rights and obligations on any whom I feel that I need to question. I am sure that as a
sai
you are perfectly aware of those obligations. You will now answer the questions that I put to you without further prevarication.'
Sister Grella suddenly sat stiff and upright as Fidelma's voice rose sharply. Her eyes had widened a little, staring in ill-concealed anger at the younger woman. That she was unused to being so roundly rebuked showed by the tinge of red on her cheeks. She swallowed noisily.
âWhat books did Dacán study here?' repeated Fidelma.
âHe ⦠he was interested in the volumes we have which applied to the history of ⦠of Osraige.'
Osraige yet again! Fidelma gazed at the now impassive face of the librarian.
âOsraige? Why would an abbey in the land of the Corco LoÃgde have books on a kingdom that lies many miles from here?'
For the first time Sister Grella's lips twisted into a smile of superiority. It made her look coarse.
âObviously, Fidelma of Kildare, in spite of your qualification in law, you have little knowledge of the history of this land.'
Fidelma shrug indifferently.
âEveryone is a beginner at another's trade. I am content with law and leave the profession of history to historians. Enlighten me if there is something I need to know of this matter.'
âTwo hundred years ago there was a chieftain of the Osraige named Lugne. He visited this land of the Corco LoÃgde and met the chieftain's daughter named Liadán. For a while they dwelt together on an island off the coast here. A son was born to them whom they named Ciarán and he became one of the great apostles of the Faith in Ireland.'
Fidelma had followed the recital with care.
âI have read the story of the birth of the Blessed Ciarán which tells how his mother Liadán was sleeping one night and a star fell from heaven into her mouth and after this she became pregnant.'
The librarian was sharply indignant.
âStorytellers like to embellish their tales with fantasy but the truth, as I tell you, was that Ciarán's father was Lugne of Osraige.'
âI do not mean to argue,' Fidelma mollified her, âjust that the stories of the great apostles of Ireland are manifold.'
âI am telling you of the connection between Osraige and the Corco LoÃgde,' replied the librarian sourly. âDo you want to know it or not?'
âContinue then.'
âWhen Ciarán grew to manhood, his father having died, he set off first to convert the people of his father's kingdom to the new Faith. At that time, two hundred years ago, the majority still had not heard the Word of Christ. He converted Osraige and he is known as its patron saint, even though he chose to site his community at Saighir, which is just north of its border. This is why he is known as Ciarán of Saighir.'
Fidelma knew this very well but this time held her tongue.
âI accept that Ciarán had a father from Osraige and a mother from Corco LoÃgde. Is this what Dacán was studying? A life of Ciarán?'
âThe point is that when Ciarán went to bring the Faith to the Osraige he also took many followers from the Corco LoÃgde including his own widowed mother, Liadán, who founded a community of religieuse not far from Saighir. And with those followers he took his closest friend and relative, Cúcraide mac DuÃ, who, after Ciaran had defeated the pagan king of the Osraige, was made king in his stead.'
Fidelma was now suddenly interested in the story.
âSo this is how the kings of the Osraige were chosen from the same family as the chieftains of the Corco LoÃgde?'
âExactly. For two hundred years the Osraige have been ruled by the family of the chieftains of the Corco LoÃgde. This rule has often been considered unjust. During the last hundred years several kings of the Osraige, from Corco LoÃgde, have met their death from their people, such as Feradach who was slain in his bed.'
âAnd Salbach's cousin Scandlán is also from the Corco LoÃgde?'
âJust so.'
âIs there still a conflict over the kingship?'
âThere will always be conflict until Osraige is able to reestablish its own line of kings.'
There was a slight vehemence in Grella's voice which did not pass unnoticed.
âWas this why Dacan was interested in studying the connections between Osraige and Corco LoÃgde?'
Grella was immediately on her guard once more.
âHe studied our texts on the history of Osraige and its petty kings, that is all I know.'