Suffer Little Children

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma immediately forgave her the nervousness and spaniel-like adoration. The age of innocence would soon pass. Fidelma felt that it was sad that children had so quickly to pass into adulthood. What was it that Publilius Syrus had written? If you would live innocently, do not lose the heart and mind you possessed in your childhood.

  Having installed themselves in the chamber in which they had eaten their first meal at the abbey, Fidelma sent Necht to bring the aistreóir, Brother Conghus, to them.

  ‘We will start at the beginning,’ she explained to Cass. ‘Conghus was the first person to discover the body of the Venerable Dacán.’

  Cass was unsure of his rôle now. He had no training in law and had never witnessed a dálaigh investigating a crime before. So he took up a seat in a corner of the chamber, in the background, and let Fidelma seat herself at the table on which a lantern had been placed to give light to the proceedings.

  It was not long before a slightly breathless Sister Necht returned with the thickset doorkeeper, Brother Conghus, at her heels.

  ‘I’ve brought him, sister,’ gasped the girl, in a deep, husky voice which seemed her normal tone. ‘Just as you said I should.’

  Fidelma tried to suppress a smile and waved the young novice to take a seat by Cass.

  ‘You may wait there, Sister Necht. You will not speak until I speak to you nor will you ever reveal anything that you may hear in this room. I must have your solemn oath on this, if you are to remain to assist me.’

  The novice swore at once and assumed her place.

  Fidelma then turned her sharp smile to Brother Conghus who had stood waiting in the doorway.

  ‘Come in, shut the door and take a seat, brother,’ she instructed firmly.

  The doorkeeper did as he was bid.

  ‘How may I help, sister?’ he asked once he was settled.

  ‘I must ask you some questions. I have to ask you, officially, if you know the purpose of my visit?’

  Conghus shrugged: ‘Who does not?’

  ‘Very well. Let us go back to the day of the Venerable Dacán’s death. I am told that you were the first to discover the body?’

  Conghus grimaced as if in distaste at the memory.

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘Describe the circumstances, if you please.’

  Conghus paused to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Dacán was a man of regular habits. His day, so I had perceived, during the two months that he lodged at the abbey, was one of ritual observance. One could almost tell the time of day by his movements.’

  He paused again as if reflecting.

  ‘My job as doorkeeper also includes bellringer. I ring the main hours and services. The bell for matins heralds the beginning of our day which is followed by the jentaculum, our first meal of the day. Because we are a large community and our refectory cannot accommodate everyone, we eat in three separate sittings. Dacán invariable ate at the middle sitting as did I. This timing allows me the opportunity to pursue my duties at the ringing of the hours. After the third sitting for the jentaculum I ring the hour of the tierce when the work of the community starts.’

  ‘I understand,’ Fidelma said, when the doorkeeper paused and glanced at her in silent question to see if she was following.

  ‘Well, this particular morning, two weeks ago on the day of Luan, Dacán was not at his place for the breaking of the fast. I made inquiries, for it was so unusual that he would miss a meal. You see …’

  ‘You have already explained how rigid his habits were,’ Fidelma interrupted quickly.

  Conghus blinked and then nodded.

  ‘Just so. Well, I ascertained that he had not been at the earlier sitting. So after I had eaten, curiosity took me to the hostel to look for him.’

  ‘Where was his chamber?’

  ‘On the first floor.’ Conghus began to rise from his seat. ‘I can show you the chamber now …’

  Fidelma waved him back to his seat.

  ‘You may do so in a moment. Let us continue. So, you came to search for Dacán?’

  ‘I did. There is little more to add. I went to his chamber and called to him. There was no answer. So I opened the door …’

  ‘No answer?’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘Surely if there was no answer, one might assume that the Venerable Dacán was not in his room? What made you decide to open the door?’

  Conghus grimaced, frowning.

  ‘Why … why, I saw a light flickering under the door. It is dark in the passage so any light shines out. The light attracted me. I reasoned that if Dacán had left a light burning, then I should extinguish it. Frugality is another Rule of the Blessed Fachtna,’ he added sanctimoniously.

  ‘I see. So you saw a light and then … ?’

  ‘I went in.’

  ‘What was the cause of the light?’

  ‘There was an oil lamp lit, it was still burning.’

  ‘Go on,’ Fidelma urged, when Conghus continued to hesitate.

  ‘Dacán was laying dead on his bed. That is all.’

  Fidelma suppressed a sigh of irritation.

  ‘Let us try to establish a few more details, Brother Conghus,’ she said patiently. ‘Imagine yourself back at the threshold of the door. Describe what you saw.’

  Conghus frowned again and appeared to give some deep thought to the question.

  ‘The chamber was lit by the oil lamp, which was on a small table at the side of the cot. Dacán was fully dressed. He was lying on his back. The first thing I noticed about him was that his feet and his hands were bound …’

  ‘With rope?’

  Conghus shook his head.

  ‘With strips of cloth; linen cloth with parti-colours of blue and red. He also had a strip of the same cloth in his mouth. I presumed this was in the nature of a gag. Then I saw that there were bloodstains all over his chest. I realised that he had been killed.’

  ‘Very well. Now tell me, was there any sign of a knife – the knife that inflicted the wounds?’

  ‘None that I could see.’

  ‘Was one found subsequently?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘How were Dacán’s features?’

  ‘I do not understand,’ frowned Conghus.

  ‘Was the face calm and reposed? Were the eyes open or shut. How did he look?’

  ‘Calm, I would say. There was no fear or pain engraved on the dead features, if that is what you mean.’

  ‘That is precisely what I mean,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘Good. We now progress. You realised that Dacán had been killed. Did you notice anything else about the room? Had it been ransacked? Was it in order? If Dacán was so rigid in his habits it would imply that he would be scrupulously tidy.’

  ‘The room was tidy so far as I can remember. You are right, of course, Dacán’s fastidiousness was well known. But Sister Necht will tell you more about that.’

  Fidelma heard a rustle and turned to frown a warning at the young novice in case she felt the need to respond.

  ‘So.’ Fidelma returned her gaze to Conghus. ‘We begin to build up a picture. Go on. Having realised that Dacán had been killed, what then?’

  ‘I made directly to see the abbot. I told him what I had discovered. He sent for our assistant physician, Brother Tóla, who examined the body and confirmed what I knew already. The abbot then placed matters in the hands of Brother Rumann. As steward of the abbey it was his job to conduct an inquiry.’

  ‘One question here: you said that the abbot sent for the assistant physician, Brother Tóla? Why did he not send for the chief physician? After all, the Venerable Dacán was a man of some standing.’

  ‘That is true. But our chief physician, Brother Midach, was away from the abbey at that time.’

  ‘You said that Dacán had been staying here two months,’ observed Fidelma. ‘How well had you come to know him?’

  Brother Conghus raised his eyebrows.

  ‘How well?’ He grimaced wryly. ‘The Venerable Dacán was not a man you came to know at all.
He was reserved; austere, if you like. He came with a great reputation for piety and scholarship. But he was a man of brusque manner and testy demeanour. He was a man of regular habits … as I have said before … and never spent time merely gossiping. Whenever he went abroad from his chamber he went for a specific purpose and did not pause to exchange pleasantries or waste an hour or two in conversation.’

  ‘You paint a very clear picture, Brother Conghus,’ Fidelma said.

  Conghus took it as a compliment and preened himself for a moment.

  ‘As doorkeeper, it is my task to assess people and notice their behaviour.’

  ‘Physically, what manner of man was he?’

  ‘Elderly, well over three-score years. A tall man, in spite of his age. Thin, as if he were in need of a good meal. He had long white hair. Dark eyes and sallow skin. Perhaps the only real distinctive feature was a bulbous nose. His features were generally melancholy.’

  ‘I am told that he came here to study. Do you know much about that?’

  Brother Conghus pushed out his lower lip.

  ‘On that matter you would have to consult the abbey’s librarian.’

  ‘And what is the name of this librarian?’

  ‘Sister Grella.’

  ‘I am told that the Venerable Dacán also taught,’ Fidelma said, making a mental note. ‘Do you know what he taught?’

  Conghus shrugged.

  ‘He taught some history, so I believe. But, it would probably be best if you saw Brother Ségán, our chief professor.’

  ‘There is something else that puzzles me, though,’ Fidelma said, after a moment’s pause. ‘You say that Dacán was austere. That was the word you used, wasn’t it?’

  Conghus nodded agreement.

  ‘It is an interesting word, very descriptive,’ she went on. ‘Yet why did he have the reputation of one beloved by the people? Usually a man who is ascetic, compassionless and stern, for this is what austere seems to imply, would hardly be a likable person.’

  ‘We must all speak as we find, sister,’ declared Conghus. ‘Perhaps the reputation, which doubtless was spread from Laigin, was unjustified?’

  ‘That being so, why were you so worried when Dacán missed a single meal? If he were not that likable, surely human nature might react and say, why bother to go searching for such a man? Why did you go searching for the Venerable Dacán?’

  Conghus looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I am not sure that I follow your thoughts, sister,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘They are simple enough,’ Fidelma pressed, her voice clear and slow. ‘You seem to have been overly concerned with the fact that a man, whom you deemed unlikable, had missed the breaking of his fast to the extent that you went looking for him. Can you explain that?’

  The doorkeeper compressed his lips, stared at her for a moment and then shrugged.

  ‘A week before Dacán’s death, the abbot called me to him and told me to have a special care for Dacán. That was why I went to his chamber after he had missed his meal.’

  It was Fidelma’s turn to be surprised.

  ‘Did the abbot explain why you should have this special care for Dacán?’ she demanded. ‘Was he afraid that something might happen to the Venerable Dacán?’

  Conghus gestured with indifference.

  ‘I am merely the aistreóir here, sister. I am doorkeeper and bellringer. When my abbot tells me to do something, I will do it, so long as it is not contrary to the laws of God and the Brehons. I will not question my abbot on his motives so long as those motives do not compass harm to his fellow men. It is my duty to obey and not to question.’

  Fidelma gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment.

  ‘That is an interesting philosophy, Conghus. It is one we might discuss at leisure. But let me get this clearly fixed in my mind. It was only a week before Dacán’s murder that the abbot specifically asked you to keep a special watch over Dacan? He did not say why? He did not say whether he might have some reason to be fearful for Dacán’s safety?’

  ‘It is as I have already said, sister.’

  Fidelma stood up with an abruptness that surprised everyone.

  ‘Very well. Let us go downstairs so that you may show me the chamber that Dacán occupied.’

  Conghus came to his feet, blinking a little at the rapid change.

  He conducted them out of the room, along the corridor and down the stairs.

  Cass and Sister Necht followed closely behind Fidelma. Necht’s face still shone with enthusiastic excitement while Cass merely looked bewildered.

  Conghus paused before a door on the ground floor of the hostel, at the far end of the corridor in which Sister Eisten and the children had their rooms.

  ‘Does any one currently occupy the chamber?’ Fidelma asked as Conghus bent to the handle in order to open the door.

  Conghus hesitated and straightened up again.

  ‘No, sister. It has been left unoccupied since the death of Dacán. In fact, his possessions have also been left untouched in the room by the order of the abbot. I believe that the representatives of Dacán’s brother, Abbot Noé of Fearna, have demanded the return of these personal effects.’

  ‘So why have they been kept?’ interposed Cass, speaking for the first time since the questioning of Conghus began.

  Conghus glanced at him, somewhat startled at his unexpected interruption.

  ‘I presume that the abbot decided that nothing should be touched until the arrival of the dálaigh and the conclusion of the investigation.’

  Conghus bent again, fumbled with the latch and then flung open the door. He was about to enter the dark room when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and held him back.

  ‘Get me a lantern.’

  ‘There is an oil lamp beside the bed which I can light.’

  ‘No,’ Fidelma insisted. ‘I want nothing touched or moved, if nothing has been moved so far. Sister Necht, hand me down that oil lamp behind you.’

  The young novice moved with alacrity to take down the lamp from its wall fixture.

  Fidelma took the lamp, holding it high, and stood on the threshold peering round.

  The chamber was almost as she had envisaged it would be.

  There was a bed, a wooden cot with a straw palliasse and blankets in one corner. By it was a small table on which stood an oil lamp. On the floor, just below this, was a pair of worn sandals. From a row of pegs hung three large leather satchels. There was another table at the end of the bed on which were spread some wooden writing tablets covered with a wax surface and nearby a graib, a stylus of pointed metal, for writing. Next to this was a small pile of vellum sheets and a cow’s horn which was obviously an adircín used for containing dubh or ink made from carbon. A selection of quills taken from crows was piled next to it and a small knife ready for their sharpening. Fidelma realised that Dacán, like most scribes, would make his notes on the wax tablets and then transcribe them for permanence onto his vellum sheets, which would then be bound.

  She hesitated a moment more to ensure that she had missed nothing in her initial cursory examination. Then she stepped to the table and stared at the wax writing tablets. Her lips turned down in disappointment when she saw they were empty of characters. The surface had been smoothed clean.

  She turned to Conghus.

  ‘I do not imagine that you would have noticed whether these were clean or written on at the time Dacán’s body was discovered?’

  Conghus shook his head negatively.

  Fidelma sighed and peered at the vellum sheets. They were equally devoid of content.

  She turned round. There were dark stains on the blankets still piled untidily on the bed. It needed no great intelligence to realise that the stains were dried blood. She peered along the pegs on the wall and began to examine the contents of the leather satchels ranged there. They contained a change of underwear, a cloak, some shirts and other garments. There was also some shaving equipment and toiletry articles but little else. Carefully, Fidelma repacked the items into
the satchels and hung them back on their pegs.

  She stood for a moment, peering round the chamber before, to the surprise of those watching, lowering herself to her knees and carefully examining the floor still holding the lantern in one hand.

  It was covered in a thin layer of dust. Brother Conghus was apparently correct when he said no one had been in the chamber since the murder. Fidelma suddenly reached forward under the bed and drew out what appeared to be a short stick. It was an eighteen-inch wand of aspen wood cut with notches. It was so inconspicuous that it might easily be overlooked.

  She heard a faint gasp at the door and turned to see Sister Necht staring from the doorway.

  ‘Do you recognise this?’ she demanded quickly of the young novice, holding it up in the light.

  Necht shook her head immediately.

  ‘It was … no, I thought it was something else. No, I was wrong. I have not seen it before.’

  Still holding her find, Fidelma’s eye fell on the small table by the cot. The only thing on it was the small pottery oil lamp. She transferred the wooden stick to the hand with the lantern and reached down to lift up the lamp with her free hand. It was heavy and obviously filled with oil. She replaced it and transferred the stick back again to her other hand.

  She walked back to the threshold, where the others were crowding, waiting expectantly as if she were about to make some profound announcement. She was still absently clutching the aspen wand.

  Fidelma turned back into the chamber and stood holding up the lamp high in order to let its light fall on the greater part of the room. Her eyes moved slowly and carefully over the chamber trying not to miss anything.

  It was a dark cell of a room. There was only a small window, high up on the wall above the bed, which would give precious little light. Not only was the window small but it was north facing. The light, she reasoned, would be a cold, grey one. A room like this, for someone to function in, would have to be permanently illuminated. She turned and examined the door. There was nothing unusual here. No lock nor bolt, just a normal latch.

  ‘Is there anything more that you require of me, sister?’ Brother Conghus asked after they had all stood in silence a while. ‘The hour approaches for me to ring the bell for the completa.’