Suffer Little Children

by Peter Tremayne

  Eisten was shaking her head swiftly.

  ‘I 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.

  ‘Tell me, sister …’

  Fidelma turned inquiringly back to the morose young anchoress. She was still staring glumly out to sea.

  ‘Tell me, sister, can a soul-friend betray one’s confidence?’

  ‘If they do, then I fail to see how they can be a soul-friend,’ Fidelma replied at once. ‘It depends on the circumstances.’

  ‘Sister!’ It was Necht agitating from the foot of the stair.

  ‘Let us talk about this matter later,’ Fidelma suggested. There was no answer and after a moment she reluctantly went down the stairs after Necht.

  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.

  ‘I will not want your services for a while,’ she told the disappointed-looking novice. ‘I am sure you have other duties to fulfil in the hostel.’

  Brother Rumann looked approving.

  ‘Indeed, she has. There are chambers to be cleaned and tidied here.’

  When Sister Necht had reluctantly left, Fidelma turned back to the steward.

  ‘How long have you been house steward of the abbey, Brother Rumann?’ she opened.

  The pudgy features of the man creased in a frown.

  ‘Two years, sister. Why?’

  ‘Indulge me,’ Fidelma invited pleasantly. ‘I like to know as much background as possible.’

  Rumann sniffed as if from boredom.

  ‘Then know that I have served in the abbey since I came here when I reached the age of choice – 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.

  ‘So 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.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You must know everything there is to know about the foundation of Ros Ailithir?’

  ‘Everything.’ Rumann was nothing if not complacent.

  ‘That is good.’

  Rumann frowned slightly, wondering whether she was quietly mocking him.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked gruffly, when Fidelma asked nothing further for several moments.

  ‘Abbot Brocc requested that you conduct an investigation into the death of Dacán. What was its result?’

  ‘That he was murdered by an unknown assailant. That is all,’ confessed the steward.

  ‘Let us start then from the time the abbot told you the news of Dacán’s death.’

  ‘The abbot did not tell me. I was told by Brother Conghus.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Shortly 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.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I went to see the abbot to ask what I should do.’

  ‘You didn’t go to Dacán’s chamber first?’

  Rumann shook his head.

  ‘What 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.’

  ‘I 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.

  ‘Tóla extinguished the lamp when he left,’ Fidelma said. ‘That implied that you had already left the room when the corpse was carried out.’

  Rumann looked at Fidelma with some respect.

  ‘You 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.’

  ‘You did not examine the room again?’

  ‘No. 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.’

  ‘You did not refill the oil in the bedside lamp at any stage?’

  Ruman raised an eyebrow in surprise at the question.

  ‘Why would I refill it?’

  ‘No matter,’ smiled Fidelma quickly. ‘What then? How did you make your investigation?’

  Rumann rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘Sister 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.’

  ‘Who was the guest? Is he still at the monastery?’

  ‘No. He was no one really … Just a traveller. His name was Assid of the Uí Dego.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ She recalled that Brocc had mentioned the name. ‘Assíd of the Uí Dego. Tell me if I am wrong, Rumann, but the Uí Dego dwell just north of Fearna in Laigin, do they not?’

  Rumann stirred uncomfortably.

  ‘I believe so,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps Brother Midach could tell you more on that subject.’

  ‘Why Brother Midach?’ Fidelma thought the point curious.

  ‘Well, he has travelled in those lands,’ Rumann said a trifle defensively. ‘I 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.

  ‘Tell me more about this traveller, Assíd.’

  ‘Little 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.

  ‘And after he had assured you that he had heard and seen nothing?’

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘The fact that Assíd 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.

  ‘How 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.’

  ‘I am not here to suggest things, Rumann,’ snapped Fidelma, irritated by the steward’s complacency. ‘I am here to investigate.’

  The portly religieux sat back abruptly and swallowed. He was unused to being snapped at.

  Fidelma, for her part, immediately regretted her irritation and secretly admitted that the steward could hardly have acted otherwise. What grounds were there to have held Assíd of the Uí Dego? None. However, the identity of the person who had taken the news of Dacán’s murder to Fearna was now obvious.

  ‘This Assíd,’ began Fidelma again, speaking in a more amicable tone, ‘what makes you so sure that he was a merchant?’

  Rumann screwed up his features
in a meaningless grimace.

  ‘Who else but merchants travel our coastline in barca and seek hospitality in our hostels? He was not unusual. We often get merchants like him.’

  ‘Presumably his crew stayed on board the barc?’

  ‘I believe they did. They certainly did not stay here.’

  ‘One wonders, therefore, why he did not also stay on board but sought a night’s lodging here?’ mused Fidelma. ‘Which chamber did he occupy?’

  ‘The one currently occupied by Sister Eisten.’

  ‘Did he know Dacán?’

  ‘I think so. Yes, I do recall that they greeted one another in friendly fashion. That was on the evening that Assíd arrived. That was natural, I suppose, both men being from Laigin.’

  Fidelma suppressed her annoyance. How could she solve this mystery when her principal witness had left the scene? Already she felt an overwhelming sense of frustration.

  ‘Did you not question Assíd later about his relationship with Dacán?’

  Rumann looked pained and shook his head.

  ‘Why should his relationship to Dacán be of interest to me?’

  ‘But you said they greeted one another in friendship, implying that they knew one another and not by reputation.’

  ‘I saw no reason to ask whether Assíd was a friend of Dacán.’

  ‘How else would you find the killer than by asking such questions?’ Fidelma demanded sourly.

  ‘I am not a dálaigh,’ retorted Rumann, indignantly. ‘I was asked to make an inquiry how Dacán came to be killed in our hostel, not to conduct a legal investigation.’

  There was some truth to this. Rumann was not trained to investigate. Fidelma was contrite.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she apologised. ‘Just tell me as much as you know with regard to this man, Assíd.’

  ‘He arrived on the day before Dacán was killed and left as I have told you, on that day. He sought lodging for the night. His barc anchored in the inlet and was presumably engaged in trading. This is all I know.’

  ‘Very well. And there was no one else in the hostel at the time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is access to the hostel easy from any part of the abbey buildings?’

  ‘As you have seen, sister, there are no restrictions within the abbey walls.’

  ‘So any one of the many hundreds of students as well as the religious here could have entered and killed Dacán?’

  ‘They could,’ Rumann admitted without hesitation.

  ‘Was anyone particularly close to Dacán during his stay here? Did he have particular friends either among the religious or students?’

  ‘No one was really friendly to him. Not even the abbot. The Venerable Dacán was a man who kept everyone at a distance. Not friendly, at all. Ascetic and indifferent to worldly values. I like to relax some evenings with a board game, brandubh or fidchell. I invited him to engage in a game or two and was dismissed as if I had suggested indulgence in a blasphemous thing.’

  This, at least, Fidelma thought, was a common point of agreement among those she had questioned about the Venerable Dacan. He was not a friendly soul.

  ‘There was no one at all with whom he spoke more than any other person in the abbey?’

  Rumann shrugged eloquently.

  ‘Unless you count our librarian, Sister Grella. That, I presume, was because he did much research in the library.’

  Fidelma nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Ah yes, I have heard that he was at Ros Ailithir to study certain texts. I will see this Sister Grella later.’

  ‘Of course, he also taught,’ Rumann added. ‘He taught history.’

  ‘Can you tell me who were his students?’

  ‘No. You would have to speak to our fer-leginn, our chief professor, Brother Ségán. Brother Ségán has control of all matters pertaining to the studies here. That is, under Abbot Brocc, of course.’

  ‘Presumably, in pursuit of his studies, the Venerable Dacán must have written considerably?’

  ‘I would presume so,’ Rumann replied diffidently. ‘I often saw him carrying manuscripts and, of course, his wax writing tablets. He was never without the latter.’

  ‘Then,’ Fidelma paused to lend emphasis to her question, ‘why are there are no manuscripts nor used tablets in his chamber?’

  Brother Rumann gazed blankly at her.

  ‘Are there not?’ he asked in bewilderment.

  ‘No. There are tablets which have been smoothed clean and vellum which has not been used.’

  The house steward shrugged again. The gesture seemed to come naturally to him.

  ‘It is of surprise to me. Perhaps he stored whatever he wrote in our library. However, I fail to see what this has to do with his death.’

  ‘And you had no knowledge of what Dacán was studying?’ Fidelma did not bother to reply to his implied question. ‘Did anyone know why he had come in particular to Ros Ailithir?’

  ‘It is not my business to pry into the affairs of others. Sufficient that Dacán came with the recommendation of the king of Cashel and his presence was approved of by my abbot. I tried, like others here, to be friendly with him but, as I have said, he was not a friendly man. In truth, sister, perhaps I should confess that there was no mourning in the abbey when Dacan passed into the Otherworld.’

  Fidelma leaned forward with interest.

  ‘I was led to believe, in spite of the fact that he was considered austere, that Dacán was widely beloved by the people and revered as a man of great sanctity.’

  Brother Rumann pursed his lips cynically.

  ‘I have heard that this is so – and perhaps it is … in Laigin. All I can say is that he was welcomed here at Ros Ailithir but did not reciprocate the warmth of our welcome. So he was generally left to his own devices. Why, even little Sister Necht went in fear of him.’

  ‘She did? Why so?’

  ‘Presumably because he was a man whose coldness inspired apprehension.’

  ‘I thought his saintly reputation went further than Laigin. In most places, he and his brother Noé are spoken of as one would speak of Colmcille, of Brendan or of Enda.’

  ‘One may only speak as one finds, sister. Sometimes reputations are not deserved.’

  ‘Tell me, this dislike of Dacán …’

  Brother Rumann shook his head in interruption.

  ‘Indifference, sister. Indifference, not dislike, for there were no grounds to promote such a positive response as dislike.’

  Fidelma bowed her head in acknowledgment of the point.

  ‘Very well. Indifference, if you like. In your estimation you do not think it was enough to promote a feeling in someone here to kill him?’

  The eyes of the steward narrowed in his fleshy face.

  ‘Someone here? Are you suggesting that one of our brethren in Ros Ailithir killed him?’

  ‘Perhaps even one of his students who disliked his manner? That has been known.’

  ‘Well, I have never heard of such a thing. A student respects his master.’

  ‘In ordinary circumstances,’ she agreed. ‘Yet we are investigating an extraordinary circumstance. Murder, for that is what we have established, is a most unnatural crime. Whatever path we follow we have to agree that someone in this community must have perpetrated this act. Someone in this community,’ she repeated with emphasis.

  Brother Rumann regarded her with a solemn face and tight mouth.

  ‘I cannot say further than I have. All I was asked to do, all I did, was investigate the circumstance of his death. What else could I have done? I have not the skills of a dálaigh.’

  Fidelma spread her hands in a pacifying gesture.

  ‘I imply no criticism, Brother Rumann. You have your office and I have mine. We are faced with a delicate situation, not merely in terms of solving this crime but in seeking to prevent a war.’

  Brother Rumann sniffed loudly.

  ‘If you ask my opinion, I would not put it past Laigin to have engineered this whole matter. They have appeale
d time and time again to the High King’s assembly at Tara for the return of Osraige. Each time, it has been ruled that Osraige was lawfully part of Muman. Now this.’ He stabbed with his hand into the air.

  Fidelma examined the steward with interest.

  ‘Just when did you come to such an opinion, Brother Rumann?’ she questioned gently.

  ‘I am of the Corco Loígde, a man of Muman. When I heard of the honour price that young Fianamail of Laigin was demanding for Dacán’s death, I suspected a plot. You were right in the first place.’

  Fidelma raised an eyebrow at Rumann’s angry features.

  ‘Right? In what respect?’

  ‘That I should have been suspicious of the merchant, Assíd. He was probably the assassin and I let him go!’

  She gazed at him for a moment then said: ‘One thing more, brother. How did you come to know what the demands of Laigin are?’

  Rumann blinked. ‘How? Why the abbot has spoken of nothing else for days.’

  After Brother Rumann had left, Fidelma sat for a while in silence. Then she realised that Cass was still seated waiting for her to speak. She turned and gave him a tired smile.

  ‘Call Sister Necht, Cass.’

  A moment later the enthusiastic young sister entered in answer to the ringing of the handbell. It was clear that she had been in the process of scrubbing the floors of the hostel but welcomed the interruption.

  ‘I hear that you went in apprehension of the Venerable Dacan,’ Fidelma stated without preamble.

  The blood seemed to drain momentarily from Necht’s face. She shivered.

  ‘I did,’ she admitted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My duties as a novice in the abbey are to tend to the guests’ hostel and take care of the wants of the guests. The Venerable Dacán treated me like a bond-servant. I even asked Brother Rumann if I could be removed from the duties at the hostel for the period that Dacan was staying here.’