Suffer Little Children

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Cuan D6ir is Salbach’s fortress which is situated between the woods and the sea. It is less than a quarter of an hour’s journey across the headland,’ Cass replied. ‘We may meet Salbach escorting Grella along the road, that is if he is bringing her back to the abbey.’

  ‘Much power in that word “if”,’ muttered Fidelma but did not explain herself further. ‘I think we shall discover something else about Grella and Salbach as a result of this journey. Let’s get our horses from the stables.’

  Cass suppressed a sigh of irritation. He found Fidelma a most exasperating woman.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cuan Dóir, Dór’s harbour, was a short ride across the headland from Ros Ailithir. In fact, it was little more than three miles from the gates of the abbey. The track ran within sight of the stormy sea through wild scenery of granite rocks, gorse and heather, a landscape devoid of trees because of the nearness of the expanse of ocean with its prevailing coastal winds. Almost halfway along this path they crossed the remains of an ancient stone circle. Tall, grey granite sentinels stood as silent testimony to the beliefs and practices of the ancients, forming a circle some thirty feet in diameter, while just beyond was a small stone cabin. It seemed to fit so naturally into the wild, windswept landscape and conjure images of times past.

  A little further on, the path descended into an inlet which seemed as natural a harbour as the one offered by Ros Ailithir. It was an area replete in fuchsia-strewn hedgerows which laced a breathtaking scenery. There were a few ships anchored in the small harbour. Several buildings comprised the township but dominating them was the fortress of Salbach: a round, stone-walled stronghold, well appointed to control the sea approaches as well as the road to the harbour. Fidelma saw that, like many of the fortresses she had seen, its walls, which rose some twenty feet high, were of dry stone. She estimated the circular fortification was probably some hundred feet in diameter with only one entrance, a large gateway with sloping jambs big enough for only one horse and rider to pass through at a time.

  Armed warriors lounged at this gate watching with ill-concealed curiosity as Fidelma and Cass rode up.

  ‘Is Sister Grella of Ros Ailithir within the gates?’ called Fidelma as they halted. She had not bothered to dismount.

  ‘This is the fortress of Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loígde,’ came the uncompromising reply from one of the guardians of the portal. He did not bother to change his lounging posture as he leant against the wall staring at them.

  Fidelma decided to change tack.

  ‘Then we should like to see Salbach.’

  ‘He is not here,’ came the wooden response.

  ‘Then where is he, man?’ demanded Cass, moving forward so that the warrior could see his golden collar emblem and know him for one of the élite warriors of Cashel.

  The man made no sign that he had observed the emblem. He gazed insolently back at Cass.

  ‘He went riding a while ago.’ As Cass was about to make a sharp retort, the warrior relented and pointed with his spear. ‘He will probably be hunting in the wood of Dór, which is in that direction.’

  ‘Was anyone with him?’ demanded Fidelma.

  ‘Salbach likes to hunt alone.’

  This statement brought forth a low chuckle from the other guard as if it were some witticism.

  Fidelma motioned Cass to follow and they turned in the direction of the distant woodland which the warrior had indicated.

  ‘If Grella is not with Salbach, what need to go in search of him?’ inquired Cass as he realised her intent.

  ‘Perhaps Salbach does not hunt alone?’ Fidelma suggested. ‘The idea seemed to amused our taciturn friend’s companion.’

  They walked their horses at a quiet pace along the track as it twisted upward again from the shoreline, crossing undulating ground for a few miles before entering a thick woodland area which was, Fidelma noticed, rich in the variety of its trees although it was predominated by conifers intermixed with many birch and hazels. Heather grew everywhere in abundance. They followed the main track as it cut through the forest.

  The woodland suddenly halted to make way for a river, cutting its way tempestuously down from the distant hills and heading in a broad sweep towards the sea behind them. It was wide but looked shallow enough. Fidelma was about to cross when Cass called softly to stay her.

  He pointed wordlessly.

  She saw, a short distance along the banks on the farthest side, a small woodsman’s bothán or cabin. There was smoke rising from its chimney.

  Outside, in front of the cabin, stood two horses. One was fairly richly accoutred while the other was in plain harness.

  Fidelma exchanged a meaningful glance with Cass.

  ‘We’ll cross,’ she instructed, and proceeded to urge her horse through the rapidly flowing water. The track had, in fact, come to a natural ford and the water was little more than two feet in depth at its deepest point. They eased their horses carefully across to the far bank.

  ‘We’ll leave our horses in that clearing,’ Fidelma said, pointing to a small, sheltered spot a little way ahead of them. ‘Then we will make our way to the bothán. It is my guess that we will find both Salbach and our missing librarian there.’

  Cass shook his head in perplexity but did not say anything.

  Fidelma choose to make her way to the cabin surreptitiously, for she had embarked upon a series of thoughts which had brought her to a conclusion that she found scarcely creditable but whose progression seemed to fit the facts she had gathered so far.

  They followed a small path which kept parallel with the river bank and brought them to the small clearing in which the woodsman’s cabin stood.

  They halted at the edge of the trees before the open area and Fidelma raised her head to listen.

  There came the sound of a woman’s peal of laughter from within the cabin.

  Fidelma smiled in grim satisfaction towards Cass. It seemed that she had been right in her prediction.

  She had started forward towards the cabin when Cass reached forward and grabbed her arm to halt her.

  It was then she heard the soft pounding of a horse at a canter.

  Swiftly, she moved back into the shelter of the shrubbery and crouched down beside Cass.

  A rider burst into the clearing before the woodsman’s cabin from the direction of what must have been a track through the forest on the far side of the clearing. The figure was that of a thick-set man. He was clad in a woollen cloak but dishevelled and dirty.

  ‘Salbach!’ cried the warrior, reining in his horse before the cabin and sitting at ease, leaning slightly forward on the pommel.

  A moment or two passed before Salbach appeared at the door of the cabin pulling on his shirt.

  ‘What news?’ he called. Salbach was carrying a fur-lined cloak over his arm and this he proceeded to slip round his shoulders.

  ‘The hearing is to take place at Ros Ailithir within days. And Ross’s barc is anchored in the inlet. They must have returned.’

  Fidelma saw Cass glance in her direction with rounded eyes. She pulled a face and turned back to the two men.

  ‘Does she know?’ demanded Salbach.

  ‘I doubt it. There was nothing to be learnt at Sceilig Mhichil.’

  ‘Well, I think I know where they might be hidden,’ Salbach was saying.

  ‘That will please the bó-aire,’ grunted the warrior.

  Salbach was walking to his horse and he swung himself easily into the saddle. He did not even glance back at the cabin.

  ‘I’ll accompany you to Cuan Dóir and as we go I’ll give you my instructions for Intat.’

  Fidelma heard Cass draw in his breath sharply.

  The two riders, Salbach and the warrior, moved down to the river, trotting their horses along the shallows until they reached the ford. Fidelma and Cass could hear the splash of their passage as they crossed it.

  Cass pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

  ‘I thought Salbach was supposed to b
e sending warriors to capture Intat to try him for his crime at Rae na Scrine?’ he whispered.

  ‘Intat is obviously Salbach’s man,’ replied Fidelma, rising and brushing the leaves from her skirt. ‘I had suspected as much. Come, I think it time we had a word with our missing librarian.’

  She strode firmly across the clearing to the cabin door and pushed it open without ceremony.

  Sister Grella, not yet fully dressed, swung round, her eyes staring in consternation.

  Fidelma smiled humourlessly.

  ‘Well, Sister Grella? It seems you have decided to quit the religious life.’

  Sister Grella, her jaw slack, open-mouthed, her face pale, stared beyond Fidelma to where Cass was returning her gaze in equal astonishment over Fidelma’s shoulder. Grella broke the spell by grabbing a garment to cover herself.

  Fidelma saw her embarrassment and turned to cast a look of reproach at Cass.

  The young warrior, red in the face, backed out of the cabin and took a stand beyond the door.

  ‘Dress yourself, Grella,’ instructed Fidelma, ‘and then we shall talk.’

  ‘Where is Salbach?’ whispered the erstwhile librarian. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Salbach has ridden off,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And in answer to your second question, well, that depends. Now hurry up and get your clothes on.’

  Fidelma, spotting a chair, seated herself.

  Grella began to dress hastily.

  ‘Are you going to take me back to the abbey?’

  Fidelma allowed a cynical smile to play at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘You are answerable to ecclesiastical law as well as civil law for your conduct.’

  ‘There is no sin in it. Salbach plans to make me his second wife. I have quit the abbey.’

  ‘Without informing the abbot? But, you say, Salbach is already married?’

  ‘His wife is old,’ replied Grella, as if this explained everything.

  ‘Just as Dacán was old?’ Fidelma asked innocently.

  Grella jerked her head in surprise. Then, recovering her poise, she shrugged.

  ‘So, you have found out? Yes, like Dacán was. Shrunken, worn and weak, he was. That’s why I divorced him.’

  ‘Since the coming of the Faith to this land, the custom of taking a second wife or husband, or of taking a concubine, has been condemned by the bishops,’ Fidelma commented. ‘Should Salbach take you as a second wife, you will be condemned by the church anyway.’

  Grella sneered.

  ‘A few years ago Nuada of Laigin had two wives. The civil law still provides the rights of a second wife.’

  ‘I know the law, Grella. But you are a religieuse and should know that the rules of the Faith are oft-times contrary to the civil law.’

  ‘But your task is to uphold the civil law,’ Grella snapped.

  Fidelma did not press the matter further because she knew that while the Church opposed polygny, which had been widespread in ancient times, there was only limited success. Finally, one Brehon, writing the law text of the Bretha Crólige, had written in despair: ‘there is dispute in Irish law as to which is more proper, whether many sexual unions or a single one; for the chosen people of God lived in plurality of unions, so that it is easier to praise it rather than to condemn it.’ Grella was right. But it was not the morality of her liaison with Salbach of the Corco Loígde that was uppermost in Fidelma’s mind.

  ‘Did you plan never to return to the abbey? Why then did you take no personal possessions with you?’

  Grella bit her lip. She finished her dressing and setting her hair to rights. She stood in front of Fidelma, hands on hips.

  ‘I don’t need to excuse myself. There is little of mine at the abbey and what I need Salbach can supply. As for returning, perhaps I would have returned after I had become Salbach’s wife. None would then dare to level any accusations against me. I would have Salbach’s protection.’

  ‘Salbach is equally answerable to the law as you are, Grella. There are some questions you need to answer and at once. You knew that your former husband, Dacan, had come to Ros Ailithir for a special purpose?’

  ‘How much do you know?’ demanded Grella. In spite of her glare of anger there was some alarm in her eyes.

  ‘I know that you were once married to Dacán.’

  ‘Mugrón must have told you. A stupid coincidence that he saw me at Cuan Dóir.’

  ‘He saw you there with Sister Eisten,’ Fidelma said quietly. Grella did not rise to her bait.

  ‘So what does it matter? I have told you my relationship with Salbach.’

  ‘Why did you take Sister Eisten to Salbach’s fortress?’

  Grella frowned a moment.

  ‘Salbach asked me. He had heard that Eisten was running an orphanage at Rae na Scríne. He wanted to meet her and the children. He knew that I was friendly with the young woman.’

  ‘And did she take the children there?’ Fidelma was nonplussed.

  But Grella shook her head.

  ‘She accompanied me to Cuan Dóir but refused to take the children. She did not want them to travel because of the Yellow Plague.’

  ‘Was Salbach annoyed when she did not take them?’

  Grella peered curiously at her.

  ‘Why would he be annoyed?’

  Fidelma sat back and did not reply for the moment.

  ‘Did you know that Eisten has been murdered?’

  Grella’s face was suddenly a tight mask. It was clear that she had heard the news and behind the mask Fidelma saw that the librarian was clearly upset.

  ‘I heard only a few days ago.’

  ‘Not before?’

  She shook her head and somehow Fidelma knew she was telling the truth.

  ‘You seem upset about it. You tell me that you were friendly with her. How friendly?’

  ‘Since Eisten studied in the library with me earlier this year we have been soul-friends.’

  Soul-friends! Yes, Eisten had told Fidelma that she had a soul-friend in the abbey. What was it Eisten had asked on the last time Fidelma had seen here? Can a soul-friend betray a confidence?

  ‘So you had few secrets from each other?’

  ‘You know the role of the anamchara,’ snapped Grella. Her expression told Fidelma that she was unlikely to speak further about the matter.

  ‘You have already told me that you knew what work Dacán was engaged upon,’ said Fidelma, changing tack.

  ‘I told you so when you came to see me at the library.’

  ‘But you did not add the specific that he was actually seeking the descendants of the native ruling house of Osraige.’

  Grella shot a nervous look at Fidelma.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she countered.

  ‘I read Dacán’s writings.’

  Grella’s hand reached up as if to clutch at her own throat.

  ‘You … you saw them?’

  Fidelma examined her carefully.

  ‘I searched your chamber, Grella. It was silly of you to think that you could hide that material. Or that you could misinterpret the Ogham wands to me.’

  To her astonishment, for she thought the woman would vigorously deny any knowledge, Grella shrugged.

  ‘I thought that no one would find them. I thought that I had hidden them safely. I meant to destroy them.’

  ‘You did not know that I removed them a week ago?’

  ‘I have already told you that I have not been back to the abbey since then.’

  ‘No?’ Fidelma let the matter pass for the moment. ‘Well, you knew that Dacán was searching for the heir of Illan, who claimed to be the rightful aspirant for the petty kingship of Osraige?’

  ‘I have already admitted it,’ conceded Grella.

  ‘And you told Salbach about it?’

  The woman shrugged diffidently but did not reply.

  ‘Salbach’s cousin is Scandlán, the current king of Osraige, isn’t he? So Salbach would have an interest in ensuring that the son of Illan was not discovered.�
��

  ‘I simply thought Salbach ought to know that someone was looking for Illan’s offspring,’ replied Grella. ‘I sought to prevent any future wars in Osraige. Illan was the cause of a great deal of bloodshed when he attempted to overthrow Scandlán.’

  ‘So you told Salbach about Dacán. Salbach realised that Laigin wanted to reassert its power over Osraige, perhaps establish a client king who would answer to Laigin rather than to Muman.’

  Grella stood indifferently.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Dacán was therefore a danger to Salbach’s family in Osraige. Was that the reason you killed your former husband?’

  For a moment Grella’s shock seemed genuine.

  ‘Who accuses me of killing him?’ she demanded.

  ‘The bonds with which he was tied were strips of linen; red and blue in colour. Do you own a red and blue linen skirt?’

  ‘Of course not.’ There was no conviction in her quick denial.

  ‘So if I tell you that, while searching your chamber, I discovered such a skirt from which part had been torn off and that the part matched the bonds with which Dacán had been tied before he was killed, would you still deny ownership?’

  Grella flushed and looked less confident.

  ‘Do you own such a dress?’ pressed Fidelma. ‘Better to tell the truth if you have nothing to hide.’

  Grella’s shoulders hunched in resignation.

  ‘That is my dress right enough, but I have not worn it since I came to Ros Ailithir. I had meant to give it away to the poor but …’ She stared earnestly into Fidelma’s eyes. ‘I may have betrayed old Dacán’s confidence and told Salbach what he was doing, and I believe I was justified in doing so, but I did not kill him. After all, why kill Dacán? He would have led Salbach to Illan’s heir. That was what Salbach wanted.’

  Fidelma paused as she saw the logic of her argument but she continued: ‘And do you deny that, within these last few days, you returned to the abbey and entered the abbot’s chamber to remove some of the evidence from his personal cabinet?’

  Grella simply stared in incomprehension.

  Fidelma knew that the woman was telling the truth. She had banked everything on her intuition that if Grella was not the culprit, then she knew enough to reveal who it was and possibly, confronted by the accusation backed by the evidence which Fidelma had, that she would confess.