Suffer Little Children

by Peter Tremayne

  The Chief Brehon raised his hand for silence.

  ‘Then it seems that Sister Fidelma has only stated the truth. She has impugned no mean motive, so far. We will hear you later if either of the learned advocates call upon you to give testimony. Until then, you will not interrupt the proceedings.’

  He returned his gaze to Fidelma and indicated that she might continue again.

  ‘The death of Illan was not the end of the contention. Illan had offspring who were not then at the age of choice when they might take their official claims to the people. The problem was that no one seemed to know who the offspring of Illan were, for it appeared that he had several children. They had all been sent out of Osraige into fosterage until the time when the eldest of them would be of age and able to present his claim to his people.

  ‘There were two people who were interested in the heirs of Illan. Scandlán was interested because he knew that sooner or later those heirs would once more contend with him for the kingship of Osraige. And Fianamail of Laigin was interested. Fianamail felt that if the heirs could be found and supported in their fight to throw out Scandlán, then Laigin might influence the future of Osraige so that it would eventually be returned to their authority.’

  She paused expectantly but this time there was no outcry.

  ‘But the heirs of Illan had vanished. The question was how to discover who they were and where they were. One way to discover the identity of these heirs, so it was thought, was to examine the genealogies of the Osraige. Now since the Corco Loígde had ruled Osraige, it had been their scribes who had kept the detailed genealogies and histories. And where were these genealogies kept?’

  Fidelma paused again and glanced around at the expectant faces in the now silent abbey church.

  ‘They were kept here, here in Ros Ailithir.’

  There was a muttering as some began to see where her arguments were leading.

  ‘Fianamail of Laigin sent his best scholar to Ros Ailithir to examine the genealogies in order to trace the heir of Illan. That scholar was none other than Dacan, brother of Abbot Noé of Fearna, and cousin to Fianamail, the king. Now let Fianamail deny this on his sacred oath!’

  ‘A question!’ cried Forbassach. ‘I have the right to ask a question!’

  The Chief Brehon conceded that he had.

  ‘If the current king of Osraige was, as Muman’s advocate suggests, so keen to track down Illan’s heirs, why did he not send his own scholar to examine these records which are here, in his own family territory? That would have been easy for him to do.’

  ‘The simply answer is that he, or rather his family, did,’ Fidelma replied evenly. ‘But I have asked Fianamail to deny that Dacán was sent here with that task on his behalf. I deserve an answer.’

  Forbassach turned to exchange a hurried word with Fianamail and the grim-faced Abbot Noé. The Chief Brehon cleared his throat meaningfully and Forbassach smiled.

  ‘Whatever research Dacán may have been conducting, it does not cancel out the fact that he was murdered, and responsibility for his death lies with the abbot and ultimately with the king of Muman.’

  His voice was firm but less assured than he had been in his opening argument.

  ‘Not,’ replied Fidelma with emphasis, ‘if Dacán’s purpose for being here was not what he claimed it to be.’

  This time it was the ollamh of the Chief Brehon who bent forward and whispered into Barrán’s ear. The Chief Brehon regarded Fidelma gravely.

  ‘If this is the basis of your counter-plea, Sister Fidelma, then I am advised to caution you that it is a tenuous defence. Dacán stated that he wanted to research and teach at Ros Ailithir and on that condition he was granted the hospitality of the king of Cashel and the abbot of Ros Ailithir. The fact that he did not stipulate the precise nature of that research does not exclude him from legal protection. He was, after all, conducting research.’

  ‘I would have to argue this,’ conceded Fidelma, ‘but I made my opening plea with two points. We will leave the first for the time being. I think I can demonstrate later that it is a means of dismissing culpability. But we have more important matters to deal with first. Such as the identity of Dacán’s killer.’

  There was another outburst of muttering among the assembly. Barrán’s eyes narrowed as he leant forward in his chair and rapped for silence.

  ‘Are you saying that you know the identity of the murderer?’ he demanded.

  Fidelma smiled enigmatically.

  ‘We will come to that in a moment. I must be allowed to explain some other matters.’

  Barrán gestured impatiently for her to continue.

  ‘As I have said, Dacan came to Ros Ailithir for a single purpose. The purpose was to trace the genealogy of the Illan. To his surprise, Dacán found that his former wife, Grella from the abbey of Cealla, was working here as librarian. He thought that he had been the recipient of good fortune for Grella was from Osraige and her relationship with Dacán had not ended in enmity. So Dacán enlisted her help to obtain the records which he required. She gave that help willingly because she was also interested in finding the heirs of Illan. Alas, her reasons for that interest were not the same as those of her former husband.’

  There was another commotion from the benches behind Fidelma.

  Barrán raised a tired head and called for order while his ollamh began hurriedly speaking in an undertone to him.

  Fidelma turned and saw Sister Grella standing, her face distorted and filled with passion.

  ‘Sister Grella, be seated!’ ordered Barrán as his ollamh identified her.

  ‘I will not sit and be insulted!’ cried Grella hysterically, ‘nor unjustly accused.’

  ‘Has Sister Fidelma insulted you?’ demanded the Chief Brehon wearily. ‘I am not aware that she has. If so, please tell me in what way has the insult been made? Were you or were you not married to Dacán of Fearna?’

  ‘Mugrón, the captain of the Laigin warship, stands ready to give witness,’ warned Fidelma quickly, pointing to where the seaman sat on the Laigin benches.

  ‘I was married to Dacán but …’ conceded Grella.

  ‘And that marriage ended in divorce?’ interposed the Chief Brehon.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When Dacán came to Ros Ailithir, did he know that you were librarian of the abbey?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But he enlisted your help for his research?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you gave it willingly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you share Dacán’s motives for this research?’

  Grella’s face reddened and she hung her head.

  ‘Then there is no insult,’ Barrán said, assuming her answer. ‘Be seated, Sister Grella, lest you insult this court by your animosity.’

  ‘But I know that this woman is trying to claim that I killed Dacan! She is playing like a cat with a mouse! Let her accuse me openly!’

  ‘Are you accusing Sister Grella of the murder of Dacán?’ asked the Chief Brehon of Fidelma.

  Fidelma smiled wryly.

  ‘I think that I may eventually clear this matter up, Barrán, but by questioning Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loígde.’

  ‘Whatever accusations you make, Fidelma, you must substantiate them,’ Barrán warned.

  ‘That I am prepared to do.’

  Barrán motioned to one of the warriors of fianna, the High King’s bodyguard. A few moments later Salbach was brought, his hands bound before him. He stood somewhat defiantly before the assembly.

  ‘Salbach of the Corco Loígde,’ Fidelma began, ‘you already stand before this assembly denounced as responsible for the actions of your bó-aire, Intat. Intat was responsible for the slaughter of many innocents in your name both at Ros na Scríne and at the house of Molua.’

  Salbach raised his chin belligerently but did not reply.

  ‘You do not deny these charges?’ demanded the Chief Brehon.

  Salbach still did not speak.

  Barr
án sighed heavily.

  ‘You do not have to answer the accusation but some inference will be placed on your silence by this court. If you do not answer then the allegations must be considered as true and punishment must follow.’

  ‘I am ready for your punishment,’ Salbach said curtly. It was apparent that Salbach had reflected on the weight of the evidence against him and saw no alternative to admitting his culpability.

  ‘And is Sister Grella also ready to accept punishment?’ Fidelma asked, hoping that she had judged Salbach’s feeling for the librarian correctly. If Salbach was reconciled to his punishment, she wondered whether he was as willing to inflict it on Grella? Salbach swung round to Fidelma, his expression impassive.

  ‘She is not guilty of any of the misdeeds attributed to me,’ he said quietly. ‘Let her go.’

  ‘Yet Sister Grella was your lover, wasn’t she, Salbach?’

  ‘I have admitted that.’

  ‘It was either your cousin, Scandlán, or you – it matters not where the idea came from – who suggested that Grella might use her position as librarian to look through the genealogical books of Osraige, which are kept at the abbey, in an attempt to find Illan’s heir. Isn’t that true?’

  ‘You are bound to reply,’ instructed the Chief Brehon as Salbach hesitated.

  ‘It is true.’

  ‘Then came a coincidence. Grella told you, probably during your pillow talk, that her former husband, Dacán, had arrived at Ros Ailithir for exactly the same purpose. He, too, was searching for Illan’s heir. Knowing him to be the better scholar, Grella persuaded him to work closely with her so that she could then inform you how he was proceeding. Isn’t that so? You wanted to know who the heir of Illan was as much as Dacan did. But whereas Dacán was interested in finding them to use him to serve Laigin’s purpose, you wanted to find him to destroy the last of the family of native kings. That would forever safeguard the dynasty of the Corco Loígde in Osraige.’

  There was a tense silence. No one spoke. All eyes were on Salbach. It was Sister Grella who broke the silence with a wail of fear as, for the first time, she finally realised the enormity of what had been done.

  ‘But it is not true … I did not know that Salbach … I did not know he wanted to kill them … I am not responsible for the death of all those innocent children … I am not.’

  Salbach turned and snapped at her to be silent.

  ‘When Dacán discovered the whereabouts of the heir of Illan,’ Fidelma went on remorselessly, ‘Grella ran to tell you. It was the day before Dacán’s death. He had found that the Father Superior of Sceilig Mhichil, the monastery of Michael the Archangel, was a cousin of Illan. He had discovered that Illan’s heir had been taken there for safety. He wrote of his news and announced that he was about to set out for Sceilig Mhichil. He was killed before he did so.’

  ‘How did he discover this information? Surely the records placed here would not announce the hiding place of Illan’s heirs?’ demanded the Chief Brehon.

  ‘Curiously enough, they did. Dacán found Illan’s will on some rods of the poets. The irony of this tale is that when Scandlán killed Illan, he seized his fortress and goods. Illan’s library was also seized. In that library was his will, which he had specifically chosen to write in Ogham on rods of the poets. The irony was that Scandlán, unable to read it, had sent it, with other books, as a gift to this abbey, the chief abbey of the Corco Loígde.’

  ‘Even so,’ protested Barrán, ‘surely any reasonable scholar could have read the Ogham of the will and ultimately deciphered the information?’

  ‘Illan was obviously a literary man, for the will was coded. I found a wand from the will in Dacán’s chamber where he had carelessly left it. It went unnoticed by his murderer. I have only an extract from one rod. The others had been destroyed.’

  She turned and retrieved the small piece of burnt stick which she had taken from the sepulchre the previous night.

  ‘Only this piece now remains. This says “the resolve of the honourable one determines the fosterage of my children”.’

  ‘That sounds gibberish,’ laughed Forbassach.

  ‘Not if you know the code and the full text. The piece that I recall from the wand I found in Dacán’s chamber stated: “let my sweet cousin care for my sons on the rock of Michael as my honourable cousin shall dictate”.’

  ‘Even more gibberish!’ sneered Forbassach.

  ‘Dacán did not think so. He knew that the rock of Michael was Sceilig Mhichil. It was easy to learn that the Father Superior was named Mel. The meaning of that name is “sweet”. Mel was, therefore, Illan’s “sweet” cousin!’

  ‘You make the interpretation of the puzzle sound easy,’ observed the Chief Brehon.

  ‘Then allow me to return to it later. Sufficient to know at this time that Dacán deciphered the will’s puzzle and wrote a report of his finding. Sister Grella saw that report and informed Salbach. Salbach dispatched Intat immediately to “the rock of Michael”. But Illan’s sons were no longer there. Indeed, Intat learnt that there were two sons of Illan on that rock but they had been removed by a religieux. This religieux was a cousin of Father Mel.

  ‘It is then that Grella entered the picture again to provide information to Salbach. Grella had become soul-friend to Sister Eisten at Rae na Scríne. Eisten, by one of those apparent coincidences which are all too common in life, was the very person to whom the young sons of Illan had been given for safekeeping after their removal from Sceilig Mhichil. They had been sent to her orphanage at Rae na Scríne. Sister Eisten made the biggest mistake of her life. She confessed the intrigue to her soul-friend, Sister Grella.

  ‘Grella triumphantly informed Salbach. He thought he would lay a trap by inviting Eisten and her orphans to his fortress. Once he was able to identify her charges … well, Eisten accompanied Grella but did not take her children. There was plague in the village and she did not want to move the children unnecessarily. It was a decision which actually saved the lives of the sons of Illan but which cost the village its existence.

  ‘In desperation, Salbach told Intat to go to Rae na Scríne and destroy the children. The trouble was that Intat had no means to identify them. He decided, brutal man that he was, to destroy the entire village. When I and Cass came along, Intat tried to disguise the true nature of this crime by claiming that there was plague in the village and presenting himself and his men as frightened neighbouring villagers burning out the plague. Sister Eisten and some of her children survived.

  ‘Eisten was shocked. I thought she was shocked by the death of the people and especially by the death of a baby she tried to save. However, in reality she was shocked because she had worked out the real reason for the killings. She even knew who had betrayed her. She asked me if a soul-friend could betray a confidence. I should have listened to her more closely for then she might not have been killed. I might have saved her. Do you follow the events so far, Salbach?’

  Salbach’s mouth was pressed tight. He was clearly shocked at the extent of her awareness and knew that there was little he could say in the face of Fidelma’s remorseless knowledge except to resort to truth.

  ‘You have a brilliant mind, Fidelma. I knew that I should not underestimate you. Yes, you are right. I accept your knowledge.’

  ‘When you came to this abbey and found that Sister Eisten had survived with several of her children, you could not dare allow that to pass. Intat, doubtless on your orders, managed to waylay Sister Eisten while she was down at the harbour. He tortured her to find out where the sons of Illan had been taken. She would not reply and so he killed her, dumping her body in the waters of the inlet.

  ‘Grella came to your aid once more, eventually discovering that some children from Rae na Scríne had been taken to the house of Molua. The bodies of four religious and twenty children and the charred ruins of their houses are the mute testament to Intat’s visit.’

  ‘I will deny nothing. But let me take oath that my cousin, Scandlán of Osraige, did not
know my plans to safeguard the kingship of Osraige for our family. Neither did Grella. She is innocent of the blood that I have spilt.’

  Fidelma regarded Salbach with an expression of undisguised revulsion. She found it difficult to accept that a man could admit responsibility for such death and destruction but could seek to protect others with a twisted concept of honour and love. But then it was a strange world and humankind were the strangest creatures in it.

  Grella was sobbing openly now, crying: ‘I did not know any of this! I did not know!’

  Fidelma glanced at her without pity.

  ‘You were so besotted by your love for Salbach that you had not reasoned out the truth. I concede that it is possible but find it difficult to believe. You would not believe that your lover was capable of ordering the death of little children. I think the reality is that you did not want to know what was going on around you.’

  There was a commotion at one of the doors. Fidelma smiled sourly when she saw that Scandlán’s seat was empty. The Chief Brehon had noticed also and waved to a member of the fianna and issued instructions in a low voice.

  ‘Your cousin will not get out of this abbey,’ Barrán told Salbach.

  ‘What does it matter now?’ Salbach gave an eloquent shrug. ‘I have admitted my guilt in this matter. I am prepared to stand for judgment. Doubtless my wealth and chieftainship will be forfeit as compensation and I shall be sent into exile. I am prepared for it. Let us proceed with the judgment forthwith.’

  Forbassach had risen from the Laigin benches amid the pandemonium that had broken out. He was smiling crookedly.

  ‘We are grateful to Sister Fidelma for discovering the culprit. But I must point out that Salbach, as chieftain of the Corco Loígde, still owes his allegiance to Cashel. What Fidelma is proving is that responsibility for the death of Dacán still rests with Cashel. Our demand for Osraige as his honour price is still valid.’

  The Chief Brehon, Barrán, looked grave.

  ‘That appears true. Or is there more to this story you wish to tell us, Sister Fidelma?’