Brother Ross stared at her for a moment in horror and then hurried back into the oratory.
Fidelma instructed the pilgrims to wait outside and then hurried after the young man, pausing just inside the door.
Brother Ross, kneeling by the tomb, turned and glanced up toward her. His face, even in the semigloom, was white.
“It is Sister Aróc, a member of the community of Ard mór.”
Fidelma nodded grimly.
“Then I think we should dispatch the pilgrims back to Ard mór and ask them to inform the abbot of what has been found here.”
The band of pilgrims were spending the night in the hostel at Ard mór anyway.
“Shouldn’t we go. .?”
Fidelma shook her head.
“I will stay and you may stay to assist me.”
Brother Ross looked bewildered.
“Assist you?”
“As a dálaigh, I am taking charge of the investigation into how Sister Aróc met her death,” she replied.
When the pilgrims had been dispatched down the hill toward the monastery, Fidelma returned into the chapel and knelt by the tomb. Sister Aróc was no more than twenty years old. She was not particularly attractive; in fact, rather plain-featured. A country girl with large-boned hands whose skin was rough and callused. They lay in a curious clawlike attitude at her sides, as if the fingers should be grasping something. Her hair was mouse-colored, an indiscernible gray-brown.
As Fidelma had previously noticed, there was one wound on the body. There was no need to ask what had caused it. A thin knife blade with its rough worked handle still protruded from it. Her habit was ripped just under the left breast where the knife had entered and doubtless immediately penetrated her heart. The blood had soaked her clothing. It had not dried and that indicated death had not occurred long before. In fact, she thought the time could probably be measured in minutes rather than hours.
A thought had occurred to Fidelma and she examined the floor of the chapel, tracing her way carefully back to the door and outside. She was looking for blood specks but something else caught her eye-droplets of wax near the sarcophagus. The fact alone was not surprising. She would imagine that many people over the years had entered with candles and bent to examine the stone that had covered the relics of the saint. What was surprising was the fact that the tallow grease lay in profusion over the edge of the sepulcher on which the flat covering stone would have swung shut.
Fidelma, frowning, seized the end of the flat stone and exerted her strength. It swung. It was not easy to push it but, nevertheless, it could be moved with a rasping sound back into place across the tomb. Thoughtfully, she returned it to the position in which she had found it.
She let her gaze wander back to the body to examine the knife again. It was a poor country person’s knife, a general implement used for a variety of purposes.
She made no effort to extract it.
She turned her attention to the accoutrements worn by the girl. A rough, wooden crucifix hung around her neck on a leather thong. It was crudely carved but Fidelma had seen many like it among the poorer religious. Her eyes wandered down to the worn leather marsupium that hung at the girl’s waist.
She opened it. There was a comb inside. Every Irish girl carried a comb. This one was made of bone of the same poor quality as her other ornaments. Long hair being admired in Ireland, it was essential that all men and women carry a cior or comb. She also found, rather to her surprise, there were half a dozen coins in the marsupium. They were not of great value but valuable enough to suggest that robbery was no motive in this killing even if the thought had occurred to Fidelma. It had not.
The more Fidelma looked at the corpse, at the position of it, the more she realized that there was something bizarre about this killing; more peculiar than even the usual aberrant fact of violent death. She could not quite put her finger on it. It was true that the corpse’s facial muscles seemed slightly distorted in death as if there was a smile on its features. But that was not what bothered her.
By the time she left the oratory, three senior religious were entering the low gate to the oratory grounds. Fidelma immediately recognized the pale, worried features of Rian, the Abbot of Ardmore. With him there was a tall woman, whose features were set and grim, and a moon-faced man, whose features looked permanently bewildered, whom she also recognized as the steward of the abbey. What was his name? Brother Echen.
“Is it true, Fidelma?” greeted the abbot. He was a distant cousin and greeted her familiarly.
“True enough, Rian,” she replied.
“I knew it would happen sooner or later,” snapped the tall sister with him.
Fidelma turned inquiring eyes on her.
“This is Sister Corb,” Abbot Rian explained nervously.
“She is the mistress of the novices in our community. Sister Aróc was a novitiate under her charge.”
“Perhaps you would be good enough to explain the meaning of that remark,” invited Fidelma.
Sister Corb had a long, thin, angular face. Her features seemed permanently set in a look of disapproving derision.
“Little explanation needed. The girl was touched.”
“Touched?”
“Crazy.”
“Perhaps you might explain how that manifested itself and why it would lead to her death?”
The abbot interrupted anxiously.
“I think it might be better explained, Fidelma, by saying that the girl, Sister Aróc, isolated herself from most of us in the community. Her behavior was. . eccentric.”
The abbot had paused to try to find the correct word.
Fidelma suppressed a sigh.
“I am still not sure how this manifested itself. Are you saying that the girl was half-wit? Was her behavior uncontrollable? Exactly what marked her out as so different that death was an inevitable outcome?”
“Sister Aróc was a fanatic about religious beliefs.” It was the moon-faced steward of the abbey, Brother Echen, who spoke up for the first time. “She claimed that she heard voices. She said that they were”-he screwed up his eyes and genuflected-“she said they were voices of the saints.”
Sister Corb sniffed in disapproval.
“She used it as an excuse not to obey the Rule of the community. She claimed she was in direct communication with the soul of the Blessed Declan. I would have had her flogged for blasphemy but Abbot Rian is a most humane man.”
Fidelma could not help the censure that came into her voice.
“If, as you say, the girl was touched, not of the same mental faculty as others, what good would a flogging have done?” she asked dryly.
“I still do not see how this behavior would have led to her death. . her death sooner or later was the phrase I think you used, Sister Corb?”
Sister Corb looked disconcerted.
“What I meant to say was that Sister Aróc was otherworldly. Naive, if you like. She did not know how. . how lecherous men can be.”
The abbot seemed to have a coughing fit and Brother Echen seemed to have taken an intense interest in his feet.
Fidelma stared hard at the woman. Her eyebrow rose in automatic question.
“I mean. . I mean that Aróc was not versed in the ways of the world. She let herself enjoy the company of men without realizing what men expect from a young girl.”
The abbot had regained his composure.
“Sadly, Sister Aróc was not possessed of good sense but I think that Sister Corb might be overstating the attraction that Aróc could stir in the minds of any male members of our community.”
Sister Corb’s lips twisted cynically.
“The Father Abbot sees only the good in people. It does not matter the extent of the attractive qualities, a young girl is a young girl!”
Fidelma raised her hands in a gesture indicating hopelessness and let them fall.
“I am trying to understand what is implied here and how this is providing a clue to how and why Sister Aróc came by her death in such b
izarre circumstances.”
Sister Corb’s eyes narrowed slightly and she stared across the chapel ground to where Brother Ross was leaning against the low dividing wall, still looking pale and shaken.
“Have you asked him?”
“Brother Ross? Why?”
Sister Corb’s lips compressed.
“In fairness, I should not say another word.”
“You have either said too much or too little,” Fidelma replied dourly.
“Where was he when the killing took place?”
“That I can answer,” Fidelma replied. “Brother Ross was conducting the band of pilgrims around the sites associated with the Blessed Declan. I was part of that band.”
Sister Corb was not convinced.
“How can you be so sure?” she demanded.
“Brother Ross had been with us during the last two hours.”
“So why could he not have killed the girl before he met you?” pressed Sister Corb, refusing to be budged from her suspicion.
“Because”-smiled Fidelma-“she was killed not long before we arrived at the chapel and found her. In fact, I would say she was killed only minutes before.”
Sister Corb’s mouth snapped shut. She seemed irritated at Fidelma’s logic.
“Why would you accuse Brother Ross anyway?” asked Fidelma with interest.
“I have had my say,” muttered the mistress of novitiates, her lips forming into a thin line of defiance.
“I will tell you when you have answered my questions to my satisfaction,” replied Fidelma softly. The fact that there was no belligerence in her voice made it that much more imposing. Sister Corb was well aware of the powers of an advocate of the law courts.
“It is well known that Brother Ross desired the girl,” she replied defensively.
“Desired?”
“Lusted for her.”
Brother Echen snorted with derision.
“That is, with all respect, only Sister Corb’s interpretation. Her jaundiced view of the intentions of men in any situation leads her to make leaps of imagination.”
Fidelma swung ’round to him.
“You do not share Sister Corb’s view?”
“Ask Brother Ross himself.” the steward replied casually.
“He liked the girl’s company. They were often together and he did not ridicule her, as some did. But he had no lecherous intentions.”
“How do you know this?”
“As steward of the community, it is my job to know things, especially to keep a watch for anything which might lead to a disturbance among the brethren.”
“What, in this matter, might have led to a disturbance?”
Brother Echen glanced at Sister Corb meaningfully.
Fidelma turned and smiled at the abbot.
“Father Abbot, if you and Sister Corb will wait with Brother Ross. .?”
She waited until they had moved out of earshot before turning back to Brother Echen.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Sister Corb was creating trouble for Brother Ross. She was jealous.”
“Jealous?”
Brother Echen shrugged eloquently.
“You know. .”
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
“Corb was jealous of Ross because she wanted Aróc for herself. Sister Corb is. . well, that is why she has a peculiar attitude to men and ascribes lust as their only motive.”
“Did Aróc respond to Corb’s advances, if that is what she made?”
“No. Aróc was otherworldly, as I have said. She did not care for any physical contact. She was one of the aesthetes sworn to a life of celibacy. She rejected Corb even as she would have rejected Ross had he thrust his attentions on her.”
“What makes you sure that he did not?”
“He told me that he did not. He enjoyed her company and speaking to her of the saints and of the Faith. He respected her too much.”
“How well did you know Sister Aróc?”
Brother Echen shrugged.
“Not well at all. She had been six months with the community. She was still technically under the instruction of the mistress of the novitiates-Sister Corb. Truth to say that I spoke only once to her and that was when her case had come up before the council.”
“Her case?”
“Corb had been asked to report on her novitiates by the abbot when we sat in council to discuss the affairs of the community. That was when Corb talked of Sister Aróc’s eccentric behavior. It was decided that I should question her about the voices she claimed to hear.”
“And what did you decide?”
Brother Echen shrugged.
“She was not mad in any dangerous sense, if that is what you mean. However, her mind was not sound. She was ‘otherworldly,’ as have said. I have met one or two religious who claim to have spoken with Christ and his Holy Saints, and known many who have claimed as much, and more who have become saints themselves.”
“Just one point more, where were you during the last hour?”
Brother Echen grinned broadly.
“With ten witnesses who will account for my presence, Sister. I was giving a class in calligraphy to our scribes for I am considered to have a good, firm hand.”
“Ask Sister Corb to come to me,” Fidelma dismissed him.
Sister Corb came but was still belligerent.
“Why haven’t you spoken to Ross?” she demanded without preamble. “There is some way he must have killed her. .”
“Sister Corb!” Fidelma’s sharp tone quelled her. “We will speak of matters of which you are competent to give evidence. Firstly, where were you during this last hour?”
Sister Corb blinked.
“I was in the abbey.”
“And you can prove this fact?”
The mistress of the novitiates frowned for a moment.
“Most of the time I was instructing the novitiates this morning.”
Fidelma picked up her hesitation.
“During this last hour?”
“Are you accusing me. .?”
“I am asking where you were and whether you can prove it.”
“After instructing the novitiates I spent some time in the abbey gardens. I do not know whether anyone saw me there or not. I was just returning when I heard the pilgrims coming to tell the abbot what had happened here and so I joined him and Brother Echen.”
“Very well. How long did it take you to climb the hill to this chapel?”
Sister Corb looked surprised.
“How long. .?”
“Approximately.”
“Ten minutes, I suppose, why. .?”
“That is most helpful,” Fidelma replied, cutting the woman short. She left Sister Corb, ignoring the look of anger on her angular features, and walked across to Brother Ross.
“Death is not a pleasant thing to look on, is it, Brother?” she opened.
The young man raised his light blue eyes and stared at her for a moment.
“It was gloomy in the oratory. I did not see too well. I thought I saw. .”
Fidelma smiled reassuringly.
“You made it plain what you thought you saw.”
“I feel stupid.”
“I understand that you knew Sister Aróc quite well?”
The youth flushed.
“Well enough. We. . we were friends. I could say that. . that I was her only friend in the abbey.”
“Her behavior was described as a little eccentric. She heard voices. Didn’t that bother you?”
“She was not mad,” Brother Ross replied defensively. “If she believed it then I saw no cause to question her belief.”
“But the others thought that she was insane.”
“They did not know her well enough.”
“What do you think she was doing up here in the oratory?”
“She often came to the oratory to be near to the Blessed Declan. It was his voice that she claimed that she heard.”
“Did she tell you what this voice told her?
”
Brother Ross gave the question consideration.
“Aróc believed that she was being chosen by the saint as his handmaiden.”
“How did she interpret that?”
Brother Ross grimaced.
“I don’t think that even she knew what she was talking about. She thought she was being told to obey the will of someone two centuries dead.”
“And what was that will?”
“Celibacy and service,” replied Brother Ross. “At least, that is what she said.”
“You say that she liked to come to the oratory to be close to Saint Declan. Did you help her remove the lid of the sarcophagus and then grease it with tallow candle wax to allow her to swing it to and fro at will?”
Brother Ross raised a startled face to meet her cool gaze.
Fidelma went on rapidly.
“Do not ask me how I know. That is obvious. I presume that you did help her for there was no one else to do so.”
“It was not an act of sacrilege. She just wanted to look on the bones of the Blessed Declan and touch them so that she could be in direct contact with him.”
“Did you know that Sister Aróc would be here this morning?”
Brother Ross quickly shook his head.
“I had told her that the pilgrims would be coming to see the oratory this morning-it being the Holy Day.”
“It sounds as though she was strong-willed. Maybe she did not care. After all, today would be a day of special significance for her. As the feast of Saint Declan, the day on which he departed life, it would be obvious that she would come here.”
“Truly, I did not know.”
“What I find curious is, knowing her so well as you did, even knowing her habit to open the tomb and gaze on the relics of the saint, why you came rushing out crying the saint’s body was uncorrupted. Had you not known what the relics were like, had you not known what Aróc looked like, it might have been explicable. .”
“I told you, it was dark in the oratory and I truly thought. .”
“Truly?” Fidelma smiled cynically. “Not for one moment did you consider any other option than to rush forth and proclaim that Declan’s dusty relics had been suddenly translated to incorrupt flesh?”
Brother Ross wore a stubborn look.
“I have told you all I know in this matter.” He folded his arms defiantly.
Whispers of the Dead sf-15 Page 4
