Master of Souls sf-16

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘The truth as you see it,’ muttered Fidelma with emphasis. Then she

  The old man sat silent for several moments, for so long that Fidelma wondered whether he was simply making a silent defiance. Then he raised his head.

  ‘Brother Benen!’ he called.

  The door opened and the young muscular religieux entered.

  ‘Go to my study and fetch the book of Cinaed that you will find there on my reading table. Bring it to me here.’

  ‘At once, Venerable Mac Faosma.’

  The old man turned back to Fidelma as the young monk hurried away on his errand.

  ‘After this, I trust I will be left in peace?’

  ‘Nothing is guaranteed in this life, Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she replied quietly. ‘I have to continue along the path towards the solution of this mystery no matter where it leads and whom I have to meet along it.’

  The old man snorted again.

  ‘I will be honest with you…’ he began.

  ‘I trust that you have been honest with me from the start,’ she riposted.

  ‘I will tell you frankly that I have no sorrow in me that Cinaed is dead. Either he was a fool or, as I believe, he was recreant — a renegade and a scoundrel. The world is better off without such mischief-makers.’

  Fidelma examined the old man carefully.

  ‘Such views can rebound on those who utter them,’ she said softly.

  ‘I thought you wanted honesty,’ replied the old man sarcastically.

  ‘Very well. You have been honest. Continue to be so and answer me this… did you personally encompass, or did you cause to be encompassed — by word or deed — the death of Cinaed?’

  For the first time, the old man chuckled. It was a dry, rasping sound.

  ‘Now if I had done so, would I tell you? There is a limit to virtuousness, Sister Fidelma. If everyone were so honest, what need would we have of the likes of a dalaigh and from where would you get your stimulation and satisfaction in solving such conundrums as this murder?’

  Fidelma let the corner of her mouth twitch in humour.

  ‘That, at least, is said in honesty, Venerable Mac Faosma.’

  There was a knock at the door and Brother Benen returned. He looked nervous, uncomfortable.

  ‘Master…’ he began and then paused, looking from the Venerable Mac Faosma to Fidelma and back again.

  The old man waited impatiently and when the young man did not speak he heaved a sigh of exasperation.

  ‘Come, come. Where is the book I sent you for? I do not have all day and have wasted enough time on this matter already.’

  Brother Benen licked his lips and then tried to form the words.

  ‘The book… the book of Cinaed… it is… it is…’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma frowned.

  ‘What? Can’t you find it? Where is it? Mislaid?’

  Brother Benen shook his head.

  ‘I think perhaps it would be easier if you came to your study, Venerable Mac Faosma.’

  ‘Come to my study?’ The old man was indignant. ‘Can I not rely on anyone to carry out a simple errand that I have to go myself?’

  ‘If you please…’ begged the young man.

  Fidelma rose.

  ‘Obviously something is worrying this young man, Venerable Mac Faosma. Perhaps we should all go…?’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma rose abruptly, showing himself to be as agile on his feet as his physique indicated.

  ‘There is a way to my study through here,’ he said, not going the way that Brother Benen had gone but moving through his living chamber to where a tapestry hung. He drew it aside to reveal a wooden door, which he unbolted. Then he led the way down a narrow stone passageway and through another wooden door into a chamber that resembled a library, with many manuscript books, and a scribe’s tripod book stand. Tables, stools and writing materials littered the room. There were three doors, one opening, Fidelma estimated, on to the passageway in which she had declared her troscud, while the third was on the opposite wall. The remains of a fire smouldered in the hearth.

  The Venerable Mac Faosma began to move to the wooden tripod book stand.

  ‘I left the book here this morning,’ he said with a frown. ‘It is no longer here.’ He turned to the nervous brother. ‘What does this mean?’

  ‘Master…’ Brother Benen pointed towards the fire.

  The old man frowned but followed the line of his finger.

  ‘God look down upon us!’ he whispered, moving with surprising rapidity

  ‘I presume that was Cinaed’s book?’ she asked softly.

  ‘I do not know how it came there, Sister.’ Brother Benen was almost in tears. ‘At noon, the book was on the stand. I saw it there myself after the Venerable Mac Faosma retired for the midday meal. After that he always has a nap before resuming his labours. I touched nothing. I swear it.’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma was standing looking down at the burnt papers in his hand with an expression of irritation.

  ‘Well, someone touched it and destroyed it.’

  ‘Is it the only copy?’ asked Fidelma.

  ‘No one has copied it or ever will,’ snapped the old man. ‘It was waiting for young Brother Faolchair to make a copy but now… now there will be no need for me to write a response.’

  Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘That is certainly true.’

  The old man frowned and turned to her. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘I never imply,’ Fidelma responded quickly. ‘If there is an accusation to be made, I will make it. What is being asserted here is that, between noonday and now, someone entered your study and burnt the Venerable Cinaed’s book. Why would they do that?’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma raised his chin sharply.

  ‘There are plenty in this abbey who would be happy to see this work of treachery destroyed. I am not the only one.’

  ‘Those same people might go so far as to burn it?’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  Fidelma looked round the room slowly, then went to the hearth and confirmed that the book had been well and truly destroyed. Only a few scorched pages remained, and they were beyond reading except for a few words here and there.

  ‘There are three doors here. Are they all locked?’

  ‘My assistant has a spare key to that door, the one that leads into the corridor. The door between my chamber and this room bolts on the inside of my chamber and I always keep my chamber locked so there can be no access from there. That door there,’ he pointed to the third door, ‘leads into the courtyard where I sometimes sit on summer’s days. A key on the inside always locks it. There is no access from there.’

  ‘You have the only key to that outside door?’

  ‘I believe so.’ The Venerable Mac Faosma frowned. ‘Anyway, there is no need to make a fuss on my behalf. It is best that the book should be destroyed with its vile insinuations and prejudice. I have no complaint to make.’

  Fidelma was about to respond but then thought better of it. She merely commented: ‘I lament every time I see a book destroyed, as it means the loss of human thought if not of knowledge.’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma assumed his sneering look again.

  ‘Then I presume you would be critical of our beloved Patrick to whom we owe so much?’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘I would have thought that a person with the knowledge you aspire to would have already read the life of Patrick as written by his disciple the Blessed Benignus, who was his successor.’

  Fidelma smiled wearily.

  ‘I suppose you mean the passage in which Benignus admits that Patrick burnt one hundred and eighty books of the Druids because they were not Christian. Indeed, I deplore that destruction, for who knows what knowledge — Christian or not — they would have imparted to us? There has been too much destruction of knowledge simply because someone else disagrees with it. In a civilised world, there is room for all knowledge and the truth will eventually emerge triumphant over p
rejudice. If we do not believe that, then there is no hope for us. We might as well resort to living as wild animals.’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma raised his eyebrows in surprise as her words ended on a note of vehemence.

  ‘Well, well, you do have a pretension to be a philosopher.’

  Fidelma made a cutting motion with her hand to dismiss his words.

  ‘I have no pretensions to be anything other than what I am and I am content with being what I am. Even if you are not concerned with the destruction of what your own leabhar coimedach, Brother Eolas, believes is a valuable book, I am sure Abbot Erc will consider that a crime has been committed with its burning.’

  ‘And you, of course, will demand to interrupt my solitude and study by conducting an inquiry into that crime?’ jeered the old scholar. ‘I shall complain to the abbot and I shall protect my right to respect.’

  ‘Nothing I have done or said has been disrespectful to you, Venerable dalaigh and as sister to King Colgu in whose lands you dwell. I will not seek redress for that out of deference to your age, as you may have forgotten the rights and duties that you owe to the law.’

  The Venerable Mac Faosma’s jaw slackened in surprise at her directness and the sharpness of her tone. Before he could frame a response, she had turned and sought the exit through the door into the corridor, which Brother Benen had left unlocked in his haste.

  As she closed it behind her, she found Eadulf and Conri accompanied by a harassed-looking Abbot Erc hurrying along the corridor.

  ‘I am told that you are complaining because the Venerable Mac Faosma does not wish to see you, Sister,’ the abbot said immediately. ‘That is his right, you know, and-’

  Fidelma halted as they came up.

  ‘I have seen and questioned the Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Moreover, it seems that after the etar-suth, the book that he took from the tech-screptra, Cinaed’s political discourse, was deliberately burnt in his study.’

  Eadulf’s eyes widened.

  ‘You mean that he burnt it?’

  ‘I simply state the fact. I do not accuse anyone — yet.’

  Abbot Erc’s harassed expression grew more intent.

  ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma is a scholar. Why would he want to burn a book?’

  Fidelma glanced at the abbot pityingly.

  ‘Mac Faosma was not exactly an admirer of Cinaed,’ she said with a touch of derision. ‘This work, especially, seems to have upset the old man.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ The abbot was tight-mouthed.

  ‘Nothing, as yet. The Venerable Mac Faosma has adopted an attitude that is totally hostile to my inquiries. But, for the time being, I shall keep an open mind on what has happened here. Anyway, tomorrow we shall be leaving Ard Fhearta to pursue the matter of the missing members of this community.’

  The abbot looked almost relieved for a moment and then his expression grew serious.

  ‘Do you mean that you have given up trying to find the person who killed the Venerable Cinaed?’

  Fidelma immediately shook her head.

  ‘I do not mean that. I mean that I shall seek some other line of investigation to achieve that end. I shall come to your chamber before the evening meal and bring you up to date with our inquiry before we leave.’

  Abbot Erc hesitated and then realised that he had been dismissed. He inclined his head briefly and turned and shuffled away.

  Fidelma saw that Eadulf was about to open his mouth and raised a finger to her lips with a frown, indicating with her head towards the closed door of the Venerable Mac Faosma’s study. She glanced at Conri.

  ‘Let us find a more comfortable place to talk,’ she suggested.

  Conri pointed along the corridor and led them down it, through a side door and on to the path to the chapel. The chapel was deserted but its gloom was relieved with candles. They seated themselves in a corner on a bench.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Eadulf.

  Fidelma sketched out her interview with the Venerable Mac Faosma.

  There was a brief silence before Eadulf said: ‘So you think that this Mac Faosma took Cinaed’s book and burnt it because he disagreed with it?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘And if he is capable of that he might also be capable of killing Cinaed?’

  Fidelma grimaced in agreement.

  ‘It is possible again, but we need more than suspicion to proceed. What I do know is that he is an unrepentant supporter of the Ui Fidgente chief Eoganan.’ She turned to Conri. ‘I know that you are desirous of peace between the Ui Fidgente and the rest of Muman. Let me speak, however, as a dalaigh rather than as an Eoghanacht. Even since Eoganan’s death at Cnoc Aine, I presume that many of the Ui Fidgente are still opposed to my brother’s rule?’

  Conri looked slightly embarrassed.

  ‘There are many, lady. All it needs is a strong leader and the people could easily rise up and be led again down the wrong path into more violence and bloodshed.’

  ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma might be such a leader?’ queried Eadulf.

  Conri shook his head.

  ‘Such a leader would have to be more of a warrior than a scholar. And one born from the line of Brion, one of our great chieftains. Mac Faosma, as his name suggests, is not of any noble line. Since Eoganan was slain,

  ‘I do not understand.’ Eadulf frowned. ‘I mean, your reference to Mac Faosma’s name?’

  It was Fidelma who explained.

  ‘It means “son of protection”, which implies that he was someone who was adopted because there was no one left in his blood family to raise him.’

  ‘Exactly. For someone to gain enough authority with the Ui Fidgente to become leader, they have to have a direct bloodline connection with our chief family. Eoganan’s line, as I say, was virtually wiped out.’

  ‘Then how was this Donennach accepted as your ruler?’ demanded Eadulf.

  ‘Because the genealogists could trace Donennach’s descent nine generations back to Brion. Eoganan descended from another son of Br on.’

  ‘So such a leader might exist, someone else descended from this Brion?’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘And Mac Faosma could be the catalyst trying to stir things?’

  ‘Both are possible,’ admitted Conri. ‘But I fail to see anyone who is popular enough to attempt to overthrow Donennach.’

  Eadulf grinned sourly.

  ‘A few months ago Uaman might have been that man,’ he pointed out.

  Conri sniffed.

  ‘Uaman the Leper, even living, would not have been accepted under our law,’ he reminded him. ‘A chieftain must be a man without blemish, physical or mental.’

  ‘Anyway, we might be travelling down a wrong road in considering this,’ Fidelma suddenly intervened. ‘Perhaps the argument over the Ui Fidgente between Mac Faosma and Cinaed has nothing to do with Cinaed’s murder. All I have put forward is that some strong emotions existed between Mac Faosma and Cinaed. We should not discount them.’

  Eadulf sighed. ‘So where do we turn now in this matter? You told the abbot that we shall be leaving Ard Fhearta. To go where? Where do we start searching for the missing members of this community?’

  ‘At the place where they disappeared, in the lands of the Corco Duibhne,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I propose to ask Mugron to take us there when he sails. He told me he was due to go there within the next day or so.’

  ‘Have you given up on the murder of Cinaed?’

  Fidelma frowned in annoyance. Abbot Erc had made a similar suggestion and she had wondered, for a moment, whether it had been made with desire.

  ‘I never give up on a task half finished. You know that, Eadulf. We can leave Ard Fhearta as soon as the weather is good and Mugron is prepared to sail. Meanwhile, I have not, as yet, questioned Sister Sinnchene or Sister Buan.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Fidelma sent Conri to see Mugron, the merchant, in order to make arrangements for the voyage to the land of the Corco Duibhne when he was r
eady. After he had departed on his errand, she and Eadulf went in search of Sister Buan. They found her in the chambers where the Venerable Cinaed had lived and worked. It was soon obvious that these were Sister Buan’s living quarters as well.

  Sister Buan was a fairly plain-looking woman, of an indiscernible age, although Eadulf judged her to be about forty years. She was a slight but sharp-faced woman with somewhat rounded shoulders, corn-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. Her features could have been pleasant had she allowed a smile to sit upon them. Now those features were moulded into an expression of sorrow, the eyes red-rimmed. She bore her grief in every line of her face and movement of her body.

  When she opened the door to admit Fidelma and Eadulf she showed no surprise and did not question why they had come.

  ‘I have been expecting you,’ she said simply, as she stood aside to admit them into the chambers. ‘You are the dalaigh from Cashel and you are her Saxon companion. You were pointed out to me last night in the refectory. I will do my best to answer your questions.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister Buan,’ said Fidelma as they seated themselves in the cold chamber. The turf fire had been allowed to blacken and die. ‘We have been told that you were the companion of the Venerable Cinaed?’

  ‘I was his cetmuintir,’ she replied.

  Fidelma glanced quickly at Eadulf.

  ‘You were his legally married wife?’ he asked in surprise.

  Sister Buan raised her chin defiantly.

  ‘Does that astonish you?’ she demanded. ‘I would not take you for one

  ‘Of course not,’ Eadulf responded. ‘It’s just that-’

  ‘Then you must disapprove because Cinaed was a generation or so older than I was.’ The woman made it into a challenge.

  ‘I was going to say, it is just that no one mentioned your exact legal position,’ Eadulf continued evenly.

  ‘We are certainly not here to pass any moral judgements, Sister Buan,’ Fidelma added.

  ‘Buan — that is a martial name, is it not?’ Eadulf went on, trying to persuade the woman of his good intentions. ‘Doesn’t it mean “the victorious one”?’

  ‘No, Brother Saxon. It is a name which means “lasting” or, rather, “enduring”.’ She became suddenly sad again.