Fidelma glanced to Cass as she slumped thankfully into a chair, relaxing for the first time in twenty-four hours in some degree of comfort. The young warrior picked up the invitation that her glance implied and quickly told the story of how they had found Eisten and the children at Rae na Scríne.
Brocc’s face became a mask of anger and he reached up a hand to tap absently on the bridge of his nose.
‘This is an evil business. I will send a messenger at once to Salbach, the chieftain of the Corco Loígde. He will have this man Intat and his men punished for this heinous act. Leavethis matter with me. I shall ensure Salbach hears of this at once.’
‘And Sister Eisten and her charges?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Have no fears for them. We will care for them here. We have a good infirmary and our physician, Brother Midach, has dealt with ten cases of the Yellow Plague over the last year. God has been good to us. Three of the victims he has successfully cured. We have no fear of the plague here. And is it not right that we should have no fear for we are of the Faith and are in God’s good hands?’
‘I am delighted that you view the matter with such a perspective,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘I would expect no less.’
Cass wondered, for a moment, whether she was being ironical at Brocc’s pious attitude.
‘So now,’ Brocc’s cold eyes examined her steadily, ‘let us get down to the main reason for your visit here.’
Fidelma groaned inwardly. She would prefer to have slept and recovered something of her serenity of mind before dealing with the matter. A long deep sleep was what she most desired. She would prefer to have eaten and drunk mulled wine to warm her and then fallen onto a dry bed no matter how hard. But Brocc was probably right. It would be best to get the preliminaries over with.
As she was contemplating her reply, Brocc rose from his seat and went to stand at a window which, she could see, even from her seated position, looked out across the inlet of the sea. The abbot stood, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down.
‘I am aware that time is of the essence, cousin,’ he said slowly. ‘And I am aware that I, as abbot, am held accountable for the Venerable Dacán’s death. If I was in need of reminding of the fact, then the king of Laigin has sent me a token as remembrance.’
Fidelma stared at him for a moment.
‘What do you mean?’ Cass articulated the question that she was about to ask.
Brocc gestured with his head through the window.
‘Look down there, at the mouth of the inlet.’
Fidelma and Cass both rose and went to join the abbot, curiously peering over his shoulder towards the spot he had indicated. There were several ships at anchor in the inlet, among them two large ocean-going vessels. Brocc was specifying one of these larger vessels, riding against its sea anchor, near the exit to the sheltered bay.
‘You are a warrior, Cass.’ Brocc’s bass voice was morose. ‘Can you identify that vessel? You see the one I mean? Not the Frankish merchantman but the other one.’
Cass screwed up his eyes as he examined the lines of the ship.
‘It flies the standard of Fianamail, the king of Laigin,’ he replied with some surprise. ‘It is a Laigin ship of war.’
‘Exactly so,’ sighed Brocc, turning to motion them back to their seats while resuming his own. ‘It appeared a week ago. A Laigin ship of war sent to remind me that Laigin holds me accountable for Dacán’s death. It sits there in the inlet, day in and day out. To emphasise the point, when it initially arrived, its captain came ashore to inform me of the intention of the king of Laigin. Since then no one from the ship has come to the abbey. It just sits at the entrance of the inlet and waits — like a cat waiting for a mouse. If they mean to destroy my peace, then they are succeeding. Doubtless they will wait there until the High King’s assembly makes its decision.’
Cass flushed angrily.
‘This is an outrage to justice,’ he said fiercely. ‘It is intimidation. It is a physical threat.’
‘It is, as I have said, a reminder that Laigin demand their eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. What does the scripture say? If a man destroy the eye of another man, they shall destroy his eye?’
‘That is the law of the Israelites,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘It is not the law of the five kingdoms.’
‘A moot point, cousin. If we are to believe that the Israelites are the chosen of God, then we should follow their law as well as their religion.’
‘Time for theological debate later,’ snapped Cass. ‘Why do they hold you responsible, Brocc? Did you kill the Venerable Dacan?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then Laigin has no reason to threaten you.’ To Cass the matter was simple.
Fidelma turned to him chidingly.
‘Laigin abides by the law. Brocc is abbot here. He is the head of the family of this abbey and, in law, deemed responsible for anything that happens to his guests. If he is unable to pay the fines and compensations due, then the law says his family must do so. Because he is of the Eóganachta, the ruling family of Muman, then the whole of Muman is now held to hostage for the deed. Do you follow the logic now, Cass?’
‘But that is no justice,’ Cass pointed out.
‘It is the law,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘You should know this.’
‘And often law and justice are two things which are not synonymous,’ Brocc observed bitterly. ‘But you are right to state the case as Laigin sees it. There is not much time to present a defence before the High King’s assembly meets at Tara.’
‘Perhaps, then,’ Fidelma tried to stifle a yawn, ‘you had best tell me the essential facts so that I may work out some plan by which my investigation may be conducted.’
Abbot Brocc did not notice her fatigue. Instead, he spread his hands in an eloquent gesture of bewilderment.
‘There is little I can say, cousin. The facts are these; the Venerable Dacán came to this abbey with permission fromKing Cathal to study our collection of ancient books. We have a large number of “rods of the poets”, ancient histories and sagas cut in the Ogham alphabet on wands of hazel and aspen. We pride ourselves on this collection. It is the finest in the five kingdoms. Not even at Tara is there such a collection of genealogical tracts.’
Fidelma accepted Brocc’s pride, She had been instructed in a knowledge of the ancient alphabet which legend said had been given to the Irish by their pagan god of literature, Ogma. The alphabet was represented by a varying number of strokes and notches to and crossing a base line and texts were cut on wooden rods called ‘rods of the poets’. The old alphabet was now falling rapidly in disuse with the adoption of the Latin alphabet due to the incoming of the Christian faith.
Brocc was continuing:
‘We take exceptional pride in our Tech Screptra, our great library, and our scholars have shown that it was our kingdom of Muman which first brought the art of Ogham to the peoples of the five kingdoms. As you may know, this abbey was founded by the Blessed Fachtna Mac Mongaig, a pupil of Ita, nearly a hundred years ago. He established this place not only as a house of worship but a repository of books of knowledge, as a place of learning, a place where people from the four corners of the earth could receive their education. And they came and have been coming here ever since; a never-ending stream of pilgrims in search of knowledge. Our foundation of Ros Ailithir has become renowned throughout the five kingdoms and even beyond them.’
Fidelma could not suppress amusement at the abbot’s sudden burst of enthusiasm for his foundation. Even among the religious, who were supposed to be the examples of humility, conceit was often never far from the surface.
‘And that is why the abbey is named as the promontory of pilgrims,’ Cass said softly, as if he wished to show that he had some knowledge to contribute.
The abbot regarded him with cold appraisal and inclined his head slightly.
‘Just so, warrior. Ros Ailithir — the promontory of pilgrims. Not just pilgrims in the Faith but pilgrims of Truth and Learning.’
>
Fidelma gestured impatiently.
‘So the Venerable Dacán, with the permission of King Cathal, came here to study. This much we know.’
‘And to do some teaching as a repayment for access to our library,’ added Brocc. ‘His main interest was in deciphering the texts of the “rods of the poets”. Most days he worked in our Tech Screptra.’
‘How long was he a guest here?’
‘About two months.’
‘What happened? I mean, what were the details concerning the manner of his death?’
Brocc sat back, placing both hands, palm downwards, on his table.
‘It happened two weeks ago. It was just before the bell sounded the hour for tierce.’ He turned to Cass, to explain pedantically: ‘The work of the abbey is done between tierce in the morning and vespers in the evening.’
‘Tierce is the third hour of the canonical day,’ explained Fidelma when she saw Cass frowning in bewilderment at the abbot’s explanation.
‘It is the hour when we start our studies and when some of the brothers go into the fields to work, for we have cultivated lands to tend and animals to feed and fish to harvest from the sea.’
‘Go on,’ instructed Fidelma, becoming irritated at the length of time the account was taking. Her eyelids were feeling scratchy and she longed for a short rest, a brief sleep.
‘As I have said, it was just before the bell was due to sound for tierce when Brother Conghus, my aistreóir, that is the doorkeeper of the abbey, who also has the duty to ring thebell, came bursting into my chambers. Naturally, I demanded to know why he could so forget himself …’
‘He then told you that Dacán was dead?’ interrupted Fidelma, trying her best to stifle her impatience at her cousin’s long-winded approach.
Brocc blinked, unused to interference when he was speaking.
‘He had been to Dacán’s cubiculum in the guests’ hostel. It appears that Dacán had not been seen at jentaculum.’ He paused and turned condescendingly to Cass. ‘That is the meal by which we break our fast on rising.’
This time Fidelma did not bother to stifle the yawn. The abbot looked slightly hurt and went on hurriedly.
‘Brother Conghus went to the hostel and found the body of the Venerable Dacán laying on his cot. He had been bound, hand and foot, and then, so it appeared, stabbed several times. The physician was called and made an examination. The stab wounds were straight into the heart and any one could have been fatal. My fer-tighis, the steward of the abbey, was given the task of making an investigation. He questioned those in the abbey but none had heard or seen anything untoward. No explanation of why or who could have done the deed came to light. Because of the fact that the Venerable Dacán was such a distinguished guest, I immediately sent word to King Cathal at Cashel.’
‘Did you also send word to Laigin?’
Brocc shook his head immediately.
‘There was a Laigin merchant staying at the abbey at the time. We have a busy sea route along this coast to Laigin. Doubtless this merchant took word of Dacán’s death to Fearna and to Dacán’s brother, the Abbot Noé.’
Fidelma leaned forward with interest.
‘Did this merchant have a name?’
‘I think it was Assíd. My fer-tighis, Brother Rumann, would know.’
‘When did this merchant leave for Laigin?’
‘I think it was the very day that Dacán’s body was discovered. I am not exactly sure when. Brother Rumann would have such details.’
‘But Brother Rumann found nothing to explain the death?’ interrupted Cass.
As the abbot nodded agreement Fidelma asked: ‘When did you first learn that Laigin held you responsible for the death and was demanding reparation from the King of Muman?’
Brocc looked grim.
‘When that warship arrived and its captain came ashore to tell me that, as abbot, I was being held responsible. Then I received a messenger from Cashel which further informed me that reparation, in the form of the lands of Osraige, was demanded by the new king of Laigin but that King Cathal was sending for you to investigate the matter.’
Fidelma sat back in her chair, placing her hands together, fingertip to fingertip, seeking refuge for a moment in thought.
‘And these are all the facts as you know them, Brocc?’
‘As I know them,’ affirmed Brocc solemnly.
‘Well, the only clear thing is that the Venerable Dacán was murdered,’ Cass summed up morosely. ‘It is also clear the deed was done in this abbey. Therefore it is also clear that reparation has to be paid.’
Fidelma regarded him with a sardonic expression.
‘Indeed, that is our starting point.’ She smiled thinly. ‘However, who is responsible for paying that reparation? That is what we must now discover.’
She rose abruptly to her feet.
Cass followed her example more reluctantly.
‘What now, cousin?’ asked Brocc eagerly, as he gazed up at his young relative.
‘Now? Now, I think that Cass and myself will find something to eat for we have not had anything since yesterday noonand then we must rest a while. We had little sleep in the cold and damp of the forest last night. We’ll begin our investigation after vespers.’
Brocc’s eyes widened.
‘Begin? I thought I had told you all at the abbey we know of this matter.’
Fidelma’s lips thinned wryly.
‘You do not appreciate how a Brehon conducts an investigation. No matter. We will begin to find out who killed Dacán and why.’
‘Do you think you can?’ demanded Brocc, a faint light of expectation growing in his eyes.
‘That is what I am here for.’ Fidelma’s voice was weary.
Brocc looked uncertain. Then he reached forward to a tiny silver bell on the table and rang it.
A fleshy, middle-aged anchorite seemed to burst into the room, his every movement speaking of a frenetic activity, a scarcely concealed energy which seemed to inspire an agitation of his every limb. The nervous restlessness of the man made even Fidelma feel uncomfortable.
‘This is my fer-tighis, the house steward of the abbey,’ introduced Brocc. ‘Brother Rumann will attend to all of your needs. You have but to ask. I will see you again at vespers.’
Brother Rumann seemed to physically propel them before him as he ushered them out of the abbot’s chambers.
‘Having heard from Brother Conghus that you had arrived, I have prepared rooms in the teeh-óiged, sister.’ His voice was as breathless as his appearance was flustered. ‘You will be most comfortable in our guest hostel.’
‘And food?’ queried Cass. Fidelma’s reference to the fact that they had eaten little in the last twenty-four hours had reminded him of that truth and created a gnawing hunger to register in his mind.
Brother Rumann’s head bounced up and down, or so it seemed; a large, fleshy round ball on which the hair grewsparsely. The flesh of his moon face was so creased that it was almost impossible to see whether he was smiling or scowling.
‘A meal is prepared,’ he confirmed. ‘I will lead you to the hostel at once.’
‘The same hostel where the Venerable Dacán stayed?’ queried Fidelma. When Brother Rumann nodded she made no comment.
They followed him through the grey stone aisles of the abbey buildings, across tiny courtyards and along darkened passages.
‘How are Sister Eisten and the children?’ she asked, after some moments of silence.
Brother Rumann made a clucking sound with his tongue, like a nervous mother hen. Fidelma suddenly smiled for that was precisely what Brother Rumann reminded her of as he waddled before them, hands flapping at his sides.
‘Sister Eisten is exhausted and appears to have been greatly shocked by her experience. The children are just tired and need warmth and sleep more than anything else at this time. Brother Midach, our chief physician here, has examined them. There are no signs of any illness among them.’
Brother Rumann paused before a door of a
rectangular, two-storeyed building standing by one of the main walls of the abbey, separated from the imposing central church by a square of paved stones in the middle of which stood a well.
‘This is our tech-óiged, sister. We pride ourselves on our guests’ hostel. In summer we have visitors from many places.’
He threw open the door, like a showman performing some difficult feat before a large audience, and then ushered them into the building. They immediately found themselves in a large hall which was both spacious and well decorated with tapestries and icons. A wooden staircase led them to a second floor where the steward showed them to adjoining rooms. Fidelma noticed that their saddle bags had already been placed inside.
‘I trust these quarters will be comfortable enough?’ asked Brother Rumann and, before they could answer, he had turned and bustled off into another room. ‘For this occasion,’ his calling voice beckoned them to follow him, ‘I have ordered your meal to be brought here for convenience. However, from this evening, meals are taken in the refectory which is the building adjoining this one. All our guests usually eat there.’
Fidelma saw, on a table in the room, bowls of steaming broth with platters of bread, cheeses and a jug of wine with pottery goblets. It looked appetising to their hungry eyes.
Fidelma felt her mouth moistening at the sight.
‘This is excellent,’ she said approvingly.
‘My chamber is downstairs, at the far end of the hostel,’ Brother Rumann went on. ‘Should you require any service then you may find me there or, by ringing the bell,’ he indicated a small bronze handbell on the table, ‘you can summon my assistant, Sister Necht, She is one of our young novices and serves the wants of all our guests.’
‘One thing before you go,’ Fidelma said, as Brother Rumann started to bustle towards the door. The plump man halted and turned back inquiringly.
‘About how many people are there in the hostel?’
Brother Rumann frowned.
‘Only yourselves. Oh, and we have placed Sister Eisten and the children here temporarily.’
Suffer Little Children sf-3 Page 6
