Suffer Little Children sf-3

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘I apologise, Fidelma of Cashel,’ he said in a tone which she felt gave no value to his words. ‘I did not know that you were related to Colgú.’

  Fidelma seated herself and her expression was bland.

  ‘Why should my relatives dictate good manners?’ she demanded softly.

  Abbot Brocc coughed hastily.

  ‘Fidelma, Salbach has come in response to the message I sent him.’

  Fidelma found herself being scrutinised again by the cold blue eyes of Salbach. He returned to his sprawling position in the other chair and took up his wine again. There was something hooded about those eyes. They reminded her of the unblinking eyes of a buzzard regarding its prey before swooping to bear it away.

  ‘That is good,’ Fidelma replied. ‘The sooner the crime committed at Rae na Scríne is dealt with, the better.’

  ‘Crime? I am told that some frightened, superstitious people, afraid of the plague at Rae na Scríne, attacked the village in an effort to drive the people into the mountains and fire the place so that the plague might not spread. If there was a crime there, it was a crime of fear and panic.’

  ‘Not so. It was a calm and deliberate attack.’

  Salbach’s mouth twitched and his tone was sharp. ‘I have come here, Sister Fidelma, because I have heard your accusation against one of my bó-aire, a magistrate that I myself appointed but recently. I presumed that there was some mistake.’

  ‘I take it that you refer to the man Intat? If so, there is no mistake.’

  ‘I am told that you have accused Intat of leading a band of his warriors in the destruction of the entire village? Myinformation is that a band of panic-stricken people from some neighbouring village burnt it down.’

  ‘You have heard incorrectly.’

  ‘That is a serious accusation.’

  ‘It is a serious crime,’ confirmed Fidelma coldly.

  ‘I shall need evidence before I can act on such a charge,’ Salbach replied stubbornly.

  ‘The evidence will be found in the charred ruins of Rae na Scríne.’

  ‘That proves the village was burnt and perhaps that people were killed. What evidence is there that Intat was responsible?’

  ‘Cass, of the bodyguard of the King of Cashel, and I rode into the village while the terrible deed was being done. We spoke with the man called Intat. He turned us away with threat to our lives.’

  Salbach’s eyes widened a fraction with incredulity.

  ‘He let you go? Surely, if he were engaged in such a crime, you would not be here to tell of it?’

  Fidelma wondered why it seemed that Salbach was attempting to protect his bó-aire.

  ‘Intat did not realise that we had seen what he was doing. We doubled back to the village after we had left him on the highway. Nor did he realise that there were survivors from the village who can give better testimony as to what happened than we can.’

  Did Salbach swallow nervously? Did a look of apprehension grow over his features?

  ‘There were survivors?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was Abbot Brocc who replied. ‘There were half-a-dozen survivors. Some children …’

  ‘Children cannot testify under law,’ Salbach snapped. ‘They have no legal obligations until they reach the age of choice.’

  Fidelma noted that point of law came trotting swiftly from Salbach’s tongue.

  ‘There was also one adult with them,’ she said softly. ‘And if the one adult is not enough, then bring this man Intat before Cass and myself, and we will testify whether he is the man we saw leading those who held burning brand torches and swords in their hands and who threatened our lives.’

  ‘How was Intat identified anyway?’ demanded Salbach sullenly. ‘How could you know the man’s name?’

  ‘He was identified by Sister Eisten,’ answered the abbot.

  ‘Ah! So she is the survivor of whom you speak?’

  Salbach’s eyes were hooded again. Fidelma would have given anything to hear the thoughts which appeared to be tumbling in his mind. His face was a mask but there seemed to be a frenzy of thoughts behind those hooded eyes.

  ‘It is hard to believe this of Intat.’ Salbach sighed suddenly, putting down his drained goblet of wine, as if he were finally convinced. ‘I am saddened to hear of this evidence against him. Are Sister Eisten and the children staying in Ros Ailithir?’

  Brocc replied again before Fidelma could speak.

  ‘Yes. We will probably send them shortly to the orphanage run by Molua.’

  ‘I would like to see them,’ pressed Salbach.

  ‘It may be some days before that can be,’ Fidelma said hurriedly, with a meaningful glance at Brocc. The abbot stared in bewilderment at her. ‘The abbot has ordered them to be placed in quarantine so that they can be cleared of any contagion from the Yellow Plague.’

  ‘But …’ began Brocc. Then bit his tongue.

  Salbach had not appeared to notice this unfinished protest and was rising to his feet.

  ‘I will be back to question Sister Eisten and the children when it is more convenient,’ he said. ‘But, since the matter contained a grave accusation against one of my magistrates, I felt I had to come immediately to test the evidence. I shall setout to find Intat and see what he has to say. If the crime is laid at his door, then he will answer for it before my own Brehon. You may rest assured of that, Sister Fidelma.’

  ‘Cashel would expect no less,’ replied Fidelma gravely.

  Salbach stared hard at her, seeking some hidden meaning but Fidelma continued to return his look without expression.

  ‘We are a proud people here, Sister Fidelma,’ Salbach said. His voice, while soft, was full of hidden meaning. ‘The Corco Loígde claim their descent from the family of Míl Easpain, who led the ancestors of the Gaels to this land at the beginning of time. A challenge to the honour of one of us is a challenge to the honour of all of us. And if one of us betrays his honour, he betrays us all and will be punished.’

  He hesitated a moment, as if he would say something else, then he turned to the abbot.

  ‘I will be on my way then, abbot,’ he began but Fidelma interrupted.

  ‘There are some questions on another matter which you may help me with, Salbach.’

  Salbach glanced at her in astonishment for he had made clear that the meeting had ended. It was clear he was used to dictating his own way.

  ‘I am busy now …’

  ‘In this I am acting on behalf of the king of Cashel,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘It concerns the murder of the Venerable Dacán.’

  Salbach hesitated as though he would dispute with her but then shrugged indifferently.

  ‘It is a grave business,’ he conceded. ‘I know nothing of the death of the old man. So how can I help you?’

  ‘Did you know the Venerable Dacán?’

  ‘Who did not know him by reputation?’ Salbach parried.

  ‘I believe you met him?’

  The question was merely a guess and Fidelma saw the quick flush on Salbach’s face. It had only been an instinct which had made her chance the question.

  ‘I did meet Dacan a few times,’ Salbach admitted.

  ‘Was that here, at Ros Ailithir?’

  Fidelma had to conceal her surprise when Salbach shook his head.

  ‘No. I met him at Cealla, at one of the great residences of the chieftains of Osraige.’

  ‘In Osraige? When was this?’

  ‘A year ago.’

  ‘May I ask what you were doing in Osraige?’

  ‘Visiting my cousin, Scandlán, who is king there.’ Salbach could not keep the vanity out of his voice.

  Fidelma was again reminded that her brother, Colgú, had told her that the kings of Osraige were related to the chieftains of the Corco Loígde.

  ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Yet you did not meet the Venerable Dacan when he came to Ros Ailithir?’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  Something prompted Fidelma to doubt him. Yet she could not get beyond that hooded b
uzzard expression. She realised that she did not like Salbach at all. Then she flushed as she remembered her homily to Sister Necht. In spite of that, Fidelma believed that there was something sinister about Salbach and that was why she disliked him. There was something evil and harsh in those pale eyes of his. He reminded her so much of a bird of prey.

  ‘But you did meet with Assíd of Laigin?’ she switched the question abruptly, still relying on her instinct.

  Salbach’s mouth slackened a little. There was a momentary glint in his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted slowly. ‘He came to my fortress at Cuan Dóir to trade.’

  ‘He is a coastal trader?’

  ‘Yes. He traded at our copper mines. He brought us Gaulish wine which had been landed in Laigin and we traded copper for the wine.’

  ‘So you have known Assíd for a long time … in his rôle as a merchant, that is?’

  Salbach grimaced negatively.

  ‘I said that I have met him. That is all. He was trading here last summer and the summer before that. Why do you ask these questions?’

  ‘It is my task to do so, chieftain of the Corco Loígde,’ she replied with patient humour.

  ‘Am I free to go now?’ There was a condescending sneer in his voice.

  ‘I trust that we shall hear soon that you have been successful in your search for Intat?’

  ‘I will make a point of informing you,’ Salbach replied stiffly.

  With a brief bow in her direction and a curt nod to the abbot, Salbach left the room.

  Abbot Brocc was looking unhappy.

  ‘Salbach is not a person who likes losing face, cousin,’ he commented anxiously. ‘I felt I was witness to two cats meeting to dispute the same territory.’

  ‘It is a pity then he places himself in such a position where confrontation results,’ replied Fidelma coldly. ‘He carries an insufferable arrogance in his demeanour.’

  The midday Angelus bell struck.

  Fidelma felt obliged to join the abbot in the ritual prayer for the hour.

  When Brocc raised himself from his knees, he regarded Fidelma for a moment or two in awkwardness.

  ‘There is other news,’ he began, somewhat hesitantly. ‘I did not want to say anything in front of Salbach before I told you.’

  Fidelma waited uncertainly, for her cousin’s face had grown unusually solemn.

  ‘Just before Salbach arrived, a messenger came from Cashel. The king, Cathal mac Cathail, died three days ago. Your brother, Colgú, is now king of Muman.’

  Fidelma’s features did not change. As soon as Brocc had mentioned a messenger from Cashel, she knew what it must be about. She had known it was a matter of time even before she had left Cashel. Then she rose and genuflected.

  ‘Sic transit gloria mundi. May our cousin rest in peace,’ she said. ‘And may God give Colgú strength for the hard task which he now faces.’

  ‘We shall say a mass for the soul of Cathal tonight, sister,’ Brocc said. ‘It lacks a short while before the bell sounds for the midday meal. Perhaps you will join me in a cup of wine before going to the refectory?’

  To his obvious disappointment, Fidelma shook her head.

  ‘I have much to do before the midday meal, cousin,’ she replied. ‘But there is one question which I must now ask you. Brother Conghus told me that a week before Dacan was killed you had especially asked him to keep a close watch on Dacan. Why was that?’

  ‘No mystery to that,’ the abbot replied immediately. ‘It was clear that the Venerable Dacan was an unfriendly man. In fact, I had heard that he had upset several of the students here. It was just a precaution to ask Brother Conghus to ensure that Dacan did not encounter trouble through his … how shall we say it? … through his unfortunate personality.’

  ‘Thank you, Brocc. I will see you at the midday meal.’

  Fidelma left the chamber with her thoughts abruptly returning to the young boy, Cétach. Why had the boy not wanted her to mention him and his brother Cosrach? What made him fear Salbach?

  Yet this was nothing to do with the murder of the Venerable Dacan and time was swiftly running out before the matter would have to be argued before the High King’s assembly at Tara.

  She made her way directly back to the hostel and went to look for the boy Cétach. She also recalled that she must speak further with Sister Eisten. The children were not in theirchambers; neither was Sister Eisten. Fidelma looked into the other chambers but could not see anyone. The only one of the children from Rae na Scríne she could find was one of the little copper-haired sisters, Cera by name. The girl sat playing with a rag doll and would not answer any of Fidelma’s questions.

  Fidelma gave up trying to coax some information from her and then searched the upstairs chambers before returning to the lower floor. She heard a noise from Brother Rumann’s officium and hastened along to it. There she found Cass seated in the chamber with Brother Rumann. They were crouched either side of a brandubh board engaged in the popular game of ‘black raven’. Rumann seemed to be an experienced player for he had taken two of Cass’s provincial king pieces, leaving Cass with only his High King and two other provincial king defenders, while his own eight opposing pieces were all intact. Cass was trying vainly to reach the safety of the side of the board, which was divided into forty-nine squares, seven squares one way and seven squares the other. Even as Fidelma looked, Rumann by a deft move placed his pieces so that the High King was clearly opposed without any square to retreat to. Reluctantly, and with some bad grace, Cass conceded the game to the portly brother.

  Brother Rumann glanced up with a satisfied smile as he saw Fidelma.

  ‘Do you play this game, sister?’

  Fidelma nodded curtly. Every child of a king or chieftain was taught brandubh and other board games of skill as part of their education. The game had a deep significance for the main piece represented the High King at Tara whose defenders were the four provincial kings of Ulaidh, Laigin, Muman and Connacht. The eight attacking pieces had to be checked by the four provincial kings, allowing the centre to hold steady or, if threatened, to escape to the side of the board, although this escape was only made in desperation when the player had no other options.

  ‘Perhaps we shall get a chance to test each other’s mettle?’ invited Rumann eagerly.

  ‘Perhaps we shall,’ Fidelma returned politely. ‘But I have little time now.’

  She motioned with her eyes for Cass to follow her and once outside told him the news from Cashel. Like Fidelma, he was not surprised. The death of Cathal had been imminent when they had left the seat of the Muman kings.

  ‘Your brother inherits a heavy burden, Fidelma,’ Cass observed. ‘Does it change matters here at all?’

  ‘No. It only makes the success of our task more pressing.’ Fidelma went on to ask him whether he had seen either of the young boys, Cétach or Cosrach.

  Cass shook his head.

  ‘As if I do not have enough on my hands.’ Fidelma was exasperated. ‘Is it not enough that I am trying to solve the mystery of the murder of Dacán without this further mystery concerning these children?’

  When Cass looked bewildered, she unbent to tell him of what the boy Cétach had said and of her unfriendly discussion with Salbach.

  ‘I have heard that Salbach is overbearing and arrogantly hot-tempered,’ Cass confessed. ‘Perhaps I should have warned you?’

  ‘No. It is best that I made up my own mind.’

  ‘Even so, from what you say it appears that he was almost trying to protect Intat from accusation.’

  ‘Almost. Maybe he simply wanted proof of the accusations. After all, he had apparently appointed Intat as a magistrate himself.’

  The bell for the midday meal began to sound.

  ‘Let us forget these mysteries until later,’ Cass suggested. ‘The children will probably be at the midday meal anyway. I’ve never known a child to disappear from a meal. And if theyare not there, well, I can look for them this afternoon while you carry on with your
investigation.’

  ‘That is an excellent suggestion, Cass,’ Fidelma agreed readily. ‘I need to question the librarian and the chief professor about the Venerable Dacán’s rôle at Ros Ailithir.’

  They passed into the refectory hall. Fidelma peered carefully around but saw no sign of the boys, Cétach or Cosrach, nor, for that matter, did she see Sister Eisten. Cass, as he had promised, left the refectory immediately after he had eaten to go in search of them.

  It was while Fidelma was passing out of the hall at the end of the meal that she overheard a couple of students hailing a tall, elderly man as Brother Ségán. She halted and examined the chief professor, the fer-leginn of the college. His scrawny, dark, brooding appearance did not seem to match his personality for he greeted the two students with a ready smile and answered their questions with sentences punctuated by a throaty laugh.

  Fidelma waited until the proselytes had departed and Brother Ségán was beginning move off before she saluted him by name.

  ‘Ah, are you Fidelma of Kildare?’ Brother Ségán gave her a warm smile and extended a firm hand in greeting. ‘I had heard that you had arrived here. The Abbot Brocc told me of your coming. I have heard much praise of your judgments in matters of unlawful killing.’

  ‘It is about the Venerable Dacan that I wish to speak.’