Suffer Little Children sf-3

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘It is only proof of where the material, which bound Dacan, came from. However, this dress does not look like anything that a librarian of an abbey would wear. But, truthfully, Sister Grella does not seem typical of a librarian. Nevertheless, Cass, you may be called upon to witness where I found this skirt.’

  ‘That I shall,’ agreed the warrior willingly. ‘I do not see that there is cause for any doubt. Grella lied to you about her relationship with Dacan and now we have found this! Is any more proof needed?’

  Fidelma did not reply as she repacked the other materials in the satchel but bundled up the skirt into her marsupium. Shewalked back to the bed to make a final check. As she did so the toe of her shoe hit something on the floor; an obstruction which did not give but sent a sharp pain into her foot.

  She bent immediately to the floor and peered at it. There was a loose flagstone on the floor. It was this that she had stubbed her toe on. It stood slightly proud from the other floor stones and rocked a little as she touched it.

  ‘Help me with this, Cass,’ she instructed.

  The warrior took out his large knife and inserted it, easing the stone up. There was a cavity underneath. Fidelma held her candle high and peered in. She pulled forth a bundle of vellum.

  Fidelma unrolled the vellum and peered at the careful calligraphy.

  ‘The writings of Dacán,’ she whispered. ‘Grella was hiding them all along.’

  ‘Then no other proof is needed. She must have killed Dacán!’ remarked Cass with satisfaction.

  Fidelma was too busy examining the contents of the writing to comment.

  ‘It is a letter to his brother, the Abbot Noé.’ Then she corrected herself. ‘No, it is only a draft of a letter. He talks about searching for the heirs of the native kings of Osraige. But he has spilt ink over it and this is why the sheet is discarded. Listen to this, Cass … “The son of Illan, according to the record, has just reached the age of choice. He is old enough to be considered for the kingship. I have discovered my quarry to be hiding in the monastery of Fínán at Sceilig Mhichil under the protection of his cousin. Tomorrow, I shall depart from here and go there.” Look when this is dated!’ She thrust the vellum at Cass and indicated the date. ‘This must have been written a few hours before he was killed.’

  ‘What quarry?’ demanded Cass. ‘It seems an odd choice of words, as if Dacán was a hunter?’

  ‘Do you know this monastery at Sceilig Mhichil?’

  ‘I have never been there but I know it to be a small settlement on a rock-like island in the sea out to the west.’

  ‘Dacán never set out to Sceilig Mhichil,’ she murmured. ‘He was dead a few hours after writing this.’

  Fidelma did not replace the vellum in its hiding place but put it in her marsupium along with the skirt. She then bent to put the flagstone back in place and stood up.

  ‘Sister Grella will have much to explain,’ she observed.

  She gazed round the chamber for a moment then blew out the candle and cautiously opened the door. There was no one outside and she moved quickly out, motioning Cass to follow. As she shut the door, she turned sharply on her heel and hurried along the corridor.

  ‘Where now?’ demanded Cass, a little aggrieved that he had to ask.

  ‘To find Sister Grella,’ she replied curtly.

  ‘Where should we start?’

  They started by asking Brother Rumann the steward, but when a full hour had produced no sign of the missing librarian, Cass suggested: ‘Perhaps she has left the abbey?’

  ‘Is there no aistreóir in this abbey?’ snapped Fidelma.

  ‘The doorkeeper is Brother Conghus,’ Cass replied automatically before realising that she had asked the question rhetorically. He succeeded in receiving a crushing glance of scorn from the fiery green eyes of Fidelma.

  ‘I am aware of that,’ she said tightly. ‘It seems, however, that people can pass out of this abbey and vanish as they will. Firstly, Eisten vanished; then the two boys from Rae na Scríne, and now the librarian is nowhere to be found.’

  At least Brother Conghus had not vanished. He was in his small officium next to the gates of the abbey making notations on wax tablets. He glanced up in surprise as Fidelma entered without ceremony.

  ‘Sister? How can I help you?’ he asked, slowly rising to his feet.

  ‘I am seeking Sister Grella,’ replied Fidelma.

  The doorkeeper raised a shoulder and let it fall in a negative fashion.

  ‘Then the library …?’ he began, but Fidelma cut him short.

  ‘If she had been there, we would not be here. Neither was she in her chamber. Has she left the abbey?’

  Brother Conghus immediately shook his head.

  ‘It is my task to record the comings and goings of people to and from the abbey,’ he said. ‘So far as my records show, Sister Grella has not left.’

  ‘Do you keep a record every day?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But this is not the only entrance to the abbey,’ she pointed out.

  ‘It is the main entrance,’ replied Conghus. ‘The rule is that everyone leaving or entering the abbey must report their movements so that we may know who is within the abbey walls.’

  ‘But if she had left by the side entrance …?’

  ‘She would have informed me. It is the rule,’ Conghus repeated.

  ‘Earlier this evening, I left the abbey by the rear gate whose path leads to the shore. Then I returned and brought the captain of the Laigin warship with me. He stayed in the abbey a while before departing again to his ship. Do your records speak of this?’

  Conghus flushed.

  ‘I was not informed. The onus is on people to obey the rule and you should have informed me.’

  Fidelma sighed deeply.

  ‘This means that your records are not entirely reliable. They are only reliable in so far as people obey your rules.’

  ‘If Sister Grella had left the abbey, she would know the rule,’ replied Conghus stubbornly.

  ‘Only if she wanted it to be known that she had left,’ intervened Cass, finding something he could contribute to the conversation.

  Conghus replied with a snort of annoyance.

  ‘What do you know of Sister Grella?’ Fidelma suddenly asked.

  Conghus was bewildered by her question.

  ‘Know of her? She is the librarian of the abbey and has been so ever since I have known her.’

  ‘And you know nothing else?’

  ‘I know that she came here from the abbey of Cealla. I know that she is well-qualified in her profession. What else should I know?’

  ‘Was she ever married?’ Fidelma asked.

  ‘She has never mentioned anything of a marriage in her past.’

  ‘How well did she know Sister Eisten?’

  The question came as a sudden intuitive shot but it did not seem to register with Brother Conghus.

  ‘She knew her, that is all I can say. Sister Eisten did some studying in the library earlier in the year and so I presume that the librarian would know her.’

  ‘Then it was not a close liaison? They were not particular friends?’

  ‘No more than any other member of the abbey whom Sister Grella knew.’

  ‘About a week ago, Sister Grella visited Salbach’s fortress at Cuan Dóir. Do you know why?’

  ‘Did she? A week ago?’ Conghus looked bemused. ‘Then we should have a record of that.’

  He rose and turned to a shelf of wax tablets and started to check their contents, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

  ‘You do not know offhand why she would go to Salbach’s fortress?’ demanded Fidelma, while the doorkeeper diligently searched for the right tablet.

  ‘None, unless Salbach was presenting a gift to the library. Sometimes, some chieftains find they are possessed of the ancient rods of the poets. Such old Ogham books are rare now, even here in Muman. The abbey offers rewards for the gathering of them. It could be that Salbach found some and decided to p
resent them to our library. But if Grella did go there for that, or any other purpose, she would have informed me that she was leaving the abbey. There is no record of her doing so.’ He turned aside from his tablets to Fidelma. ‘I cannot find any reference to Sister Grella having left to go to Cuan Dóir. She did, however, leave here to go to Rae na Scríne a week ago.’

  ‘Rae na Scríne?’ Fidelma echoed.

  ‘It is so recorded,’ replied Brother Conghus with a smirk. ‘She went to collect a book from Sister Eisten and take some medicines to her.’

  Fidelma fought back a feeling of utter frustration.

  ‘She could have gone in the opposite direction to Cuan Dóir,’ she suggested. ‘Or she and Sister Eisten could have travelled to Cuan Dóir afterwards.’

  ‘She would have told us if she was going to visit Cuan Dóir,’ replied Conghus stoically. ‘And there is no reference to any such journey.’

  ‘If it were noted.’

  ‘Of course it would be noted. To visit Salbach on behalf of the abbey would require the permission and blessing of the abbot.’

  ‘Who said that it would necessarily be a journey on behalf of the abbey?’ queried Fidelma.

  ‘Why else would the librarian visit the local chieftain?’

  ‘Why else, indeed?’ Fidelma’s patience was at an end. ‘Thank you for your help, Conghus.’

  Outside, Cass examined Fidelma’s worried expression.

  ‘Do you think that he is hiding something? He seems less than helpful.’

  ‘Perhaps he is, perhaps not. I suspect that Brother Conghus simply lives by the rules and cannot conceive of anyone breaking them.’

  Even as they stood hesitating outside, Conghus came hurrying out and, with a curt nod to the both of them, he scurried across the stone flags of the quadrangle to the tall bell tower.

  ‘It must be nearly time for the completa,’ muttered Cass.

  A few moments later, as if in response to his spoken thought, the bell sounded its chimes to summon the brethren to the service.

  The last time Fidelma had attended such a lavish mass had been in Rome in the luxuriant round basilica of St John of Lateran where the body of Wighard, the murdered archbishop-designate of Canterbury, lay. A dozen bishops and their attendants, and the Holy Father himself, had conducted the service.

  The dark, high-walled abbey church was nothing compared to the splendour of the Roman basilica but, nevertheless, it was impressive. Tapestries covered the high granite walls, candles gave out heat, light and an assortment of perfumes. Fidelma sat in a pew reserved for distinguished guests with Cass seated alongside her. All around members of the abbey religious and their students crowded together to pay their respects to the passing of the soul of Cathal of Cashel. Though she examined their faces carefully, Fidelma could see no sign of Sister Grella.

  The choristers were raising their voices in the Sanctus.

  ‘Is Naofa, Naofa, Naofa Tú, a Thiarna. Dia na Slua …’

  ‘You are Holy, Holy, Holy, oh Lord God of Hosts …’

  Something made Fidelma glance across the aisle of the church; some sixth sense which pricked at her mind.

  She saw the eyes of young Sister Necht staring intensely at her. The novice had been watching her keenly and now, startled, she dropped her head to peer at her feet. Fidelma was turning away when she realised someone else was staring, but this time the object of scrutiny was Sister Necht herself and the examiner was the pudgy-featured Brother Rumann. Next to Rumann, Brother Midach was also watching the young novice. What surprised Fidelma was that all trace of jollity had gone from the physician’s face and if looks could kill, thought Fidelma, Midach would surely have been guilty of slaying the young woman. Then Midach caught her eye, forced a smile and dropped his gaze to concentrate on the holy office. When she turned her attention back to Brother Rumann, the moon-faced house steward was also concentrating on the words of the service.

  Fidelma wondered what this curious digression meant. By the time she could concentrate again on the service the choristers had progressed into the Agnus Dei.

  It was when the voices were pausing to begin A Ri an Domhnaigh — Great God — that there came a faint noise. The voices of the choristers hesitated and faded away. The noise therefore grew. There was a murmur of apprehension for the noise was that of a wailing child’s voice. It was sobbing in heart-rending fashion.

  Everyone peered about looking for the waif but no one could identify the source of the sound. It seemed to echo through the great abbey church, spreading as if through its very granite walls, echoing and re-echoing.

  Several of the brethren, more superstitious than logical, genuflected.

  Even Abbot Brocc exchanged worried glances with his senior clerics.

  Fidelma felt Cass’s hand on her arm. The warrior gesturedwith his head towards the nave and, following his indication, Fidelma saw Brother Midach moving rapidly out of the building.

  Before he had reached the door, however, the noise of the crying suddenly ceased. All was deathly still. The sound of the door slamming behind Midach caused the entire congregation to start nervously.

  The choir master rapped on his wooden lectern and A Rí an Domhnaigh was started again, hesitantly at first but the voices eventually regained their confidence and strength.

  The service continued without further incident. Abbot Brocc spoke eloquently of the sadness of the loss of the old king from the Yellow Plague but with joy of the inauguration of the new king, invoking the blessing of Christ, His Apostles and all the saints of the five kingdoms, for the future prosperity of the kingdom and for the wisdom in government of the new monarch, Colgú.

  As the congregation began to break up, after the final blessing, Fidelma told Cass that she would speak with him later and began to push her way through the throng across the nave of the abbey church towards the seat where she had seen the young Sister Necht. By the time she reached the spot, there was no sign of her. She peered around into the dispersing assembly but the novice had vanished.

  Suppressing a sigh of annoyance, Fidelma turned for the nearest door, which brought her out of the church opposite the spacious storerooms of the abbey. Although it was night, there were numerous lanterns sending out a shadowy light, obviously lit to help the assembly find their way back to their various dormitories.

  Sunk in thought, Fidelma decided not to go straight back to the hostel but followed the path, which Brother Ségán had shown her, leading towards the herb garden. Fidelma wanted to be alone to meditate and the fragrant little garden seemed an ideal place.

  It was the faint cry from the shrubbery garden ahead which alerted her to tread softly.

  There were two shadows in the arboretum by the head of the well. A slight figure was being held by a stocky, more masculine-looking shadow. It seemed to Fidelma that there was something familiar about that slight figure.

  ‘You arrogant young …’

  The voice she recognised as belonging to Brother Midach. It was now sharp and angry.

  Even as Fidelma watched, the chief physician raised an open hand and brought it down against the back of the head of the slighter figure.

  There was a grunt of pain.

  ‘How dare you lay hands on me!’ came a husky voice which Fidelma thought she should know.

  Fidelma was about to stride forward and demand to know what was happening when she heard Brother Midach’s voice reprimanding the figure.

  ‘You’ll do as I tell you. Such an outburst will be the destruction of us all! The sepulchre carries echoes. If we are discovered then there is an end of our hopes for Osraige.’

  The shadows moved in the darkness and she lost sight of them. There was no movement in the arboretum.

  Fidelma listened and could hear nothing.

  She moved forward cautiously. It was as if the ground had suddenly opened and swallowed them. She was perplexed for there was no gate out of the walled garden other than the one by which she had entered.

  She examined the area
as carefully as she could but could see no trace of Midach or his companion, no passage or doorway through which they might have vanished. She even peered down into the darkness of the well, the holy well of the Blessed Fachtna, but she had seen it in daylight and knew that it descended into almost bottomless darkness.

  It was not for half an hour that she gave up the puzzle andretraced her steps reluctantly back to the hostel. Cass was waiting for her with ill-concealed impatience.

  ‘I was almost going to send out an alarm for you, sister,’ he chided. ‘What with all these people vanishing, I thought you might have gone the same way.’

  ‘What was so urgent?’ she replied, wondering whether to tell him that she had witnessed yet another astonishing disappearance. ‘Is there alarm among the brothers because of the voice of the child during the service?’

  Cass looked dour.

  ‘Not so much alarm as fear. Even your cousin seems to think it was some ghostly echo of a lost soul.’

  Fidelma raised a cynical smile.

  ‘Surely there are more intelligent opinions among the scholars?’

  ‘Well, the only one that I have heard is from Brother Rumann, who believes it is some distortion of the sound of water in the well beneath the abbey.’

  ‘Ah,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘I think I shall leave them to their ignorance for a while yet. But, surely, this was not so urgent as to cause you alarm?’

  Cass shook his head.

  ‘After the service, I was on my way back here when I fell into conversation with Brother Martan. He is …’

  ‘The same who has the passion for relics and who, thanks be to God, kept the pieces of linen which bound Dacan. We saw him on the shore earlier with Midach examining Sister Eisten’s body.’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘What then?’ pressed Fidelma.

  ‘Brother Martan and I were discussing why anyone should want to kill Dacán. Martan repeated that Dacan was not a likable character.’

  ‘That much, at least, we can be sure of,’ she said wearily.

  ‘He told me that Midach once said that there were severalwhom he would prefer dead, and named Dacán as one of them.’

  Fidelma raised her head a little.