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, Cináed’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 Conrí.
‘Let us find a more comfortable place to talk,’ she suggested.
Conrí 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 Cináed’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 Uí Fidgente chief Eoganan.’ She turned to Conrí. ‘I know that you are desirous of peace between the Uí Fidgente and the rest of Muman. Let me speak, however, as a dálaigh rather than as an Eoghanacht. Even since Eoganán’s death at Cnoc Aine, I presume that many of the Uí Fidgente are still opposed to my brother’s rule?’
Conrí 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.
Conrí shook his head.
‘Such a leader would have to be more of a warrior than a scholar. And one born from the line of Bríon, one of our great chieftains. Mac Faosma, as his name suggests, is not of any noble line. Since Eoganán was slain, his line has more or less ceased to be. Our current chieftain, Donennach, is as committed to the peace with Cashel as I am.’
‘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 Uí Fidgente to become leader, they have to have a direct bloodline connection with our chief family. Eoganán’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 Bríon. Eoganán descended from another son of Bron.’
‘So such a leader might exist, someone else descended from this Bríon?’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘And Mac Faosma could be the catalyst trying to stir things?’
‘Both are possible,’ admitted Conrí. ‘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.
Conrí 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 Uí Fidgente between Mac Faosma and Cinaed has nothing to do with Cináed’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 Mugrón 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 Mugrón is prepared to sail. Meanwhile, I have not, as yet, questioned Sister Sinnchéne or Sister Buan.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fidelma sent Conrí to see Mugrón, the merchant, in order to make arrangements for the voyage to the land of the Corco Duibhne when he was ready. 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 dálaigh 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 cétmuintir,’ 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 yo
u for one of those who followed the ideas emerging from Rome that we should all follow the rule of celibacy.’
‘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.
‘How long were you the wife of Cinaed?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Five years.’
Fidelma was wondering why no one at the abbey had bothered to tell her that Cináed had died leaving a widow.
‘I presume there are no children of this union?’ Eadulf asked.
Sister Buan turned an almost pitying look on him.
‘We have not been blessed with children. Poor Cinaed was not capable of becoming a father when we joined our lives together. It was for companionship that we made the lánamnus, our marriage contract. Even if it were possible, children are frowned on among the community.’
‘How long had you known Cinaed?’
‘Seven years. Cináed was here when I came to the community, but I did not really know him until I came to work for him.’
‘And you have been in this community for — how long?’
‘I was in this abbey for over twenty years.’
‘What brought you together?’
The slightly built woman shrugged.
‘He wanted someone to keep his chambers tidy. He was given special privileges because of his scholarship. He did not have to participate in physical work because of his age and learning and so he was allowed someone to assist him. He was one of only two scholars here who had that privilege.’
Eadulf grimaced sourly.
‘I suppose the other was the Venerable Mac Faosma?’
‘Just so. And he has Brother Benen to help him.’
There was a tone of censure in the woman’s voice. Fidelma looked at her keenly.
‘You disapprove of that?’
‘What a man does in his private life is no concern of mine,’ she replied, as if uninterested.
Once again Fidelma caught Eadulf’s eye and this time shook her head slightly. It was obvious what the woman meant.
‘So you began to clean for Cinaed and that led to your relationship?’
‘I did and it did.’
‘And you became interested in his work?’ Eadulf asked.
For the first time the woman actually smiled.
‘His work? I had no understanding of it. I am no scholar.’ She held out her hands. ‘These are not the hands of a Latin scholar, Brother Saxon.’
Eadulf glanced at them. They were rough and calloused.
‘What would a scholar want with someone like me?’ There was no bitterness in her voice. Neither of them responded to her question. She went on: ‘Human beings want companionship at times and not simply for intellectual discourse. In Cináed’s case he wanted someone to nurse him and fetch and carry for him.’
Eadulf looked uncomfortable but she went on without seeming to notice.
‘I knew there was no meeting of minds with Cinaed but he was a wonderful man. I came here to escape poverty.’ Sister Buan sounded slightly bitter. ‘I was disowned by my father after he divorced my mother, who was his second wife.’
Fidelma was interested.
‘For what reason did he divorce her?’
‘Because she fled her marriage contract on becoming enamoured of a young man, so I was told. From fear of my father, she became a fugitive in the mountains. I was told that she perished there.’
‘So she did not take you with her into the mountains?’
Sister Buan shook her head.
‘I was sent to be fostered among the Corco Duibhne, by their chief, and told never to return to my father’s rath again nor seek help from my half-brothers. Nor did I. Thus when I left my foster parents, I decided to seek security in the religious life. Eventually, I came to the abbey and for two years I did all the chores that no one else wanted to do. Then the abbot found I had a talent for bargaining with merchants. So he allowed me to sell the work of our artisans to local traders. I began to travel to the abbey of Colman and even north to Loch Derg to trade. The trips were neither many nor frequent and I continued to do other chores.
‘So I also went to work for Cinaed. I enjoyed working for him, nursing him in sickness, helping him in health, and when he offered to legalise our relationship I could ask for no greater happiness.’
‘You knew that he was regarded as a great scholar?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I knew that he regarded himself as a tired and frail old man who sometimes needed his chest rubbed with oils to keep out the cold vapours of the night.’
‘But you know how highly his work was thought of?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I know some in this abbey did not think so highly of it,’ she corrected.
‘You mean the Venerable Mac Faosma?’
‘And his followers.’
‘You felt their antagonism?’
‘Isn’t there an old saying — three things that come unbidden — love, jealousy and fear? All three have visited these chambers.’
‘Fear?’
‘The day before he died, poor Cinaed expressed his fear to me.’ Fidelma’s eyes widened.
‘He was fearful? Fearful of whom?’
Sister Buan sighed and shook her head.
‘That, alas, I do not know for sure.’
‘Can you recall what he said? How did he express this fear?’
Sister Buan spread her hands in a negative gesture.
‘He came back here in a state of anxiety after the evening meal in the refectory … It was one of the special feasts that he was obliged to attend. More often he would eat simply in these chambers with me, having dispensation to do so because of his age.’
‘But you imply that you did not attend that particular evening meal? Why?’
‘I was not well. A stomach sickness.’
‘I see. Go on.’
‘I remember that I went to get water for myself and passed that window …’ She pointed across the room to where a window opened on to a small quadrangle. Fidelma suddenly realised it was the same quadrangle that gave access to the Venerable Mac Faosma’s chambers through the door into his study. She rose quickly.
‘Your pardon, Sister Buan. Which is the door to the Venerable Mac Faosma’s chambers?’
‘It is that door directly across the quadrangle from us.’
‘Thank you. Continue. You passed by this window and … ?’
‘It was dark, of course, but the quadrangle is lit with torches at night. I saw Cinaed enter the quadrangle from the archway entrance to the right … that leads to the refectory. He was walking slowly with someone and engaged in animated conversation.’ ‘Did you recognise who it was?’ queried Eadulf.
‘Sister Uallann.’
‘The physician?’
‘The same,’ she confirmed. ‘They appeared to be arguing but in low tones and Sister Uallann was throwing her hands in the air as if to make her points. She can be very dramatic at times. A strange woman, given to outbursts of temper. It seemed to me that Cinaed broke off the conversation for he turned and came to our door.’
‘What did he say?’ demanded Fidelma.
Sister Buan shrugged.
‘Nothing.’
Fidelma looked taken aback for a moment.
‘Nothing? You had just seen him in argument. You said he came back here fearful … of what? Of whom? Sister Uallann?’
‘I saw he was agitated. Naturall
y, I asked him what was amiss and told him what I had seen outside. He said that it was just a silly quarrel, that was all. Something about his work. But I knew Cinaed. Behind his light dismissal of the event, I knew that he was afraid.’
‘How was that fear expressed?’
Sister Buan shrugged again.
‘It is hard to explain. I grew up on the western peninsula. I was fostered by a chieftain there who believed that his fosterlings should learn animal husbandry. I came to know when the animals were fretting. Sheep would know when a wolf was near and you did not have to ask for an explanation. You could see it in their bodies, the movement of their heads. It is the same if you know someone intimately. You become used to their habits, their ways. It was like that with Cinaed. He did not have to say when he was thirsty or when he was tired. I knew. I knew from the way he behaved that evening that there was something on his mind and he was fearful of it.’
‘Did you ask him to tell you what was wrong?’
‘I did. He told me not to worry. He said, and these were his very words, that he would sort things out the next day. He would be going to see the abbot and resolve matters.’
Fidelma and Eadulf sat back for a moment.
‘Resolve matters? With the abbot? That is an interesting choice of words. And he made no further explanation?’
‘None. He said that he would see the abbot after the service — the service for the feast day of the Blessed Ite. He and the abbot usually went to the oratory to prepare it for the service together. I remember hearing him leave and thinking it was very early for him to do so. It was still very dark. I am not sure when it was but I thought it was not long after midnight. All I recall is that it was light when Brother Cú Mara came to me with the news that … that …’
Her features began to crumple and Fidelma reached forward to lay a hand on her arm.
‘And you know nothing more of the matter that he had promised to resolve with Abbot Erc?’ pressed Eadulf gently.
She shook her head, recovering her poise.
‘Have you told anyone else about this?’
‘I told the abbot, of course.’
‘You did? And what did he say?’
‘He said that he had no idea of any matter that needed resolution. He said that Cinaed was probably worried about some detail of his work. Oh, and, of course, I handed a piece of paper I found in the hearth to the abbot. It was not there when I went to bed but I saw it there the next day. Obviously, Cináed must have burnt it during the night.’
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