Master of Souls

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma was looking around at the musty smelling cellars.

  ‘To what use are such rooms put?’ she asked with curiosity.

  The steward seemed to have overcome his animosity of the previous evening. He was polite, even helpful.

  ‘Originally, they were storage rooms,’ he explained. ‘When it became the custom for a visiting Brehon to hold court in the abbey, we used a couple of these chambers to detain those who were due to face serious charges before the Brehon.’

  Fidelma made no comment but led the way back up into the light and the fresher air. She noticed that the onlookers had dispersed.

  She glanced at Eadulf with a satisfied smile.

  ‘And now our course is set,’ she said mysteriously. ‘We will soon have our prey in the snare.’

  It was after the main meal when Fidelma, Eadulf, Conrí and Brother Cú Mara returned to the subterranean cell of Olcán. The steward had brought a tray of food. He handed this to Eadulf while he took down the key and opened the door. He did it warily but the lamp beyond showed the big warrior sitting immobile on the bed staring as if at some distant object before him.

  The steward put down the tray of food and, at Fidelma’s signal, withdrew, while Fidelma sat in the only chair and Eadulf and Conrí. took up positions just inside the door.

  Fidelma examined the man carefully. She summed him up as a man without feeling. A killer who obeyed orders without question. His cruel features were not possessed of sensitivity or much intelligence.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  Olcán made a slight movement with one shoulder which expressed either affirmation or disinterest.

  ‘That your name is Olcán I know. Of what clan are you?’

  The man continued in silence.

  ‘You have a choice of two paths before you, Olcán. You may make things hard on yourself or easy. It is up to you.’

  Olcán glanced quickly at her.

  ‘I have nothing to say.’

  ‘Then things will go hard with you. You are already facing charges of heinous crimes. There are witnesses to them. The wrecking of a Gaulish ship. The murder of Abbess Faife. The raids and destruction of settlements among the Corco Duibhne. The imprisonment of six young religieuse from this abbey as well as the hermit community on Seanach’s Island, one of whom you slew or had slain.’

  Her voice was remorseless as she recited the litany.

  Olcán eyed her with hate simmering in his eyes.

  ‘And do you expect me to admit to all this, sister of Colgú the usurper?’ he sneered.

  Fidelma smiled faintly.

  ‘At least you admit that you know who I am?’

  He was silent again.

  ‘And since you describe my brother as a usurper I presume that you felt you owed allegiance to Eoganan of the Uí Fidgente?’

  Once more only silence met her.

  ‘Let me put it this way, Olcán. You may well be responsible for all these evil deeds. You may well have been in command of the war band that carried them out. Yet I do not believe that it was your own design. The command was given by another - your so-called “master”? Is that not so?’

  Olcán laughed harshly.

  ‘Then you will have to capture this “master” and ask him. That you will never do.’

  Fidelma forced herself to remain relaxed.

  ‘What I am trying to tell you, Olcán, is that if you tell me who gave you those orders, then things may not go as harshly with you.’

  ‘The chief of the wolf tribe does not betray his lord,’ snapped Olcán.

  Fidelma frowned as a chord of memory suddenly struck. She was about to say something when Conrí. exclaimed: ‘Olcán! Olcán the wolf! I have heard of you.’ In spite of Fidelma’s warning glance, he turned to her excitedly.

  ‘This man was head of a band of raiders when Eoganan ruled the Ui Fidgente. They called themselves the wolf tribe.’

  He paused when he saw Fidelma’s angry look at the interruption to her interrogation.

  Olcán had missed the silent warning and was smiling viciously. He seemed proud of his reputation.

  ‘Is that why you continue to take your orders from Uaman the Leper?’ Fidelma asked quietly.

  Olcán turned to her with a brief look of puzzlement that was gone before she had time to register it. Then he burst out with a short laugh.

  ‘You must have heard, woman of Cashel, that Uaman is dead. He died in the month of Cet Gaimred.’

  ‘And so we must assume that it is his troubled wraith that rides through the Sliabh Mis valleys with you?’

  ‘It would be hard to take orders from a shade from the Otherworld, woman. Oh, but have no fear. The seed of Eoganan will lead the Uí Fidgente against Cashel once more and that very soon.’

  ‘That will be difficult,’ interjected Conrí. with a sneer. ‘The true Ui Fidgente do not follow ghosts or voices from the Otherworld.’

  Olcán smiled knowingly for a moment.

  ‘They will hear a voice shortly. A voice crying vengeance for our people. And, indeed, it will not be a voice from the Otherworld.’

  ‘You are in no position to be truculent, Olcán,’ Fidelma warned him.

  The man, however, relapsed into a pugnacious silence.

  Fidelma uttered a deep sigh of disgust and rose to her feet.

  ‘Very well, Olcán, chief of the wolf tribe. We can be patient also but not too patient. You have much to answer for. Your crimes are many in the counting. As I have said, the path you choose may be hard or easy and that is your choice. Your future is black—’

  Olcán glanced up belligerently. ‘And your future, the future of all the spawn of the Eoghanacht of Cashel, does not even exist. The U Fidgente will find their backbone again and come against you — even in spite of your lapdog’ — he gestured to Conr — ‘or a thousand treacherous U Fidgente like him. They will not alter the course of the river we have set in flood. That river will lead the U Fidgente not only to recover their lost lands but to claim Cashel, and beyond Cashel they will claim Tara, the seat of the High Kings. The master has prophesised it and so it will come to pass.’

  He suddenly seemed to realise that he might have said too much and returned his sullen gaze to some distant point before him.

  There was a silence after his outburst.

  ‘Very well, Olcán,’ Fidelma finally replied. ‘We will leave you to think on this during the forthcoming night. If you continue to take the hard path, then I can assure you that it will be harder than you can ever imagine. I will come to speak to you in the morning when you have contemplated your future more carefully because, whatever your prognostication about my future, and the future of Cashel, your future is a certainty and you will never live to see your master’s prediction come to fruition.’

  They left the man still staring into space.

  Outside, when they had relocked the cell door and hung the key back on the hook, Conr was apologetic.

  ‘I suddenly remembered hearing tales about this man,’ he explained. ‘I never knew him personally and he was not at the battle of Cnoc Aine, but I think he was with Torcán, the son of Eoganan, in the south-west.’

  ‘Well, your comment at least provoked the man to speech.’

  ‘I fear that he is a die-hard, lady,’ Conr replied. ‘If, as we have been told, Uaman still lives, then it seems that some of this activity must be concerned with an attempt to place Uaman in control of the U Fidgente …’

  ‘But that would never happen because the law is specific. No one with a physical blemish can be king. Even one of the greatest of High Kings, Cormac Mac Art, had to abdicate when he was blinded by a spear cast. Even Olcán seemed to discredit the idea that he took his orders from Uaman.’

  Conr did not agree.

  ‘We have had Uaman identified. If it is not Uaman, then I can think of no descendant of the U Choirpre Áedba who can claim the chieftainship of our people.’

  Eadulf looked blankly at him.

  ‘I thought that the U
Fidgente were the descendants of Fiachu Fidgennid? That Donennach is just as much a descendant as was Eoganan?’

  Conr was patient.

  ‘It is easily explained. Our current ruler, Donennach, is descended from the line of the family we call U Chonaill Gabra, from Fidgennid’s grandson Dáire. Eoganan was descended from Fidgennid’s grandson Coirpre, hence that line is now called the U Choirpre Áedba.’

  It didn’t clear Eadulf’s understanding at all. He knew that the Éirean-nach placed much store by their ancient genealogies, delineating cousins and distant relatives; more store, he felt, than the Saxon kings set by their own simple direct father to son genealogies. He shrugged but did not pursue the matter.

  Fidelma, however, seemed to follow the argument.

  ‘You have never heard of any other legitimate successor to Eoganan who might be persuaded to attempt a coup against Donennach?’

  Conr shook his head at once.

  ‘Uaman was certainly the only male descendant of Eoganan who survived after Cnoc Aine.’

  They had emerged by the closed doors of the tech-screptra and saw Brother Eolas standing before them, talking to Sister Buan and Sister Uallann.

  ‘Brother Eolas,’ Conr called, before Fidelma could stop him. ‘Do you have a genealogy of the princes of the U Fidgente?’

  The librarian turned curiously in their direction.

  ‘We do have such a manuscript,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Is it up to date? I am interested in the children of Eoganan.’

  Brother Eolas shook his head.

  ‘It is as up to date as time allows. My assistant and I have much to do in maintaining the records of the library and there was the fire …’

  ‘Can we see it now?’ interrupted Conr.

  Brother Eolas sniffed in irritation at Conri’s demanding manner.

  ‘The library is closed. You will have to return tomorrow.’ He inclined his head in farewell to his companions and turned on his heel.

  Sister Buan and Sister Uallann seemed to decide their presence was no longer required, muttered an excuse, and also left, leaving Conr looking a little crestfallen.

  ‘I thought that it might have given us some further information,’ he explained. ‘There might have been some line of descendants that I’ve forgotten about. Anyway, it doesn’t alter the fact that it was the figure of Uaman that the old man Ganicca identified as riding with Olcán.’

  Eadulf was shaking his head in disagreement but he said: ‘There must be a means of getting Olcán to talk further about this master.’

  Fidelma was not optimistic.

  ‘I doubt it.’ She found that the steward, who had waited outside so that he could ensure the cell was locked, was still standing with them. ‘We will not detain you further, Brother Cú Mara,’ she said, bidding him good night before leading the way back to the hospitium. Once out of earshot of the steward she lowered her voice.

  ‘I’ll wait until tomorrow, but I now realise that I may have something up my sleeve that might induce our friend Olcán to talk. He has a close relation in the abbey and that fact may induce him to speak.’

  Conr and Eadulf stared at her in surprise but her expression forbade any further questioning.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Brother Cú Mara reached for the key and unlocked the cell door.

  It was dark inside. The lamp had been allowed to go out, so the steward held up the candle he had brought with him.

  The first thing that Fidelma, who was standing at his shoulder, noticed was that Olcán was sitting on his bed with his back to the wall. He was slightly slumped forward. Then she saw a dark stain on his tunic just below his heart.

  She called to the steward to stand aside, took the candle from his hand, and went forward. She knew what she would find even before she touched the cold body.

  ‘He’s dead,’ she announced.

  The steward let out a long gasp of breath.

  ‘A single stab to the heart,’ she continued, holding the candle nearer to the wound.

  ‘But he had no knife,’ protested Brother Cú Mara. ‘I made sure of that. Even when his food was brought to him, it was already cut.’

  Fidelma turned with a grim face.

  ‘This was no self-inflicted wound. Olcán was murdered.’

  The steward stared at her with wide, frightened eyes.

  Fidelma was annoyed with herself for not pressing Olcán harder the evening before with her questions. She had thought of an idea which might have led the man to start talking, but she had kept it to herself, thinking to use it this morning if he was still uncooperative. Now it was too late. One thing she now knew for certain was that the Ui Fidgente warrior was a mere pawn in this strange mystery and not its chief architect. But her suspicion that whoever was behind the mystery was connected with the abbey itself seemed confirmed.

  She gazed down a moment on the corpse and then turned to Brother Cú Mara.

  ‘You had better inform the abbot and also the physician, Sister Uallann.’ She glanced quickly round the cell before returning her gaze back to the dead body. ‘There is nothing more in here for me.’

  Brother Cú Mara relocked the cell after they exited. As he was about to leave to find the physician Fidelma halted him.

  ‘One question for you, Brother Cú Mara — do you remember when I questioned you and Sister Sinnchéne together?’

  Reluctantly, the steward nodded.

  ‘Do you have cause to visit the workroom where the members of the community polish and prepare gemstones?’

  Brother Cú Mara was clearly puzzled by the question, but acknowledged that he did. ‘I am the steward. It is my task to see that everything is in order. I visit all the workshops regularly.’

  ‘Very well. You can find Sister Uallann now.’

  She knew what she had to do first as she watched him hurry off in search of the physician. Her expression hardened a little as she walked towards the hospitium buildings.

  She found Sister Sinnchéne engaged in the task of sweeping the floor.

  ‘I have some bad news for you,’ she announced without preamble.

  Sister Sinnchéne straightened and returned her gaze uncertainly, perhaps with a little hostility. She waited in silence.

  ‘It is about your father,’ Fidelma said.

  At that the young woman blinked but fought to control her features. She still made no reply.

  ‘It is about Olcán.’

  Sister Sinnchéne’s chin came up defiantly.

  ‘What makes you think Olcán is my father?’ she demanded belligerently.

  Sister Fidelma was unrelenting.

  ‘You fainted when you saw Conr’s prisoner being brought into the abbey yesterday afternoon.’

  The girl replied sourly. ‘There can be any number of reasons for fainting

  ‘But the one which caused you to pass out,’ Fidelma replied, ‘was the shock you had when you beheld your father in manacles.’

  ‘That is a weak reason to accuse me of being Olcán’s daughter.’

  ‘Then let me give you the other reasons. Olcán’s name means “wolf” and his warriors were known as the “wolf clan”. Your mother, I understand, died a few years ago of the pestilence. Didn’t she tell the merchant, Mugrón, that your father was named “wolf” and he was known as “chief of the wolf clan” and that is why you were named “little vixen”?’

  Sister Sinnchéne stared at her for a moment or two and then it seemed she let her shoulders relax.

  ‘My father walked out on my mother when I was twelve years old. I had not seen him from that day until I saw him walk through the gates of the abbey as Conrí’s prisoner.’ She spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Even when my mother was dying of the Yellow Plague, he did not return, and that was well before the battle of Cnoc Aine when he could have easily come to us. He never came to her funeral. So what misdeeds he has done are nothing to me.’

  Fidelma saw the bitterness in her eyes.

  ‘So for nearly ten years you have
had no contact with him?’

  ‘I have said as much.’

  ‘But you could still recognise him?’

  Sister Sinnchéne shrugged.

  ‘His image was burned in my memory all these years; years when I needed a father and prayed each day for his return. He had aged a little but I recognised him.’

  ‘Do you know why he deserted your mother and you?’

  She shook her head. ‘The word was that he had led his warriors in raids to the north, against the U Fiachrach Aidne, the U Briúin Seóla and the northern clans. Then, after Eoganán fell at Cnoc Aine and the Uí Fidgente surrendered to Cashel, there was word that my father refused to swear allegiance to the new chief Donennach. I heard he was raiding in the south and in the war band of Uaman …’

  ‘Uaman the Leper?’

  The girl nodded. ‘Uaman was not a leper then but simply Lord of the Passes on the southern Uí Fidgente borders.’

  ‘How did you come by this knowledge?’

  ‘I heard talk from travellers.’

  ‘Mugrón the merchant knew about your father,’ Fidelma pointed out.

  ‘He knew of my father because my mother told him. But I do not believe he could identify him. He knew only that my father had deserted my mother and me.’

  ‘How did your mother know Mugrón?’

  ‘Because, after my father left, my mother went to live near An Bhearbha, near the port where Mugrón has his base.’ She suddenly turned wide pleading eyes upon Fidelma. ‘Olcán has not recognised me, has he?’

  Fidelma frowned at the question.

  ‘He has not mentioned you,’ she said truthfully. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Sister Sinnchéne ignored the question. ‘Then I would ask you a favour. Do not reveal that I am his daughter.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if he did not want to acknowledge me, there is no reason for me to acknowledge him now.’

  Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at her. ‘And are you telling me that during all these years you never told anyone here, in the abbey, that Olcán was your father?’