Master of Souls

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Ard Fhearta has had it in the library for fifty years. The scribes who wrote it are long since dead.’

  ‘But the name of Eoganán’s third child must be known to many. You yourself must know it.’

  Mac Faosma shook his head.

  ‘I recall there was talk of a third child at the time when Eoganán’s second wife fled from his fortress with her lover leaving a child behind. There was talk of its being sent away to fosterage to some local chieftain but I don’t remember the details.’

  ‘Is there anyone who would know the name of this child?’

  ‘If the child was of the same generation as its siblings, Torcán and Uaman, it would be more than a child now,’ the old man pointed out.

  Fidelma was thoughtful.

  ‘That is true,’ she said. ‘I understand that Brother Benen collected this book for you this morning?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Mac Faosma pointed to his writing table where he was working on sheets of vellum. ‘You see, I am preparing a book which lists the generations of Uí Fidgente and needed this for reference. I merely went to the pages that concerned me and did not look at the page about Eoganan.’

  ‘So we may safely assume that this was done before the book came into your possession.’

  ‘I am a scholar,’ protested Mac Faosma. ‘Books are sacred things to me. I would not destroy a book no matter how bad or ill formed.’

  ‘Of course,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘My main concern now is to find out who this third child was … or is.’

  ‘Why are you so interested? I doubt that any progeny of Eoganán is likely to claim the title now that Donennach is chief.’

  Fidelma ignored his question.

  ‘You have been most helpful in this matter, Venerable Mac Faosma. Keep that book safe. It may be wanted as evidence.’

  In the courtyard Eadulf was staring at the chorister from An Daingean.

  ‘The meeting of the Unending Circle?’ He was trying to hide his astonishment. Then he attempted to look enthusiastic. ‘Of course. The meeting.’

  ‘And just in time.’

  ‘In time?’

  ‘Indeed, I was told by one of our number at the gates that the meeting was about to start in the small chapel. Brother Cillín is already there. I presume that you are on your way there now?’

  Eadulf hesitated only a moment. There was only one thing to do and that was brazen it out.

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  The chorister seized his arm in a display of comradeship.

  ‘Come, then. We mustn’t miss what Brother Cillín has to tell us.’

  Eadulf found himself almost reluctantly pushed towards the chapel. There were several others hurrying towards the building and Eadulf noticed that all of them had their cowls pulled over their heads. His companion now did likewise. It was with relief that he did the same.

  Inside the small chapel, Eadulf found at least thirty or forty male members of the community assembled in rows, all hooded. He entered uneasily and stood with his new-found companion at the back of the chapel by one of the pillars.

  There was a hush and then Brother Cillin, the songmaster, came from a side door with two companions and stood before the assembly. Although he, too, was cowled, Eadulf recognised him easily.

  ‘My brethren, it gladdens me to see so many of you gathered here,’ he began in a resonant baritone. ‘Soon the great day is coming and what we have been working for will finally be achieved. That day when we gather in the great abbey before the high altar, the company will fall astounded before us.’

  Eadulf eased nervously backwards as if this action would somehow hide him from Brother Cillín’s piercing glances as the songmaster surveyed the brethren before him. Eadulf tugged nervously at his hood to make sure it hid as much of his face as possible. Brother Cillin was continuing: ‘You have all been chosen to join the Unending Circle. It is a unique honour and in the future we will be spoken of in hushed tones throughout the five kingdoms. In the old days the unending circle symbolised life: no beginning and no end. The circle encompasses the cross and the unending knot symbolises life. We chosen few have taken as our motto the Latin phrase sic itur ad astra — thus one goes to the stars! For it is our work and destiny that will take us to the stars, my brethren. We will fly there as singing birds.’

  Eadulf was beginning to think that Brother Cillin must be quite mad. The rhetoric was overwhelming in its imagery to the point where no sane person would employ it.

  Suddenly, Brother Cillín had bent down and picked up a small square-shaped stringed instrument. Eadulf had seen it before and knew that it was called a ceis — it was far smaller than a harp but of the same stringed family.

  The songmaster passed his hands over the strings, striking a chord.

  ‘We shall start with the súan traige — the lullaby. Are you all prepared?’

  A chorus of assent greeted him.

  The chord was struck again.

  To Eadulf’s surprise, the entire assembly burst into a chanting song.

  Fidelma met Conr outside Mac Faosma’s chambers. The warlord had a worried expression on his face.

  ‘Slébéne has just arrived at the abbey,’ he said without preamble. ‘I came to warn you, lady.’

  ‘Now that is interesting,’ she said grimly but she showed no surprise.

  ‘How so?’ demanded the warlord.

  ‘Doubtless he has heard of your attack on Seanach’s Island and the freeing of the prisoners. He will now hear of Olcán’s murder. He has come here for orders from the “master”. The strands are coming together. How many warriors does he bring?’

  ‘He arrived in a single warship, which is anchored in the harbour, but has brought only two men to the abbey with him. One of them is his champion.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He is with the abbot.’

  ‘And his men?’

  ‘In the stables, I imagine. They seem to have acquired horses in An Bhearbha.’

  ‘Has he given an excuse for his visit?’

  Conrí shook his head. ‘None that I know.’

  ‘I suggest that you send your man Socht down to your warships in the harbour and tell your captain, Tadcán, to keep a careful watch on Slébéne’s men. In fact, lookouts should be posted just in case Slébéne has some other surprises in store for us …’

  ‘You mean that he might have other warships lurking off the coast?’

  ‘With the discovery of what was taking place on Seanach’s Island, I think the so-called “master” will be pretty desperate now.’

  ‘You suspect that Slébéne might be so involved that he will launch an attack on the abbey? To achieve what?’ demanded Conr.

  ‘Slébéne is part of a plan to overthrow Donennach. That will have repercussions for all Muman. I still need a little more time before I can demonstrate it. Tell Socht to return as soon as he has delivered your orders.’

  Conr started to turn away.

  ‘Wait!’ called Fidelma. ‘How many warriors do you have in the abbey?’

  ‘Just Socht. The ones who escorted Olcán here with me have returned to the ship. Abbot Erc tolerates no more than a personal guard for visiting chiefs in the abbey.’

  Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

  ‘Then tell Socht to return as quickly and unobtrusively as he possibly can and bring a couple of your men with him.’

  Conrí was hesitant. ‘Do you expect something to happen, lady?’

  Fidelma actually smiled. ‘I do, my friend. Something very soon. I just hope that before it does, I can work out the final details of this mystery so that we may prepare ourselves. When you have given your instructions to Socht, find Eadulf and come and join me. I am going to the tech-screptra.’

  Eadulf had many abilities including a strong voice. But it was not a singing voice. It was true that he liked to sing but his idea of singing was certainly not shared by anyone with a trained musical ear.

  Brother Cillín, waving his hands to indicate the rh
ythm, strode among the lines of cowled brethren, sometimes plucking notes from his ceis to keep them in time.

  Eadulf’s head was bent as he tried his best to cope with the chant so that he would not appear out of place in the company.

  As Brother Cilln reached the row in which he stood, the songmaster paused, head to one side.

  ‘Silence!’ he suddenly roared.

  The singing of the brethren came to a ragged halt.

  Eadulf thought that he could feel the steely eyes of the songmaster staring directly at him.

  ‘There is an ear here that is tone deaf!’ thundered the songmaster. ‘The voice obeys the ear and has no concept of melody.’

  There was a murmur of surprise and horror from the brethren as they turned round to try to catch a glimpse of the culprit.

  ‘Surely not someone among the Unending Circle?’ cried a young man at the end of the row.

  ‘Surely not,’ repeated Brother Cillin with sarcastic emphasis. ‘I have hand-picked you all, every one, each for the beauty of his voice, to join in what will be the greatest choir in the five kingdoms of Eireann. A choir that this year will win every prize at the Assembly of East Muman and go on to dominate every festival and gathering throughout the land.’

  A horror was coming over Eadulf as he began to understand the mystery he had been pursuing. The Unending Circle — it was simply the name of Brother Cilln’s choristers.

  Brother Cillín was continuing: ‘I have chosen you from many communities, and although it is not often we are all together to practise I was assured that within a few months we would be ready to enter our first singing competition. Now, what do I hear? A voice that has no tone in it, no understanding of music. How could I have chosen such a voice? Or did I?’

  Eadulf had been aware that the stiúirtheóir canaid had now halted before him.

  Reluctantly Eadulf raised his head to meet the steely eyes of the songmaster. He smiled weakly.

  Brother Cillin gazed at him with distaste.

  ‘Ah, Brother Saxon. So it is you? And were you overcome with such a desire to become a chorister that you felt you did not need to be able to sing?’

  A sniggering broke out among the lines of the brethren. His erstwhile companion from An Daingean had been staring at him in horror and had moved as far away from him as possible in an attempt to disassociate himself.

  ‘I did not think I was that bad,’ muttered Eadulf, his face red.

  Brother Cillín actually laughed, but with ill-humour.

  ‘We have an old saying, Brother Saxon — better be silent than sing a song badly. I would remember that if I had your voice. Now I wish to continue with this rehearsal, so if you have tasks more fitting to your talent, you may leave us.’

  He stood aside and Eadulf, head down, moved down the row to the chapel door.

  Behind him he heard the waspish tone of the stiúirtheóir canaid.

  ‘We of the Unending Circle must seek purity in our voices. Each voice must contribute to the whole. That is why we call ourselves the Unending Circle. There is another old saying that we’d best remember. One scabby ewe will spoil the flock.’

  There was a burst of laughter among the choristers.

  Outside the chapel, Eadulf closed the door none too gently and threw back his hood. He was still mortified.

  ‘Unending Circle!’ he snorted. ‘A stupid name, indeed! A bunch of baying mules.’

  From inside the voices rose in song. Eadulf grimaced and sighed. He had to admit the sound was sweet and melodious.

  Fidelma made her way quickly to the tech-screptra and sought out Brother Eolas.

  ‘I have just been to see the Venerable Mac Faosma about the genealogy that Conrí spoke of last night.’

  The librarian pursed his lips in a sceptical smile.

  ‘And the old man refused to let you see it?’

  ‘On the contrary, I saw it,’ she replied grimly. ‘However, it came to our noticed that the book has been defaced.’

  Brother Eolas’ features dissolved into horror.

  ‘Defaced?’ he whispered.

  ‘A section of one page has been cut out. It was obvious that it happened recently.’

  ‘That cannot be!’ he replied, aghast.

  ‘I can assure you that it is so,’ said Fidelma calmly.

  ‘I take a pride in my library, Sister.’ He turned swiftly and beckoned to the reluctant young Brother Faolchair. ‘I tell you that until you came here we have had no trouble. Then the burning of Cináed’s books … I do not understand it.’

  Brother Faolchair came hurrying over, pale-faced and nervous.

  ‘Do you know of the Uí Fidgente genealogy?’ the librarian demanded angrily. ‘When did the Venerable Mac Faosma borrow it?’

  ‘Brother Benen came here this morning and borrowed it on behalf of the Venerable Mac Faosma. I told Sister Fidelma of this a short time ago.’

  ‘You were most helpful, Brother Faolchair,’ Fidelma said gently. ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma did have the book, which I saw. However, the book had been defaced and I think that we can be sure that this was done before Brother Benen took it to the Venerable Mac Faosma.’

  The young man gasped in horror.

  ‘I noticed no such thing when I handed the book to Brother Benen, Sister.’

  ‘Do you check through the books before and after they have been borrowed from the library?’ she asked.

  The young man shook his head, puzzled.

  ‘Why would one do that?’

  ‘To ensure that those who borrow them do not damage them but treat them well. You said that you had not noticed the damage. I admit, it would take a sharp eye to spot it for it was only a small piece of the parchment cut from a page by means of the point of a sharp knife. I do not blame you for not noticing it.’

  Brother Eolas intervened with a disapproving look.

  ‘Sister, when religious come to a library to look at the books one does not expect them to be vandals. Most are scholars, scribes and students. Why would we not trust them to behave in a manner befitting their calling?’

  ‘Someone obviously did not behave in that manner.’

  ‘I have never heard the like. You say that this damage must have been done recently?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘The book has not been borrowed for some time,’ Brother Faolchair said. ‘No one has asked me to take it from the shelves. Not since …’

  He paused, trying to remember.

  ‘Well,’ intervened Brother Eolas irritably, ‘are we to ask Brother Benen if he defaced it?’

  ‘And would you expect him to answer if he had?’ said Fidelma sarcastically.

  ‘I remember the last borrowing.’ Brother Faolchair was suddenly triumphant. ‘It was borrowed by the Venerable Cinaed.’

  ‘So the Venerable Cinaed also borrowed this book?’ Fidelma spoke quietly.

  ‘He did. It was shortly before his … his death. I remember because Sister Buan returned it to the library with some other books that he had borrowed. It was after his funeral.’

  ‘Did anyone borrow it before the Venerable Cinaed?’

  Brother Faolchair nodded.

  ‘As I am in charge of any borrowing that leaves this library, I try to keep a record in my mind. Before the Venerable Cináed, Sister Uallann and before her Brother Cillín. You see, very few people are allowed to take books away from the library. Most of the community has to come in here to read them. But Brother Eolas has made …’

  ‘I make certain exceptions,’ interrupted the librarian. ‘Our great scholars, of course, are the exceptions — our physician and songmaster are recognised as scholars in their own right.’

  ‘And all four of these exceptions had borrowed the book … when? Within a few weeks of one another?’

  ‘That is so,’ affirmed Brother Faolchair.

  She turned from them with a quick word of thanks and left the library. Outside she found Conrí and Eadulf looking for her.

  She smiled at each of them.
r />   ‘I think the mystery is about to be unravelled. Let us go to see Abbot Erc and make plans to put this grim tale into the public domain.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Fidelma had suggested that Abbot Erc request the attendance of certain members of the community to assemble in the aireagal, the oratory. As congregations usually stood in the oratory during the services, benches had been brought in and the lanterns were lit. Opposite these benches another bench had been arranged so that Abbot Erc, along with his steward, Brother Cú Mara, were seated facing the congregation. Next to them were Fidelma and Eadulf.

  The small oratory was crowded. Conrí sat to one side with Sister Easdan and her companions as well as the Gaulish seaman, Esumaro. On the other side sat the physician, Sister Uallann, alongside Brothers Eolas and Faolchair. Sister Sinnchéne sat behind them. Sister Buan sat further back with Brother Cillín. Fidelma had asked Abbot Erc to insist upon the attendance of Slébéne, who was seated behind them. His champion was nowhere to be seen and, rather than reassure Fidelma, his absence worried her. There was some surprise among the company when the Venerable Mac Faosma entered escorted by the watchful Brother Benen. The Venerable Mac Faosma attended hardly any gathering unless he was giving one of his lectures or debates. But, again, Fidelma had asked Abbot Erc to especially request his presence.

  The last person to enter was Socht, with two of his fellow warriors. They stood near the oratory door, which Socht closed. He signalled to Conr that all was secure and Conr then nodded towards Fidelma.

  Abbot Erc found Fidelma looking at him. He realised that he had to govern the proceedings. He gave a nervous cough and began, speaking quickly.

  ‘We are gathered here at the request of Sister Fidelma, who is here in her capacity as a dálaigh, as you all doubtless know.’ The abbot sounded in a bad temper. ‘There is no need for me to remind you of the tragedies that have struck our abbey, although, thanks to Sister Fidelma, we have been blessed with the safe return of the six members of our community who were abducted and who we thought had vanished for ever. Sister Fidelma now intends to explain the reasons behind these tragedies.’