Master of Souls

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘Only Olcán knew that Uaman was not the “master”. He told me so on the night before Buan, whom he trusted, murdered him …’

  The murmur erupted into a chorus of angry voices.

  Abbot Erc had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

  ‘You will have to prove these accusations,’ he said, still filled with doubt.

  ‘Oh, indeed, I shall. I shall take you through it with each piece of evidence.’

  Conr had nearly reached Slébéne but the chief of the Corco Duibhne was on his feet.

  He drew a short sword, which he had hidden under his cloak.

  ‘Time for a strategic withdrawal, Uallach,’ he called.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Slébéne!’ Conrí cried, his own sword drawn. ‘You have no chance of leaving here.’

  ‘Do I not?’ sneered Slébéne. ‘Then look to the windows, my friend. There are arrows aimed at Fidelma of Cashel and at the abbot. If anyone moves against us to prevent us leaving here, then they will be the first to die. Conrí, put down your sword now and tell you warriors to stand aside from the door and do the same. Do it now or Fidelma dies!’

  Eyes had flitted to the windows on either side of the oratory. Through the slits two of Slébéne’s warriors with drawn bows, arrows steadily pointed at their targets, could be seen. One of them was the red-haired champion. The chief of the Corco Duibhne had not told lies. The arrows were well aimed.

  Conrí, with a hiss of anger, dropped his weapon and stood back.

  ‘Now tell your man to move away from the door!’

  Conr did so and Socht and his companions reluctantly discarded their weapons and stood aside.

  Sister Buan, the woman Fidelma had identified as Uallach, was staring at her with features contorted with hate. She did not seem in a hurry to leave.

  ‘Come, Uallach!’ cried Slébéne. ‘There is no time—’

  ‘Kill them!’ the woman suddenly screamed. ‘Kill them all!’

  The abbot flinched and closed his eyes waiting for the impact of the arrow but Fidelma stood firmly returning Sister Buan’s malignant gaze.

  Luckily it was Slébéne who was in command of his warriors and they waited for his orders. He realised that if his men loosed their arrows, Fidelma and Abbot Erc might die but he would have no chance of escape from the oratory. The threat that his own death would almost certainly result prevented him from giving the order.

  The chief came forward and gripped Sister Buan’s arm tightly. ‘Think, Uallach! Think! If we kill them, we will never get out of this abbey. We must leave, get to An Daingean and raise our army. It is the only way. Come quickly while my archers can cover us. These others can be dealt with later.’

  Reluctantly, Sister Buan, or Uallach, allowed herself to be drawn back along the aisle to the door of the oratory.

  ‘Tell your man to open the door,’ yelled Slébéne as they backed towards it.

  Conrí signalled to Socht to do so.

  The warrior turned in disgust and opened the door. While he was still bending to swing the door back, Slébéne brought the pommel of his short sword down on the man’s unprotected head and he fell with hardly a sound.

  Slébéne and Uallach were gone through the door. Outside, Slébéne drew it shut behind them. Those inside heard the door slam shut and something placed against it. Then the two archers at the windows withdrew without releasing their arrows. With the threat that confined his actions now gone, Conr sprang forward, grabbing his fallen sword, and shouting to someone to attend to Socht who was trying to staunch the blood on his head. Conr tried the door. Socht’s two companions joined him but their assault on the door was useless. It had been well jammed from the outside.

  There was a general hubbub in the oratory and Fidelma called in a loud and clear tone for order and quiet. They heard the sound of horses from outside. She and Eadulf hastened to Conr’s side.

  ‘They’ll be heading for their warship,’ she told Conrí. ‘Will Tadcán be able to deal with them? Is there a way to warn him?’

  Conr grinned and took from his belt a small horn, which had been hanging by its thongs. He went to the window and raised it to his lips. The blast was long and shrill and he sounded it three times. By this time, other members of the community had come to the oratory to see what the commotion was and removed the obstacle, which turned out to be a couple of poles, that had held the door fast.

  Conr seized a red-faced and bewildered brother. The warlord demanded to know where Slébéne and his companions had gone.

  ‘Lord, they left by the main gate. They all went on horseback and seem to be taking the road to the coast.’

  ‘Then it is up to Tadcán,’ muttered Fidelma.

  Conr once more raised his horn and blew the three sharp notes into the still winter air. He paused and then, faintly in the distance, they heard three answering blasts.

  The warlord turned to Fidelma and Eadulf with a smile of triumph. ‘Tadcán has heard, lady. He will be waiting for them.’

  Fidelma peered round and caught sight of Brother Cú Mara.

  ‘Get our horses, quickly!’ she called.

  The steward was looking confused. However, Socht, having partially recovered from the blow, was coming out of the oratory with his two fellow warriors helping him. Hearing Fidelma’s order, they ran towards the stables. While Fidelma and Conrí fretted impatiently, moments passed, and then the warriors returned leading their horses.

  A short time later, Conrí, followed by Fidelma and Eadulf, swept out of the gates of the abbey at a canter. Eadulf was hanging on for dear life, unused to the pace. Socht and his companions were left behind trying to organise horses for themselves.

  Fidelma, keeping pace alongside the warlord, shouted across as they rode along the path to the coastal port.

  ‘What if they stand and fight before we reach the coast?’

  ‘That is not Slébéne’s style, by all accounts,’ cried Conr. ‘He’ll make for the protection of his ship and his men.’

  ‘But he must realise that Tadcán has been forewarned.’

  Conr did not bother to reply. They rode on in silence. It was soon evident that Tadcán and Slébéne were in conflict. As they neared the port of An Bhearbha they saw smoke rising. A moment or two later they swung over the hill and down into the bay.

  A warship was burning in the harbour. It was tied close to the quayside. A few other merchant ships were being towed away from the quays by small craft, apparently drawing them out of harm’s way. Two more warships were stationary some way off near the entrance of the bay but they could see warriors milling about the quay. Some bodies lay nearby.

  Conrí called to Fidelma to hold back while he investigated. She halted her mount reluctantly and allowed Eadulf to catch up with her, reining his horse to a stand at her side. Together they watched Conr trot down towards the quayside, his sword unsheathed.

  A warrior came running up on foot towards him, sword in hand. But Conr halted and seemed to greet the man. The warlord turned and waved them forward.

  ‘This is Tadcán, lord of Baile Tadc,’ he grinned. ‘Good news, lady. Tell her, Tadcán.’

  The warrior, a broad-shouldered, well-built young man, with a shock of fair hair and a pleasant grin, saluted her.

  ‘It is a story that is easy in the telling, lady,’ he said. ‘We heard lord Conr’s signal which had been arranged with Socht. We knew something was up. And we decided to pre-empt the danger by seizing Slébéne’s warship. His captain decided to fight, so we had to set fire to it. I know Slébéne of old. He doesn’t believe in fighting fair, so I decided not to give him the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t wrong, as it turned out. There were many armed warriors waiting below decks but we bested them.

  ‘While we were thus engaged, along comes Slébéne with two of his warriors and a religieuse. They fell on us and so we fell on them.’

  He laughed a little harshly.

  ‘In truth, lady, the lord of the Corco Duibhne was no great warrior, and when we had disp
atched his men, especially the red-haired warrior, he seemed to go berserk in fear. He leapt for his ship’s rail from the quayside rather than surrender. He did not make it. He slipped into the harbour waters and when the tide caused the ship to nudge against the quay he was crushed between them. We hauled his body out of the waters and his men, realising their chief is dead, are even now surrendering to us.’

  He jerked his thumb to the burning warship.

  ‘His ship is well alight and it is beyond our abilities to douse the flames.’

  Conrí was smiling approvingly.

  ‘You have done well, Tadcán.’

  Fidelma, however, was looking about with a frown as if not interested in the warrior’s report.

  ‘Where is Uallach?’ she demanded.

  Tadcán looked bewildered.

  ‘Who, lady?’

  ‘The woman who was with Slébéne. The religieuse.’

  A look of understanding crossed Tadcán’s features.

  ‘When we attacked her companions, she ran into one of the buildings there.’ He pointed to one of the stone buildings that stood back from the harbour.

  ‘That is Mugrón’s house,’ muttered Conrí.

  Already Fidelma and Eadulf had dismounted and were heading in its direction. Crying to them to be careful, Conrí also jumped from his horse and followed them. He called to Tadcán to follow him.

  ‘We must capture her or she will remain a rallying symbol for the Uí Fidgente dissidents,’ Fidelma told Conrí as he caught her up.

  They came to the house and halted before the door.

  ‘Tadcán, you and Brother Eadulf go round the back,’ hissed Conrí.

  Then, waiting for a few moments until he judged they had taken up their position, Conrí ran swiftly at the door and thrust against it with his foot. The door went flying from its hinges and he was inside with Fidelma at his shoulder.

  The first thing they saw was Mugrón lying on the floor, his upper body propped up against a wall. Blood was spreading over one shoulder. His eyes were wide open with pain. His features were greying.

  There was a crash as Tadcán and Eadulf entered through the back door. Conrí looked swiftly round in the shadows of the room. Apart from Mugrón’s body there was no sign of any other occupant.

  Eadulf bent to the merchant and quickly examined the wound. ‘Painful, but he will survive. The blade has penetrated the shoulder muscle.’

  The merchant licked his lips and then indicated with his head towards a closed door that led to an adjoining room. He frowned and indicated again.

  Conr raised a finger to his lips before motioning Tadcán forward. The fair-haired warrior took two swift steps and then kicked the door in.

  Sister Buan, or rather Uallach, was seated in a chair, facing them. Her face had a wild-eyed, angry expression that was not pleasant to look upon. She saw Fidelma at Conri’s elbow. Her face was screwed into a picture of hatred, the eyes flashing darkly.

  ‘Eoghanacht bitch!’ she spat. ‘You will never take me to be a slave at Cashel! Fidgennid go Buadh!’

  Before they realised what she was doing, she had jerked in the chair, given a gasp and fallen sideways.

  Eadulf pushed forward and knelt beside her.

  He removed something from her lower chest. It was a tiny white bone-handled dagger.

  ‘Dead?’ asked Fidelma.

  Eadulf felt for a heartbeat and looked up in surprise.

  ‘Not dead,’ he said. He turned quickly and eased the unconscious form into a more comfortable position.

  ‘Can you save her?’ Fidelma peered over his shoulder.

  ‘I can try. It looks like a clean wound. She did not make a good job of it. I don’t think the blade dug deeply enough to be mortal. I’ll do my best.’

  Fidelma glanced at Conrí. ‘I didn’t understand what she shouted before she dug the knife in.’

  The warlord grimaced.

  ‘It was the barrán-glaed, the old Uí Fidgente war cry — Fidgente to victory. If nothing else she believed in the Uí Fidgente.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Abbot Erc was looking grim as Fidelma and Eadulf filed into his chambers early the next morning. Conrí was with them. Brother Cú Mara and Sister Uallann, the physician, were already seated there. The elderly abbot waved them to the remaining seats that had been arranged before his table.

  ‘I have been told by Sister Uallann that Sister Buan is dead. Her death has to be accounted for, Sister Fidelma, as also the deaths of Slébéne and his men at An Bhearbha.’

  There was sadness in Fidelma’s features.

  ‘We had hoped that Uallach, or Sister Buan, as you knew her, would have survived. We had brought her to the abbey so that she might have better attention than could be provided at An Bhearbha. Has Sister Uallann informed you of exactly what happened?’

  The physician sniffed.

  ‘I have not explained in detail. I was about to say that when she was brought to me, I found that the initial wound was clean and had penetrated only the muscle. The woman could have survived. She did not want to.’

  Abbot Erc leant forward in his seat.

  ‘Explain what you mean,’ he instructed with a puzzled expression.

  ‘I had applied medicaments, the healing poultices,’ continued the physician. ‘Buan, whatever her name was, recovered consciousness. She was in truculent mood. She was angry that she had been cheated of her death. Fidelma of Cashel, the Saxon brother and lord Conrí came to question her but that was against my advice. I remained in the room during this time and can testify to what she told them. Afterwards … well, we left the room and when I returned a moment later I found that Sister Buan had finished the job she began. She had taken one of my surgical knives and thrust it into her heart. It would have been an instant death.’

  Abbot Erc regarded her with a shocked expression.

  ‘When you left the room where she was confined, there were surgical knives left within her reach? Surely that was negligent when we are told that the woman had attempted to kill herself?’

  Sister Uallann looked unhappy at the reprimand but Fidelma intervened quickly.

  ‘Sister Uallann did not realise that the woman was still intent on taking her life,’ she explained. ‘In fact, none of us realised how strong her will was.’

  Abbot Erc sat back with pursed lips, thinking for a moment or two.

  ‘You claim that she was really Uallach, daughter of Eoganan, and was intent on becoming his banchomarbae — his rightful heir? You accuse her of being responsible for the death of Abbess Faife, for the abduction of the stone polishers of our community, for the murder of her own husband Cinaed, as well as all else that has followed. It is now time that we had some explanations. Are you saying that she was solely to blame for all this evil?’

  ‘Solely to blame?’ Fidelma paused reflectively. ‘Not solely to blame. I believe it could be argued that it was Eoganán, son of Crunmael, one time ruler of the Uí Fidgente who was the true architect of the evil that has come upon his people. His actions have conditioned the lives of his offspring and that includes Uallach. In a way, you have to feel some compassion for Uallach. Eoganán was the true “master of souls”. Despising the value of his own life in pursuit of his ambitions, he despised the value of other people’s lives, particularly those of his own offspring. He became the master of other’s lives and thereby the master of their souls. So that, even after his death, he was governing what paths in life they have taken.’

  Abbot Erc grimaced in irritation.

  ‘Leave compassion to priests who are best able to bestow it. Your task is the law. While I will accept that Sister Buan was this woman Uallach - indeed, her actions now seem to have confirmed your accusations — I am at a total loss to understand how you came to suspect it.’

  Sister Fidelma smiled sadly.

  ‘Before I answer that, I have to say that without compassion there can be no administration of law. I do not think you will be able to share my philosophy, Abbot Erc, theref
ore I will not pursue this. As to the practicalities of the case, I think this was one of the most difficult investigations that I have ever undertaken. As I began to explain yesterday, there were various layers. But once we had discovered the prime motive then all else followed swiftly. The motive, as I told you, was to reinstate the dynasty of the Uí Choirpre Áedba. So far as we knew, Eoganan and his son Torcán had been killed during the rebellion against Cashel. His other son Uaman was dead. Eadulf had seen his death. But then we found that he appeared to have returned from the Otherworld.’

  ‘Even I began to question my own memory,’ confided Eadulf easily. ‘Especially when Ganicca was so sure that it was Uaman who rode with Olcán and his men.’

  Fidelma glanced at him with a smile.

  ‘Eadulf does not imagine things. I trust when he reports that he has seen something that he has indeed seen it. So who was this wraith who rode about in Uaman’s robes? When questioned closely, none had seen the features of the wraith and that fact made me suspect that this was someone passing themselves off as Uaman.’

  She paused and looked round. Seeing that she held their attention, she continued: ‘We had a lot of information, many strands, and I knew that all the strands wound their way back to this abbey. That was not only because of the death of Cinaed but because someone here had to give instructions to Olcán about the six stone polishers leaving the abbey for the pilgrimage.’

  Abbot Erc interrupted with an impatient wave of his hand.

  ‘I followed your argument on that yesterday.’

  Brother Cú Mara added: ‘I think the abbot means — how did you come to suspect Sister Buan? She had been in this abbey for years and no one suspected that she was Eoganán’s daughter.’

  ‘I will come to that. I was looking for the motive. When I accepted that Uaman was dead there were two possibilities. Either the person imitating Uaman was doing so because of the fear that his reputation instilled or because they were preparing the way for the reinstatement of the dynasty. Olcán made a remark in his cell which implied that Uaman was dead and that Eoganan had more than two sons. There was another who could claim to be his heir. Conrí pointed out the answer lay in the genealogy of the Uí Fidgente. And after we saw Olcán, Conrí asked the librarian for a copy …’