Peter Tremayne - The Devil's seal

Fidelma waited for a few moments and then said: ‘I have accepted your word, Líoch. You, I hope, will understand why I had to pursue this path. Unless we find out who killed Brother Cerdic, Colgú will have much to answer for when Bishop Arwald and his deputation arrive here.’

Abbess Líoch stared bleakly at her friend.

‘We have known the days, Fidelma of Cashel. We were both young and, perhaps, innocent. Now we have grown to know that there is much evil in the world and that it must be challenged. You have chosen your method of challenging it and I have chosen mine. When I depart from here, I will have no wish to see you as a friend again. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall return to my studies.’

‘I am sad to hear that,’ Fidelma said. ‘But friendship does not cancel out the search for truth.’

Fidelma left the library feeling dissatisfied. She had made no progress at all. If anything, she had simply gathered more suspicions. The story of what had happened at Laestingau could well have provided Líoch with a motive. Fidelma thought she knew the abbess well enough to accept her oath, and yet there was a conflict of emotions within her; she was not entirely at ease with the woman’s denial.

She paused in the covered entrance outside the library door. A figure was hurrying through the driving rain, across the courtyard, head down. It was the abbess’ young female steward, Sister Dianaimh. She halted before Fidelma in the cover of the porch and wiped the rain from her pale face, then gave a nervous smile.

‘I am looking for the abbess — have you seen her?’

‘She is inside,’ confirmed Fidelma, but as the girl moved to open the library door, Fidelma stayed her. ‘A word with you first.’

The bright blue eyes of the girl turned enquiringly on her.

‘I wondered how long you have served Abbess Líoch?’

‘Since last summer.’

‘You are young to be a bann-mhaor .’

‘Before joining the abbess, I served in the Abbey of Sléibhte in Laighin, lady. I joined Abbot Aéd’s community there when I was at the age of choice.’

‘When Brother Cerdic called at Cill Náile a few days ago to see Abbess Líoch, had she ever seen him before?’

Sister Dianaimh’s chin came up defiantly. ‘You should ask the abbess that question.’

‘You see,’ went on Fidelma, ignoring her reply, ‘I have to ask questions when someone has been killed. You will recall that I rode with you into Cashel, having met you on the highway. .’

‘Riding with your son and a warrior,’ the girl nodded. ‘I remember.’

‘And I left you and the abbess riding into the township to find lodgings while we went on to the palace here. Then you changed your minds, left your horses at the bottom of the hill and came up here on foot. I find that strange.’

‘The abbess suddenly realised that she should let Abbot Ségdae know that we had arrived in the township. However, we thought the horses were tired — my horse was developing a limp — so we left them in the care of a boy and walked up the hill to the palace.’

‘You did not find Abbot Ségdae.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘The abbess has already told you that we did not,’ replied the bann-mhaor suspiciously.

‘So where did you search for him?’

For the first time Sister Dianaith looked uncertain. ‘I did not. I remained at the gate while the abbess went to find him.’

‘Did she ask the guard at the gates where he might be found?’ prompted Fidelma.

‘I cannot remember — I presume so.’

‘So the abbess went to look while you remained at the gate; was that by the gate or in the courtyard?’

‘Just inside the gate. The abbess was not gone very long. She found a member of the brethren, an old man, who told her that the abbot was with the King. So she decided that we should continue to look for lodgings in the township. We had barely returned to our horses and set off when you and the Saxon, your husband, overtook us. And now, if that is all. .?’

‘A moment more.’ Fidelma held up a hand. ‘You said you remained inside the gate?’

‘I did,’ the girl replied impatiently.

‘In that case, you could see across the main courtyard to the side of the chapel that faces it. Did anyone cross that courtyard while you were there?’

‘A few people, as would be expected.’

‘Such as? Describe them.’

Sister Dianaimh made a gesture with her shoulder as if dismissing the question. ‘I would not know them. The echaire — that is, the stable-master, two warriors. . oh, and a religieux.’

‘A religieux? What did he look like?’

‘He had his hood over his head. Even if he had been uncovered, I would not have recognised him. I have not been here before. Now, can I go?’

Fidelma nodded thoughtfully as the girl moved past and entered the library. She waited a few moments before pulling her cloak tightly around her and going out into the still driving rain, hurrying towards the smaller courtyard at the back of the chapel where, in a corner, Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary was situated.

She entered the apothecary with its almost overpowering aromas that arose from the countless dried plants and herbs that hung from the ceiling or grew in pots on benches that crowded inside. Old Brother Conchobhar was bent over a bench at the far end, busily mixing a paste with a mortar in a pestle. He looked up as she entered and laid the work aside.

‘I was expecting you,’ he greeted her. His expression was serious.

‘You were?’ she frowned.

‘I thought you would come to see me about Deogaire’s outlandish behaviour last night.’

‘Ah, that. Yes, it was extraordinary,’ Fidelma admitted. ‘But that was not my main purpose.’

‘Then how can I help?’ The old man was surprised.

‘I was told Abbess Líoch might have been about here early yesterday. It was before Eadulf found the body of Brother Cerdic. I just wondered if you saw her then.’

Brother Conchobhar rubbed the side of his temple, as if it aided his memory. ‘Yes, I saw her and she was enquiring for Abbot Ségdae,’ he confirmed. ‘That’s right. . I told her that the abbot was with the King. She thanked me and left.’ He paused and then added: ‘Wait! That is in the wrong order. I was in here and happened to glance at that little door across the way which leads into the back of the chapel. She was trying the handle.’

‘So you saw Abbess Líoch at the door of the chapel. Did anyone answer her?’

Brother Conchobhar shook his head. ‘Not that I am aware. Certainly, when I saw her there, I went and told her that the door was kept bolted from the inside. Only the main doors were open. I asked if I could help her. When she said she was looking for Abbot Ségdae, that was when I was able to tell her that he had gone to see your brother.’

‘And then she left?’

‘She did. I was waiting for Deogaire to join me to help me carry some things to the blacksmith’s forge.’

‘But she might have gone into the chapel,’ mused Fidelma.

Brother Conchobhar looked quizzically at her. ‘Not unless someone came and opened the bolts when I turned my back. Surely you don’t suspect Abbess Líoch of killing the Saxon — Brother Cerdic?’

‘It is my nature to be suspicious, as you know well, old wolf-lover,’ she replied, using the literal meaning of her mentor’s name as a form of endearment.

‘I know your nature well enough. Didn’t I teach you something of the art of seeking answers when you were a child?’ he replied with a smile.

‘You especially taught me that one should ask the right questions to obtain the right answers. The trouble is, the answers to the questions that I have been asking do not make sense.’