Peter Tremayne - The Devil's seal

‘Abbot Aéd?’ Eadulf questioned.

‘The abbot and Bishop of Sléibhte,’ Muiredach confirmed. ‘I remember now. Something was passed between them as she sat on her horse and I heard him saying “God’s speed. If you are able to acquire it, it will be a great support for our cause.” I did not hear her response but then she rode off. That is all I heard. It comes back to me now that I think on her dead features.’

Fidelma was silent, considering what the warrior had told her.

‘So you never saw her again until this moment?’

‘Never, lady. I don’t think that I can help further.’

‘You have helped more than I can say.’ Fidelma turned to Rumann. ‘I’ll send back your brewers immediately and keep you informed of the investigation.’

As they walked slowly back to the palace, Eadulf asked: ‘What next?’

‘Next, we must discover how Sister Dianaimh left the palace and went to Rumann’s brewery if she did not pass through the gates by the guard.’

Gormán was standing waiting for them at the gates. His expression was grave.

‘They’ve taken the body to Brother Conchobhar’s apothecary, lady. This looks very bad. I am afraid Deogaire’s prophecy is coming true.’

‘Who was on duty at the gates throughout the night?’ Fidelma asked, ignoring his gloomy tone. She knew that Gormán feared no mortal thing but now the idea of something supernatural, the prophecy of Deogaire, was beginning to prey on his imagination.

‘Enda, lady,’ he replied.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Asleep in the Laochtech , if he has any sense.’

‘Then I am afraid we must wake him.’

Fidelma and Eadulf remained in the antechamber while Gormán went into the sleeping quarters and returned soon afterwards with a slightly dishevelled and hastily dressed Enda.

‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma told the warrior, ‘but I do need this information quickly.’

‘Gormán has told me that Sister Dianaimh was found murdered in Rumann’s tavern,’ Enda said gruffly. ‘How can I help?’

‘What time did you come to watch the gates?’

‘The King’s feast was just finishing towards midnight. The musicians were still playing their last tune. That was when I commenced my guard.’

‘But you were not on duty all night?’

‘Of course not, lady. I was relieved by Bríon.’

‘I’ll get him,’ Gormán said hurriedly. ‘He’s asleep too.’

‘A simple question. When did Sister Dianaimh leave the palace?’

‘Not on my watch, lady,’ Enda said immediately. ‘Abbess Líoch already asked the same question of both me and Bríon.’

Fidelma recalled that the abbess had been searching for Sister Dianaimh earlier. ‘There is no way you would have missed her leaving?’

‘There is only one exit and entrance. Young Bríon took over from me for the second cadar . It was a clear night so we can be precise.’

Clear nights were important, for the most intelligent measured time throughout the night by rough estimates according to the position of the stars; exactly as the farmers had done since time immemorial.

Bríon, who was hardly more than a youth, came blinking into the room, rubbing his eyes.

‘I am sorry to disturb you, Bríon,’ Fidelma said again. ‘What time did Sister Dianaimh pass through the gates here this morning?’

The young man stared at her for a moment and then stifled a yawn. ‘As I told Abbess Líoch, lady, she did not pass through while I was here. I finished my watch just after sunrise.’

Fidelma expected no other answer but she had to be sure. ‘So your watches spanned the entire night from the ending of the feast and until sunrise, and yet you say that Sister Dianaimh did not pass through? Were the gates shut and bolted from midnight, as is the custom?’

‘Only once was it opened,’ Enda confirmed, ‘and that was shortly after the feast ended, when the musicians left to return to their homes in the township. But I knew every one of them. Sister Dianaimh was certainly not among them, I can assure you of that.’

There was silence for a while and then Fidelma told them to return to their interrupted sleep.

‘That confirms that Sister Dianaimh did not leave by the main gate.’ She added: ‘So now we have to find out how she did so.’

‘There is no way, unless she flew,’ Eadulf replied in a dour tone. ‘I cannot see her climbing the walls and scrambling down the rocky slopes. I would not like to try that even in the daylight, let alone the dark.’

‘The fact is that she did so,’ insisted Fidelma. ‘But how? The answer will come to us eventually.’

Gormán was listening to them with a frown. ‘I don’t know if it is worthy of repeating, but I did hear some words that passed between her and that Saxon — your pardon, friend Eadulf — Brother Bosa.’

‘Let us judge whether the words are worth repeating,’ Fidelma said quickly.

‘Well, I was passing by them last night at the meal. It was when the guests were mingling with one another. I was pausing to look round to make sure all was in order and did not hear the opening of the conversation. But I will try to reconstruct it exactly as I heard it.’

He then closed his eyes and recited the following dialogue.

Brother Bosa said: ‘But your abbot is not interested?’

‘He is not my abbot any more,’ Sister Dianaimh replied sharply.

‘But you continue to visit the abbey.’

To which she answered: ‘I have often carried messages for Abbot Aéd, that is true. But I can assure you that Aéd has already pledged his loyalty to Abbot Ségéne of Ard Macha.’

‘Wouldn’t that be contrary to the wishes of King Fianamail, who supports Cill Dara as the prime church of this island?’ asked Brother Bosa.

‘Aéd is of the Uí Barraiche. Fianamail is of the Uí Cennselaigh.’

Gormán added that Brother Bosa did not understand the enmity between the rival families of Laighin nor, it seemed, did Sister Dianaimh take the trouble to enlighten him.

‘So,’ went on Brother Bosa, ‘it is not true that Aéd would not be interested in the market?’

Gormán said that at this point, the girl turned away and left the scribe.

‘Not interested in the market?’ Fidelma exchanged a thoughtful glance with Eadulf. ‘So Brother Bosa was aware that Sister Dianaimh had recently been at Sléibhte. We’d best visit her room in the guest quarters.’

The girl had shared a room with Abbess Líoch. The abbess was now sitting on her bed, head in hands in a state of distress. The news of Sister Dianaimh’s murder had spread swiftly.

‘I don’t understand it!’ she cried, raising a tear-stained face to them as they entered. ‘Who would want to kill that innocent girl, Fidelma?’

‘While she was undoubtedly innocent of many things, she must also have been guilty of something,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘What she was guilty of is for me to find out. I would like to have a look at her personal belongings, if you have no objection? I presume that no one else has searched through her possessions since her death?’

‘Who would want to?’ the abbess rejoined sadly. ‘She had little enough.’ She nodded to the spare bed with a single woollen cloak spread across the bottom of it. There was a srathar or saddlebag hung nearby, and a ciorbhog hanging up behind the bed. This was the inevitable comb bag, which women of all ranks and offices carried. There was the usual change of clothes in the saddlebag. Fidelma took down the comb bag, sat on the edge of the cot and searched through it. She then set it aside with a sigh. There was little of value in it; it contained only the usual items. She shifted her weight to replace it and caught her breath as she felt something hard beneath her thigh.