Peter Tremayne - Master of Souls

Fidelma made a quick cutting motion with her hand.

‘Perhaps that is for me to decide… once I am given the relevant information.’

The young steward shook his head.

‘I have only heard cross words exchanged between them during their debates. Although I have heard the Venerable Mac Faosma berating Sister Buan in private for her relationship with Cinaed.’

Fidelma closed her eyes for a moment.

‘You told me last night that you knew Cinaed well. How long have you been rechtaire of the abbey?’

‘Less than a year.’ The words seemed to be an admission of some guilty secret.

‘That is not long,’ Fidelma observed gently. ‘And before you became steward?’

‘I was a scribe.’ Now the words were defensive and the young man had coloured again.

‘I see. Did you work for Cinaed in the library? Were you his copyist?’

Brother Cu Mara hesitated.

‘Brother Faolchair, the assistant librarian, always copied the Venerable Cinaed’s works. I was only promoted to being a scribe when the Venerable Mac Faosma came to the abbey. I worked under his direction.’

There was a brief silence.

‘So? Are you one of the supporters of the Venerable Mac Faosma?’

Brother Cu Mara raised his chin defensively.

‘As steward I am above such things…’

‘But during the time the Venerable Mac Faosma was your superior, you being his scribe, you must have had some sympathy with his ideas?’ pressed Fidelma quickly.

The young man raised his hands helplessly.

‘I… I was impressed by what the Venerable Mac Faosma had to say. I’ll not deny that.’

‘Did you ever enter the arguments… the debates, that is… between Mac Faosma and Cinaed?’

‘I attended them, that is all. And, no, I did not harbour any angry thoughts, towards the Venerable Cinaed, that is. We are all entitled to our opinions but in the end truth will always prevail without our help.’

Fidelma smiled quickly.

‘So, other than your inwardly held beliefs that Cinaed was wrong in his outlook and teachings…?’

‘I harboured no ill will towards him.’

‘And as rechtaire do you declare your stand, that you favour the new ideas of Rome?’

‘I do not!’ The words came indignantly. ‘As steward, holding a high office in the abbey, my beliefs should not be an influence on the others…’ He paused a moment, his lips pressed tightly together.

‘So where do you stand on this matter of celibacy?’

The young man flushed.

‘As I said, I am the steward of the abbey. I have to be independent.’

‘That is a hard thing to be on such a matter,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘Did the Venerable Cinaed know your views? Your real views?’

‘I told you, I keep my views to myself. They are no concern of others. However, if you must know, I support Abbot Erc. That doesn’t mean that I killed Cinaed, if that is what you are implying.’

The young man had risen to his feet but Fidelma regarded him with a mild smile.

‘You wear your temper on the sleeve of your robe, Brother Cu Mara. I have not imputed anything but have simply asked you some questions. It is my task as a dalaigh to ask questions and it is your obligation to answer them. Now, be seated and calm yourself.’

Brother Cu Mara stood undecided for a moment or two and then he shrugged and sat down again.

‘Excellent,’ she approved. ‘Now tell me, when did you first learn of the death of the Venerable Cinaed?’

‘When?’ The young man frowned. ‘It is now four days ago. It was before dawn. I had arisen and washed and was about to go to the chapel to attend the service for the Blessed Ite, which we hold on her feast day. She it was who-’

Fidelma interrupted impatiently. ‘I know who Ite was. Go on.’

‘I was on my way there when one of the community came rushing up saying that he had heard shouting from the oratory.’

‘Shouting? As in an argument?’

‘Someone crying for help. It turned out to be the abbot, for I went there without delay and found the abbot in great distress. He had discovered the body of the Venerable Cinaed lying behind the altar and the rest you know.

‘I see. As rechtaire, what steps did you undertake to investigate the crime?’

The young man looked uncomfortable.

‘I am not a dalaigh like you, lady.’ The words were uttered as a protest.

‘So you did nothing?’

‘On the contrary. I asked the members of the community if anyone knew anything.’

‘They did not, of course?’ Fidelma said cynically.

‘They did not. It was generally agreed that some wandering bandit probably entered the abbey grounds and was discovered by Cinaed who then paid with his life for attempting to stop the thief.’

‘Having obliged his assailant by turning his back to him?’

The young man did not understand Fidelma’s sarcasm and said so.

‘By whom was it generally agreed?’ pressed Fidelma, ignoring his remark.

‘By the elders of the community.’

‘Being the abbot… and who else?’

‘The Venerable Mac Faosma, Brother Eolas the librarian, our physician…’

‘Was anything stolen by these wandering bandits?‘interrupted Fidelma.

‘Stolen?’

Fidelma felt the young man was being deliberately obtuse.

‘Presumably, in your oratory, you would have icons and items worthy of theft? Why else would this hypothetical thief break into the abbey?’

The young steward paused a moment and then shook his head.

‘Nothing was taken. The oratory was searched for a weapon. It was not found, showing that the murderer took it away with him.’

‘So much for the theory of the thief,’ Fidelma observed coldly.

Before Brother Cu Mara could respond, Eadulf emerged at the entrance of the herb garden, hurrying towards them with a triumphant expression. He bore a bundle of clothing in his arms.

‘Success!’ he cried.

He held out two robes. They both bore the unmistakable dark patches of bloodstains.

F idelma rose from the bench to examine the bloodstained robes that Eadulf held out to her.

‘Indeed, it is dried blood and splattered in such quantity that the wearer must have bled profusely or been in contact with someone whose blood has drenched their clothing.’ She gave an appreciative look at Eadulf. ‘Well done. Now, is there a way of finding out the identity of the wearer?’

Brother Cu Mara was staring at the clothes with a curious frown.

‘Did you not ask Sister Sinnchene?’ he inquired. ‘She is very particular about the washing and would not mix such stained garments with the other clothing for wash.’

Eadulf looked a little crestfallen.

‘I was so agitated by the discovery that I came straightway to inform you, Fidelma. Sister Sinnchene was not in the tech-nigid when I discovered them and so I did not think to ask. They were certainly in a pile set to one side,’ he added defensively to the young steward.

Fidelma reached out a hand to touch Eadulf’s arm.

‘Go now and repair the omission. Seek the identity of the wearer of these garments but do not approach them until I am ready. I see,’ she glanced across the herb garden, ‘Conri has returned and that must be the merchant with him. I will deal with him and then we will pursue the wearer of these clothes.’

A little downcast, for he realised that he should have discovered the information before coming to Fidelma, Eadulf nodded and went back to the tech-nigid.

Fidelma turned to watch Conri approaching with his companion. Mugron looked more like a sailor than a merchant. He was a stocky man, barrel-chested and walking, arms akimbo, with the rolling gait of

‘Greetings, Fidelma of Cashel. We have met before.’ He had a deep, rasping voice.