Peter Tremayne - Master of Souls

‘The coirceogach is easy to find,’ added Conri.

‘What was your first impression?’ queried Fidelma. ‘Were there any signs of disturbance around that you noticed?’

The merchant shook his head.

‘Don’t forget, lady, the snow was coming thick and fast. I saw nothing but a white blanket across the ground. I tried to pull my horse into the shelter of some trees and made towards the entrance of the coirceogach. I was aware that I had trodden on something that did not feel right. I don’t know how else to explain it. But it was not hard like ground or rock and when I looked down I saw there was something dark beneath the snow. I scraped away and realised it was a body.’

He paused and passed a hand over his forehead as if to wipe it

‘My first thought was to rebury it but… but then I realised that it

‘Why did you do that?’

‘My idea was to preserve the body as best I could. If I left it where it was, someone else might find it. My thought was then to hurry on to Ard Fhearta to report the matter for, as I say, it was clear that she had been murdered.’

‘And you saw nothing else which would give any indication as to why she came by her death? No sign of what might have happened to her companions?’

Mugron shook his head firmly.

‘I was halfway to the abbey of Colman when I realised about her companions,’ he confessed. ‘But there had been no sign of anyone else. As I have said, the snow lay thick on the ground. It had been snowing on and off for several days.’

‘So there were no other bodies?’

‘Not where I found that of the abbess.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘Does that imply there were other bodies in the vicinity?’

Mugron nodded. ‘There must have been some wreck along the coast. There was fresh wreckage nearby, floating along the shore, and among it were one or two bodies. There was nothing I could do about them. Remember, I was alone.’

Fidelma sat back and was silent for a few moments. Then she asked: ‘Your first intention was to enter the coirceogach and get dry. Did you go in at all?’

The merchant hesitated.

‘I did, but only for a moment.’

‘And there was nothing inside that presented you with any information as to what might have happened?’

‘I saw that the fire had recently been used.’ He frowned. ‘There was some discarded clothing in a corner.’

Conri nodded in agreement.

‘The rags were still there when we returned. There was also a water-soaked boot by them.’

Fidelma raised an inquisitive face to the warlord of the Ui Fidgente.

‘A boot?’

Instead of using the word cuaran for an ordinary shoe he had used the word coisbert for something larger.

‘It was the sort of boot that a seaman might wear,’ the merchant chimed in. ‘But it was of foreign origin.’

Fidelma regarded him with interest.

‘How do you know that?’

Mugron smiled complacently.

‘It is my trade, lady. If I did not know a native boot from a foreign one, I would be a poor merchant. This boot was one that I would expect to see in Gaul. In fact, I would say it was a type that many of the seamen of Armorica wear.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘When I returned with lord Conri, we examined the clothes and the boot.’

‘What did you do with them?’

‘We left them in the hut.’

There was a silence as Fidelma considered the information. After a while, she said: ‘There is nothing else that you can tell me?’

‘Nothing, lady.’

‘Nothing that struck your mind about the scene that caused you any thought? Even if it was unrelated to the death of the abbess?’

The merchant was about to shake his head when he caught himself.

‘There was something?’ Fidelma pressed.

Mugron shrugged. ‘It was absolutely unrelated. I mentioned the wreckage of the ship and the bodies. A lot of ships have foundered around that coast. I just noticed that it looked very recent. The timbers that lay along the shore had not been discoloured. It was just a passing thought, no more. Then I went on.’

‘I see,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘So it might be that your Gaulish boot might have come from a survivor of that wreck. A ship from Gaul.’

Mugron responded only with a faint shrug.

‘And all this occurred about ten days ago?’ she asked.

‘More like fifteen days now.’

Fidelma gave a soft sigh and sat back.

‘Well, Mugron, I will not detain you further. If I want to talk to you again how shall I find you? At this harbour of yours? An Bhearbha?’

‘Ask anyone and they will direct you to me. But within a day or so, I have a cargo to run to Breanainn’s Bay.’

‘Ah, then it may well be that I might need to book a passage on your vessel for my companions and myself.’

‘You would be most welcome, lady.’

The burly merchant rose from the seat and bowed stiffly towards her. As he was turning to leave, Fidelma called softly: ‘Oh, and Mugron… my thanks for reminding me of a pleasant period in my life. My childhood on the banks of the River Siur. They were good times.’

The merchant answered with a smile and raised a hand in salutation before leaving the herb garden.

For some time Fidelma sat in silence, turning over in her mind the information that she had garnered.

Finally, an anxious clearing of his throat by Brother Cu Mara attracted her attention. She looked up and realised the steward and Conr were waiting for her to speak.

‘What now, lady?’ Brother Cu Mara asked anxiously.

‘What now, Brother?’ She stood up. ‘Now we shall go in search of Brother Eadulf and discover what he has found out about the bloodstained clothing.’

She quickly explained to Conri about Eadulf’s find in the washing house.

Brother Cu Mara led the way to the tech-nigid, a wooden structure conveniently sited next to a stream which gushed from a spring and made its way across the hillside on which the abbey buildings were distributed. As they approached, Eadulf was emerging with the bloodstained clothing in his arms.

‘I have the names of the owners,’ he said in triumph, as he saw them.

‘Then let us have a word with them,’ Fidelma replied.

‘The first is Brother Feolaigid,’ Eadulf said.

Brother Cu Mara guffawed immediately.

They turned on him with some astonishment.

‘You seem amused, Brother,’ Fidelma observed coldly. ‘Is there some joke that can be shared with us?’

The young rechtaire did not lose his expression of amusement.

‘I will take you to where Brother Feolaigid is working,’ he said in a

Brother Cu Mara led the way to a far corner of the abbey complex, to a building also alongside another of the numerous little streams that were to be found in this countryside. In construction it was rather like the tech-nigid. The doors stood wide open and as they approached Eadulf became aware of an odour he could not quite identify. There was a sound, too. It was halfway between someone chopping wood and the smack of something heavy on flesh.

‘This is where Brother Feolaigid works,’ the young steward said, this time scarcely able to conceal the mirth in his voice.

At the door, peering into the interior of the building, they saw a burly man with an axe, hewing at a carcass. Blood was everywhere. The carcass was that of a pig. The man was expertly reducing it to joints of meat. Around him, hanging on metal hooks, hung large joints and whole carcasses of more pigs and lambs.

‘Brother Feolaigid is our butcher.’ There was no disguising the amusement in Brother Cu Mara’s voice. ‘If there was no blood on his robes, it would be more of a mystery than otherwise.’

Fidelma turned with irritation on her face and was about to launch into a homily on the wasting of a dalaigh ’s time. Then she glanced at Eadulf and the look on his face made her suddenly chuckle.