Peter Tremayne - Master of Souls

‘I only knew myself a moment ago when I recognised you.’ He spoke in a curiously disapproving tone.

‘Then you have seen me before?’

‘I studied the art of calligraphy under Abbot Laisran at Durrow, lady. I saw you several times there.’

Fidelma smiled. Durrow — the abbey of the oak plain. It seemed an age since she had last been there. The genial Abbot Laisran had looked upon Fidelma as his protegee, having persuaded her to join the religious after she had won her degrees in law at the great school of the Brehon Morann. Dear, kindly Abbot Laisran, and his infectious humour.

Brother Cu Mara had turned to Eadulf with the same serious scrutiny.

‘And you are…?’

‘This is my companion, Brother Eadulf,’ said Fidelma.

The young monk’s expression did not alter.

‘Of course,’ he said shortly. He turned back to Conri. ‘The abbot will

Fidelma could still hear the disapproval in the young man’s tone.

‘I will see him directly, then,’ Conri assured him. ‘I presume there is no word from the missing religieuse?’

The steward’s expression turned into an unpleasant grimace.

‘No word from them, lord Conri. However, the abbey has received a further tragic blow.’

‘Then do not keep us in suspense, Brother,’ Conri replied shortly.

‘Three days ago, the Venerable Cinaed was found dead in the oratory.’

‘The Venerable Cinaed?’ It was Fidelma who asked the question. ‘Would that be Cinaed the scholar?’

‘Do you know his work, lady?’ The steward seemed surprised.

‘Who does not know of his treatises on philosophy and history?’ she responded at once. ‘His work was renowned throughout the five kingdoms of Eireann. Do I judge that he was elderly? I hope he died a peaceful death?’

Brother Cu Mara shook his head. ‘He was elderly, just as you say, lady, but he died violently. A heavy blow apparently crushed the back of his skull.’

Conri gasped while Fidelma’s eyes widened a little.

‘I presume, from your choice of words, that this was no accident?’ she pressed.

‘His body was found behind the altar in the oratory and there was no sign of the implement which caused the death blow.’

‘Has the culprit been discovered?’ Conri demanded. He glanced to Fidelma and added: ‘This is bad news, indeed. Cinaed was a great supporter of our new chief, Donennach, and was one of his advisers.’

The steward did not look unduly grief-stricken.

‘There are some here who think that this place has become cursed because of the surrender of Donennach,’ he said quietly.

Fidelma’s mouth tightened as she identified the hostility in the steward’s tone.

‘Cursed?’ She made the word sound belligerent.

‘Perhaps it is the shades of past generations of the Ui Fidgente who lie buried here — perhaps they are released from their Otherworld slumber to come back and wreak havoc upon us for the misfortune brought on them?’

Fidelma stared at the youthful steward in surprise. He seemed so reasonable and so matter of fact with his question. She could not tell whether he was serious or possessed of some perverse sense of humour.

‘As a member of the Faith, Brother, you should know better than to voice such superstitious nonsense.’

‘I merely articulate what many here are thinking. Indeed, what some have actually voiced already,’ the steward said defensively. ‘The abbey was built on an ancient pagan cemetery and perhaps we have angered the old spirits of the Ui Fidgente by our defeat?’

‘It seems that we have arrived at an opportune time,’ said Eadulf seriously. ‘We have come to save you Ui Fidgente from slipping back into fearful idolatry.’

Only Fidelma recognised the tone of voice when Eadulf spoke in jest.

Brother Cu Mara was about to respond in anger but then he turned away, speaking over his shoulder.

‘I would not keep Abbot Erc waiting, lord Conri. As for the lady Fidelma and her companion, the abbot will doubtless expect you both to join him after the evening prayers and meal. Come, let me take you to the hospitium so that you may refresh yourselves after your travels.’

Eadulf noted the use of the Latin term.

‘Do you follow the Roman rule here, Brother?’ he asked as they dismounted and followed the steward on foot, leading their horses, into the abbey complex.

Brother Cu Mara shook his head immediately.

‘I perceive that you bear the tonsure of Rome, Brother Eadulf, but here we adhere to the teachings of our Church Fathers. Nevertheless, Latin is much in fashion in the abbey. Our scholars pride themselves on translating from the Latin texts. The Venerable Cinaed was keeping a great chronicle in Latin wherein he was recording the history of this abbey since its foundation by the Blessed Breanainn.’

Conri had handed his horse to one of his companions, a taciturn warrior named Socht, and departed to find the abbot. The young steward fell silent as he guided the rest of the party through the abbey grounds, through buildings of various shapes and sizes that made up the complex, to a large wooden structure they presumed was the hospitium. Brother Cu Mara paused.

‘There are no other guests at the moment so the guest-house is all yours. Make yourselves welcome. Sister Sinnchene is inside. She will attend to

Without another word, the young steward turned and left.

The warrior Socht and his companion took charge of the horses and led them away to the abbey stables.

Eadulf pulled a face in the direction of the vanishing Brother Cu Mara.

‘I get the impression that that young man is not exactly pleased to see us,’ he commented.

‘Remember that we are in Ui Fidgente territory, Eadulf,’ Fidelma replied. ‘My brother was victorious in battle over them just over two years ago. Some people do not forgive and forget so easily.’

Eadulf opened the door to the guest-house and ushered Fidelma inside. They entered a large chamber of red yew panels which, it appeared, was a general room where guests could rest before a fire. The sky was already darkening, for dusk came early on these cold winter’s days, but there was a cheerful fire crackling in a stone-flagged hearth. A young woman was bending over an oil lamp set on a central table and adjusting its flickering wick. She glanced up, startled by their silent entrance, and Fidelma noticed that her eyes seemed red-rimmed. The light flickered on the tears gathered on her lashes.

She straightened up quickly, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. Fidelma took in the girl’s attractive features. She had a fair skin, blue eyes and a shock of golden hair.

‘I am Sister Sinnchene,’ she announced with a sniff. ‘I presume that you are the guests we have been expecting? How may I be of assistance to you?’

It was clear that they had entered on some private moment of grief that she had no wish to share.

Fidelma introduced herself and Eadulf. It was clear that the young woman did not know of Fidelma’s relationship to the king of Muman.

‘Will you be wanting to bathe after your journey, Sister?’ she asked. ‘I can have hot water ready in the bathhouse shortly. Our facilities are primitive so there are no separate arrangements for men and women. If your companion can wait until you have finished, I will ensure there is hot water for him as well.’

Eadulf had never really understood the Irish passion for such fastidious cleanliness. In the land of the South Folk, bathing had consisted of a dip in the river and that carried out none too often.

‘I can wait,’ he agreed hurriedly.

‘There are separate chambers for your sleeping quarters,’ Sister Sinnchene continued, pointing to a corridor that led off from the room behind her. ‘The bathing house and defectarium stand beyond.’