Peter Tremayne - Master of Souls

She undressed and climbed into the dabach. The water was not too hot and she relaxed with a sigh, lying back while Sister Sinnchene passed her a bar of soap.

‘Have you been long in this abbey, Sister?’ asked Fidelma as she began to lather herself.

Sister Sinnchene was checking on the heat of the water.

‘I have been here ever since I reached the age of choice,’ she replied.

The age of choice, the aimsir togu, was the maturity of a girl arrived at her fourteenth birthday.

‘I would say you have not yet reached twenty summers?’ hazarded Fidelma.

‘I am twenty-one,’ corrected the girl, turning to pick up a big metal jug and scoop water from the cauldron. She brought it to the tub and poured it in, carefully so as not to scald Fidelma.

‘I presume that you knew the Venerable Cinaed?’

There seemed some hesitation and Fidelma looked up. She was surprised to see a red tinge had settled on Sister Sinnchene’s cheek.

‘We are a small community, Sister,’ the girl returned with an abruptness of tone that caused Fidelma’s eyebrow to rise slightly.

‘Of course,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘I am sorry. Naturally you are upset by his loss.’

‘He was a kind and generous man,’ replied the other with a catch in her throat.

‘Do you have any idea how he came by his death?’

The young woman frowned, facing Fidelma as if seeking some other significance to her words.

‘Everyone knows his head was smashed in while he was in the oratory.’

‘Are there any ideas circulating in the abbey about who could have done such a thing?’

For a moment the young sister looked as if she were about to give vent to the tears that she was trying so desperately to hide. Her face contorted for a moment and then she controlled herself.

‘It is not my place to speculate about gossip,’ she finally said. ‘You must asked the abbot.’

‘But you must know…’ began Fidelma.

‘If that will be all, Sister…?’ Sister Sinnchene interrupted pointedly. ‘I have other duties that I must attend to.’

Fidelma said nothing but inclined her head. She knew when to back away from questions that people did not want to answer. Sister Sinnchene went quickly out of the bathhouse, leaving Fidelma gazing after her with a thoughtful frown.

T he evening meal had been eaten and the brethren had departed to their various tasks before retiring for the night. Abbot Erc, who had only formally greeted Fidelma and Eadulf before the meal, which — according to a tradition set by the founder of the abbey — was consumed in total silence, now invited them, together with Conri, to accompany him to his chamber to discuss matters. Abbot Erc was elderly and grey-haired, with a sharp angular face, thin lips, small dark eyes and a permanent look of disapproval. Conri had already warned Fidelma that the abbot, who had been a supporter of the old Ui Fidgente regime, did not entirely approve of the presence of Fidelma in the abbey. It seemed that he shared the views of his steward, Brother Cu Mara, who accompanied them to the abbot’s chamber.

The steward was coldly polite towards them. As they entered the room, Eadulf asked him why the meal had been eaten in strict silence.

‘Our blessed founder believed that food and drink, that which sustains life, is a great gift from the Creator, and should therefore be consumed with meditative thought on the wonders of that creation. To speak is both to insult the cook and to scorn one’s own existence, for it is only by food and drink that one exists. Indeed, it is to disdain the Creator himself who gave us that food and drink so that we may live and glorify him. So now it is a rule of the abbey.’

Eadulf was thoughtful.

‘I have not heard such emphasis placed on the contemplation of food. Our minds should be open to receive the food of knowledge as well as paying silent tribute to what we eat. Isn’t there a saying about excusing the ignorant when their feeding is better than their education?’

Abbot Erc, overhearing this, commented irritably: ‘Our meditation on

A fire had been prepared in the chamber and Brother Cu Mara brought a tray of mulled wine. Eadulf raised an eyebrow as he took his goblet with its generous measure. Once again the old abbot caught the expression and interpreted it correctly.

‘We Ui Fidgente have another saying, Brother Eadulf, that it is not an invitation to hospitality without a drink.’ He silently raised his goblet and they responded. ‘Now, it is no longer the time to contemplate the fruits of the earth.’ He gestured to the chairs that had been set before the fire. ‘I have invited you to my chamber to discuss serious matters. Let me say at once, I cannot approve of lord Conri’s wisdom in bringing you here, Fidelma of Cashel. There are many Brehons of repute among the Ui Fidgente who should be able to resolve our problems, without involving Cashel.’

‘Cashel is not involved,’ Fidelma assured him evenly, as she settled into the wooden chair before the fire. ‘I am not confined by territories or kingdoms in the exercise of my duties as a dalaigh. So, let us start with an account of the facts as you know them.’

Abbot Erc sat down, took a sip of the wine, and then placed the goblet on the table at his side, leaning back in his chair. He did not look particularly happy and for a moment Eadulf thought he was going to refuse to co-operate with them. But the abbot simply said: ‘I believe that there is little to add to that which Conri has already told you.’

‘Pretend that he has told me nothing.’ Fidelma smiled but her voice was sharp. ‘It is better to seek knowledge first-hand than to hear it from others.’

‘We are, as you have seen, a conhospitae, a mixed house of males and females,’ Abbot Erc began. ‘Our children are raised to the service of Christ. I cannot say that I approve of this, as I have come to support those who argue for celibacy among the religious.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘However, I have served as abbot here for ten years while Abbess Faife had been seven years as head of the female religieuse. Each year for seven years she has taken groups from the community on the annual pilgrimage to Breanainn’s mount, where our blessed founder was

He paused but no one commented.

‘Well, Abbess Faife departed from our gates with her charges. She travelled overland, south to the abbey of Colman for there was some business to be enacted there between our two abbeys. After that she was to proceed through the territory of the Corco Duibhne to where Breanainn’s mount rises.’

He paused but there was silence again and so he continued.

‘The first time I knew that anything was amiss was when the merchant Mugron appeared at this abbey. Mugron carries on his trade from our nearest sea harbour, An Bhearbha, which is on the coast some eight kilometres from here.’

‘An Bhearbha? A curious name for a port, surely? Doesn’t it mean a place where the water boils?’ asked Eadulf, anxious to improve his knowledge.

‘It is named after a river which enters the sea at that point,’ explained the abbot. ‘The river is turbulent and its currents are unpredictable. Mugron had been dealing among the Corco Duibhne. Due to the inclement weather that prevented him sailing back across the bay, he was returning along the coastal road to the abbey of Colman. It was cold and the snow was starting to drive thickly along the road. Mugron knew the area and knew there was a small stone cabin by the roadside, and he decided to seek shelter there. That was where he found the body of Abbess Faife. She had been stabbed through the heart. He decided to bury the body in a snowdrift as a means of preserving it and then come here with all speed.’