Peter Tremayne - Whispers of the Dead

Fidelma began to walk in that direction. Her movement toward the woods was purely automatic. She felt the compulsion to walk and think matters over and the wood was as good a direction as any in which to do so. It was not as though she expected to find any evidence among the remains of the itinerant camp.

She had barely gone a few hundred yards when she noticed the figure a short distance behind her. It was moving surreptitiously: a figure of one of the brothers following her from the buildings of the community.

She imperceptibly increased her pace up the rising path toward the woods and entered it quickly. The path immediately led into a clearing where it was obvious that there had been an encampment not so long ago. There were signs of a fire, the gray ashes spread in a circle. Some of the ground had been turned by the hooves of horses and a wagon.

“You won’t find anything here, Sister.”

Fidelma turned and regarded the figure of the brother who had now entered the clearing behind her.

“Good day, Brother,” she replied solemnly. He was a young man, with bright ginger red hair and dark blue eyes. He was young, no more than twenty, but wore the tonsure of St. John. “Brother. .?” she paused inviting him to supply his name.

“My name is Brother Ledbán.”

“You have followed me, Brother Ledbán. Do you wish to talk with me?”

“I want you to know that the Venerable Connla was a brilliant man.”

“I think most of Christendom knows that,” she replied solemnly.

“Most of Christendom does not know that the Venerable Connla hungered for truth no matter if the truth was unpalatable to them.”

“ Veritas vos liberabit . The truth shall make you free,” Fidelma quoted from the vellum in her marsupium .

“That was his very motto,” Brother Ledbán agreed. “He should have remembered the corollary to that- veritas odium parit .”

Fidelma’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I have heard that said. Truth breeds hatred. Was Connla getting near a truth that caused hatred?”

“I think so.”

“Among the brethren?”

“Among certain of our community at St. Martin’s,” agreed Brother Ledbán.

“Perhaps you should tell me what you know.”

“I know little but what little I know, I shall impart to you.”

Fidelma sat down on a fallen tree trunk and motioned Brother Ledbán to sit next to her.

“I understand that the Venerable Connla must have been working on a new text of philosophy?”

“He was. Why I know it is because I am a scribe and the Delbatóir of the community. I would often sharpen Connla’s quills for him or seek out new ones. I would mix his inks. As Delbatóir it was my task to make the metal covers that would enshrine and protect the books.”

Fidelma nodded. Many books considered worthy of note were either enshrined in metal boxes or had finely covered plates of gold or silver, some encrusted with jewels, sewn on to their leather covers. This was a special art, the casting of such plates called a cumtach, and the task fell to the one appointed a Delbatóir, which meant a framer or fashioner.

“We sometimes worked closely and Connla would often say to me that truth was the philosopher’s food but was often bitter to the taste. Most people preferred the savory lie.”

“Who was he annoying by his truth?”

“To be frank, Sister, he was annoying himself. I went into his chamber once, where he had been poring over some texts in the old writing. .”

“In Ogham? ”

“In Ogham . Alas, I have not the knowledge of it to be able to decipher the ancient alphabet. But he suddenly threw the text from him and exclaimed: ‘Alas! The value of the well is not known until it has dried up!’ Then he saw me and smiled and apologized for his temper. But temper was not really part of that wise old man, Sister. It was more a sadness than a temper.”

“A sadness at what he was reading?”

“A sadness at what he was realizing through his great knowledge.”

“I take it that you do not believe in Father Máilín’s story of the itinerant thieves?” she suddenly asked.

He glanced swiftly at her.

“I am not one to point a finger of accusation at any one individual. The bird has little affection that deserts its own brood.”

“There is also an old saying, that one bird flies away from every brood. However, I am not asking you to desert your own brood but I am asking you to help in tracking down the person responsible for the Venerable Connla’s death.”

“I cannot betray that person.”

“Then you do know who it was?”

“I suspect but suspecting would cast doubt on the good name of Connla.”

Fidelma frowned slightly.

“I fail to understand that.”

“The explanation of every riddle is contained in itself,” Brother Ledbán replied, rising. “Connla was fond of reading Naturalis Historia . .”

“Pliny?” queried Fidelma.

“Indeed-Gaius Plinius Secundus. Connla once remarked to me that he echoed Pliny in acknowledging God’s best gift to mankind.”

He had gone even before Fidelma felt that she should have pointed out that he could be ordered to explain by law under pain of fine. Yet, somehow, she did not think it was appropriate nor that she would be able to discover his suspicions in that way.

She sat for some time on the log, turning matters over in her own mind. Then she pulled out the piece of parchment and read it again, considering it carefully. She replaced it in her marsupium and stood up abruptly, her mouth set in a grim line.

She retraced her steps back down the hill to the community and went straight to the Father Superior’s chamber.

Father Máilín was still seated at his desk and looked up in annoyance as she entered.

“Have you finished your investigation, Sister?”

“Not as yet,” Fidelma replied and, without waiting to be asked, sat down. A frown crossed Father Máilín’s brow but before he could admonish Fidelma, she cut in with a bored voice, “I would remind you that not only am I sister to the King of Cashel but, in holding the degree of anruth as an advocate of the court, I have the privilege of even sitting in the presence of the High King. Do not, therefore, lecture me on protocol.”

Father Máilín swallowed at the harshness of her tone.

He had, indeed, been about to point out that a member of the brethren was not allowed to sit in the presence of a Father Superior without being invited.

“You are a clever man, Father Máilín,” Fidelma suddenly said, although the Father Superior missed the patronizing tone in her voice.

He stared at her not knowing how to interpret her words.

“I need your advice.”

Father Máilín shifted his weight slightly in his chair. He was bewildered by her abrupt changes of attitude.

“I am at your service, Sister Fidelma.”

“It is just that you have been able to reason out an explanation for a matter which is beyond my understanding and I would like you to explain it to me.”

“I will do my best.”

“Excellent. Tell me how these thieves were able to overpower and hang an old man in his chamber and leave the room, having secured the window on the inside and locking the door behind them, leaving the key in the room?”

Father Máilín stared at her for some moments, his eyes fixed on her in puzzlement. Then he began to chuckle.

“You are misinformed. The key was never found. The thieves took it with them.”

“I am told that there was only one key to that room which the Venerable Connla kept in his possession. Is that true?”

Father Máilín nodded slowly.

“There was no other key. Our smithy had to pick the lock for us to gain entrance to the room.”