‘Who would welcome these new ideas of celibacy coming from Rome?’ ended Fidelma.
‘Indeed. The Venerable Mac Faosma, for example, since he arrived here has been a vociferous advocate of the idea of celibacy. He would have all the females expelled from here and the abbey given over to being solely a male house.’
‘I see. Does that meet with the approval of the Abbot Erc?’
The rechtaire grinned cynically. ‘Since the Venerable Mac Faosma came here, things have changed.’
‘So the arguments of Mac Faosma are clearly heeded by the abbot?’
‘Oh, there are many who support the argument for celibacy within the abbey.’
‘But the Venerable Cinaed did not?’
‘He did not and could quote from the holy writings, chapter and verse, to support his contention that the religious life was never meant to deny people what he described as that basic part of their humanity.’
‘That must have brought forth some response from the Venerable Mac Faosma?’
‘Indeed, it did. His words were quite violent and… oh!’
The young man raised a hand to his mouth and looked shocked at the admission he had made.
Fidelma did not comment. ‘I presume that Abbot Erc was well aware of their conflict?’
Brother Cu Mara nodded unhappily.
Fidelma sighed. ‘It seems our inquiry begins to show that poor Cinaed was not so universally loved as it was first claimed. He had a fierce antagonist and that antagonist had supporters in this abbey.’
‘But it was merely a conflict of ideas — celibacy versus non-celibacy. That has been debated within many communities and at many times.’
‘True enough,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘However, to begin to see the garden one must clear away the weeds.’
Brother Cu Mara looked bewildered.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘It is of no consequence. Your information is most useful. Is there anything else that I should have been informed about?’
The young steward continued to look puzzled.
Sister Fidelma unbent.
‘Last night we were asking about people who nurtured possible enmity against the Venerable Cinaed. We are at first informed that everyone loved him. Little by little we learn that the Venerable Mac Faosma was his scholastic enemy and used violent words against him. Not just that, but that the Venerable Mac Faosma had a following. Were they equally violent towards the Venerable Cinaed? Were there others who displayed hostility to him?’
Brother Cu Mara shrugged.
‘I do not think that the Venerable Mac Faosma or any of his supporters would go so far as-’
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 an
ything 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.
CHAPTER FOUR
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.
Fidelma frowned, searching her memory but gave up with a shake of her head.
‘I do not recall…’ she began.
The merchant interrupted with a smile.
‘You would not. You were a little girl. I was a young merchant, sailing my ship up the River Siur to the trading post that serves Cashel. Maenach mac Fingin was king at that time. You and your brother had come down to the quay to see my boat come in.’
Memory came back to her. Her father, King Failbe Flann, had died when she was a baby. She had little memory of her father’s successor, King Cuan, who had also died when she was four or five years of age. But Maenach had been king during most of her childhood until she had been sent away to study under the great Brehon Morann at Tara. She and her brother Colgu had looked upon Maenach as a kindly uncle for he was certainly, in their eyes, old enough to be so, although he was actually their first cousin. He had been the son of Fingin, the elder brother of their father Failbe Flann. He had looked after Fidelma and Colgu well, ensuring that they were properly educated. He had died two years before she had set out for the great Synod at Hilda’s Abbey in Northumbria, and another cousin, Cathal, had taken the throne until he died of the Yellow Plague. Maenach had been the only relative that she could think of in terms of what it must have been like to have a father. And she did remember playing along the banks of the great Siur with her brother and watching the trading boats coming up and down the river.
‘Lady?’
She started and guiltily realised that she had drifted off into the world of her remembrance. She brought herself back to the herb garden and to the gaze of the stocky merchant and Conri. It was Brother Cu Mara who had spoken.
‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I was trying to recall something, but no matter. Come, let us sit awhile, Mugron. I want you to tell me the story of how you came to find the body of the Abbess Faife.’
She and the merchant seated themselves on the wooden bench while Conri and the steward took up positions nearby.
‘It was purely by accident,’ the merchant began and then hesitated. ‘I am not sure where to start.’
Fidelma smiled encouragement.
‘Let us start with how you came to be on that road in the land of the Corco Duibhne.’
The merchant paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts.
‘As you have probably been told, I am the main merchant in this area and dwell on the coast to the south-west of here.’
‘I have been told,’ confirmed Fidelma solemnly.
‘I have several ships and we do good business along this coast and often have commissions to supply goods to the abbeys.’ He paused. ‘Several weeks ago, I set out to trade some goods with the Corco Duibhne. I deal regularly with them.’
‘You set out on foot?’
Mugron shook his head.
‘The easiest way to transport goods is a short sail from the port of An Bhearbha across the great inlet to the peninsula, which is their territory. In good weather it is a simple run due west, then around a finger of land that pokes up from the peninsula to a group of islands, through these and round into Breanainn’s Bay. There is a good landing in the bay and that is where many of the merchants of the Corco Duibhne gather. Also it is not a hard climb into the mountains, to Breanainn’s mount where this abbey keeps a small community at the very spot where the founder-’
‘I know of Breanainn’s mount,‘interrupted Fidelma, suppressing a sigh of restlessness. ‘So you went to Breanainn’s Bay on the north side of the peninsula by ship to trade. How was it that you were later on foot on the south side of the peninsula heading eastward away from your ship?’ She hesitated as another thought occurred to her. ‘How was it that the Abbess Faife did not take her charges by this quicker and easier route to Breanainn’s mount? Why, in the midwinter snows, was she taking her charges on foot on what was surely the longest way to her objective?’
Brother Cu Mara coughed awkwardly.
‘If I might remind you, lady? There were two good reasons. One reason being that her first goal was the abbey of Colman where she had business. It is easier to get there on foot from Ard Fhearta. But she always
‘Of course, of course,’ cut in Fidelma sharply. ‘I had forgotten that point for a moment. ‘But it still does not explain why you, Mugron, should have abandoned your ship for such an arduous route home?’
Mugron was smiling broadly.
‘As I said, lady, there is no quicker route with fair weather and a westerly wind to bring you from the great bay back to my safe little harbour here. The journey there was fine enough. We had a good breeze blowing off the coast from the east and there were no problems. But not long after we landed and were exchanging cargoes, the winds rose, the snows came down and we were forced to seek shelter close inshore. I had business that would not wait and so I negotiated for a fine horse from a local trader. I left my ship, telling my crew to wait until the weather improved before setting out to return here.
‘I took the route south-west through the mountains to pay my respects to Slebene, the chieftain of the Corco Duibhne, at his fortress of Daingean. It did not put me out of my way. I could also proceed to the abbey of Colman and conclude some other business. Then the ride home would be easy.’
‘I see. Go on.’
Mugron massaged his forehead with his fingertips for
a moment.
‘Perhaps I should tell you that Brother Maidiu, who is in charge of the community on Breanainn’s mount, had come down to see me at the ship. We carried supplies for him.’
‘And?’
‘He told me that he was worried as he had been expecting the Abbess Faife and some of her companions. It was the first time that she had not turned up on the day they usually celebrated the enlightenment of the Blessed Breanainn on the mountain.’
‘So she was already overdue?’
‘She was.’
Fidelma turned to the young steward.
‘How many are there in this community under Brother Maidiu?’
Brother Cu Mara smiled.
‘To call it a community is merely to flatter it, lady. He has no more than three or four Brothers of the Faith who reside on the mountain all year round. It is a cold and harsh environment and only suitable for those who have a vocation for the life.’
‘I see.’ She returned to the merchant. ‘I am sorry. Please continue.’
‘When I had made my mind up to continue on horseback, I told Brother Maidiu that I would look out for Abbess Faife along the road as I was sure that she was on the way but had probably been caught up and delayed by the snows.’
He paused, as if to gather his thoughts again.
‘I left the fortress, An Daingean, and rode along the south coast road eastward towards the abbey of Colman. It is a long straight track with mountains on one side and the sea’s great inlet on the other. On a pleasant, dry day, it is an easy ride. The abbey of Colman lies about thirty-five or so kilometres from Daingean. I was confident of reaching there before nightfall. The wind was from the south-west, so it was, thanks be, at my back, but the snow was falling thickly and it was causing drifts. I was feeling quite exhausted when I reached the place that is called simply the Island, where, until a short time ago, Uaman, Lord of the Passes, had his fortress. It is in blackened ruins now for the people rose up against him-’
Fidelma nodded quickly.
‘We have heard the story,’ she said. ‘What happened?’
‘Near there is a disused coirceogach, a round stone hut, where I have sheltered several times. I thought that I would rest again and try to dry my clothes, keeping out of the snow for a while, rather than press on the remaining distance to the abbey. I had no difficulty locating the place despite the drifting snow, for I had the position of Uaman’s island to guide me.’
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