‘How long were you the wife of Cinaed?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Five years.’
Fidelma was wondering why no one at the abbey had bothered to tell her that Cinaed had died leaving a widow.
‘I presume there are no children of this union?’ Eadulf asked.
Sister Buan turned an almost pitying look on him.
‘We have not been blessed with children. Poor Cinaed was not capable of becoming a father when we joined our lives together. It was for companionship that we made the lanamnus, our marriage contract. Even if it were possible, children are frowned on among the community.’
‘How long had you known Cinaed?’
‘Seven years. Cinaed was here when I came to the community, but I did not really know him until I came to work for him.’
‘And you have been in this community for — how long?’
‘I was in this abbey for over twenty years.’
‘What brought you together?’
The slightly built woman shrugged.
‘He wanted someone to keep his chambers tidy. He was given special privileges because of his scholarship. He did not have to participate in physical work because of his age and learning and so he was allowed someone to assist him. He was one of only two scholars here who had that privilege.’
Eadulf grimaced sourly.
‘I suppose the other was the Venerable Mac Faosma?’
‘Just so. And he has Brother Benen to help him.’
There was a tone of censure in the woman’s voice. Fidelma looked at her keenly.
‘You disapprove of that?’
‘What a man does in his private life is no concern of mine,’ she replied, as if uninterested.
Once again Fidelma caught Eadulf’s eye and this time shook her head slightly. It was obvious what the woman meant.
‘So you began to clean for Cinaed and that led to your relationship?’
‘I did and it did.’
‘And you became interested in his work?’ Eadulf asked.
For the first time the woman actually smiled.
‘His work? I had no understanding of it. I am no scholar.’ She held out her hands. ‘These are not the hands of a Latin scholar, Brother Saxon.’
Eadulf glanced at them. They were rough and calloused.
‘What would a scholar want with someone like me?’ There was no bitterness in her voice. Neither of them responded to her question. She went on: ‘Human beings want companionship at times and not simply for intellectual discourse. In Cinaed’s case he wanted someone to nurse him and fetch and carry for him.’
Eadulf looked uncomfortable but she went on without seeming to notice.
‘I knew there was no meeting of minds with Cinaed but he was a wonderful man. I came here to escape poverty.’ Sister Buan sounded slightly bitter. ‘I was disowned by my father after he divorced my mother, who was his second wife.’
Fidelma was interested.
‘For what reason did he divorce her?’
‘Because she fled her marriage contract on becoming enamoured of a young man, so I was told. From fear of my father, she became a fugitive in the mountains. I was told that she perished there.’
‘So she did not take you with her into the mountains?’
Sister Buan shook her head.
‘I was sent to be fostered among the Corco Duibhne, by their chief, and told never to return to my father’s rath again nor seek help from my half-brothers. Nor did I. Thus when I left my foster parents, I decided to seek security in the religious life. Eventually, I came to the abbey and for two years I did all the chores that no one else wanted to do. Then the abbot found I had a talent for bargaining with merchants. So he allowed
‘So I also went to work for Cinaed. I enjoyed working for him, nursing him in sickness, helping him in health, and when he offered to legalise our relationship I could ask for no greater happiness.’
‘You knew that he was regarded as a great scholar?’ Fidelma asked.
‘I knew that he regarded himself as a tired and frail old man who sometimes needed his chest rubbed with oils to keep out the cold vapours of the night.’
‘But you know how highly his work was thought of?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘I know some in this abbey did not think so highly of it,’ she corrected.
‘You mean the Venerable Mac Faosma?’
‘And his followers.’
‘You felt their antagonism?’
‘Isn’t there an old saying — three things that come unbidden — love, jealousy and fear? All three have visited these chambers.’
‘Fear?’
‘The day before he died, poor Cinaed expressed his fear to me.’ Fidelma’s eyes widened.
‘He was fearful? Fearful of whom?’
Sister Buan sighed and shook her head.
‘That, alas, I do not know for sure.’
‘Can you recall what he said? How did he express this fear?’
Sister Buan spread her hands in a negative gesture.
‘He came back here in a state of anxiety after the evening meal in the refectory… It was one of the special feasts that he was obliged to attend. More often he would eat simply in these chambers with me, having dispensation to do so because of his age.’
‘But you imply that you did not attend that particular evening meal? Why?’
‘I was not well. A stomach sickness.’
‘I see. Go on.’
‘I remember that I went to get water for myself and passed that window…’ She pointed across the room to where a window opened on to a small quadrangle. Fidelma suddenly realised it was the same quadrangle that gave access to the Venerable Mac Faosma’s chambers through the door into his study. She rose quickly.
‘Your pardon, Sister Buan. Which is the door to the Venerable Mac Faosma’s chambers?’
‘It is that door directly across the quadrangle from us.’
‘Thank you. Continue. You passed by this window and…?’
‘It was dark, of course, but the quadrangle is lit with torches at night. I saw Cinaed enter the quadrangle from the archway entrance to the right… that leads to the refectory. He was walking slowly with someone and engaged in animated conversation.’ ‘Did you recognise who it was?’ queried Eadulf.
‘Sister Uallann.’
‘The physician?’
‘The same,’ she confirmed. ‘They appeared to be arguing but in low tones and Sister Uallann was throwing her hands in the air as if to make her points. She can be very dramatic at times. A strange woman, given to outbursts of temper. It seemed to me that Cinaed broke off the conversation for he turned and came to our door.’
‘What did he say?’ demanded Fidelma.
Sister Buan shrugged.
‘Nothing.’
Fidelma looked taken aback for a moment.
‘Nothing? You had just seen him in argument. You said he came back here fearful… of what? Of whom? Sister Uallann?’
‘I saw he was agitated. Naturally, I asked him what was amiss and told him what I had seen outside. He said that it was just a silly quarrel, that was all. Something about his work. But I knew Cinaed. Behind his light dismissal of the event, I knew that he was afraid.’
‘How was that fear expressed?’
Sister Buan shrugged again.
‘It is hard to explain. I grew up on the western peninsula. I was fostered by a chieftain there who believed that his fosterlings should learn animal husbandry. I came to know when the animals were fretting. Sheep would know when a wolf was near and you did not have to ask for an explanation. You could see it in their bodies, the movement of their heads. It is the same if you know someone intimately. You become used to their habits, their ways. It was like that with Cinaed. He did not have to say when he was thirsty or when he was tired. I knew. I knew from the way he behaved that evening that there was something on his mind and he was fearful of it.’
‘Did you ask him to tell you what was wrong?’
‘I did. He t
old me not to worry. He said, and these were his very words, that he would sort things out the next day. He would be going to see the abbot and resolve matters.’
Fidelma and Eadulf sat back for a moment.
‘Resolve matters? With the abbot? That is an interesting choice of words. And he made no further explanation?’
‘None. He said that he would see the abbot after the service — the service for the feast day of the Blessed Ite. He and the abbot usually went to the oratory to prepare it for the service together. I remember hearing him leave and thinking it was very early for him to do so. It was still very dark. I am not sure when it was but I thought it was not long after midnight. All I recall is that it was light when Brother Cu Mara came to me with the news that… that…’
Her features began to crumple and Fidelma reached forward to lay a hand on her arm.
‘And you know nothing more of the matter that he had promised to resolve with Abbot Erc?’ pressed Eadulf gently.
She shook her head, recovering her poise.
‘Have you told anyone else about this?’
‘I told the abbot, of course.’
‘You did? And what did he say?’
‘He said that he had no idea of any matter that needed resolution. He said that Cinaed was probably worried about some detail of his work. Oh, and, of course, I handed a piece of paper I found in the hearth to the abbot. It was not there when I went to bed but I saw it there the next day. Obviously, Cinaed must have burnt it during the night.’
Fidelma drew the paper carefully from her marsupium.
‘And this was the paper?’
Sister Buan looked at it with some surprise and then nodded.
‘The abbot passed it to me,’ explained Fidelma. ‘And what do you make of it?’
‘I think it is the note that enticed poor Cinaed to the chapel that night. See, the words are clear: “midnight” and “Orat…” burnt away could mean “oratory”, and “alone” could be an invitation to go there alone. The next word is part of a name — “Sin”.’
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied the woman’s face.
‘You appear to have an astute eye, Sister Buan.’
‘It is that I am suspicious. Cinaed loved his work and even when that arrogant man Mac Faosma challenged him to public debate, he was not disturbed by it. He was not concerned by the views of others because he had the strength of his convictions. But he was disturbed that night. I do not think it was a matter of a problem with his work. I believe that he was enticed to the oratory by his killer.’
Eadulf examined her keenly.
‘You talk of the debates. Did you attend Cinaed’s debates and could you understand the arguments? Could you understand them enough to realise whether Cinaed’s views were right or that Mac Faosma was simply arrogant?’
Sister Buan shook her head.
‘Of course I did not. I have told you, I could not understand any of the arguments,’ she said in reproof. ‘But I do understand when a man is arrogant in his behaviour. Cinaed treated Mac Faosma with humour. The worst I have ever heard him say of him is that he was trying to be a “master of souls”. That is a derogatory term among our people.’
‘And you say that Cinaed did not mind Mac Faosma’s criticisms?’
‘Whenever Cinaed returned from those debates he was in a good humour,’ replied Sister Buan. ‘They did not worry him — Mac Faosma’s sneering comments and the baying of his students. Truly, I have never seen Cinaed worried until that night, the night before…’
She paused, hesitated a moment and gave way to a quiet sob.
‘Did you ask Sister Uallann what the argument was about?’ asked Fidelma softly.
Sister Buan recovered herself with a sniff.
‘She thinks it beneath her dignity to speak to me as an equal. She is like Mac Faosma in her arrogance.’
‘But you did ask her?’ pressed Eadulf.
‘Of course I asked, but she told me it was on a matter I would not understand and brushed me aside.’
‘So, apart from the abbot and Sister Uallann, we are the only people you have told about this argument?’ Fidelma asked.
‘That is so. I knew someone was coming to investigate the death of Abbess Faife and would naturally seek to understand the events behind Cinaed’s murder. So I have said nothing about this to anyone else.’
Fidelma exchanged a glance with Eadulf.
‘You assumed whoever came here would investigate Cinaed’s death as
Sister Buan suddenly glanced about in an almost conspiratorial manner.
‘I believe so. I overheard something someone said.’
‘What did they say and who was it that said it?’ demanded Fidelma curiously.
Sister Buan looked about her again as if deciding whether some unseen eavesdropper could overhear her.
‘It was the rechtaire.’
Fidelma frowned. ‘Brother Cu Mara?’
She nodded quickly.
‘And what did he say and in what circumstances?’
Sister Buan licked her lips.
‘I was taking the washing to the tech-nigid. It was the day after the burial of Cinaed. I had cleared out his clothes. Those that needed washing I took there so that they could be distributed later to the needy. Brother Cu Mara was in the tech-nigid speaking to Sister Sinnchene. Neither of them saw me because the door was only partially open and as I came up I heard Cinaed’s name spoken by Sister Sinnchene and so I halted and did not go inside.’
‘Why did that make you halt?’ Fidelma queried.
‘Because I knew that Sister Sinnchene had an unhealthy passion for Cinaed and that fact stopped me.’
Yet again Fidelma and Eadulf could not help but exchange a surprised glance.
‘But she is very young,’ pointed out Eadulf.
Sister Buan’s gaze rested on him for a moment.
‘What has that to do with it? I am not that aged. Old men have passions for young women, old women for young men, and so the reverse is possible. That young woman was always simpering after Cinaed.’
‘Simpering is an interesting term,’ Eadulf observed. ‘Was Sister Sinnchene’s passion, as you call it, reciprocated?’
Sister Buan flushed.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There was no foundation to it. But the girl seemed jealous of me. But, as the saying goes, all cows do not come equally well into the field. She did everything she could to lure Cinaed from me. She was a little vixen by nature as well as by name.’
Fidelma was reminded that ‘little vixen’ was the meaning of the name Sinnchene.
‘Why should she want to do so? To lure Cinaed away from you, I mean?’
‘She must answer that question.’
‘What did your husband say?’
‘He said he thought she was a silly child enamoured only of his reputation and prestige. He thought that she wanted to use his position to make a place for herself.’
‘But you and Cinaed were married,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘In some places second marriages are not proscribed,’ Sister Buan replied. ‘A man or woman can marry a second spouse while still married to the first.’
Fidelma knew that some of the old laws of polygamy had survived from the time before the New Faith. But the New Faith frowned on having more than one wife or husband.
‘Do you mean that she attempted to get Cinaed to take her as a dormun?’ she asked. The term was the old one for other female marital partners or concubines.
‘I believe so.’
‘Did you ever challenge Sister Sinnchene about it?’ queried Eadulf.
‘I once told her to leave him alone. But she was insulting and openly defiant. She replied with the old saying that the man with one cow will sometimes want milk.’
‘Were you angry at that?’
‘I knew Cinaed,’ she said emphatically. ‘He had no interest in her. Besides, do not the country folk have another saying — an old bird is not caught with chaff?’
‘As a matter of fact, I did. Brother Eolas has some knowledge of the law but when I went to see him he seemed to support the old ways. He quoted some book to me that said there was a dispute in the law on the matter, and concluded that as the Chosen People of God lived in polygamy, so it was much easier to praise the custom than to condemn it.’
Fidelma sighed. She knew the passage from the Bretha Crolige in which the Brehon showed from the ancient texts that the Hebrews dwelt in a plurality of unions. She tried to return to the immediate matter.
‘So you heard Sister Sinnchene and Brother Cu Mara speaking together?’ she said. ‘You did not make your presence known because you thought you might hear what Sister Sinnchene had to say about your husband? Something important?’
‘Once I heard Cinaed’s name spoken, I paused outside the door. Sinnchene had said something about Cinaed and then the rechtaire said, “We cannot be over cautious.” Sinnchene replied, “Surely there is no way that Cinaed would have revealed that secret to the Abbess Faife?” The rechtaire responded, “Yet the abbess’s body was found near that very spot. That must mean there was some connection.” There was a pause and, thinking that I had been discovered, I fell to making a noise as I came in with the clothing for the wash.’
‘You have a good memory, Sister,’ observed Fidelma. ‘Was anything said to you?’
Sister Buan shook her head.
‘Brother Cu Mara pretended that he, too, had brought washing in and made a point of thanking Sister Sinnchene for taking it as he left.’
‘Did Sister Sinnchene say anything else to you?’
‘She scowled at me, which is her usual way, and took the clothing from me in an ungracious manner, so I left.’
‘Did you deduce anything from this exchange?’
Sister Buan shrugged.
‘That this secret, this fear, that Cinaed had on the night before his death, might have been a fear that he had shared with the Abbess Faife.’
‘But how?’
Sister Buan looked puzzled at Fidelma’s question. It was Eadulf who interpreted it for her.
‘Abbess Faife must have been dead over ten days when Cinaed was killed, and she was found a long way away from the abbey. How then could he have shared this secret, or fear, as you put it?’
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