Master of Souls sf-16

by Peter Tremayne

  ‘If I were you, I’d close up the library for tonight and return to finish in the morning when you have had some rest,’ she advised.

  The boy nodded slowly.

  ‘I am exhausted, Sister Fidelma,’ he confessed.

  She was about to leave when, on an impulse, she said: ‘I believe there are many in this conhospitae who really would prefer to segregate the sexes.’

  The young man nodded moodily.

  ‘There are some who preach against mixed houses and would prefer to see Ard Fhearta as a place of male religious only, Sister,’ he admitted.

  Sister Fidelma was thoughtful.

  ‘And the Venerable Cinaed was not one of them?’

  Brother Faolchair grinned and shook his head quickly.

  ‘I once heard him denounce the Edicts of the Council of Nicaea in very eloquent terms,’ he replied. ‘He believed that companionship was the natural condition for men and women.’

  ‘The Edicts of the Council of Nicaea were not binding on all the churches of Christendom,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘But as I recall the Council was specific in that one of the rules it issued was that a priest could not marry after ordination. And that, of course, raises a question — I have not heard that the Venerable Cinaed was ordained as a priest. Do you know if he was so ordained?’

  Brother Faolchair shook his head at once.

  ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma was always making sneering references to the fact,’ he said. ‘Mac Faosma was ordained to conduct the sacrament.’

  ‘So, the rule that the Council of Nicaea wanted to impose on the priests did not apply to Cinaed,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Brother Faolchair, do you know how many in Ard Fhearta are ordained as opposed to merely entering the religious life — as Cinaed did in his role as a scholar?’

  The assistant librarian thought for a moment.

  ‘Abbot Erc is ordained, of course. And, as I said, the Venerable Mac Faosma is also ordained priest as well as a scholar. Then Brother Eolas and Brother Cillin are ordained to take the Eucharist…’

  ‘And I presume that Abbess Faife was also ordained.’

  ‘And against the rule of the Council of Laodicea, so Abbot Erc argued in my hearing,’ replied the youth. ‘In honesty, Sister, I do not think he liked Abbess Faife much. He was always fond of quoting the decisions of these councils from the remote parts of Christendom.’

  Sister Fidelma patted the boy on the shoulder.

  ‘You have been very helpful, Brother Faolchair.’ She smiled, realising that the hour was growing late and she was suddenly very tired. She would

  ‘I should keep the Venerable Cinaed’s note somewhere safe. It might be valuable one day,’ she advised, wishing him good night.

  Brother Faolchair inclined his head and tried to stifle a yawn.

  ‘I will, Sister. Good night.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  I t was one of those crystal clear winter days. The sea was flat and still. Its soft whispering was only perceptible round the coastline. The sun was pallid, almost unnoticeable in the pastel blue wash of the sky. Only a few white fluffs of cloud drifted high up, wispy like odd clumps of sheep’s wool caught on a bush. There was a soft but cold breeze blowing from the north.

  Fidelma, Eadulf and Conri, with his two stolid and silent warriors, had boarded Mugron’s sturdy coastal vessel, a tough oak-built serrcenn which was fine for navigating round the coastal waters but not for long voyages on the oceans. Half a dozen men manned its two broad sails and Mugron himself preferred to handle the heavy carved oak tiller. The ship was stacked with merchandise for trading among the Corco Duibhne. It consisted mainly of metalwork from the silver mines in the north of the Ui Fidgente country and religious items made at Ard Fhearta itself.

  Mugron had smiled warmly as he welcomed them aboard.

  ‘We are lucky today. The breeze promises us a fair sail across to the peninsula,’ he said, gesturing to where the mountains of the land of the Corco Duibhne rose to the south, standing out dark and sharp on the horizon. It was an indication of how cold and clear the air was to see their outlines delineated thus, for in warm weather their contours seemed to soften and a mist would hang over them.

  ‘Are those the Sliabh Mis mountains?’ asked Eadulf, remembering the last time he had seen them.

  ‘That they are,’ affirmed Mugron. ‘We’ll pick up the breeze as it swings offshore and it should bring us due west through the Machaire Islands. Then we can head south into Breanainn’s Bay. That is where I land my

  With the crewmen working the sails to make sure they picked up as much of the wind as possible, and Mugron using the tiller to keep the stern to it so that the forward momentum was maintained, the coastal vessel pushed out from the sheltered harbour, passing a little rock which Mugron pointed out as ‘the island of beautiful cabbage’ which puzzled Eadulf until Fidelma explained that it was an edible seaweed usually called lus na gcarrac.

  ‘Ah, samphire,’ Eadulf interpreted. ‘St Peter’s herb.’

  It also grew off the coast of the land of the South Folk and he knew it was exquisite to the taste when eaten with an oily fish like a mackerel. He glanced with a longing expression at the little rocky island as they were passing. He could see the squat plants growing in abundance, their ridged skins protecting them from the drying salt winds that whispered about them. But he could see no umbrella head of pale, greenish yellow flowers, and reminded himself that it was not summer.

  ‘Do you truly land there and harvest the samphire?’

  ‘The place provides a bountiful harvest,’ Mugron affirmed. ‘Samphire is also to be found on the larger island back there, beyond our stern. You would see a different picture if you were here in the summer’s months. That’s when the plants display themselves at their best.’

  They were now moving slowly across the broad expanse of water towards the distant flat outline of land which Conri informed them was called the Machaire promontory, a narrow low-lying finger of land pointing due north. At the northern tip was a cluster of islets through which they had to sail to bring the vessel into the broad bay named after Breanainn.

  ‘I thought Machaire meant a plain?’ queried Eadulf, always willing to extend his knowledge of the language.

  ‘So it does,’ confirmed Conri, ‘but it also means land that is low lying. The islands to the north are also called the Machaire Islands because they, too, lie low in the sea. There are about eight of them, some no more than rocks jutting out of the sea. I have only twice journeyed in these parts. These are dangerous waters, I have heard.’

  Mugron laughed disarmingly.

  ‘Have no fear, lord Conri, for I know the waters well enough.’

  ‘Does anyone live on those islands?’ Eadulf asked Mugron, peering forward towards the dark specks.

  ‘Some religious hermits still live on the largest of them, which is known as Seanach’s Island. A strange band, they are. Now and then I have brought supplies to them but they do not welcome visitors. One wonders why they have chosen such an inhospitable place. There are no natural wells there and often they have to exist on rainwater, and if it doesn’t rain…’ The merchant shrugged.

  ‘Seanach’s Island?’ queried Eadulf.

  ‘After the holy man who established their community a century or more ago.’

  ‘I know of two Seanachs,’ Fidelma intervened. ‘One was abbot of Ard Macha and the other abbot of Clonard. Both of them lived and died nearly a century ago.’

  ‘Ah, but this Seanach was an Ui Fidgente,’ Conri said, almost with a touch of pride. ‘He was brother of the Blessed Sennin of Inish Carthaigh. He became famous as the tutor of Aidan who was once abbot of Lindisfarne in the land of the Angles.’

  ‘And you say the community that Seanach set up still lives on this island?’

  ‘Apart from the lack of fresh water it has good anchorage in summer, but it and the other islands are low and flat and the winds can strike them cruelly,’ Mugron said. ‘It is more the haunt of seabirds than of men
. The oystercatchers are particularly numerous there.’

  Eadulf never ceased to wonder at the amazing number of small islands around the land of the five kingdoms. And being reminded of seabirds he became aware of the number of them that had been noisily following them. Squabbling gannets hanging motionless on strong updraughts, warning each other off before diving down into the sea in search of their prey; a small flock of strident kittiwakes with black wingtips flying elegantly northward in search of cliff ledges on which to form their colonies, their cries coming back like the souls of those lost in the sea. Mugron suddenly shielded his eyes before pointing to some small black specks pattering on the surface of the sea, as if walking on it.

  ‘Storm petrels,’ he grunted. ‘Probably a storm coming soon,’ he added, echoing the old sailor’s belief that they represented such a portent.

  No one responded and for a while there was comparative quiet as they glided through the calm seas.

  It was still very cold in spite of the brightness of the day. The brightness gave an illusion of good weather but there was no heat and the

  Mugron said something to Conri who went to a wooden box fixed to the side of the ship near him and extracted a pitcher.

  While Conri took the alcohol to his men further down in the well of the boat, Mugron spoke to Fidelma.

  ‘How goes your investigation at the abbey? I heard that you were also trying to resolve the death of the Venerable Cinaed? Some said that you felt it was linked with the death of Abbess Faife.’

  Fidelma swung round in her seat so that she could face the weather-beaten merchant, who was standing with his feet apart, hand resting lightly on the tiller of the ship.

  ‘I am proceeding apace,’ she replied. ‘I suppose you knew the Venerable Cinaed well?’

  Mugron gave a disarming shrug.

  ‘Not well. Not really well. Occasionally, I have conducted business with his companion, Sister Buan. I have tracked down good quality vellum, some coloured inks that she has bought for him. Of course, he was a respected scholar and I just a merchant. But Sister Buan, well — I knew her better.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘She sold the gold and silverwork that the abbey smiths produce. Some of it she offered to me and she would always drive a hard bargain too. She was a good trader and went far and wide to get the best deals for the abbey.’

  ‘You know these lands and people well, Mugron. Do you have any thoughts about these murders?’

  Mugron’s face was expressionless.

  ‘All one hears is gossip, lady. Gossip is of no importance.’

  ‘There is a time for rebuke and a time for gossiping,’ replied Fidelma, resorting to an old proverb.

  Mugron grinned.

  ‘It is a saying that may well be right. So far as the Venerable Cinaed was concerned, saying for saying — be the spring never so clean, some dirt will stick to it.’

  ‘And what dirt stuck to Cinaed?’ asked Fidelma innocently.

  ‘There was talk about the old man and one of the young girls at the abbey.’

  Fidelma was disappointed. She was hoping that Mugron had some other story to tell.

  ‘Do you know any of the details?’

  ‘Just that the old man was having an affair with Sister Sinnchene. Well, who can blame him? She is attractive enough, although I would have thought she was the last person to form an attachment to him. But, as the saying goes, do not take as gold everything that shines like gold. It was Sister Buan I felt sorry for.’

  ‘You know Sister Sinnchene, then?’ Fidelma was interested.

  ‘Oh, yes. She is a local girl. I knew her mother slightly.’

  ‘I understand that after the father left her mother died during the Yellow Plague. That is why she went into the abbey. Is that so?’

  ‘A sad tale. The mother was carried off by the pestilence but, luckily for the girl, Abbess Faife decided to look after her and took her to the abbey. It changed her life. The father had left them some years before that.’

  ‘I wonder she did not change her name. Was it a nickname she was given?’

  Mugron frowned for a moment and then his features lightened in a smile.

  ‘Ah, you mean the name Sinnchene — little vixen? Oh no, that was no nickname. It was the only thing that ever linked her with her father.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Her father’s name, that is. He was a wandering warrior in the service of Eoganan of the Ui Fidgente. His name was Wolf, or a name like wolf, I can’t remember which…’

  Eadulf sniffed in disapproval.

  ‘Surely there is only one word meaning a wolf.’

  Mugron smiled wryly.

  ‘You speak our language almost fluently, Brother. However, we have many names that imply a wolf. Names such as Conan, Cuan, Congal, Cu Chaille… why, you even travel with Conri there, whose name is “king of the wolves”. I cannot remember which name Sinnchene’s father carried. I recall that her mother called him ceann an chineoil shionnchamhail — which is “chief of the wolf clan”. Sinnchene’s mother named her daughter to remember him.’

  ‘You were saying that you were sympathetic to Sister Buan and not Sinnchene,’ Fidelma pointed out.

  ‘The gossip was that the girl pursued the old man.’

  ‘Which then might mean that she was attempting to replace her lost father?’ suggested Fidelma.

  ‘Perhaps. She always struck me as someone who knows what she wants and goes after it and never mind the feelings of others. Perhaps there was some jealousy, some conflict among the women…’

  ‘Are you suggesting that had something to do with Cinaed’s violent death?’

  ‘Who knows?’ The merchant shrugged. ‘Where there is conflict among women, jealousy and hatred simmer and such hatred can often lead to violence.’

  ‘But that is merely some gossip that you have heard.’

  ‘Gossip spreads faster than fire. There was much talk about the conflicts at the abbey before I left on my last trip.’

  Fidelma frowned. ‘You mean that there was gossip about Cinaed before the body of the Abbess Faife was discovered by you?’

  He nodded. ‘Before I left I had heard that Abbot Erc was upset and Abbess Faife had cause to defend the girl before him about this very affair. I think Sister Uallann had told Abbot Erc that she knew about it.’

  Fidelma’s jaw firmed. So the physician had not told her the complete truth. She had reported the matter.

  ‘So Abbess Faife defended Sinnchene?’

  Mugron thought for a moment and then shook his head.

  ‘I have misled you. I should say that she defended old Cinaed rather than the girl.’

  ‘So did the abbess disapprove of the affair?’

  ‘She did. Or so I am told. So much so that she refused to take Sister Sinnchene with the rest of her religieuse on that pilgrimage. The girl asked her, apparently. In a way, that turned out well for otherwise Sinnchene would be missing now along with the others… missing or dead.’

  Fidelma glanced across to Eadulf and was about to say something, but he seemed to be concentrating on the horizon, his cheeks pale. She had forgotten that he was not a good sailor. She turned back to Mugron.

  ‘Are you sure that you heard that Abbess Faife was angry about the affair? Why would she defend Cinaed but condemn Sinnchene?’

  ‘Perhaps she knew where blame lay?’ the merchant hazarded.

  ‘It seems,’ Eadulf suddenly said, shifting his gaze from the horizon for a moment, ‘we are concentrating a lot on this domestic strife between Sinnchene and Buan. Yet if, as is claimed, they were both enamoured of the Venerable Cinaed, both in love with him, why would they kill him? Surely in that situation they would be more inclined to kill one another?’

  ‘There speaks the pragmatist in you, Eadulf. But you are right. That would be the logical outcome of such a situation. Yet when have killers ever sat down and worked things out logically? Even in the most cold-blooded killing, there must be a little of illog
ic for the culprit to ever think that killing someone was the solution to any problem. It merely adds to the problem and ends any hope of resolution.’

  Eadulf was now fixing his gaze on the nearing islands.

  Mugron took a hand from the tiller to indicate the approaching land.

  ‘That’s Rough Point… that headland there. We’ll take a wide sweep around it. The tides can be fierce even on a day like this.’

  Eadulf could clearly see a number of islands to the north and some ahead of them. He was aware of a subtle change in the rocking motion of the boat and glanced curiously at Mugron standing feet apart, his stocky frame confident, hands firmly back on the tiller. The merchant caught his glance and gave him a reassuring smile.

  ‘This is why it is called Rough Point. But do not be alarmed, the tide is running smoothly. It only becomes very rough with a westerly wind or big swells against the ebb tide. Then the tide sweeps strongly through the north of those islands.’ He jerked his head towards the distant mounds. ‘I’ll bring the boat well north of that headland there and into calm waters.’

  Conri had made his way back to the stern where they were sitting and was returning the pitcher to the wooden box. As he stood up, he paused and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘There’s a sail bearing down on us, Mugron,’ he called quietly.

  Fidelma and Eadulf glanced round in the direction he was looking.

  ‘Where away?’ asked the merchant, his eyes not moving from the bow as he was engaged in swinging the ship on to a new course.

  ‘Due north of us. It’s bearing down from Seanach’s Island.’

  ‘Ah, it is probably a Corco Duibhne trading vessel from the religious community going back to the mainland.’

  Conri was shading his eyes.

  ‘I think not. The cut of that vessel is more of a laech-lestar than a merchant vessel…’

  Fidelma had scrambled to her feet to get a better look.

  Mugron, too, having completed his manoeuvre, was peering northward to the oncoming sail.