Master of Souls sf-16

by Peter Tremayne

  Eadulf eased nervously backwards as if this action would somehow hide him from Brother Cillin’s piercing glances as the songmaster surveyed the brethren before him. Eadulf tugged nervously at his hood to make sure it hid as much of his face as possible. Brother Cillin was continuing: ‘You have all been chosen to join the Unending Circle. It is a unique honour and in the future we will be spoken of in hushed tones throughout the five kingdoms. In the old days the unending circle symbolised life: no beginning and no end. The circle encompasses the cross and the unending knot symbolises life. We chosen few have taken as our motto the Latin phrase sic itur ad astra — thus one goes to the stars! For it is our work and destiny that will take us to the stars, my brethren. We will fly there as singing birds.’

  Eadulf was beginning to think that Brother Cillin must be quite mad. The rhetoric was overwhelming in its imagery to the point where no sane person would employ it.

  Suddenly, Brother Cillin had bent down and picked up a small square-shaped stringed instrument. Eadulf had seen it before and knew that it was called a ceis — it was far smaller than a harp but of the same stringed family.

  The songmaster passed his hands over the strings, striking a chord.

  ‘We shall start with the suan traige — the lullaby. Are you all prepared?’

  A chorus of assent greeted him.

  The chord was struck again.

  To Eadulf’s surprise, the entire assembly burst into a chanting song.

  Fidelma met Conr outside Mac Faosma’s chambers. The warlord had a worried expression on his face.

  ‘Slebene has just arrived at the abbey,’ he said without preamble. ‘I came to warn you, lady.’

  ‘Now that is interesting,’ she said grimly but she showed no surprise.

  ‘How so?’ demanded the warlord.

  ‘Doubtless he has heard of your attack on Seanach’s Island and the freeing of the prisoners. He will now hear of Olcan’s murder. He has come here for orders from the “master”. The strands are coming together. How many warriors does he bring?’

  ‘He arrived in a single warship, which is anchored in the harbour, but has brought only two men to the abbey with him. One of them is his champion.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He is with the abbot.’

  ‘And his men?’

  ‘In the stables, I imagine. They seem to have acquired horses in An Bhearbha.’

  ‘Has he given an excuse for his visit?’

  Conri shook his head. ‘None that I know.’

  ‘I suggest that you send your man Socht down to your warships in the harbour and tell your captain, Tadcan, to keep a careful watch on Slebene’s men. In fact, lookouts should be posted just in case Slebene has some other surprises in store for us…’

  ‘You mean that he might have other warships lurking off the coast?’

  ‘With the discovery of what was taking place on Seanach’s Island, I think the so-called “master” will be pretty desperate now.’

  ‘You suspect that Slebene might be so involved that he will launch an attack on the abbey? To achieve what?’ demanded Conr.

  ‘Slebene is part of a plan to overthrow Donennach. That will have repercussions for all Muman. I still need a little more time before I can demonstrate it. Tell Socht to return as soon as he has delivered your orders.’

  Conr started to turn away.

  ‘Wait!’ called Fidelma. ‘How many warriors do you have in the abbey?’

  ‘Just Socht. The ones who escorted Olcan here with me have returned to the ship. Abbot Erc tolerates no more than a personal guard for visiting chiefs in the abbey.’

  Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.

  ‘Then tell Socht to return as quickly and unobtrusively as he possibly can and bring a couple of your men with him.’

  Conri was hesitant. ‘Do you expect something to happen, lady?’

  Fidelma actually smiled. ‘I do, my friend. Something very soon. I just hope that before it does, I can work out the final details of this mystery so that we may prepare ourselves. When you have given your instructions to Socht, find Eadulf and come and join me. I am going to the tech- screptra.’

  Eadulf had many abilities including a strong voice. But it was not a singing voice. It was true that he liked to sing but his idea of singing was certainly not shared by anyone with a trained musical ear.

  Brother Cillin, waving his hands to indicate the rhythm, strode among the lines of cowled brethren, sometimes plucking notes from his ceis to keep them in time.

  Eadulf’s head was bent as he tried his best to cope with the chant so that he would not appear out of place in the company.

  As Brother Cill n reached the row in which he stood, the songmaster paused, head to one side.

  ‘Silence!’ he suddenly roared.

  The singing of the brethren came to a ragged halt.

  Eadulf thought that he could feel the steely eyes of the songmaster staring directly at him.

  ‘There is an ear here that is tone deaf!’ thundered the songmaster. ‘The voice obeys the ear and has no concept of melody.’

  There was a murmur of surprise and horror from the brethren as they turned round to try to catch a glimpse of the culprit.

  ‘Surely not someone among the Unending Circle?’ cried a young man at the end of the row.

  ‘Surely not,’ repeated Brother Cillin with sarcastic emphasis. ‘I have hand-picked you all, every one, each for the beauty of his voice, to join in what will be the greatest choir in the five kingdoms of Eireann. A choir

  A horror was coming over Eadulf as he began to understand the mystery he had been pursuing. The Unending Circle — it was simply the name of Brother Cill n’s choristers.

  Brother Cillin was continuing: ‘I have chosen you from many communities, and although it is not often we are all together to practise I was assured that within a few months we would be ready to enter our first singing competition. Now, what do I hear? A voice that has no tone in it, no understanding of music. How could I have chosen such a voice? Or did I?’

  Eadulf had been aware that the stiuirtheoir canaid had now halted before him.

  Reluctantly Eadulf raised his head to meet the steely eyes of the songmaster. He smiled weakly.

  Brother Cillin gazed at him with distaste.

  ‘Ah, Brother Saxon. So it is you? And were you overcome with such a desire to become a chorister that you felt you did not need to be able to sing?’

  A sniggering broke out among the lines of the brethren. His erstwhile companion from An Daingean had been staring at him in horror and had moved as far away from him as possible in an attempt to disassociate himself.

  ‘I did not think I was that bad,’ muttered Eadulf, his face red.

  Brother Cillin actually laughed, but with ill-humour.

  ‘We have an old saying, Brother Saxon — better be silent than sing a song badly. I would remember that if I had your voice. Now I wish to continue with this rehearsal, so if you have tasks more fitting to your talent, you may leave us.’

  He stood aside and Eadulf, head down, moved down the row to the chapel door.

  Behind him he heard the waspish tone of the stiuirtheoir canaid.

  ‘We of the Unending Circle must seek purity in our voices. Each voice must contribute to the whole. That is why we call ourselves the Unending Circle. There is another old saying that we’d best remember. One scabby ewe will spoil the flock.’

  There was a burst of laughter among the choristers.

  Outside the chapel, Eadulf closed the door none too gently and threw back his hood. He was still mortified.

  ‘Unending Circle!’ he snorted. ‘A stupid name, indeed! A bunch of baying mules.’

  From inside the voices rose in song. Eadulf grimaced and sighed. He had to admit the sound was sweet and melodious.

  Fidelma made her way quickly to the tech-screptra and sought out Brother Eolas.

  ‘I have just been to see the Venerable Mac Faosma about the genealogy tha
t Conri spoke of last night.’

  The librarian pursed his lips in a sceptical smile.

  ‘And the old man refused to let you see it?’

  ‘On the contrary, I saw it,’ she replied grimly. ‘However, it came to our noticed that the book has been defaced.’

  Brother Eolas’ features dissolved into horror.

  ‘Defaced?’ he whispered.

  ‘A section of one page has been cut out. It was obvious that it happened recently.’

  ‘That cannot be!’ he replied, aghast.

  ‘I can assure you that it is so,’ said Fidelma calmly.

  ‘I take a pride in my library, Sister.’ He turned swiftly and beckoned to the reluctant young Brother Faolchair. ‘I tell you that until you came here we have had no trouble. Then the burning of Cinaed’s books… I do not understand it.’

  Brother Faolchair came hurrying over, pale-faced and nervous.

  ‘Do you know of the Ui Fidgente genealogy?’ the librarian demanded angrily. ‘When did the Venerable Mac Faosma borrow it?’

  ‘Brother Benen came here this morning and borrowed it on behalf of the Venerable Mac Faosma. I told Sister Fidelma of this a short time ago.’

  ‘You were most helpful, Brother Faolchair,’ Fidelma said gently. ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma did have the book, which I saw. However, the book had been defaced and I think that we can be sure that this was done before Brother Benen took it to the Venerable Mac Faosma.’

  The young man gasped in horror.

  ‘I noticed no such thing when I handed the book to Brother Benen, Sister.’

  ‘Do you check through the books before and after they have been borrowed from the library?’ she asked.

  The young man shook his head, puzzled.

  ‘Why would one do that?’

  ‘To ensure that those who borrow them do not damage them but treat them well. You said that you had not noticed the damage. I admit, it would take a sharp eye to spot it for it was only a small piece of the parchment cut from a page by means of the point of a sharp knife. I do not blame you for not noticing it.’

  Brother Eolas intervened with a disapproving look.

  ‘Sister, when religious come to a library to look at the books one does not expect them to be vandals. Most are scholars, scribes and students. Why would we not trust them to behave in a manner befitting their calling?’

  ‘Someone obviously did not behave in that manner.’

  ‘I have never heard the like. You say that this damage must have been done recently?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘The book has not been borrowed for some time,’ Brother Faolchair said. ‘No one has asked me to take it from the shelves. Not since…’

  He paused, trying to remember.

  ‘Well,’ intervened Brother Eolas irritably, ‘are we to ask Brother Benen if he defaced it?’

  ‘And would you expect him to answer if he had?’ said Fidelma sarcastically.

  ‘I remember the last borrowing.’ Brother Faolchair was suddenly triumphant. ‘It was borrowed by the Venerable Cinaed.’

  ‘So the Venerable Cinaed also borrowed this book?’ Fidelma spoke quietly.

  ‘He did. It was shortly before his… his death. I remember because Sister Buan returned it to the library with some other books that he had borrowed. It was after his funeral.’

  ‘Did anyone borrow it before the Venerable Cinaed?’

  Brother Faolchair nodded.

  ‘As I am in charge of any borrowing that leaves this library, I try to keep a record in my mind. Before the Venerable Cinaed, Sister Uallann and before her Brother Cillin. You see, very few people are allowed to take books away from the library. Most of the community has to come in here to read them. But Brother Eolas has made…’

  ‘I make certain exceptions,’ interrupted the librarian. ‘Our great scholars, of course, are the exceptions — our physician and songmaster are recognised as scholars in their own right.’

  ‘And all four of these exceptions had borrowed the book… when? Within a few weeks of one another?’

  ‘That is so,’ affirmed Brother Faolchair.

  She turned from them with a quick word of thanks and left the library. Outside she found Conri and Eadulf looking for her.

  She smiled at each of them.

  ‘I think the mystery is about to be unravelled. Let us go to see Abbot Erc and make plans to put this grim tale into the public domain.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Fidelma had suggested that Abbot Erc request the attendance of certain members of the community to assemble in the aireagal, the oratory. As congregations usually stood in the oratory during the services, benches had been brought in and the lanterns were lit. Opposite these benches another bench had been arranged so that Abbot Erc, along with his steward, Brother Cu Mara, were seated facing the congregation. Next to them were Fidelma and Eadulf.

  The small oratory was crowded. Conri sat to one side with Sister Easdan and her companions as well as the Gaulish seaman, Esumaro. On the other side sat the physician, Sister Uallann, alongside Brothers Eolas and Faolchair. Sister Sinnchene sat behind them. Sister Buan sat further back with Brother Cillin. Fidelma had asked Abbot Erc to insist upon the attendance of Slebene, who was seated behind them. His champion was nowhere to be seen and, rather than reassure Fidelma, his absence worried her. There was some surprise among the company when the Venerable Mac Faosma entered escorted by the watchful Brother Benen. The Venerable Mac Faosma attended hardly any gathering unless he was giving one of his lectures or debates. But, again, Fidelma had asked Abbot Erc to especially request his presence.

  The last person to enter was Socht, with two of his fellow warriors. They stood near the oratory door, which Socht closed. He signalled to Conr that all was secure and Conr then nodded towards Fidelma.

  Abbot Erc found Fidelma looking at him. He realised that he had to govern the proceedings. He gave a nervous cough and began, speaking quickly.

  ‘We are gathered here at the request of Sister Fidelma, who is here in her capacity as a dalaigh, as you all doubtless know.’ The abbot sounded

  He sat back with mouth closed firmly, glancing at Fidelma, who, perceiving that he had said all he was going to say, rose and looked around at the upturned, expectant faces that greeted her.

  ‘This is not a court of law,’ she began. ‘No one here is on trial but from what occurs here a trial will doubtless result, for we are dealing with murder; not merely the murder of Abbess Faife and the Venerable Cinaed but of many unfortunate Gaulish seamen, of villagers who dwelt among the Sliabh Mis mountains, and of an ill-fated religious member of the community of Seanach’s Island named Brother Martan. In addition, we now must deal with the murder of the prisoner Olcan.’

  Abbot Erc seemed irritated by her self-assurance.

  ‘And you are claiming that all these events are connected?’ he demanded.

  Fidelma smiled.

  ‘I would not say so were it otherwise,’ she replied softly, but Eadulf heard the waspish rebuke in her tone.

  She turned back to the still quiet assembly.

  ‘This has been a frustrating mystery, involving several strands. Each strand had to be followed and unravelled before one could be sure that they all led back to one central point. It makes a long story.’

  The harsh voice of the Venerable Mac Faosma came from the assembly: ‘Then the sooner the story is started, the faster it will end and we can return to the comfort of our chambers.’

  Fidelma was not perturbed by the old man’s rudeness. She merely glanced in his direction.

  ‘Are we not in the Lord’s house, Venerable Mac Faosma?’ Her voice was acrid. ‘Where else is more comfortable in his sight than in the place sacred to him?’ She delighted in the disconcerted expression on the old scholar’s face. Eadulf realised that she was pricking at the bubble of his piety with her irony. She continued before he could think of a suitable riposte: ‘Remember that it is not just the sister of the king of Muman who stands here. It
is a representative of the laws which govern all this kingdom, all the territories, petty kingdoms and provinces of this land. When insult is delivered to the representative then it is delivered to the law itself. I

  The Venerable Mac Faosma made a spluttering sound. But Fidelma was now ignoring him.

  ‘I will not keep you all longer than I have to. Yet I have to peel away the strands that envelop this mystery. I will begin by showing you the prime cause behind what has happened here. The prime motivation behind the deaths and abductions. I regret to say that we have to return to the ages-old conflict between the Ui Fidgente and the Eoghanacht of Cashel.’

  An immediate murmur of outrage came from several quarters. Conr looked about him unhappily.

  Fidelma was slowly shaking a finger at them.

  ‘Noise does not drown out truth,’ she remonstrated.

  ‘Nor words without evidence will make it the truth,’ snapped the Venerable Mac Faosma.

  ‘Then listen and you will soon hear the evidence that supports the words,’ replied Fidelma, unperturbed. ‘Or is that demanding too much courtesy from this gathering?’

  There were still some angry protests from the predominantly Ui Fidgente gathering. Conri rose, facing them, and held up his hands to motion them to quiet.

  ‘There is a saying — do not bring your reaping hook into a field without being asked.’ It was a reminder to the assembly to behave properly. ‘We will hear what Fidelma of Cashel has to say and we will hear her without insult, jest or clamour. Remember that truth can come like bad weather, uninvited. But denial of bad weather does not make the day fine nor make the truth less than the truth. If I, as warlord of the Ui Fidgente, can bear to listen, then you can also.’

  He sat down again, folded his arms, and stared woodenly ahead of him.

  The murmurs of dissent subsided.

  ‘I shall not trouble you with history,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Nor with arguments of who is right and who is wrong in that conflict. We all know the conflict has lasted many generations between U

  Fidgente and Eoghanacht. A short time ago, both peoples thought that the conflict was at an end. A new ruler of the Ui Fidgente came to the belief that peace was a better way of life than conflict. We hoped that we had all moved on.