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 Olcán.’
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 should not have to remind a scholar such as yourself of the offence and the punishments that are entailed when one insults the law.’
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 Uí 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 Uí Fidgente gathering. Conrí 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 Uí 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 Uí Fidgente came to the belief that peace was a better way of life than conflict. We hoped that we had all moved on.
‘However, there were still members of the Uí Fidgente who refused to accept the rule of Donennach of the Uí Chonaill Gabra. They wanted to see the return of the rule of the old dynasty of the Uí Choirpre Áedba. Yet both families traced their descent to Fiachu Fidgennid. One sought to rule in peace while the other in war. With the death of Eoganan at Cnoc Aine it was believed that the Uí Choirpre Áedba dynasty was no more. But Eoganán’s seed had survived, plotting and planning for the day when Donennach could be overthrown and the young men of the Uí Fidgente flung once more on to the hardened steel of their enemies … for the glory of the Uí Choirpre Áedba dynasty and for no other cause,’ she added with emphasis.
This time there was an uncomfortable silence in the oratory. Finally the Abbot Erc spoke with a querulous note.
‘You forget, Sister Fidelma, that Eoganán’s son Torcán was slaughtered as well.’
‘I have not forgotten. Eoganán had more than one male offspring.’
‘She means Uaman!’ called Sister Uallann, and her tone showed that it was meant as a jeer.
‘As a dálaigh, you should know that Uaman could not become chief of the Uí Fidgente,’ the librarian Brother Eolas intervened. ‘Even I know enough law to realise that. It was well known that he was a leper and therefore ineligible to claim the office. He would not be recognised as legitimate even if he arrived at Loch Derg with a thousand warriors behind him to place him on the seat of his ancestors.’
Slébéne, the chief of the Corco Duibhne, was nodding slowly.
‘What if Uaman still lives?’ he demanded, causing some surprise among them. ‘We have heard many rumours that it is so.’
Sister Uallann turned to him, exhaling sharply.
‘The stories cannot be true,’ she snapped. ‘Wasn’t it said that before the last Nativity he perished in the quicksand of his own island? Several travellers brought the story to the abbey.’
Eadulf was about to stir when he caught Fidelma’s eye and saw the slight shake of her head.
It was Conrí who replied.
‘It was so reported. There was an eyewitness.’ He cast a quick look at Eadulf. ‘But we saw that there are burnt-out villages among the passes of Sliabh Mis, there are mothers who weep for the loss of their sons, wives for their husbands, children for their fathers. We met with people who reported seeing Uaman leading a band of warriors through these passes. It was that band of warriors that I and the lord Tadcán captured on Seanach’s Island and brought hither with Olcán their leader.’
‘And Uaman as well?’ called Brother Eolas. ‘Where is he, then, who would be “master of souls”?’
Sister Easdan now rose in her place.
‘While we did not know who the man was, Olcán took orders from a man clad from head to feet in robes and whom he called “the master”. Esumaro will bear me out. Others identified him as the one they call Uaman the Leper.’
The Gaulish seaman nodded in support.
Brother Cillín called out from his seat.
‘You mean that man you imprisoned here, Olcán, was one of Uaman’s men?’
‘Even if it were so,’ smiled the Venerable Mac Faosma sceptically, ‘you have heard that Uaman would have no chance at all of being regarded as ruler. He might force himself upon the Uí Fidgente as their chief by force of arms but then he would split his people — there would be warfare. The Uí Chonaill Gabra would appeal to the Brehons. They would appeal to Cashel. Cashel would intervene with the support of the High King because the law is clear. Blood feuds would rip the Uí Fidgente asunder … parties of avengers would rule the country by fear. We could not have someone unqualified by law force his rule upon us. I freely confess that I was a supporter of Eoganan and all he stood
for. I believe that the rule of the Eoghanacht of Cashel is unjust. But I believe in the rule of the law and not of the sword. I would condemn Uaman, if he usurped the power of the Uí Fidgente. Only a ruler qualified by law can take Donennach’s power from him.’
Slébéne was smiling cynically.
‘As you all well know, I am chief of the Corco Duibhne and it is against my eastern borders, the valley passes, where Uaman the Leper has been seen. Many times have I sought to confront him and he has outwitted me. Now, there sits Conrí, warlord of the Uí Fidgente. I give him this invitation. Bring those men that are loyal to him and his lord, Donennach, and come into the passes of Sliabh Mis and together we will hunt this leper down.’
He sat down and there was a murmur of applause.
Conrí was about to rise to accept the challenge when Fidelma motioned him to remain seated. She had been standing with a whimsical smile on her features at Slébéne’s suggestion.
‘Well said, Slébéne, well said,’ she applauded, but they could hear the cynicism in her voice. ‘But I think you know as well as I do that Uaman the Leper will not be found in the passes of Sliabh Mis. Chasing shadows in the passes of Sliabh Mis would merely take Conrí and his men away from the area where the rebellion against Donennach would occur, wouldn’t it?’
Her quiet tone held their attention and for a moment there was total silence.
‘What do you mean, Sister Fidelma?’ Abbot Erc finally demanded.
‘The stories that you heard in the month before the Nativity were true. Uaman, son of Eoganan, was dragged into the quicksand surrounding his own island fortress. Eadulf here was a witness to his death.’
The silence continued as Abbot Erc remained staring at her with a puzzled frown.
‘Then what are we discussing? With Uaman dead as well as his elder brother Torcán, there is no one else of the Uí Choirpre Áedba to claim the chieftainship.’
‘If Uaman is dead,’ called Esumaro, ‘who is this “master” who gave orders to Olcán?’
Fidelma glanced towards the Venerable Mac Faosma.
‘Perhaps you could enlighten us?’ she invited.
As they all turned towards him, the Venerable Mac Faosma leant back and stared at her with growing astonishment.
‘Of course! That is why you were examining the genealogy. Eoganán had three children. But surely that doesn’t help us because the third name was removed from the genealogy?’
The librarian had picked up the train of the argument.
‘You told us so yourself,’ Brother Eolas said. ‘Something had been cut from the page of the genealogy. Was it the name of the third son of Eoganan?’
‘It was the name of Eoganán’s third child. The one who now means to overthrow Donennach and claim the rulership of the Uí Fidgente.’
A whisper of surprise spread like a tide around the oratory with people looking at one another in surprise.
‘I said,’ Fidelma told them, ‘that there were many strands that had to be unravelled. I have given you the motive for the events that have happened here. I have told you who was behind it but have not yet identified that person. So let us now turn to this strand of identity, bearing in mind what I have said about the ambitions of the sons of Eoganan and the fact that he had three offspring and not two …’
‘One thing, lady,’ Esumaro called out. ‘Was my ship wrecked by accident or design?’
‘It was wrecked by opportunity. Olcán and his men seized the chance to wreck your ship when they saw it trying to weather the island. They were there awaiting the arrival of Abbess Faife and her companions. They saw a rich merchantman and decided, on the spur of the moment, to gather some extra booty. Olcán, as many of you may know …’ she let her glance linger slightly on the white immobile features of Sister Sinnchéne, ‘was one of Uaman’s commanders when he was alive. Now Olcán changed his allegiance to Eoganán’s other child. He had received instructions to go to the island and wait by the ruins of Uaman’s fortress. He knew that his new master badly needed money to pay mercenaries to help them overthrow Donennach. He had been told that Abbess Faife and her companions would be passing by on a certain day at a certain time. Olcán’s orders were to capture the sisters unharmed. However, it did not matter about the abbess. It was her companions who were needed for they had important skills.’
Sister Easdan was animated.
‘The precious stones. Olcán and his people were mining the crystals but needed experts to cut and polish them so they could sell them to raise money for their cause. That is why they were not bothered about killing poor Abbess Faife. That’s why they took us to Seanach’s Island where the hermits were forced to dig the crystal and we were forced to polish it.’
‘Exactly so,’ confirmed Fidelma approvingly.
‘But what of my crew, my ship?’ demanded Esumaro angrily. ‘What had they to do with anything?’
‘As I have said, you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Olcán must have seen your ship being driven into the bay in the bad weather. He thought it was a godsend to his master. Who knows what goods might be aboard? Olcán was a perverse and evil man. He strung up the light to misdirect you on to the rocks and …’ She shrugged. ‘He stored the goods in the ruined fortress to await a more suitable time to bring his warship around the coast from Seanach’s Island to pick it up. But you survived, Esumaro. You were the only survivor. You brought us a particular piece of important information that helped me reconstruct the story.’
‘What was that?’ demanded the seaman.
‘You heard Olcán telling his men about the rendezvous with the abbess and her companions, showing that he had been informed precisely when they would be passing along that road. In trying to escape from Olcán and his robbers in the early hours after the wreck, you fell in with Abbess Faife and nearly shared her fate. Thanks to Sister Easdan there, and more than a little luck, you survived.’
She had their complete attention now. They were leaning forward in their seats, hanging on her every word. Even the Venerable Mac Faosma was sitting attentive and quiet.
‘The precious stones were going to be the real key for raising money to pay an army of mercenaries, warriors from the north, the Uí Maine and Uí Briúin Aí, the sort of scum that Olcán was leading, to help overthrow Donennach.’
She paused and looked towards Sister Easdan.
‘Now, one thing especially interested me. This abbey was certainly known for producing polished stones and jewellery. For having expert lec-garaid or stone polishers. But Abbot Erc did not like individuals to be named. He wanted the abbey to have the reputation but did not want to encourage individuals to share it because of vanity. So who identified the six workers who went off with Abbess Faife on the annual pilgrimage to Bréanainn’s? I found that the pilgrims comprised different groups each year. So who told the so-called “master”, and thereby Olcán, who they were and that they would be passing along that road on that particular day?’
She paused as she studied their upturned expectant faces.
‘Only someone from inside the abbey could have had such information.’
It was the steward Brother Cú Mara who articulated the conclusion. ‘Are you saying that someone here connived in the murder of their own abbess and the abduction of six of our members?’ he demanded.
‘Who?’ demanded Abbot Erc. His features had grown less aggressive.
‘Who else but Eoganán’s third child, the so-called “master” who, having been fostered by Slébéne of the Corco Duibhne, then came to dwell in this abbey. When Uaman was killed they realised they might legitimately claim the chiefship of the Uí Fidgente but it needed an army, and an army needed money.’
Slébéne had turned pale, his eyes flashing with anger.
Conrí was on his feet, slowly moving towards him.
‘Name the man, Fidelma,’ he instructed, hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘Did I say that this “master” was a man?’ Fidelma let
her eyes roam the upturned faces before her. Then she said: ‘Stand forth, Uallach, daughter of Eoganán.’
‘Uallach!’ Conrí suddenly swung his gaze on Sister Uallann, the abbey physician. He thought that the name was familiar. She was fiercely supportive of the deposed Uí Fidgente chieftain, against the peace with Cashel, and admitted that she had been raised among the Corco Duibhne. Of course, it made sense. The physician did not move, her pale eyes fixed on Fidelma.
‘Not Uallann,’ Fidelma said softly. ‘Someone trying to hide their true name would not choose another so close to it.’
It was then that Conr realised that Fidelma was looking directly at Sister Buan.
‘Stand up, Uallach. You do not have to deny it,’ she instructed quietly. Sister Buan rose slowly to her feet. Her face was contorted with a mixture of emotions.
‘You consider that you are very clever, Fidelma of Cashel. My regret is that I failed in both my attempts to kill you. That was remiss of me.’
There was a gasp from the assembly.
‘For my part, Uallach, I am grateful that you did not succeed,’ Fidelma replied calmly.
Abbot Erc was regarding them both with utter bewilderment on his features.
‘I think we deserve some explanation, Sister Fidelma. I have no idea of how you can make this accusation. We have known Sister Buan for many years. She has been trusted with trading for this abbey. She was … she was the Venerable Cináed’s companion and he would hardly support the aspirations of a child of Eoganán!’
‘I shall show that the person you knew as Sister Buan was, in reality, Uallach, daughter of the late ruler of the Uí Fidgente, sister to Uaman the Leper. It was Buan who arranged for the abduction of the six gem polishers from this abbey. Buan was one of the few people in the abbey who had the freedom to move about the country in her position of trader. Olcán and his men worked for her. Because she was in many ways like Uaman, her brother, she donned a robe and people thought she was Uaman still alive. She was responsible for the death of the Abbess Faife and what followed on Seanach’s Island. She also killed her husband, the Venerable Cinaed, when he began to suspect her, and she was the person who killed Olcán when she thought he would betray her.
Master of Souls Page 34