‘You are right, of course … but surely there are no links between this accident and Brother Donnchad’s death, are there?’
Fidelma smiled as if pacifying a child. ‘What links would there be?’ she countered.
Abbot Iarnla took this as a negative and, nodding slightly, he turned and hurried off.
Fidelma looked at Eadulf. ‘What?’ she demanded.
‘He was murdered,’ Eadulf replied simply.
‘How did you make that out?’
Eadulf raised a fist and opened it. On his palm lay a number of bloodstained slivers of wood. ‘No one seemed to notice that I picked these from the wound at the back of his skull. From these splinters I would say the wood was blackthorn, which is pretty hard.’
Fidelma looked closely at the splinters.
‘Well done, Eadulf,’ she murmured, appreciatively. ‘How do you interpret the event?’
‘I believe that someone came up behind him and hit him with a stick. He has been dead some time.’
Fidelma knew that Eadulf did not just make guesses on such matters.
‘Because?’
‘The body was stiff and cold.’
‘So he came here in the dark?’
‘Certainly some time before first light.’
As he spoke, Eadulf was looking around the area where the master builder had fallen. His brow was creased in a frown of concentration.
‘What are you looking for?’ Fidelma asked patiently.
‘That!’ said Eadulf in triumph, pointing.
Just behind where she was standing was a piece of half-burnt candle and a battered holder. Eadulf looked back to where the body had been lying with its feet towards the candle.
‘I think he came here after dark,’ he said slowly. ‘Why? I suspect he came to meet someone. Whoever was waiting for him could not replicate what happened to me – it had been tried once, and Glassán might well have been on his guard. So they hit him over the head – so hard their blackthorn cudgel splintered around the skull. But I would have expected the candle he was carrying to have been flung forward by the impact of the blow, not behind him.’
Fidelma regarded him with approval. ‘Well spotted, Eadulf. How do you explain it?’
‘Having knocked him out, they pulled the body to the place where he was found. This was to ensure he was under a half-finished wall. They smeared one of the stones with his blood so that it looked as if the stone had fallen and killed him. But they forgot the candle.’
‘How can you be sure they moved the body?’
He examined the area just behind her and pointed without comment.
Fidelma saw that there were little spots of blood on the debris there and one tiny almost dried-up pool.
‘In the dark, the killer did not manage to clean up all the evidence.’ Eadulf paused. ‘It seems clear that the attack on me was intended for Glassán. But when I held up the candle and was recognised, one of the killers pushed me out of the way of the falling stone.’
Fidelma nodded in agreement. ‘There had to be two killers to accomplish that.’
‘There were probably two attackers this time as well.’
‘And don’t forget that we have heard of other so-called accidents. These must all have been attempts to kill Glassán. After the last one, where you were nearly killed, the attackers probably gave up the idea of trying to make it look like an accident. They must have made sure he was killed first and then fixed things later to seem like an accident.’ She looked around and then said, ‘Let us have a word with the boy.’
‘I can’t see the connection between Glassán and Donnchad,’ Eadulf said as he fell in step with her.
‘Perhaps there isn’t,’ Fidelma replied.
‘But it would surely be a curious coincidence.’
‘Coincidence defeats a well-laid plan, Eadulf,’ Fidelma remarked.
Eadulf thrust out his lower lip as he pondered this.
‘I am inclined to think that the reason might lie in the master builder’s reputation. Wherever a man goes, his character goes with him.’
Fidelma smiled at him but said nothing.
Brother Donnán met them at the door of the scriptorium with a sad face.
‘Have you come to see the boy?’ he asked, as they came up the steps into the building.
‘Is he able to answer some questions?’ asked Fidelma.
‘He is young but he is strong. However, it was a shock for him and he is far from home.’
‘Thank you for looking after him, Brother Donnán,’ she answered. ‘Where is he?’
The scriptor indicated a spot at the far end of the library where the boy was seated, staring before him. He held a mug in his hand, which he was regarding morosely.
‘I thought, in the circumstances, a little wine might help to ease his distress,’ muttered Brother Donnán.
Fidelma walked to where Gúasach sat. Eadulf followed with Brother Donnán.
‘Hello, Gúasach,’ she said as the boy looked up at her approach.
‘Hello, Sister,’ he replied, his voice firm.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I do not know. I have been in fosterage to Glassán for three years. He was not a nice person. He did not treat me well but he was my legal fosterer and instructor. What am I to do now?’
Fidelma drew up a small stool and sat by the boy.
‘Before you tell me all you know of this morning, let me assure you that you must not worry about that. You will be looked after. Now, what can you tell me about finding Glassán?’
‘Not much to tell,’ replied the boy. ‘I rose at the usual time, at first light. I came to the abbey to make sure all was prepared for the day’s work. That is what I usually did.’
‘You live in the workers’ cabins outside the abbey walls, don’t you?’
‘By the riverside,’ he confirmed.
‘And Glassán lived in the guesthouse in the abbey. So you would not have seen him until you came to the site. Isn’t that unusual for a foster-child?’
The boy shrugged. ‘I would not know. It was the way things were. Glassán always treated me as one of his workers and told me what work I should do. It was the others who taught me their skills when they had time.’
The corner of Fidelma’s mouth turned down in disapproval. It was not the custom of fosterage. The foster-child usually became part of the fosterer’s family, lived, ate and slept with them as one of them and was given their education with them. It seemed Glassán simply treated the boy as one of his workforce from whom he expected a day’s work as well as the fee from the boy’s father for his training.
‘So you came to the abbey at first light. Did you see anyone about?’
‘Brother Echen was up and cleaning the stables,’ the boy said. ‘He is usually up first and he opens the gates of the abbey. The ugly brother was coming through the gates at the same time.’
‘The ugly brother?’ queried Fidelma.
‘He has a name like “wind” or something similar.’
She frowned.
‘He means Brother Gáeth,’ interpreted Brother Donnán. Fidelma smiled as she suddenly realised the connection. The name Gáeth actually meant ‘clever’ or ‘wise’, where as gáith meant ‘wind’.
‘Was anyone else about?’
‘The steward was crossing the quadrangle.’
‘Brother Lugna?’
‘I do not like him,’ the boy confessed. ‘I don’t think he likes me.’
Fidelma nearly agreed aloud but she remained silent.
‘Did he say anything to you?’
‘He never speaks to me.’
‘So what happened next?’
‘I came up to the building that we were working on to make sure the tools were all ready for when the men came to work. It was there that I saw the body. You couldn’t miss it once you came into the building. I saw he was dead at once. The back of his head—’
‘We know,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘Do not think about that. What did you
do then?’
‘I knew where the physician worked, not far away. I ran there immediately. He asked me what was wrong and I told him.’
‘Brother Seachlann was already at work?’
‘He was in that little place where the men sometimes go to get salves when they are cut or bruised on the site.’
‘So you told him what was wrong. Then what?’
‘When we came out, one of the brethren was passing by and the physician called to him and told him to find the steward, that there had been an accident and that Glassán was badly injured. I had already told him he was dead,’ the boy added after a pause. ‘I am not that young that I do not know what death is.’
‘Brother Seachlann went with you to the body?’
The boy nodded.
‘Then what?’
‘He confirmed that Glassán was dead, by which time the steward came and also the abbot. Then Saor appeared and he suggested that I should be taken to Brother Donnán here while they made a further examination. It was while I was coming here that I saw you and Brother Eadulf coming through the gates.’ He paused and then added, ‘I’m glad you came, Sister. Now that Glassán is gone and I am far from home, I do not know what I should do.’
Fidelma reached forward and patted the boy on the arm to comfort him. ‘I have said that you do not need to worry. Back in your own lands, where Glassán lived before he came here to work on the abbey, did he have a house? Did he keep cattle?’
The boy nodded.
‘Did he have a wife and sons?’
‘He had a farm and employed a saer-fudir to watch over it as his tenant. But he had no wife or child.’
‘In that case, I will see that you return to your father and I will send instructions to the Brehon of your clan so that the cows that your father paid to Glassán for your fosterage are returned to him. Then, if you and your father wish it, you might find another master builder to take you as a felmacc, or pupil.’
The boy seemed slightly relieved that he was not to be cast out into the country without anyone to care for him although he was clearly confused by the legal detail that Fidelma had given him.
Fidelma glanced at Brother Donnán. ‘Perhaps it can be arranged for Gúasach to remain in the abbey until this matter is cleared up. I will ensure that things are sorted out for him.’
‘I will arrange it with Brother Máel Eoin at the hostel.’ The scriptor turned to the boy with a smile. ‘There, did I not say you had no cause to worry? All is well.’
Fidelma and Eadulf bade farewell to the boy and left the library building.
‘Will the young lad truly be looked after?’ asked Eadulf once they were outside.
‘The resolution of this situation is provided in law,’ replied Fidelma. ‘The boy was given in fosterage to Glassán, being a master builder. He was to instruct him in the craft of building. We have a set of laws called the Cáin Íarraith, the law on fosterage and fees. Basically, Glassán was his fithidir, his instructor, and he was a felmacc, a pupil. If a foster-child has to return prematurely to his father for whatever reason, then the foster fee, the íarraith, must be repaid in full. Only if Gúasach had been guilty of serious misconduct could Glassán or his heir be exempt from returning the fee. So, under law, the boy must be escorted back to his father with the entire fee and neither he nor his father loses by what has happened.’
‘I see,’ Eadulf said. ‘So, what next?’
‘We will have a look in Glassán’s room in the guesthouse. Perhaps he has left an audacht, a will. Most people engaged in dangerous work do so. But first I want another word with Brother Seachlann while I think about it.’
Eadulf knew the custom of Fidelma’s people to leave a will, a set of instructions covering the disposal of their property. It was apparently an ancient custom, which dated back long before the coming of Christianity, for it was believed that death was not an ending but the gateway into the Otherworld. So before one went on the fecht-uath, or grave journey, as it was called, those who could do so made a will.
They found Brother Seachlann alone in his bróinbherg and engaged in preparing the racholl, or winding sheet, to wrap the body of Glassán for burial.
The physician looked up with a frown.
‘Do you need to examine the body again?’ he asked irritably. ‘I have already washed it.’
‘It is not Glassán I needed to speak to you about,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I hear that you recently went on a trip to Ard Mór.’
Brother Seachlann looked surprised.
‘I did,’ he admitted.
‘May I ask why?’
‘It is no secret. I went to get some herbs for preparations. There is a market there where ships from over the seas land their cargoes and often you can find herbs of great benefit to—’
Fidelma raised her hand impatiently. ‘You also visited the abbey with a message from Fhear Maighe.’
‘What of that?’
‘How did you come by that message?’
‘How?’ He frowned as if trying to think. ‘From a young man from Fhear Maighe who knew I was journeying to Ard Mór.’
Fidelma suppressed a sigh. ‘Who was he and how did he know you were on your way to Ard Mór?’
‘I have no idea of his name. He was a young religieux who I met in the scriptorium. The scriptor told me that he often carried messages between the abbeys. He had come from Fhear Maighe and had an urgent message for the abbot of Ard Mór. He was worried for he had also to take an urgent message to the abbey at Fionán’s Height, which is north across the mountains. As I was riding to Ard Mór that same day to get the herbs, I offered to help and we parted happily.’
Fidelma was quiet for a moment. ‘What was the message?’
‘Simply that certain books were being sent by river from Fhear Maighe to Ard Mór. I forget when the barge was due to arrive, although I was told at the time, and the name of the barge. The abbot was to have payment ready when it arrived. What does all this mean?’
‘Perhaps nothing,’ Fidelma replied quietly. ‘Were you given the names of the books?’
‘I cannot remember now. I recall that I had the titles written down by the scriptor in case I forgot them. He did so on a piece of bark. I gave that to the abbot at Ard Mór.’
‘You definitely gave the list to the abbot at Ard Mór on your arrival?’
‘I have said so.’
‘Very well,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘I thank you for your help.’
‘And you do not want to examine this corpse further?’ Brother Seachlann asked, indicating the body of Glassán.
‘I do not. When will he be buried?’
‘It is the custom of this abbey to have a day of watching and then to bury the corpse at midnight. We did not find the corpse until the early hours of this morning but Brother Lugna has said that as he died in the night, the obsequies should be carried out tonight.’
Fidelma glanced at Eadulf. ‘I thought the laithina canti, the time of watching and lamentation, should be a full day and night.’
Brother Seachlann sniffed slightly. ‘He was not part of this abbey community. I suppose Brother Lugna takes into account that there appear to be few people willing to take part in the aire, the wake. But he has instructed that he is to be buried in the plot to the east of the abbey where other members of the brethren are laid to rest.’
‘Brother Lugna seems to be in a hurry to bury Glassán,’ observed Eadulf once they were outside. ‘Surely some of Glassán’s workmen will want to keep watch over the body according to the custom?’
‘We will have a word with Saor about that. There are many things that Brother Lugna does that surprise me.’
‘Well, I think we also have reason to be suspicious of Brother Seachlann.’
‘He certainly took the news of the books coming by river to Ard Mór. We have established that. He might well have been part of the chain that caused the news to fall into the hands of those that attacked the river barge and stole them.’
‘Why is th
is Celsus book so important and how is it connected to the death of Brother Donnchad?’ Eadulf asked irritably. ‘And to everything else that has gone on here? I don’t understand it.’
‘Didn’t Julius Caesar comment, In bello parvis momentis magni casus intercedunt?’
‘In war great events are the result of small causes,’ he murmured in translation.
Fidelma nodded. ‘In other words, Eadulf, pay attention to the small details. By doing so, you will find that patience will reveal the matter.’
‘Well, I already feel exhausted,’ Eadulf remarked, as they walked across the stone flags of the quadrangle. ‘We have travelled a considerable distance these last few days.’
‘If we had not then we would not now be as close as we are to a solution,’ she pointed out. Before Eadulf could form his question, she began to walk to the guesthouse calling over her shoulder, ‘Now, let us search Glassán’s room.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As they passed the fountain in the centre of the quadrangle, the sound of raised, angry voices caused them to look towards the gates of the abbey. They saw Brother Lugna facing a band of men, whom they immediately recognised as the builders. Among them was Saor. Brother Lugna was standing in a belligerent posture that seemed curiously grotesque for a man of the Faith. Even as they looked, the builders turned their backs on him and walked through the gates. As they did so, Gormán rode into the abbey courtyard and swung off his horse. Fidelma and Eadulf went to join him. The steward had not moved from his position, standing staring after the disappearing builders.
‘Is all well, Gormán?’ Fidelma greeted the warrior.
‘Everything is as you instructed, lady.’ Gormán smiled. ‘The conditions are agreed. Both chiefs await your message.’
Fidelma glanced across to Brother Lugna. Anger had made his countenance fierce. Suddenly aware of their presence, he tried to relax his features.
‘There seems to be some trouble with Glassán’s men,’ Fidelma observed.
‘True enough,’ replied the steward through between clenched teeth. ‘They are refusing to come back to work. They say there have been too many accidents on the abbey buildings for them to continue. They demand their wages and say that they are leaving.’
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