A MASS FOR THE DEAD (7 page)

“Yes,” Donal continued, stroking his chin reflectively, “it was after Gillecristus and your father quarreled, for you must know that Tormod is some kind of nephew to Gillecristus, and he took it hard. It was Gillecristus who got Tormod his place here, with the masons. And his younger brother as well. I am thinking Gillecristus will be blaming the fall on Calum, and blamed it some on your father as well, for not removing him from the work.”

“And where is Tormod now?”

“He is with his people, over near Kilchattan.”

“And Calum?”

“He works here still. After your father’s death, I am thinking Gillecristus will not be so hasty as to remove Calum, seeing as he was kin to your father. Gillecristus feels badly enough about things as it is. He will be missing your father. They were soul friends a long while.”

I had heard a little of the matter, in the tavern, just that a young man from Kilchattan had been injured in a fall, but Donal’s view of the matter was enlightening. And it seemed I must speak with both Tormod and with Calum before many more days passed by.

“And what of Columbanus?” I asked, after a time. “Were you knowing he is brother to Sheena?”

“Aye, he has always been close to her,” answered Donal. “Indeed, he might be having reason to dislike the Prior, for your father did not always treat his sister well. But I do not think murder is in Columbanus’s nature.”

“Yet Columbanus seemed very angry just now.”

“He has not had a happy life here,” said Donal. “You would not be knowing it Muirteach, for it was before you came to us, but Columbanus came here as a child, much as you did. At first he did not take to the life here, but I fear he did not have the sense to recognize it and leave us, as you yourself did.”

“Columbanus I remember right well. His crying, mostly,” I replied. “And it was older he was then; he must have been all of eleven or twelve.”

“Still,” Donal continued, “he grew accustomed to the life here and has proved a good enough brother, for all that. He bakes a good loaf, for all that he eats too many of them. That is no secret! There are many ways to serve Our Lord, and sure none of us could serve him without bread to eat. And Columbanus bakes well.” Donal’s smile lightened his lean face.

“But then who has done this?” I asked in frustration, after a moment. “And why was my father killed just touching the Cross, as though seeking sanctuary himself?”

“I am not knowing, Muirteach. But I will listen here for you, at the Priory. Perhaps something will come to light.” He turned to go, then stopped, turning again to face me. “Now that I am thinking of it, Muirteach, it seems that I heard someone leave the dormitory that night, well before Matins. I woke when I heard the creak of the stairs. I assumed whoever it was had been going to the necessarium, and indeed, so they might have been.”

“You did not hear them return?” I asked.

“Forgive an old man, Muirteach,” he said. “I fell back to sleep.”

“Who sleeps near you in the dormitory?” I asked.

“Well, there is Brother Aidan and then Columbanus, up, away from the stairs. And Padraic, and then Brother Moloug, across the hall.”

“I have already spoken with Columbanus, not that he may not have lied to me. So perhaps I should be speaking with Brother Aidan or Padraic the now.”

“It is close to time for the meal. Eat with us, and leave it until after.”

Chapter 5

S
o it was that I sat in the refectory, with the brothers, and listened to the lector read from the Psalms while I ate the soup, fish, and bread, fresh baked by Columbanus, that made up the canons’ midday meal. Although the food was good, the experience put me in mind of my early years there, and I grew restless, glad when the lector finished his reading and the canons stood to leave.

After that, while the majority of the canons studied, I returned to my desk in the chapter house and questioned both Aidan and Padraic. Both flatly denied having left the dormitory that evening, except for the holy offices, and so my thoughts turned again to Columbanus.

Could he not have left the dormitory, knowing my father would most likely be going to see Sheena, and waited for him on the Strand as he returned? It was clear he had not liked Crispinus, both for his sister’s sake, which might well be motive enough for murder, and perhaps for his strict rule here at the Priory. His muttered comment and subsequent refusal to clarify it had made me even more suspicious of the man.

Yet Sheena, and more importantly Donal, had both said he could not have committed murder. Sheena would lie to protect her brother. Donal’s judgment I trusted, but perhaps he was wrong in this matter.

Perhaps Sheena had killed my father? She was a strong enough woman, but she seemed to gain little by his death, except for an end to beatings, for she now had no protector, and would find life harder than before, with three bairns and no man. I supposed Angus and Alasdair might help her some with that, and I pushed the thought of my hungry half brothers and half sister out of my mind. It would be interesting to hear what Mariota had discovered on her visit to Sheena’s.

Or Angus and Alasdair could have done it, and lied about the deer.

However there was still the other matter, of Tormod’s fall, and the quarrel between Gillecristus and my father. I reflected that a visit with Calum would be in order, and so I gathered my parchment and pen into my satchel, left the chapter house and wandered over towards the area of new construction. The workmen were cleaning up the worksite, their day’s labors almost ended, stacking stones in piles and putting away their tools, and it was easy enough to find Calum Glas. He was a strongly built man, with a hooked nose, dark complected like so many of the MacPhees. The covering of stone dust he wore made it obvious how he had earned his by-name; the man did, indeed, have a gray look to him.

I recollected he was kin to me, as his father had been second cousin to my own father and to Gillespic. But I did not know the man well. As a mason he traveled, working on abbeys in Kintyre, Iona, and all throughout the Isles, and seldom was he on Colonsay for long periods of time.

He did not recognize me and I had to introduce myself.

“Och, Muirteach. When last I saw you, you were just a young lad, and in the robes of a novice. You’ve grown. And what are you doing the now?”

“Little enough,” I answered. “Some scriving for Gillespic. Drinking. And now a bit of work for His Lordship himself,” I added, for it was soon enough that Calum would hear of it and there was no point in lying. “He is wanting to know who murdered my father and has set me to be finding out.”

Calum said nothing and his expression looked less welcoming to me. I pressed on. “They were saying that Gillecristus and Crispinus had argued. Something to do with the construction. Were you hearing any of it?”

“Perhaps I was,” he finally admitted. “That Gillecristus is as bitter as the withy stick. He was not wanting me to be working here because I am related to that fool MacIain that slew his own uncle some years back. But he would not be admitting that that was the reason and had to be accusing me of shoddiness in my work. And for that I am thinking that they had words about it, after Gillecristus came here and was accusing me, right in front of all the workmen, bitter old man that he is.”

“But then what of the scaffold that collapsed?” I asked. “Was not young Tormod sorely injured?”

“Indeed, and a sad day that was. But I had cautioned the young
amadan
more than once to double-check his scaffolding before he goes up, and was he ever listening to me? He had his brother do it, and his brother is but a lad, just learning the trade, and not to be trusted. Headstrong Tormod is, and now he will be having the twisted hand to prove it. He may even walk with a limp, they were not sure of that last.”

He looked at my leg, and caught himself. “Och, I am sorry Muirteach, I was not meaning anything by that.”

“But could anyone have wished Tormod harm?” I asked, ignoring Calum’s last comment. “Was there anything about the scaffold that was at all suspicious?”

“Nothing,” he assured me blandly, “for all that he is none so popular. But no mason would endanger another. You must know, Muirteach, accidents are no so uncommon in this trade.” And that, I supposed, was true enough.

The sun was turning towards the west, the bells began to toll for Vespers, and of a sudden it became clear to me that I had spent enough time at the Priory for one day. I bid good-bye to Calum and prepared to leave, stopping by the chapel for a perfunctory prayer by my father’s bier and not waiting for the Mass, which was about to start. Gillecristus, busy with the service, could not detain me to learn what I had discovered, and shamefully I felt somewhat relieved at that. I had little of importance to tell him, and still less that I wanted him to know.

My mind was a jumble of a few facts and many more suppositions and as I sailed the boat around the island back toward Scalasaig it was little enough I knew what to make of them all.

As I beached the boat I saw Seamus waiting there, with Somerled beside him. He had probably been waiting there all day, I thought, a little guiltily. I had neglected the lad since our return from Islay, but perhaps Seamus himself had been needing some of that time to be feeling to rights again, after his overindulgence at His Lordship’s feast.

My dog, however, raced back and forth, barking wildly as I approached in the boat, heralding my arrival to the entire port of Scalasaig. The fishermen unloading their boats showed little interest in Seamus, my dog or myself.

“So and what were you discovering?” Seamus asked broadly, as I pulled the boat onto the shore.

I scowled, and shrugged my shoulders. “Sure enough it seems my father was murdered by the
sìthichean
, for I am not knowing who did this. Come along then, and I shall tell you what I do know,” I added, seeing his disappointed face.

I gathered up my satchel and we started to walk towards my house. Seamus knew both Tormod and his brother. Seamus’s mother, it turned out, was distantly related to Tormod’s mother, Chatriona. The boys had played together as children, although Tormod was some four or five years older. Seamus had not seen Tormod since his accident, and so it was easy enough to arrange to visit him along with Seamus tomorrow.

We neared the collection of dwellings that comprised the village of Scalasaig. Seamus’s mother, Aorig, met us as we approached the door to my hut.

“You should be feeding that dog, Muirteach. He was after my cheeses that I had just set out to cure in the sun.”

“Seamus, did you not feed him?” I asked quickly, trying to shift the blame, but Aorig was not one to be fooled by that. She knew me too well.

“You should not be expecting that Seamus will be feeding him without you leaving him something to give to the poor thing. He has his own chores to be doing, as he well knows, although he is happy enough to forget them when he can.”

“Was he getting the cheeses, then?” I asked. Aorig was a good neighbor, and often asked me to share food with herself and her husband, and I was not wanting to inconvenience her.

“No he was not. But it was no thanks to you. I gave the dog some burned porridge and he seemed happy enough to get it. But a big dog like that, he is needing more to eat than burned porridge.”

“Well, he should be hunting for it, then.”

“It was hunting he was, Muirteach. He was hunting my cheeses, and then my chickens, the big shaggy oaf that he is.”

My dog was not fierce, in fact Uncle Gillespic had given him to me in disgust when it became apparent that the big gray deerhound was a pathetic hunter. I had named him Somerled, after the illustrious founder of Clan Donald, but this Somerled much preferred lounging by my fire and scrounging scraps from Aorig to any feats of valor. The bulk of him was warming in the hut, and he was company, of sorts, and never complained about my housekeeping. Aorig had described my dog very well.

“Oh, and I was not telling you Muirteach; I have not seen you. Your uncle came by the day they found your father. It was after you were gone to Islay, that he came.”

“What was he wanting?”

Aorig shrugged. “I am not knowing for sure. But he was asking me where you were that night your father died. When I told them I had seen you in your house that night the worse for drink, and I had heard your snoring later, your uncle seemed aye happy, and was saying something about good finally coming out of your drinking. What was he meaning by that?”

So Gillespic had even suspected me. The thought stung like a nettle weal. Although it hurt to think he had suspected me, grudgingly I admitted to myself that perhaps it had been canny of my uncle to make sure I had indeed been at home all that night. I had, after all, had little enough good to say of my father in the past few years.

Just at this point Somerled choose to sound the alarm as one of Aorig’s chickens came round the corner, and in the general mayhem that ensued Seamus and I made our escape into my house. We were followed shortly by Somerled who limped in, whining, and settled by the fire, licking his hind leg. Aorig had clouted him, but saved her chicken.

I had just started the fire against the evening chill, and was preparing to tell Seamus of my day, when his mother’s white-coifed head poked around the leather flap that served as my doorway.

“Muirteach, there is a woman here looking for you. It is that daughter of the physician, I am thinking. I will be sending her in to you. And Seamus, I am needing you to go fetch the cattle back. And then we will be eating. If you want to join us, Muirteach, you will be welcome. But do not be bringing that dog of yours over at all.”

I stood up quickly, oversetting the bucket of water, swore, and turned around, embarrassed by the mess of the hovel I called my house. Mariota stood in the doorway, her forehead wrinkling as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“I was just coming back from Sheena’s,” she said somewhat apologetically, “and thought to stop and tell you what I found.”

Her delicate nose wrinkled as she sniffed at the smoky air, which mingled aromatically with the dunghill out back. My fire always smoked, and the thatch, although filled with leaks when it rained, made a fine enough barrier to prevent the smoke escaping.