Authors: Peter Tremayne

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Master of Souls (40 page)

BOOK: Master of Souls

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‘This book that you said Cinaed had prepared … ?’

‘I think he had finished it and it was given to young Brother Faolchair to copy. I suppose …’ She paused and her mouth formed an ‘o’. Then she said: ‘Was it one of those that were destroyed in the library?’

‘It might well have been,’ countered Fidelma evasively. ‘Can you recall what it was called?’

She shook her head. ‘Only that it had a Latin title.’

‘Scripta quae ad rempublicum .
. . ?’ began Fidelma.

‘I would not recognise the title,’ replied Sister Sinnchéne firmly. ‘All I know is it was something about gemstones.’

Fidelma smiled quickly. She had only been seeking confirmation of the title she had suspected it would be.

‘De ars sordida gemmae,’
she said softly.

‘I told you that I would not recognise the title,’ protested the girl.

‘No matter,’ Fidelma said. Absently she began to move away. Then she turned abruptly back to the girl.

‘Did you kill your father last night?’

It was a brutal way to get to the truth but it produced an immediate result. The look on Sister Sinnchéne’s face told her that the news came as a shock. Fidelma found herself watching curiously as the emotions played across the girl’s face and finally resolved themselves into a grim mask.

‘Are you saying that he is dead?’ she asked coldly.

‘This morning Olcán was found in his cell. He was dead.’

The girl’s face was now without animation.

‘He killed himself? Perhaps he felt that he had to do so rather than face the disgrace of being a prisoner of the Eoghanacht.’

She now spoke quietly, almost in a matter-of-fact way.

Fidelma reached out a hand and touched the girl’s shoulder and shook her head.

‘I said that he was murdered.’

The girl’s expression still did not change but Fidelma felt her muscles harden under her hand.

‘That’s impossible.’

‘I am afraid it is not only possible, Sinnchéne, but it is a fact. That is why I cannot promise you that I can keep your secret now. I will keep it if possible but it may be that it will come out as a means of tracking down the person or persons responsible.’

Sister Sinnchéne still stood immobile.

Fidelma hesitated.

‘Do you want me to send for anyone to help you?’ she asked.

Sister Sinnchéne sighed and stirred. Her eyes were fathomless.

‘Help me? I need no one’s help. The time I needed help was when I was a young child and needed a father’s support, a father’s help. In reality, my father has been dead these last ten years if only in my mind … now he is dead in reality.’

She spoke without feeling.

Yet Fidelma felt a passing sorrow for the poor, lonely young girl whose father had deserted her and who was still hurting in spite of her outward coldness.

Outside, crossing the frosty courtyard, she saw Eadulf. She left Sister Sinnchéne and went quickly to tell him the news. Eadulf was shocked.

‘Does that mean Esumaro and the six religieuse are in danger also?’

‘I think not,’ Fidelma replied. ‘Our killer was only afraid of the one person who could probably identify him. I think the others are safe.’

‘Are you talking of this master?’

She nodded.

‘The one thing I cannot understand about Sinnchéne’s story is why trees made the Venerable Cinaed so excited.’ She reflected. ‘Something to do with the sacred tree of the clans? Sinnchéne said that he muttered “the old story might be true” and then hurried to the library to consult a book on trees. What old story? What trees?’

‘The trouble is,’ complained Eadulf, ‘when you speak of trees in your language, it can mean so many things. Why, even the mast of a ship is called by the same word. Cináed might have been speaking of ships or even a family tree …’

Fidelma gave a little shout of laughter.

‘Eadulf, what would I do without you? Sometimes one cannot see the wood for the trees!’

Eadulf looked bewildered, knowing that she had made a clever joke but unable to see the meaning of it.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Family tree! That is what the Venerable Cinaed was after. Exactly that.’

‘But whose family tree?’

Fidelma was smiling happily now and was turning towards the library.

‘Uaman’s family, of course. The family tree of the Uí Fidgente rulers. The very book that Conrí asked Brother Eolas for last night.’

In the library they found Brother Faolchair, looking as bothered as usual, continually glancing over his shoulder to see whether Brother Eolas was nearby. But there was no sign of the librarian.

‘I am still being blamed for the burning of the Venerable Cináed’s books,’ he told them with a sigh, when he realised that Fidelma and Eadulf had spotted his nervousness. ‘I am afraid that Brother Eolas is of an unforgiving nature.’

‘Well, we might soon be able to resolve that matter,’ Fidelma encouraged him. ‘But now we need your help. Do you have a work on the genealogy of the Uí Fidgente?’

The young assistant librarian answered at once.

‘Of course. As one of the best libraries in the kingdom, we keep all the records of our great chiefs and nobles.’

‘May we look at the genealogy?’

‘Oh, we don’t have it at the moment. It has been borrowed.’

Their faces fell. Fidelma asked: ‘By whom has it been borrowed?’

Brother Faolchair smiled. ‘That’s another easy one — Brother Benen came this morning and asked for it on behalf of the Venerable Mac Faosma. He has it.’

Eadulf exchanged a quick glance with Fidelma but she did not appear to have been surprised or to have seen any significance in the fact.

‘There was another thing I wanted to make sure of, Brother Faolchair,’ she went on. ‘The last book that Cinaed appeared to have finished and gave you to copy was … ?’

‘De ars sordida gemmae.
’

‘Exactly so. Do you remember it?’

‘I remember it very well. It was one of the books that were destroyed in this very library.’

‘When had he given it to you to copy?’

‘A few days before his death.’

‘I think you said that you had not finished the copy?’

‘I had not. Those pages that I had copied were destroyed along with the original.’

‘Do you remember anything at all about the book? What were its arguments, its conclusions?’

Brother Faolchair shrugged. ‘I did not read it.’

Fidelma was astonished. ‘But you had started to copy it? You must have read it through first?’

The assistant librarian shook his head. ‘When you are a copyist, Sister, you learn that the first rule is never to read the manuscript that you are copying. You follow line by line copying what you see otherwise you will find yourself making mistakes.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘If you think that you know what is written, you will find yourself racing ahead; putting down what you think is coming next instead of what
is actually on the page before you. Best not to know and then you are more accurate in the copy.’

‘So you have no knowledge of the text?’

The young man shrugged. ‘I recall that it started with the idea that wealth is needed to create and sustain wars, justly or unjustly. It went on about the wealth of this land being used to sustain the Uí Fidgente chieftains in their wars against Cashel and then argued that it became a never-ending cycle. That wealth was needed to create wars and the more wars that were fought the more wealth was needed. Wealth created wars and wars created wealth. So the more land one had to conquer to extract the wealth to pay for the wars that needed that wealth the more wars had to be fought. He called it the unending circle.’

Eadulf raised his head quickly.

‘The Unending Circle,’ he repeated softly, with a meaningful look at Fidelma.

‘What else?’ prompted Fidelma, ignoring him.

‘The Venerable Cinaed went on to develop a theme about the extracting of gemstones to raise money … no, to say this was being done to finance a war …’

‘And?’

‘That is as far as I remember. I was still working on copying the thesis.’

A nervous look entered his eyes. Fidelma turned and saw Brother Eolas entering the library.

‘Thanks, that is all we need. You have been helpful as always, Brother Faolchair.’

Outside the library, Eadulf was almost beside himself with excitement.

‘The Unending Circle. Do you see the connection? It is the songmaster who must be behind this. That is the name of his organisation. Remember what the chorister told me at Daingean?’

‘You have frequently remarked on it,’ Fidelma observed drily.

‘Then we should go to see Brother Cill

n?’

He was disappointed when she shook her head.

‘We will go and see the Venerable Mac Faosma and ask to see this genealogy. I think that will answer my question.’

Eadulf sniffed in disapproval. ‘I fail to see how.’

Fidelma exhaled softly. ‘Well, it does not need the two of us to do this. While I am talking to the Venerable Mac Faosma, why not go and find out what you can about Brother Cillín and any other information about
this organisation of his. Make sure that you do it surreptitiously so that he is unaware of your inquiries.’

Eadulf drew himself up with injured pride. ‘My inquiries are always done carefully. You know that.’

Fidelma patted his arm. ‘Of course I know it. But we must be careful now, though, being so close to our prey.’

Slightly irritated, Eadulf left Fidelma and made his way through the covered walkway from the library towards the
hospitium,
wondering how best to approach the subject. Conrí suddenly appeared before him, hurrying along with a preoccupied look. He nearly collided with Eadulf, stopped and then recognised him.

‘Where is the lady Fidelma?’ he asked quickly.

‘You look apprehensive, Conrí.’

‘I need to speak to her at once,’ the warlord of the Uí Fidgente said. ‘We have had some unexpected visitors at the abbey gates.’

Eadulf raised an eyebrow in query.

‘Slébéne and a warrior escort have just arrived,’ Conrí explained. ‘We know that he was mixed up in this matter. His arrival means trouble. Where is Fidelma?’

Eadulf was startled at the news.

‘She has gone to see the Venerable Mac Faosma,’ he replied. Before he could question Conrí further, the warrior was moving at a swift trot in the direction of the scholar’s chambers.

Eadulf stood looking after him in indecision. He was wondering whether he ought to join Conrí when a voice called to him.

‘Brother Saxon! So you are here as well?’

He swung round and it was a few moments before he recognised the chorister who had been at Slébéne’s fortress of An Daingean. The very chorister who had spoken to him of the Unending Circle. A coincidence indeed!

The chorister was smiling at him.

‘Remember me? I have just arrived in the company of lord Slébéne. A fortunate chance as you must know.’

‘I am sorry?’ muttered Eadulf, not understanding.

‘Why, surely you are at Ard Fhearta for the same reason as I am? The meeting of the Unending Circle?’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After she left Eadulf, Fidelma found her way to the chambers of the Venerable Mac Faosma. This time there was no muscular Brother Benen between her and the oak door and she knocked boldly.

The Venerable Mac Faosma greeted her with a hostile eye as he opened the door and recognised her.

‘Have you come to bother me yet again?’ he demanded irritably before she had time to say anything. ‘I would have thought that you had better things to do.’

Fidelma smiled sweetly at the old scholar.

‘I am engaged in those things that I should be engaged in,’ she replied, her icy tongue not matching the sweetness of her smile.

‘Indeed?’

‘I am told that you borrowed a genealogy from the library.’

Mac Faosma’s forehead furrowed.

‘You take a curious interest in the books that I borrow from the library?’ he said, inflecting the words to form a question.

‘I do, don’t I?’ she responded innocently. ‘Perhaps that it is because you borrow some very interesting books. However, I would like to see this one, if I may … that is, if it has not perished in the same way as did the book of Cinaed?’

Mac Faosma stared at her and if looks had the ability to kill, her life was worthless. Then he shrugged and stood aside, motioning her to enter.

‘I do not want you to be sitting
troscud
outside my door to impel me to show it you,’ he sniffed. ‘Time is too precious without wasting it on melodramatic gestures.’ .’

She entered his chamber and he closed the door behind her, before leading her to a corner of the room.

‘I cannot think why you want to see the genealogy of the Uí Fidgente,’ he said, drawing the manuscript across the table.

‘Indulge me,’ Fidelma replied quietly, peering at the rectangular vellum book which had several bound pages. It was, indeed, what she was looking for. She started turning the pages of the various generations.

‘Is there anything in particular that you want from it?’ Mac Faosma queried with interest.

‘I want to check the descendants of Choirpre, the grandson of Fidgennid.’

Mac Faosma shrugged.

‘I have not come so far as yet. I am working on the generations showing the descent of the Uí Fidgente from Eoghan Mór to support the rightful claim that the Uí Fidgente are Eoghanacht and should not be excluded from the councils of Cashel.’

Fidelma smiled thinly.

‘Then your work is going to be long and hard, Venerable Mac Faosma,’ she replied, still bent to her task. Suddenly she halted on a page, tracing the inscribed names with her finger.

‘Here it is. Oengus Lappae, son of Ailill Cendfota, and his son Áed, and Áed’s son Crunmael to his son Eoganan who perished at Cnoc Aine. There are Eoganán’s sons Torcán and Uaman and—’

She stopped short. It was so neat that she had not noticed before. A tiny rectangle had been cut out of the page. Its size and position showed that it had been cut to obliterate a name … a third name after Uaman.

She turned and glanced accusingly at the old scholar, but he was staring at it with a bemused expression that could not have been feigned.

‘I presume that you knew nothing of this mutilation?’ she asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He shook his head.

‘So Eoganan did have a third child,’ she said softly. ‘But the name has recently been cut out of this book.’

‘Recently? How do you know?’

‘See where the cut has been made with a sharp pointed instrument, probably a knife point? The edges of the vellum are whiter than the page itself. How old is this book?’

‘Ard Fhearta has had it in the library for fifty years. The scribes who wrote it are long since dead.’

‘But the name of Eoganán’s third child must be known to many. You yourself must know it.’

Mac Faosma shook his head.

‘I recall there was talk of a third child at the time when Eoganán’s second wife fled from his fortress with her lover leaving a child behind. There was talk of its being sent away to fosterage to some local chieftain but I don’t remember the details.’

‘Is there anyone who would know the name of this child?’

‘If the child was of the same generation as its siblings, Torcán and Uaman, it would be more than a child now,’ the old man pointed out.

Fidelma was thoughtful.

‘That is true,’ she said. ‘I understand that Brother Benen collected this book for you this morning?’

‘That’s right.’ Mac Faosma pointed to his writing table where he was working on sheets of vellum. ‘You see, I am preparing a book which lists the generations of Uí Fidgente and needed this for reference. I merely went to the pages that concerned me and did not look at the page about Eoganan.’

‘So we may safely assume that this was done before the book came into your possession.’

‘I am a scholar,’ protested Mac Faosma. ‘Books are sacred things to me. I would not destroy a book no matter how bad or ill formed.’

‘Of course,’ conceded Fidelma. ‘My main concern now is to find out who this third child was … or is.’

‘Why are you so interested? I doubt that any progeny of Eoganán is likely to claim the title now that Donennach is chief.’

Fidelma ignored his question.

‘You have been most helpful in this matter, Venerable Mac Faosma. Keep that book safe. It may be wanted as evidence.’

In the courtyard Eadulf was staring at the chorister from An Daingean.

‘The meeting of the Unending Circle?’ He was trying to hide his astonishment. Then he attempted to look enthusiastic. ‘Of course. The meeting.’

‘And just in time.’

‘In time?’

‘Indeed, I was told by one of our number at the gates that the meeting was about to start in the small chapel. Brother Cillín is already there. I presume that you are on your way there now?’

Eadulf hesitated only a moment. There was only one thing to do and that was brazen it out.

‘Oh, of course.’

The chorister seized his arm in a display of comradeship.

‘Come, then. We mustn’t miss what Brother Cillín has to tell us.’

Eadulf found himself almost reluctantly pushed towards the chapel. There were several others hurrying towards the building and Eadulf noticed that all of them had their cowls pulled over their heads. His companion now did likewise. It was with relief that he did the same.

Inside the small chapel, Eadulf found at least thirty or forty male members of the community assembled in rows, all hooded. He entered uneasily and stood with his new-found companion at the back of the chapel by one of the pillars.

There was a hush and then Brother Cillin, the songmaster, came from a side door with two companions and stood before the assembly. Although he, too, was cowled, Eadulf recognised him easily.

‘My brethren, it gladdens me to see so many of you gathered here,’ he began in a resonant baritone. ‘Soon the great day is coming and what we have been working for will finally be achieved. That day when we gather in the great abbey before the high altar, the company will fall astounded before us.’

Eadulf eased nervously backwards as if this action would somehow hide him from Brother Cillín’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 Cillín 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
súan 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.

‘Slébéne 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 Olcán’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?’

Conrí 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, Tadcán, to keep a careful watch on Slébéne’s men. In fact, lookouts should be posted just in case Slébéne 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 Slébéne might be so involved that he will launch an attack on the abbey? To achieve what?’ demanded Conr

‘Slébéne 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.

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