Master of Souls (6 page)

Read Master of Souls Online

Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Master of Souls
2.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Eadulf’s face brightened. ‘That is tomorrow. So the laundry has not been done since the murder?’
‘I suppose not,’ replied Brother Cú Mara.
‘Who is in charge of the
tech-nigid?
’ asked Fidelma.
It was Abbot Erc who responded.
‘At the moment it is Sister Sinnchéne. Each month the task of being in charge of the washing is changed. It is Sinnchéne’s turn this month.’
‘Sinnchéne the young sister who looks after the
hospitium?’
Fidelma turned to the steward, who nodded confirmation. ‘Ensure that nothing is touched. Nothing is to be washed until all the clothes are examined, which we will do tomorrow morning.’ She glanced at Eadulf. ‘I am afraid that will be your task while I am questioning the merchant Mugrón. Conrí’s two warriors will doubtless help you.’
Eadulf accepted the task without enthusiasm.
Fidelma turned back to Abbot Erc.
‘So much for the manner of his death. What of the manner of his life? His work was well known. Had he enemies who would want to take such extreme vengeance on him?’
Abbot Erc appeared shocked at the suggestion.
‘The Venerable Cináed led a blameless life. Everyone loved him. He had no enemies.’
Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘One thing I have learnt is that you do not
achieve fame and wide respect without someone feeling that you have done them a wrong. It may be through jealousy of achievement. It may be some slight had been given without intention.’
Abbot Erc was indignant. ‘The Venerable Cinaed was a great scholar.’
‘The greater the scholar, the more people grow envious,’ pointed out Eadulf.
Abbot Erc made a dismissing gesture with a frail hand.
‘Scholastic debate is encouraged here but that does not mean that those who disputed with the Venerable Cinaed would murder him because they did not like what he said. Even I did not agree with everything he taught.’
Fidelma pursed her lips cynically.
‘I have come across many such cases where a dispute of ideas leads to a clash of personalities and the growth of hate. Who disputed with him? Let us start somewhere in unravelling this mystery.’
Abbot Erc was shaking his head.
‘Surely you know his scholastic reputation, Sister? No one would … I refuse to believe in such a possibility.’
Fidelma spoke with suppressed irritation.
‘I am not asking questions to while away the time,’ she said pointedly. ‘I know very well the reputation of the Venerable Cináed. I have read his discourse on the
Computus Cummianus
and
De Trinatate Interpretatio Perversa.
While the old saying goes that fame is more lasting than life, nevertheless, he is dead. He has been murdered and the culprit must be found to make amends according to our law, of which I am a representative.’
There was a silence. A young Sister of the Faith had not spoken to the old abbot in such a tone before. He flushed in anger.
Brother Cú Mara, the steward, moved forward nervously.
‘The Venerable Cinaed encouraged lively debate and questioning, lady.’ The steward stressed the title in recognition of her secular authority with a glance at the abbot. ‘He liked to be questioned sharply and was just as sharp in his replies.’
Abbot Erc, reminded of Fidelma’s authority, recovered his equilibrium. ‘My
rechtaire
is correct. Some of our most renowned debates have seen many scholars gather here; scholars from many colleges in the land - even from the great college of Mungret.’
Fidelma had always wanted to visit Mungret, which lay in the heart of Uí Fidgente territory. It had been founded by Nessan, a disciple of Patrick
himself, but was made famous by the Blessed Mongan the Wise who gathered one thousand five hundred religious to worship at a complex that boasted six churches. A saying had entered the language: to be ‘as wise as the women of Mungret’. She suddenly smiled as she remembered the story she had been told in her childhood. The wisdom of the scholars of Mungret had become so proverbial that the scholars of another college grew jealous, and challenged the scholars of Mungret to a debate. On the day of the arrival of the challengers, the scholars of Mungret decided to play a joke. They set out disguised as washerwomen, placing themselves at the ford across the river that bordered their territory, where the challengers would have to cross.
The challengers came upon the ‘washerwomen’ at work by the stream. When the challengers found out that the ‘washerwomen’ could speak excellent Latin and Greek and could debate easily with them, they decided they should withdraw. If the washerwomen of Mungret were so learned, what hope had they of debating with the scholars of Mungret?
‘Something amuses you, Sister?’ snapped Abbot Erc.
Fidelma drew herself back to the present.
‘Just a story I had heard,’ she replied.
‘These debates provoked no animosity?’ queried Eadulf.
‘None at all,’ said the abbot. ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma attended many. You may ask him.’
Fidelma raised her head sharply.
‘The Venerable Mac Faosma of Magh Bhile? What do you mean? Does he dwell in this abbey?’
‘Indeed he does. Do you know him?’ replied the abbot in surprise.
‘I know of him. He was spoken of with the same reverence as the Venerable Cinaed. It is astonishing that you have … had,’ she corrected herself, ‘two great philosophers at your abbey.’
The old abbot gestured as if dismissing the point.
‘Ard Fhearta is the home of many good scholars,’ he said shortly.
‘Of course,’ Fidelma replied with a smile. ‘But what is a man of Ulaidh doing here in the country of the Uí Fidgente?’
Once more, to cover the old abbot’s ill composure, it was Brother Cú Mara who answered her.
‘The Venerable Mac Faosma came here three years ago. This was the country in which he had been born. He trained here and then the
peregrinatio pro Christo
took him to study at Finnian’s great school at Magh
Bhile. He returned to live out the rest of his days among his own people and to contemplate the mysteries of the Faith.’
‘So he is not teaching here?’
‘Indeed, he does so now and then. As the abbot says, he took part and even presided in many of our scholastic debates.’
‘How was his relationship with the Venerable Cinaed?’
Brother Cú Mara suddenly looked uncomfortable and glanced at Abbot Erc.
‘He did not agree with everything that the Venerable Cinaed taught.’
Fidelma actually smiled mischievously at the formula of the words.
‘As, indeed, your abbot confesses was his attitude. Well, I do not doubt it. I cannot see room for agreement here with the Venerable Cináed’s argument for monotheism and his dismissal of the triune godship. That would have been anathema to the Venerable Mac Faosma.’
Abbot Erc seemed surprised by her knowledge but allowed his steward to reply.
‘There were some lively arguments …’ the young steward acknowledged. He caught sight of the abbot’s frown and added: ‘I mean, lively discussions between the two of them.’
Eadulf hid a smile. ‘So not everyone saw this Venerable Cinaed in terms of sweetness and light?’
Abbot Erc cast an irritable look at him. ‘What are you implying, Brother? That the Venerable Mac Faosma killed him because of a disagreement on the subject of the Holy Trinity?’
‘The choice of the term Holy Trinity implies that you, too, did not favour the Venerable Cináed’s argument for monotheism?’ Fidelma could not resist the mischievous impulse to tease the stern-faced abbot.
Abbot Erc looked startled. ‘What are you saying? The Venerable Cinaed was my friend. Surely we can all hold different opinions without resorting to physical anger?’
‘That, indeed, is the objective we should strive for,’ agreed Fidelma calmly. ‘Alas, mankind often finds it easier to settle disagreements by showing who is physically stronger. Do we not have a saying that might will prevail over right?’
Abbot Erc sniffed. ‘So you think that the Venerable Cinaed was murdered because someone disagreed with his teachings?’
‘I did not say that,’ Fidelma replied. ‘On the other hand, such a theory cannot yet be discounted. Not until we have all the facts gathered in can
we begin to speculate. It is the facts that I want.’ She paused. ‘Now, who were Cináed’s friends in the abbey?’
The young
rechtaire
said quickly: ‘Everyone was friendly with the Venerable Cinaed.’
‘He was a very popular man and the sort of man who, in spite of his scholastic status, was humble and approachable by everyone, from the cowherd to his fellow scholars,’ affirmed the abbot.
Fidelma sighed with impatience.
‘I am, of course, talking about particular friends,’ she said pointedly.
The abbot shrugged. ‘I was his friend, of course. We two have been longest in this abbey.’
‘Anyone else? Particular friends, that is?’
‘I knew him well in my capacity as
rechtaire,’
offered Brother Cú Mara, ‘but I cannot say I was a close friend. And, of course, Sister Buan. She attended his wants for he was slightly frail. She cleaned and ran messages for him.’
Fidelma nodded. ‘Anyone else?’
‘I take it the Venerable Mac Faosma was not considered a friend?’ observed Eadulf.
Abbot Erc sighed impatiently. ‘Let it be said that Cinaed and Mac Faosma were like chalk and cheese. Cináed was grounded in his philosophy while Mac Faosma preferred law and history. They both had views on each other’s subjects and argued them. They did not mix much within the abbey except at times of discussion and debate.’
‘Anyone else?’ repeated Fidelma.
‘Brother Eolas, naturally.’
‘Who is Brother Eolas? And why “naturally”?’ Fidelma pressed.
‘He is our librarian, the keeper of all the books we hold here.’
‘You mentioned a Sister Buan who attended to his wants. Who is she?’
A looked of disapproval formed on the face of the abbot and it was the
rechtaire
who replied.
‘One of our community.’ He seemed to hesitate, unwilling to expand further under the annoyed gaze of his abbot. ‘She … she is … was … a companion of the Venerable Cináed,’ he ended lamely. ‘As well as helping him, she often travels the surrounding countryside to trade the goods made at the abbey.’
‘Isn’t that your business as steward?’
‘My business is to attend to the smooth running of the abbey. We
have good craftsmen here, making items from gold and silver and the precious stones, the rocks and crystals, that are found in the surrounding countryside. Sister Buan meets with merchants like Mugrón to purchase the gold and silver for our craftsmen and then to sell the goods they make.’
Abbot Erc continued to look uncomfortable and suddenly rose from his seat.
‘Since we have raised the subject, I am reminded that Sister Buan found something in the grate of the Venerable Cinaed on the day after the murder. It was a piece of burnt paper and she thought it might be a clue.’ He bent to a chest and took something from it. ‘I kept it just in case,’ he said.
The paper was scorched and torn. He handed it to Fidelma.
The only readable matter she could make out was ‘ … midnight. Orat … alone … Sin …’.
Eadulf peered at it over her shoulder and shook his head.
‘It makes no sense. It could mean anything. Why would this Sister Buan think it was significant?’
‘She said that the Venerable Cinaed must have burnt it on the night he went to the oratory.’
‘Well, we will doubtless have a word with this Sister Buan,’ Fidelma said. ‘Have we now identified all Cináed’s friends? Is there anyone else … any particular friend of Cinaed?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Abbot Erc replied and made to take back the piece of burnt paper, but Fidelma shook her head with a smile.
‘We’ll hold on to this for the time being,’ she said, putting it carefully in her
marsupium.
Slightly put out, the abbot reseated himself.
Conrí, who had been silent during most of the discussion, coughed slightly to draw attention to himself and said: ‘My aunt, the Abbess Faife, was a close friend of the Venerable Cinaed. You have forgotten her. She often helped Cinaed in the library, for his eyesight was not of the best as he grew older.’
Abbot Erc flushed.
‘Of course,’ he said stiffly. ‘There was the Abbess Faife, but as she is … no longer with us, I did not think her name need be mentioned.’
Eadulf’s lips twitched in a grimace.
‘On the contrary, it is useful to know there was such a link between the two victims of violent death.’
‘Do you think that there was some connection between the deaths then, Brother Eadulf?’ the steward demanded.

Other books

Licking His Cane by Viola Grace
Tivi's Dagger by Alex Douglas
El cadáver con lentes by Dorothy L. Sayers
A Southern Star by Forest, Anya