Suffer Little Children (9 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: Suffer Little Children
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‘I presume that the abbot decided that nothing should be touched until the arrival of the
dálaigh
and the conclusion of the investigation.'
Conghus bent again, fumbled with the latch and then flung open the door. He was about to enter the dark room when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and held him back.
‘Get me a lantern.'
‘There is an oil lamp beside the bed which I can light.'
‘No,' Fidelma insisted. ‘I want nothing touched or moved, if nothing has been moved so far. Sister Necht, hand me down that oil lamp behind you.'
The young novice moved with alacrity to take down the lamp from its wall fixture.
Fidelma took the lamp, holding it high, and stood on the threshold peering round.
The chamber was almost as she had envisaged it would be.
There was a bed, a wooden cot with a straw palliasse and blankets in one corner. By it was a small table on which stood an oil lamp. On the floor, just below this, was a pair of worn sandals. From a row of pegs hung three large leather satchels. There was another table at the end of the bed on which were spread some wooden writing tablets covered with a wax
surface and nearby a
graib,
a stylus of pointed metal, for writing. Next to this was a small pile of vellum sheets and a cow's horn which was obviously an
adircín
used for containing
dubh
or ink made from carbon. A selection of quills taken from crows was piled next to it and a small knife ready for their sharpening. Fidelma realised that Dacán, like most scribes, would make his notes on the wax tablets and then transcribe them for permanence onto his vellum sheets, which would then be bound.
She hesitated a moment more to ensure that she had missed nothing in her initial cursory examination. Then she stepped to the table and stared at the wax writing tablets. Her lips turned down in disappointment when she saw they were empty of characters. The surface had been smoothed clean.
She turned to Conghus.
‘I do not imagine that you would have noticed whether these were clean or written on at the time Dacán's body was discovered?'
Conghus shook his head negatively.
Fidelma sighed and peered at the vellum sheets. They were equally devoid of content.
She turned round. There were dark stains on the blankets still piled untidily on the bed. It needed no great intelligence to realise that the stains were dried blood. She peered along the pegs on the wall and began to examine the contents of the leather satchels ranged there. They contained a change of underwear, a cloak, some shirts and other garments. There was also some shaving equipment and toiletry articles but little else. Carefully, Fidelma repacked the items into the satchels and hung them back on their pegs.
She stood for a moment, peering round the chamber before, to the surprise of those watching, lowering herself to her knees and carefully examining the floor still holding the lantern in one hand.
It was covered in a thin layer of dust. Brother Conghus was
apparently correct when he said no one had been in the chamber since the murder. Fidelma suddenly reached forward under the bed and drew out what appeared to be a short stick. It was an eighteen-inch wand of aspen wood cut with notches. It was so inconspicuous that it might easily be overlooked.
She heard a faint gasp at the door and turned to see Sister Necht staring from the doorway.
‘Do you recognise this?' she demanded quickly of the young novice, holding it up in the light.
Necht shook her head immediately.
‘It was … no, I thought it was something else. No, I was wrong. I have not seen it before.'
Still holding her find, Fidelma's eye fell on the small table by the cot. The only thing on it was the small pottery oil lamp. She transferred the wooden stick to the hand with the lantern and reached down to lift up the lamp with her free hand. It was heavy and obviously filled with oil. She replaced it and transferred the stick back again to her other hand.
She walked back to the threshold, where the others were crowding, waiting expectantly as if she were about to make some profound announcement. She was still absently clutching the aspen wand.
Fidelma turned back into the chamber and stood holding up the lamp high in order to let its light fall on the greater part of the room. Her eyes moved slowly and carefully over the chamber trying not to miss anything.
It was a dark cell of a room. There was only a small window, high up on the wall above the bed, which would give precious little light. Not only was the window small but it was north facing. The light, she reasoned, would be a cold, grey one. A room like this, for someone to function in, would have to be permanently illuminated. She turned and examined the door. There was nothing unusual here. No lock nor bolt, just a normal latch.
‘Is there anything more that you require of me, sister?'
Brother Conghus asked after they had all stood in silence a while. ‘The hour approaches for me to ring the bell for the
completa.'
The
completa
or compline was the seventh and last religious service of the day.
Fidelma dragged her gaze reluctantly from the room.
‘Sister?' Conghus pressed when she appeared to be still lost deep in thought.
With a small breath of a sigh she blinked and focused on him.
‘Oh? Oh yes, but one more thing, Conghus. The strips of coloured linen with which you say Dacán was bound – what happened to them?'
Conghus shrugged.
‘I really cannot say. I presume that the physician would have removed them. Is that all?'
‘You may go now,' she agreed. ‘But I may wish to speak with you again later.'
Conghus turned and hurried away.
Fidelma glanced towards the young sister.
‘Now, Sister Necht, can you find me the physician, was Brother Tóla his name?'
‘The assistant physician? Of course,' the novice replied immediately, and was turning eagerly to the task before Fidelma had even told her the nature of the errand.
‘Wait!' Fidelma chuckled at her enthusiasm. ‘When you find him, bring him here to see me immediately. I will be waiting.'
The young sister scampered away quickly.
Fidelma began to examine the notches on the aspen wand.
‘What is it?' asked Cass in curiosity. ‘Can you read those ancient letters?'
‘Yes. Can you understand Ogham?'
Cass shook his head regretfully.
‘I have never been taught the art of the old alphabet, sister.'
‘This is one from a bundle of rods of the poets, as they are called. It appears to be a will of sorts. Yet it does not make sense. This one says “let my sweet cousin care for my sons on the rock of Michael as my honourable cousin shall dictate”. Curious.'
‘What does it signify?' he asked in confusion.
‘Remember what I said about gathering information? It is like gathering the ingredients for a dish. You may gather something here and something there and, when all is complete, you start to construct the meal. Alas, we don't have all the ingredients yet. But at least we know more than before. We know, importantly, that this was a carefully conceived murder.'
Cass just stared at her.
‘Carefully conceived? The frenzy of the attack makes it appear that the killer fell into a violent rage. That surely means that it was an act of angry impulse and not premeditated.'
‘Perhaps. But it was not a violent rage that caused the old man to be bound hand and foot without a struggle. That speaks of premeditation. And what produced such a rage in the killer? A stranger, a man or women who slew at random, could surely not create the fury which caused such violence?'
She broke off and was silent as if something had just occurred to her.
‘What is the matter?' Cass pressed when he saw that her mind seemed to have wandered off somewhere else. She kept looking into the chamber with a frown. Finally, she moved back into the room and placed the lantern on the writing table so that it illuminated the room to the best advantage.
‘I wish I knew,' she confessed hesitantly. ‘I feel that there is something not quite right about this chamber; something that I should be noticing.'
Brother Tóla, the abbey's assistant physician, was a man with silvery grey hair and soft and pleasant features, continually smiling as though laughing at life. Fidelma reflected that most of the physicians whom she had encountered had been men and women with a joy for life and who regarded all its tragedies with a wry humour. Perhaps, she reasoned, this was a defence against their continual relationship with death or perhaps the very experience of death and human tragedy had conditioned them to accepting that while one had life, had reasonable health, then that life should be enjoyed as much as possible.
‘There are just a few questions that I would like to ask,' Fidelma began, after the introductions were over. They were still standing outside the door of the chamber which had once been occupied by Dacán.
‘Anything that I can do, sister.' Tóla smiled, his eyes twinkling with laughter as he spoke. ‘I fear it will not be much, but ask your questions.'
‘I am told that shortly after Brother Conghus found the dead body of the Venerable Dacán, the Abbot Brocc summoned you to examine the body?'
‘This is so.'
‘You are the assistant physician of the abbey?'
‘That is so. Brother Midach is our chief physician.'
‘Forgive me, but why did the abbot summon you and not Brother Midach?'
She had already heard the answer but Fidelma wanted to make sure.
‘Brother Midach was not in the abbey. He had left the previous evening on a journey and did not return for six days. As physicians, our services are often in demand in many neighbouring villages.'
‘Very well. Can you tell me the details of your findings?'
‘Of course. It was just after tierce and Brother Martan, who is the apothecary, had remarked that the bell had not rung the hour …'
Fidelma was interested.
‘The bell had not rung? How then did the apothecary know it was after tierce?'
Tóla chuckled dryly.
‘No mystery there. Martan is not only the apothecary but he is interested in the measurement of time. We have, within the community, a clepsydra, a plan for which one of our brethren brought back from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land many years ago. A clepsydra is …'
Fidelma held up her hand in interruption.
‘I know what it is. So the apothecary had checked this water-clock … ?'
‘Actually, no. Martan frequently compares the clepsydra – or water-clock, as you call it – against a more ancient engine of measurement in his dispensary. It is old-fashioned but workable. He has a mechanism which discharges sand from one part to another, the sand is measured so that it falls in a precise time.'
‘An hour glass?' smiled Cass complacently. ‘I have seen them.'
‘The same basis,' Brother Tóla agreed easily. ‘But Martan's mechanism was constructed fifty years ago by an artisan of this abbey. The mechanism is of larger proportions than an hour glass and the sand does not complete its fall from one compartment to another for one full
cadar.
'
Fidelma raised her eyebrows in astonishment. A
cadar
was the measure of one quarter of the day.
‘I would like to see this wondrous machine sometime,' she confessed. ‘However, we are straying from your story.'
‘Brother Martan had informed me that it was well after the time for tierce and, just then, Abbot Brocc summoned me. I went to his chambers and he told me that the Venerable Dacán had been found dead. He wanted me to examine the body.'
‘And had you known Dacán?'
Tóla nodded thoughtfully.
‘We are a large community here, sister, but not so large that a man of distinguished ability goes unnoticed in our midst.'
‘I mean, had you personal contact with him?'
‘I shared his table during meals but, apart from a few words, had little to do with him. He was not a man who encouraged friendship, he was cold and … well, cold and …'
‘Austere?' supplied Fidelma grimly.
‘Just so,' Tóla agreed readily.
‘So you came to the hostel?' prompted Fidelma again. ‘Can you describe what you found?'
‘Surely. Dacán was lying on the bed. He was lying on his back. His hands were tied behind him and his feet were bound at the ankles. There was a gag in his mouth. There was blood on his chest and it was obvious, to me at least, that it was the result of several stab wounds.'
‘Ah? How many stab wounds?'
‘Seven, though I could not tell at first.'
‘You say that he was lying on his back? Can you remember the position of the blanket? Had the blanket been thrown over him or was he lying on top of it?'
Tóla shook his head, a little bewildered by the question.
‘He lay fully clad on top of the blanket.'
‘Had the blood spurted from the body onto the blanket, staining it?'
‘No; such wounds bleed profusely but because the man was on his back the blood had congealed mainly on his chest.'
‘The blanket, then, was not used to carry the body nor wipe the blood?'
‘Not to my knowledge. Why are you concerned with this blanket?'
Fidelma ignored his question and motioned him to continue.
‘When I had the body removed to the mortuary and had it washed, I was able to confirm my initial findings. There were seven stab wounds in the chest, around the heart and into the heart itself. Four of them were mortal blows.'
‘Does that speak to you of a frenzied attack?' mused Fidelma.
Tóla looked at her appreciatively.
‘It seems to indicate an attack in hot blood. In cold blood, the attacker had only need to strike one blow into the heart. After all, the old man's hands and feet were bound.'
Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded.
‘Continue. Was there any indication when this deed was done?'
‘I can only say that, when I examined the body, the attack had not been a recent one. The body was almost cold to the touch.'
‘There was no sign of the weapon?'
‘None.'
‘Now, can you show me exactly how the body was lying on the cot? Would you mind?'
Tóla cast a glance of curiosity at her and then shrugged. He entered the chamber while she stood at the door, holding the lamp high so that she could see everything. He placed himself in a reclining position on the cot. Fidelma noticed, with interest, that he did not lie fully on the cot but only from his waist; he hung the lower part of his body over the edge of the bed so that the feet were touching the floor. The upper part
was therefore at an angle. He had placed his arms behind him to suggest them being bound. The head was well back and the eyes were shut. The position suggested that Dacán had been attacked while standing and had simply fallen back on the bed behind him.
‘I am grateful, Tóla,' Fidelma said. ‘You are an excellent witness.'
Tóla raised himself from the bed and his voice was dry and expressionless.
‘I have worked with a
dálaigh
before, sister.'
‘So, when you came in here, did you notice the state of the chamber?'
‘Not specifically,' he confessed. ‘My eyes were for the corpse of Dacán and what had caused his death.'
‘Try to remember, if you can. Was the room tidy or was it disturbed?'
Tóla gazed around him, as if trying to recall.
‘Tidy, I would say. The lamp on the table was still burning. Yes, tidy as you see the room now. I believe, from the gossip I have heard, that the venerable Dacán was an extremely fastidious man, tidy to the point of being obsessive.'
‘Who told you this?' queried Fidelma.
Tóla shrugged.
‘Brother Rumann, I believe. He had charge of the investigation afterwards.'
‘There is now little else that I need trouble you with,' Fidelma said. ‘You had the body removed and examined it. Did you touch the lamp at all? For example, did you refill it with oil?'
‘The only time I touched the lamp was to extinguish it when we took Dacán's body from this chamber.'
‘Presumably, Dacán was buried here in the abbey?'
To her surprise, Tóla shook his head.
‘No, the body was transported to the abbey of Fearna at the request of Dacán's brother, Abbot Noé.'
Fidelma took a moment or two to gather her thoughts.
‘I thought that Abbot Brocc had refused to send any of the property of Dacán back to Laigin, knowing it would be the subject of investigation?' she said sharply. ‘This seems a contrary thing – that he kept the possessions of Dacán but sent the body to Laigin.'
Tóla shrugged diffidently.
‘Perhaps the reason lies in the fact that one cannot preserve a corpse,' he replied with a grim smile. ‘Anyway, by that time, Brother Midach, our chief physician, had arrived back at the abbey and took over the arrangements. He was the one who authorised the removal of the body.'
‘You said that was almost six days later?'
‘That's right. A Laigin ship had arrived to demand the body. Of course, by that time, we had already placed the body in our own crypt, a cave in the hill behind us where the abbots of this monastery are interred. We had the corpse placed aboard the vessel from Laigin and presumably the Venerable Dacán's relics will now reside in Fearna.'
Fidelma shook her head in bewilderment.
‘Does it not seem curious that Laigin was so quick to learn about the death of Dacán and so quick to demand the return of his body? You say that the Laigin ship arrived here six days after the killing?'
Tóla shrugged expressively.
‘We are a coastal settlement here, sister. We are constantly in touch with many parts of the country and, indeed, our ships sail to Gaul with whom we regularly trade. The wine in this abbey, for example, is imported directly from Gaul. With a good tide and wind, one of the fast
barca
could leave here and be at the mouth of the River Breacán within two days. Fearna is only a few hours' ride from the river's mouth. I have sailed there myself several times. I know the waters along this southern coast well.'
Fidelma knew the capabilities of the
barca,
the lightly built
coastal vessels which traded around the shores of the five kingdoms.
‘That is, as you say, with ideal conditions, Tóla,' she agreed. ‘It still seems to me to show that Abbot Noé learnt very quickly of his brother's death. But, I'll grant you, it could be done. So Dacán's body was returned to Fearna?'
‘It was.'
‘When did the warship of Laigin arrive here? The one that still is at anchor in the inlet.'
‘About three days after the other ship left for Fearna with the body of Dacán.'
‘Then obviously both ships were sent by Laigin within a few days after Dacán's murder. The Laigin king must have known what he was going to do almost as soon as he received word that Dacán had been murdered.' She was speaking half to herself, as if clarifying a thought.
Tóla did not feel that he was required to make any comment.
Fidelma gave a long sigh as she pondered the difficulties of the case. Finally, she said: ‘When you examined the body of Dacán, did any other matters strike your eye?'
‘Such as?'
‘I do not know,' Fidelma confessed. ‘Was there anything unusual?'
Tóla gestured negatively.
‘There were just the stab wounds that caused his death, that is all.'
‘But there were no bruises, no signs of a struggle prior to his being bound? No marks of his being held down by force in order to bind him? No mark of his being knocked unconscious in order that he could be bound?'
Tóla's expression changed as he saw what she was driving at.
‘You mean, how could his enemy bind him without a struggle?'
Fidelma smiled tightly.
‘That is exactly what I mean, Tóla. Did he calmly let his attackers bind his hands and feet without a struggle?'
Tóla looked serious for the first time during their conversation.
‘There were no bruises that I saw. It did not occur to me …'
He paused and grimaced in annoyance.
‘What?' demanded Fidelma.
‘I am incompetent,' sighed Tóla.
‘Why so?'
‘I should have asked this very question at the time but I did not. I am sure, however, that there were no bruises on the body and, while the bonds on the wrists and ankles were tight, there was no bruising to show how they had been administered.'

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