Master of Souls (10 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

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

BOOK: Master of Souls
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‘You better return the clothing to Sister Sinnchéne,’ she told him. ‘But I want to see this physician anyway, so we will speak to her now.’
Eadulf’s mouth became a thin slit of anger as he departed back along the path to the
tech-nigid
.
Sober-faced now, Brother Cú Mara led the way along the path towards the main abbey buildings.
‘Those are the quarters for the bachelors.’ The
rechtaire
indicated one building with a gesture of his head. ‘The married rooms are behind there and beyond are the quarters for the unmarried sisters.’
‘Are there many people in this abbey?’ inquired Fidelma.
‘Scarcely more than five hundred souls,’ Brother Cú Mara replied.
‘It is surely enough,’ Fidelma observed with surprise.
‘We have heard that the great abbey at Ard Macha boasts the attendance of seven thousand students and then there are members of the Faith who instruct them.’
Fidelma had passed through Ard Macha, which lay in the northern kingdom of the Uí Néill. She had been sent there to get instructions from Bishop Ultan on her way to the great council in Northumbria, and had found Ard Macha too crowded, too city-like and ostentatious for her. And, she had to confess, she was not impressed with Ultan, who seemed the product of his environment for he, too, was ostentatious and full of his own importance. As his abbey had been founded by the Blessed Patrick, who was now being claimed as the first preacher of the word of Christ in the five kingdoms, Ultan was seeking recognition as the Primate, the head of all the churches in the kingdoms. Violent arguments were springing up, especially from Imleach which the bishop and abbot pointed out had been founded by Ailbe, who had preached Christianity in the five kingdoms before Patrick, as had many others.
‘Ard Macha should not be judged by the numbers of people who live there but by what it achieves in the manner of the lives of those it influences,’ Fidelma said now.
Brother Cú Mara had paused before a stone building set slightly apart from the main structures of the abbey and indicated a door.
‘This is the apothecary of Sister Uallann, lady.’
He tapped gently at the door.
A voice curtly bade them enter.
Inside the large room, the pungent scents of a hundred hanging herbs and plants was overwhelming, mixed as they were with an odour rising from a cauldron in which a strange-looking liquid was bubbling over a fire. Benches filled with amphorae, jugs and pots stretched round the room. Above one bench was a shelf containing several ageing manuscript books. At one end was a table made of a thick block of wood that was almost large enough for two people to lie down upon. Its stained and grooved surface showed to what use an apothecary could put it.
Nearby, at a smaller table, sat a woman with mortar and pestle, pounding something in the bowl.
She was almost masculine in facial appearance, with wispy dark hair, piercing blue eyes and ruddy skin. She had a large nose and a hint of moustache-like dark downy hair over her upper lip. It was hard to guess her age.
‘Well?’ she cried, her voice shrill, as she glanced up at them. ‘I am busy. State your illness. I have little time.’
The young steward glanced apologetically at Fidelma.
‘This is Sister Uallann, lady.’ He turned to the physician. ‘Sister Uallann, this is Fidelma of Cashel. She is the
dálaigh
come to investigate the deaths of the Abbess Faife and of the Venerable Cinaed.’
Sister Uallann remained seated.
‘Of Cashel?
Of
Cashel? Does she not know that the Uí Fidgente have no business with Cashel? We owe allegiance to Eoganán. We have no need for a Cashel
dálaigh
.’
Conr
coughed with embarrassment and moved forward.
‘Sister Uallann, do you remember me? I am Conr
—’
The woman sighed pointedly and laid aside her mortar and pestle with a resounding thump on the table.
‘Of course I know you, lord Conr
. Do you consider that I am senile?’ Conr
was embarrassed.
‘Eoganán was killed at Cnoc Aine two years ago. The Uí Fidgente have pledged allegiance to Cashel now. Sister Fidelma is blood sister to Colgú, legitimate king of all Muman. She is the
dálaigh
we have asked to come to investigate the violent deaths of the Abbess Faife and the Venerable Cinaed.’
Sister Uallann frowned and sat for a moment as if considering this.
‘My husband is also dead. Dead by the design of Cashel. The Uí Fidgente are now at peace. Yet still there are violent deaths in the land.’
Fidelma moved forward and as she did so her feet crunched on something on the floor. She looked down to see several granular crystals on the floor.
‘You seem to have spilt something, Sister Uallann.’
The physician glanced down and appeared embarrassed for a moment.
‘It is nothing. I spilt a preparation.’
Fidelma noticed the crystals clung to the woollen arm of Sister Uallan’s robe and reached out to pluck off a few. She kept them in her hand, wondering what they were.
‘I hope that whoever uses the preparation does not have to ingest it. These are as hard as little rocks.’
‘What exactly is it that you want?’ snapped Sister Uallann impatiently.
Fidelma sat down directly opposite the physician, dropping the granules on the floor.
‘There are a few questions that I must ask you, Sister Uallann.’
The physician blinked and focused her pale eyes on Fidelma.
‘I understand that you examined the body of Abbess Faife when it was returned here to Ard Fhearta.’
‘That is so, that is so.’
‘And then you prepared her body for burial?’
‘Of course, of course.’
‘Can you tell me anything about the manner of her death?’
The physician sniffed irritably.
‘A wound made by a blade. Simple. Sharp. I would say such a wound would cause death instantaneously. Instantaneously.’
‘You cannot say what caused the wound other than a blade?’
‘I will say that it was either a sword or a broad dagger. It would be the weapon of a warrior.’
Fidelma raised her eyebrows slightly.
‘Why do you specify a warrior?’
‘Because of the sharpness of the blade and its cleanness. Only a warrior tends to keep his blade sharp and clean. That it was sharp and clean is certain from the nature of the wound it inflicted.’
‘It is a logical conclusion,’ agreed Fidelma.
‘The body had begun to decay but not much because of the cold. It had been lying in snow and ice, I think, and that had slowed the decaying process. So the marks of the wound were clear and the thrust was delivered downwards. Yes, downwards.’
Again, Fidelma was amazed at this senescent physician’s ability to be certain.
‘How do you deduce that?’
‘The nature of the wound, the angle of its entry into the breast. I have been treating battle wounds for many years. I know about sword and dagger wounds. I would say that Abbess Faife must have been kneeling on the ground or her assailant was on horseback and she afoot.’
Fidelma paused for a moment digesting the information.
‘Very well. Did you notice anything else which might give a clue as to the assailant?’
Sister Uallann shook her head.
‘Now let us come to the death of the Venerable Cinaed,’ Fidelma went on. ‘You examined his body and prepared it for burial.’
‘That was only a few days ago,’ said the physician petulantly.
‘But the cause of his death was … ?’
Sister Uallann glanced at her in surprise.
‘I would have thought that you would already be aware of that?’
‘I need to hear it officially from the physician who examined him.’
‘He died instantly from a heavy blow on the back of his skull which smashed the bone and shattered it so that fragments pierced the brain.’
‘Just one wound?’
‘One blow. There was no need for more.’
‘After that blow, are you saying that he could not have moved?’ Sister Uallann stared at her as if in pity.
‘If you believe a dead man can move, then he was capable of movement,’ she snapped sarcastically.
‘I am trying to clarify the facts,’ replied Fidelma evenly. ‘The blow was struck from behind with such a force that it shattered his skull, is that right?’
‘I have said so.’
‘But the body was found lying on its back.’
Sister Uallann was not perturbed.
‘Then it is surely logical that, after the blow was struck, the killer turned it over on its back.’
‘Clearly logical,’ Fidelma smiled thinly, ‘but it would be a poor
dálaigh
who does not consult the physician to seek verification of the medical logic. I presume that you knew the Venerable Cinaed well?’
‘Well enough.’ It was said in a truculent manner.
‘Would you say that you were a close friend of his?’
‘Not close. I respected some of his arguments. He was, after all, a careful scholar. Yet I did not agree with his fundamental attitudes.’

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