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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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The small band continued on their way towards the grey stone and wooden buildings of the abbey. They rode along a wide avenue between
stone hedges, passing a tall standing stone to the west, and across the valley floor where the sound of the sea was not so prominent, being deflected by the hills. A drover moving a small herd of goats hastened to get the animals out of their way, apparently recognising and saluting Conrí, while giving an inquisitive glance at the warlord’s companions.
As they made their way up the incline towards the walls of Ard Fhearta, the wooden gates opened and a young man emerged. He stood awaiting their approach with ill-concealed excitement on his features.
‘God be with you this day, Brother Cú Mara,’ said Conrí, reining his horse to a standstill in front of the open gates.
‘God and Mary protect you, Conrí son of Conmáel.’ The young man gave the ritual response. Then he turned to greet the others and his eyes suddenly narrowed as they beheld Fidelma.
‘Brother Cú Mara is the
rechtaire
of the abbey,’ Conrí said.
‘Welcome to Ard Fhearta, lady.’ The coldness of his tone did not match the words.
Fidelma raised an eyebrow. ‘You seem to know who I am?’
The young man inclined his head slightly. ‘Who does not know of Fidelma, sister to Colgú, King of Muman? Your reputation as a
dálaigh
has spread in all five kingdoms of Eireann.’
Fidelma glanced accusingly at Conrí. ‘I thought you said that you had not warned anyone here that I would be coming?’
Before Conrí could speak, Brother Cú Mara intervened.
‘I only knew myself a moment ago when I recognised you.’ He spoke in a curiously disapproving tone.
‘Then you have seen me before?’
‘I studied the art of calligraphy under Abbot Laisran at Durrow, lady. I saw you several times there.’
Fidelma smiled. Durrow - the abbey of the oak plain. It seemed an age since she had last been there. The genial Abbot Laisran had looked upon Fidelma as his protégée, having persuaded her to join the religious after she had won her degrees in law at the great school of the Brehon Morann. Dear, kindly Abbot Laisran, and his infectious humour.
Brother Cú Mara had turned to Eadulf with the same serious scrutiny.
‘And you are … ?’
‘This is my companion, Brother Eadulf,’ said Fidelma.
The young monk’s expression did not alter.
‘Of course,’ he said shortly. He turned back to Conrí. ‘The abbot will
doubtless be eager to speak to you, lord Conrí, especially when he knows the identity of your companions.’
Fidelma could still hear the disapproval in the young man’s tone.
‘I will see him directly, then,’ Conrí assured him. ‘I presume there is no word from the missing religieuse?’
The steward’s expression turned into an unpleasant grimace.
‘No word from them, lord Conrí. However, the abbey has received a further tragic blow.’
‘Then do not keep us in suspense, Brother,’ Conrí replied shortly.
‘Three days ago, the Venerable Cinaed was found dead in the oratory.’
‘The Venerable Cináed?’ It was Fidelma who asked the question. ‘Would that be Cinaed the scholar?’
‘Do you know his work, lady?’ The steward seemed surprised.
‘Who does not know of his treatises on philosophy and history?’ she responded at once. ‘His work was renowned throughout the five kingdoms of Eireann. Do I judge that he was elderly? I hope he died a peaceful death?’
Brother Cú Mara shook his head. ‘He was elderly, just as you say, lady, but he died violently. A heavy blow apparently crushed the back of his skull.’
Conrí gasped while Fidelma’s eyes widened a little.
‘I presume, from your choice of words, that this was no accident?’ she pressed.
‘His body was found behind the altar in the oratory and there was no sign of the implement which caused the death blow.’
‘Has the culprit been discovered?’ Conrí demanded. He glanced to Fidelma and added: ‘This is bad news, indeed. Cináed was a great supporter of our new chief, Donennach, and was one of his advisers.’
The steward did not look unduly grief-stricken.
‘There are some here who think that this place has become cursed because of the surrender of Donennach,’ he said quietly.
Fidelma’s mouth tightened as she identified the hostility in the steward’s tone.
‘Cursed?’ She made the word sound belligerent.
‘Perhaps it is the shades of past generations of the Uí Fidgente who lie buried here - perhaps they are released from their Otherworld slumber to come back and wreak havoc upon us for the misfortune brought on them?’
Fidelma stared at the youthful steward in surprise. He seemed so reasonable and so matter of fact with his question. She could not tell whether he was serious or possessed of some perverse sense of humour.
‘As a member of the Faith, Brother, you should know better than to voice such superstitious nonsense.’
‘I merely articulate what many here are thinking. Indeed, what some have actually voiced already,’ the steward said defensively. ‘The abbey was built on an ancient pagan cemetery and perhaps we have angered the old spirits of the Uí Fidgente by our defeat?’
‘It seems that we have arrived at an opportune time,’ said Eadulf seriously. ‘We have come to save you Uí Fidgente from slipping back into fearful idolatry.’
Only Fidelma recognised the tone of voice when Eadulf spoke in jest.
Brother Cú Mara was about to respond in anger but then he turned away, speaking over his shoulder.
‘I would not keep Abbot Erc waiting, lord Conrí. As for the lady Fidelma and her companion, the abbot will doubtless expect you both to join him after the evening prayers and meal. Come, let me take you to the
hospitium
so that you may refresh yourselves after your travels.’
Eadulf noted the use of the Latin term.
‘Do you follow the Roman rule here, Brother?’ he asked as they dismounted and followed the steward on foot, leading their horses, into the abbey complex.
Brother Cú Mara shook his head immediately.
‘I perceive that you bear the tonsure of Rome, Brother Eadulf, but here we adhere to the teachings of our Church Fathers. Nevertheless, Latin is much in fashion in the abbey. Our scholars pride themselves on translating from the Latin texts. The Venerable Cinaed was keeping a great chronicle in Latin wherein he was recording the history of this abbey since its foundation by the Blessed Bréanainn.’
Conrí had handed his horse to one of his companions, a taciturn warrior named Socht, and departed to find the abbot. The young steward fell silent as he guided the rest of the party through the abbey grounds, through buildings of various shapes and sizes that made up the complex, to a large wooden structure they presumed was the
hospitium.
Brother Cú Mara paused.
‘There are no other guests at the moment so the guest-house is all yours. Make yourselves welcome. Sister Sinnchéne is inside. She will attend to
your wants. I will come to collect you after evening prayers and take you to Abbot Erc’s chamber.’
Without another word, the young steward turned and left.
The warrior Socht and his companion took charge of the horses and led them away to the abbey stables.
Eadulf pulled a face in the direction of the vanishing Brother Cú Mara.
‘I get the impression that that young man is not exactly pleased to see us,’ he commented.
‘Remember that we are in Uí Fidgente territory, Eadulf,’ Fidelma replied. ‘My brother was victorious in battle over them just over two years ago. Some people do not forgive and forget so easily.’
Eadulf opened the door to the guest-house and ushered Fidelma inside. They entered a large chamber of red yew panels which, it appeared, was a general room where guests could rest before a fire. The sky was already darkening, for dusk came early on these cold winter’s days, but there was a cheerful fire crackling in a stone-flagged hearth. A young woman was bending over an oil lamp set on a central table and adjusting its flickering wick. She glanced up, startled by their silent entrance, and Fidelma noticed that her eyes seemed red-rimmed. The light flickered on the tears gathered on her lashes.
She straightened up quickly, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. Fidelma took in the girl’s attractive features. She had a fair skin, blue eyes and a shock of golden hair.
‘I am Sister Sinnchéne,’ she announced with a sniff. ‘I presume that you are the guests we have been expecting? How may I be of assistance to you?’
It was clear that they had entered on some private moment of grief that she had no wish to share.
Fidelma introduced herself and Eadulf. It was clear that the young woman did not know of Fidelma’s relationship to the king of Muman.
‘Will you be wanting to bathe after your journey, Sister?’ she asked. ‘I can have hot water ready in the bathhouse shortly. Our facilities are primitive so there are no separate arrangements for men and women. If your companion can wait until you have finished, I will ensure there is hot water for him as well.’
Eadulf had never really understood the Irish passion for such fastidious cleanliness. In the land of the South Folk, bathing had consisted of a dip in the river and that carried out none too often.
‘I can wait,’ he agreed hurriedly.
‘There are separate chambers for your sleeping quarters,’ Sister Sinnchéne continued, pointing to a corridor that led off from the room behind her. ‘The bathing house and
defectarium
stand beyond.’
‘The lord Conrí and two of his warriors accompanied us here. They will be wanting beds,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘The warriors will doubtless make do with beds in the dormitory.’ Sister Sinnchéne’s voice was brisk and business-like. ‘If you will choose your chamber, Sister, I shall return and tell you when the water is heated.’
She moved off in a brisk fashion.
Fidelma went into the corridor. There were three or four cell-like rooms leading off it, each only big enough for a cot-like bed and little else. She entered the first room and threw her bag down on the bed with a sigh. Eadulf took the next room and followed Fidelma back to the main chamber, where she sank into the nearest chair.
‘While we have this moment alone,’ she said abruptly, ‘you’d best tell me what troubles you.’
Eadulf raised his eyebrows.
‘Should anything trouble me?’ he asked in feigned innocence.
Fidelma grimaced with annoyance.
‘All through the journey here you have been as querulous as an old woman. It would be better to say what is on your mind now rather than leave it until later.’
Eadulf hesitated, shrugged and sat down opposite her.
‘What troubles me is the same matter that has troubled me since Conrí came to Cashel,’ he said heavily.
‘Which is?’ prompted Fidelma sharply.
‘It is barely a few weeks since our son, Alchú, was abducted. Thanks be to God that we recovered him safely. We had scarcely reunited as a family, scarcely made it back to safety in Cashel. It was clearly time to settle down for a while. Then along comes Conrí and you decide to go charging off into dangerous territory. This area may still be within your brother’s kingdom but it is an area that has been in constant rebellion against him. And all because this Conrí pleads with you to do so.’
Fidelma returned his gaze with an expression of sadness. For a moment, Eadulf recognised the hurt in her eyes.
‘Eadulf,’ her voice was heavy with emphasis, ‘I am Alchú’s mother. Do you think I care nothing about my son? My pain in leaving him in Cashel
after so short a time is as great, if not greater, than your own. However, I am sister to the King and, as well you know, above all things, I am a
dálaigh.
That is my training, that is my skill in life. You know the problems that my brother has had with the Uí Fidgente. Now I am presented with an ideal means to build on the fragile peace between Cashel and this wild people. Conrí, the warlord of the Uí Fidgente, came to Cashel seeking my help as a
dálaigh.
By extending that help to him, I will strengthen the move to reunite my brother’s kingdom.’
Eadulf saw her argument but his personal feelings did not allow him to be convinced by it.
‘I could understand that if all else had been equal for us but it is not so,’ he protested. ‘It is only a matter of weeks since we settled down at Cashel, united as a family again, and started to plan the ceremony by which we will be permanently bound together, which was supposed to be on the feast of Imbolc, when the ewes come into milk. On that day you were supposed to become my
cétmuintir.’
For nearly a year now Fidelma and Eadulf had been joined as
ban charrthach
and
fer comtha
, partners for a year and a day, a legal marriage under the law, but a temporary one. After a year and a day, if incompatible, they could go their separate ways without blame and without payment of compensation to one another.

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