Master of Souls (41 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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‘Wait!’ called Fidelma. ‘How many warriors do you have in the abbey?’
‘Just Socht. The ones who escorted Olcán here with me have returned to the ship. Abbot Erc tolerates no more than a personal guard for visiting chiefs in the abbey.’
Fidelma compressed her lips for a moment.
‘Then tell Socht to return as quickly and unobtrusively as he possibly can and bring a couple of your men with him.’
Conrí was hesitant. ‘Do you expect something to happen, lady?’
Fidelma actually smiled. ‘I do, my friend. Something very soon. I just hope that before it does, I can work out the final details of this mystery so that we may prepare ourselves. When you have given your instructions to Socht, find Eadulf and come and join me. I am going to the tech-
screptra.’
Eadulf had many abilities including a strong voice. But it was not a singing voice. It was true that he liked to sing but his idea of singing was certainly not shared by anyone with a trained musical ear.
Brother Cillín, waving his hands to indicate the rhythm, strode among the lines of cowled brethren, sometimes plucking notes from
his ceis
to keep them in time.
Eadulf’s head was bent as he tried his best to cope with the chant so that he would not appear out of place in the company.
As Brother Cill
n reached the row in which he stood, the songmaster paused, head to one side.
‘Silence!’ he suddenly roared.
The singing of the brethren came to a ragged halt.
Eadulf thought that he could feel the steely eyes of the songmaster staring directly at him.
‘There is an ear here that is tone deaf!’ thundered the songmaster. ‘The voice obeys the ear and has no concept of melody.’
There was a murmur of surprise and horror from the brethren as they turned round to try to catch a glimpse of the culprit.
‘Surely not someone among the Unending Circle?’ cried a young man at the end of the row.
‘Surely not,’ repeated Brother Cillin with sarcastic emphasis. ‘I have hand-picked you all, every one, each for the beauty of his voice, to join in what will be the greatest choir in the five kingdoms of Eireann. A choir
that this year will win every prize at the Assembly of East Muman and go on to dominate every festival and gathering throughout the land.’
A horror was coming over Eadulf as he began to understand the mystery he had been pursuing. The Unending Circle — it was simply the name of Brother Cill
n’s choristers.
Brother Cillín was continuing: ‘I have chosen you from many communities, and although it is not often we are all together to practise I was assured that within a few months we would be ready to enter our first singing competition. Now, what do I hear? A voice that has no tone in it, no understanding of music. How could I have chosen such a voice? Or did I?’
Eadulf had been aware that the
stiúirtheóir canaid
had now halted before him.
Reluctantly Eadulf raised his head to meet the steely eyes of the songmaster. He smiled weakly.
Brother Cillin gazed at him with distaste.
‘Ah, Brother Saxon. So it is you? And were you overcome with such a desire to become a chorister that you felt you did not need to be able to sing?’
A sniggering broke out among the lines of the brethren. His erstwhile companion from An Daingean had been staring at him in horror and had moved as far away from him as possible in an attempt to disassociate himself.
‘I did not think I was that bad,’ muttered Eadulf, his face red.
Brother Cillín actually laughed, but with ill-humour.
‘We have an old saying, Brother Saxon — better be silent than sing a song badly. I would remember that if I had your voice. Now I wish to continue with this rehearsal, so if you have tasks more fitting to your talent, you may leave us.’
He stood aside and Eadulf, head down, moved down the row to the chapel door.
Behind him he heard the waspish tone of the
stiúirtheóir canaid.
‘We of the Unending Circle must seek purity in our voices. Each voice must contribute to the whole. That is why we call ourselves the Unending Circle. There is another old saying that we’d best remember. One scabby ewe will spoil the flock.’
There was a burst of laughter among the choristers.
Outside the chapel, Eadulf closed the door none too gently and threw back his hood. He was still mortified.
‘Unending Circle!’ he snorted. ‘A stupid name, indeed! A bunch of baying mules.’
From inside the voices rose in song. Eadulf grimaced and sighed. He had to admit the sound was sweet and melodious.
 
Fidelma made her way quickly to the
tech-screptra
and sought out Brother Eolas.
‘I have just been to see the Venerable Mac Faosma about the genealogy that Conrí spoke of last night.’
The librarian pursed his lips in a sceptical smile.
‘And the old man refused to let you see it?’
‘On the contrary, I saw it,’ she replied grimly. ‘However, it came to our noticed that the book has been defaced.’
Brother Eolas’ features dissolved into horror.
‘Defaced?’ he whispered.
‘A section of one page has been cut out. It was obvious that it happened recently.’
‘That cannot be!’ he replied, aghast.
‘I can assure you that it is so,’ said Fidelma calmly.
‘I take a pride in my library, Sister.’ He turned swiftly and beckoned to the reluctant young Brother Faolchair. ‘I tell you that until you came here we have had no trouble. Then the burning of Cináed’s books … I do not understand it.’
Brother Faolchair came hurrying over, pale-faced and nervous.
‘Do you know of the Uí Fidgente genealogy?’ the librarian demanded angrily. ‘When did the Venerable Mac Faosma borrow it?’
‘Brother Benen came here this morning and borrowed it on behalf of the Venerable Mac Faosma. I told Sister Fidelma of this a short time ago.’
‘You were most helpful, Brother Faolchair,’ Fidelma said gently. ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma did have the book, which I saw. However, the book had been defaced and I think that we can be sure that this was done before Brother Benen took it to the Venerable Mac Faosma.’
The young man gasped in horror.
‘I noticed no such thing when I handed the book to Brother Benen, Sister.’
‘Do you check through the books before and after they have been borrowed from the library?’ she asked.
The young man shook his head, puzzled.
‘Why would one do that?’
‘To ensure that those who borrow them do not damage them but treat them well. You said that you had not noticed the damage. I admit, it would take a sharp eye to spot it for it was only a small piece of the parchment cut from a page by means of the point of a sharp knife. I do not blame you for not noticing it.’
Brother Eolas intervened with a disapproving look.
‘Sister, when religious come to a library to look at the books one does not expect them to be vandals. Most are scholars, scribes and students. Why would we not trust them to behave in a manner befitting their calling?’
‘Someone obviously did not behave in that manner.’
‘I have never heard the like. You say that this damage must have been done recently?’
‘I do.’
‘The book has not been borrowed for some time,’ Brother Faolchair said. ‘No one has asked me to take it from the shelves. Not since …’
He paused, trying to remember.
‘Well,’ intervened Brother Eolas irritably, ‘are we to ask Brother Benen if he defaced it?’
‘And would you expect him to answer if he had?’ said Fidelma sarcastically.
‘I remember the last borrowing.’ Brother Faolchair was suddenly triumphant. ‘It was borrowed by the Venerable Cinaed.’
‘So the Venerable Cinaed also borrowed this book?’ Fidelma spoke quietly.
‘He did. It was shortly before his … his death. I remember because Sister Buan returned it to the library with some other books that he had borrowed. It was after his funeral.’
‘Did anyone borrow it before the Venerable Cinaed?’
Brother Faolchair nodded.
‘As I am in charge of any borrowing that leaves this library, I try to keep a record in my mind. Before the Venerable Cináed, Sister Uallann and before her Brother Cillín. You see, very few people are allowed to take books away from the library. Most of the community has to come in here to read them. But Brother Eolas has made …’
‘I make certain exceptions,’ interrupted the librarian. ‘Our great scholars, of course, are the exceptions — our physician and songmaster are recognised as scholars in their own right.’
‘And all four of these exceptions had borrowed the book … when? Within a few weeks of one another?’
‘That is so,’ affirmed Brother Faolchair.
She turned from them with a quick word of thanks and left the library. Outside she found Conrí and Eadulf looking for her.
She smiled at each of them.
‘I think the mystery is about to be unravelled. Let us go to see Abbot Erc and make plans to put this grim tale into the public domain.’
 
 
Fidelma had suggested that Abbot Erc request the attendance of certain members of the community to assemble in the
aireagal,
the oratory. As congregations usually stood in the oratory during the services, benches had been brought in and the lanterns were lit. Opposite these benches another bench had been arranged so that Abbot Erc, along with his steward, Brother Cú Mara, were seated facing the congregation. Next to them were Fidelma and Eadulf.
The small oratory was crowded. Conrí sat to one side with Sister Easdan and her companions as well as the Gaulish seaman, Esumaro. On the other side sat the physician, Sister Uallann, alongside Brothers Eolas and Faolchair. Sister Sinnchéne sat behind them. Sister Buan sat further back with Brother Cillín. Fidelma had asked Abbot Erc to insist upon the attendance of Slébéne, who was seated behind them. His champion was nowhere to be seen and, rather than reassure Fidelma, his absence worried her. There was some surprise among the company when the Venerable Mac Faosma entered escorted by the watchful Brother Benen. The Venerable Mac Faosma attended hardly any gathering unless he was giving one of his lectures or debates. But, again, Fidelma had asked Abbot Erc to especially request his presence.
The last person to enter was Socht, with two of his fellow warriors. They stood near the oratory door, which Socht closed. He signalled to Conr
that all was secure and Conr
then nodded towards Fidelma.
Abbot Erc found Fidelma looking at him. He realised that he had to govern the proceedings. He gave a nervous cough and began, speaking quickly.
‘We are gathered here at the request of Sister Fidelma, who is here in her capacity
as a dálaigh
, as you all doubtless know.’ The abbot sounded
in a bad temper. ‘There is no need for me to remind you of the tragedies that have struck our abbey, although, thanks to Sister Fidelma, we have been blessed with the safe return of the six members of our community who were abducted and who we thought had vanished for ever. Sister Fidelma now intends to explain the reasons behind these tragedies.’
He sat back with mouth closed firmly, glancing at Fidelma, who, perceiving that he had said all he was going to say, rose and looked around at the upturned, expectant faces that greeted her.
‘This is not a court of law,’ she began. ‘No one here is on trial but from what occurs here a trial will doubtless result, for we are dealing with murder; not merely the murder of Abbess Faife and the Venerable Cinaed but of many unfortunate Gaulish seamen, of villagers who dwelt among the Sliabh Mis mountains, and of an ill-fated religious member of the community of Seanach’s Island named Brother Martan. In addition, we now must deal with the murder of the prisoner Olcán.’
Abbot Erc seemed irritated by her self-assurance.
‘And you are claiming that all these events are connected?’ he demanded.
Fidelma smiled.
‘I would not say so were it otherwise,’ she replied softly, but Eadulf heard the waspish rebuke in her tone.
She turned back to the still quiet assembly.
‘This has been a frustrating mystery, involving several strands. Each strand had to be followed and unravelled before one could be sure that they all led back to one central point. It makes a long story.’
The harsh voice of the Venerable Mac Faosma came from the assembly: ‘Then the sooner the story is started, the faster it will end and we can return to the comfort of our chambers.’
Fidelma was not perturbed by the old man’s rudeness. She merely glanced in his direction.
‘Are we not in the Lord’s house, Venerable Mac Faosma?’ Her voice was acrid. ‘Where else is more comfortable in his sight than in the place sacred to him?’ She delighted in the disconcerted expression on the old scholar’s face. Eadulf realised that she was pricking at the bubble of his piety with her irony. She continued before he could think of a suitable riposte: ‘Remember that it is not just the sister of the king of Muman who stands here. It is a representative of the laws which govern all this kingdom, all the territories, petty kingdoms and provinces of this land. When insult is delivered to the representative then it is delivered to the law itself. I
should not have to remind a scholar such as yourself of the offence and the punishments that are entailed when one insults the law.’
The Venerable Mac Faosma made a spluttering sound. But Fidelma was now ignoring him.
‘I will not keep you all longer than I have to. Yet I have to peel away the strands that envelop this mystery. I will begin by showing you the prime cause behind what has happened here. The prime motivation behind the deaths and abductions. I regret to say that we have to return to the ages-old conflict between the Uí Fidgente and the Eoghanacht of Cashel.’
An immediate murmur of outrage came from several quarters. Conr
looked about him unhappily.
Fidelma was slowly shaking a finger at them.
‘Noise does not drown out truth,’ she remonstrated.
‘Nor words without evidence will make it the truth,’ snapped the Venerable Mac Faosma.
‘Then listen and you will soon hear the evidence that supports the words,’ replied Fidelma, unperturbed. ‘Or is that demanding too much courtesy from this gathering?’
There were still some angry protests from the predominantly Uí Fidgente gathering. Conrí rose, facing them, and held up his hands to motion them to quiet.
‘There is a saying — do not bring your reaping hook into a field without being asked.’ It was a reminder to the assembly to behave properly. ‘We will hear what Fidelma of Cashel has to say and we will hear her without insult, jest or clamour. Remember that truth can come like bad weather, uninvited. But denial of bad weather does not make the day fine nor make the truth less than the truth. If I, as warlord of the Uí Fidgente, can bear to listen, then you can also.’
He sat down again, folded his arms, and stared woodenly ahead of him.
The murmurs of dissent subsided.
‘I shall not trouble you with history,’ Fidelma continued. ‘Nor with arguments of who is right and who is wrong in that conflict. We all know the conflict has lasted many generations between U
Fidgente and Eoghanacht. A short time ago, both peoples thought that the conflict was at an end. A new ruler of the Uí Fidgente came to the belief that peace was a better way of life than conflict. We hoped that we had all moved on.
‘However, there were still members of the Uí Fidgente who refused to
accept the rule of Donennach of the Uí Chonaill Gabra. They wanted to see the return of the rule of the old dynasty of the Uí Choirpre Áedba. Yet both families traced their descent to Fiachu Fidgennid. One sought to rule in peace while the other in war. With the death of Eoganan at Cnoc Aine it was believed that the Uí Choirpre Áedba dynasty was no more. But Eoganán’s seed had survived, plotting and planning for the day when Donennach could be overthrown and the young men of the Uí Fidgente flung once more on to the hardened steel of their enemies … for the glory of the Uí Choirpre Áedba dynasty and for no other cause,’ she added with emphasis.
This time there was an uncomfortable silence in the oratory. Finally the Abbot Erc spoke with a querulous note.
‘You forget, Sister Fidelma, that Eoganán’s son Torcán was slaughtered as well.’
‘I have not forgotten. Eoganán had more than one male offspring.’
‘She means Uaman!’ called Sister Uallann, and her tone showed that it was meant as a jeer.
‘As a
dálaigh,
you should know that Uaman could not become chief of the Uí Fidgente,’ the librarian Brother Eolas intervened. ‘Even I know enough law to realise that. It was well known that he was a leper and therefore ineligible to claim the office. He would not be recognised as legitimate even if he arrived at Loch Derg with a thousand warriors behind him to place him on the seat of his ancestors.’
Slébéne, the chief of the Corco Duibhne, was nodding slowly.
‘What if Uaman still lives?’ he demanded, causing some surprise among them. ‘We have heard many rumours that it is so.’
Sister Uallann turned to him, exhaling sharply.
‘The stories cannot be true,’ she snapped. ‘Wasn’t it said that before the last Nativity he perished in the quicksand of his own island? Several travellers brought the story to the abbey.’
Eadulf was about to stir when he caught Fidelma’s eye and saw the slight shake of her head.
It was Conrí who replied.
‘It was so reported. There was an eyewitness.’ He cast a quick look at Eadulf. ‘But we saw that there are burnt-out villages among the passes of Sliabh Mis, there are mothers who weep for the loss of their sons, wives for their husbands, children for their fathers. We met with people who reported seeing Uaman leading a band of warriors through these passes.
It was that band of warriors that I and the lord Tadcán captured on Seanach’s Island and brought hither with Olcán their leader.’
‘And Uaman as well?’ called Brother Eolas. ‘Where is he, then, who would be “master of souls”?’
Sister Easdan now rose in her place.
‘While we did not know who the man was, Olcán took orders from a man clad from head to feet in robes and whom he called “the master”. Esumaro will bear me out. Others identified him as the one they call Uaman the Leper.’
The Gaulish seaman nodded in support.
Brother Cillín called out from his seat.

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