Suffer Little Children (24 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: Suffer Little Children
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She found Cass at the door of the guests' hostel.
‘Have you heard the news?' His voice was excited.
‘Which news?' she demanded bitterly.
‘Why, about the coming here of the High King. It is all over the abbey.'
‘That!' The word was almost an ejaculation.
Cass frowned. ‘I thought it would be important to you. It does not leave you much time to prepare a defence of Muman against the claims of Laigin.'
Fidelma set her jaw firmly and said in measured tones: ‘Truly, Cass, I do not have to be reminded of my responsibilities. There is worse news than the imminent assembly and that is that someone has stolen some of our evidence from Brocc's chamber. Apparently, the stupid man mentioned the fact that I had left it there to several people and so certain items have been taken from my
marsupium
which I left there.'
Cass raised his eyebrows.
‘Certain items?' He repeated. ‘Why not steal the entire bag?'
Fidelma jerked her head up as his words registered. She had overlooked the obvious. Only the Ogham stick and the vellum had been taken. Yet the bindings and Grella's skirt, from which they had been taken, were left. What did that signify? Why was the thief so selective about what evidence they had removed?
She considered matters for a moment and then gave a sigh of frustration.
‘Where are you off to now?' demanded Cass as Fidelma suddenly began striding away across the courtyard that separated the hostel from the abbey church.
‘There is something I should have done before we left for Sceilig Mhichil,' she called across her shoulder. ‘Sister Necht had just reminded me of it.'
‘Sister Necht?'
Cass trailed after her. He was beginning to be exhausted by Fidelma's abrupt changes and wished she would confide in him more readily than she did.
‘It seems that we are running here and there and the more we move the less close we get to our goal,' he complained. ‘I thought that the ancients taught that such excessive motion does not necessarily mean progression?'
Fidelma, engrossed in her own anxieties, was irritated by what she perceived as the warrior's bland remark.
‘If you can solve this puzzle by sitting in a room, staring at the wall, then do so.'
The sourness in her tone caused Cass to wince a little.
‘I am not criticising you,' he said hurriedly, ‘but what good will a visit to the abbey church do?'
‘Let us discover,' Fidelma replied curtly.
Brother Rumann, the steward, was coming out of the door of the abbey as they went up the steps.
‘I heard that you had returned from Sceilig Mhichil,' he greeted in his wheezy tones, full of affability. ‘How was your journey? Have you learnt anything?'
‘The journey was fine,' she replied evenly, ‘but how did you know we went to Sceilig Mhichil?'
The even tone disguised the fact that she was suddenly on guard. She had, in fact, been very careful not to tell even her cousin, the Abbot Brocc, where she was going. No one in the abbey should have known.
Rumann looked uneasy and frowned.
‘I am not sure. Someone mentioned it. I think it might have been Brother Midach. Was it a secret?'
Fidelma did not reply but changed the subject.
‘I am told that the tomb of the Blessed Fachtna is contained within the abbey church? Can you tell me where it is located?'
‘Of course.' Rumann positively preened himself. ‘It is a place of pilgrimage on the fourteenth day of the feast of Lunasa, his feastday. Let me show you, sister.'
Rumann turned and began to move wheezily along the lengthy nave beyond the transept to the High Altar.
‘Have you heard the story of how Fachtna was blind when he came to this spot and, thanks to the intercession of a great miracle here at Ros Ailithir, where there was then nothing but open lands, he received his sight back and, in gratitude, built this abbey?' asked Rumann.
‘I have heard the story,' replied Fidelma, though not responding to the steward's enthusiasm for his subject.
Rumann conducted them up the steps that surrounded the slightly raised area on which the High Altar stood and then move around behind it into the apse, the vaulted curved recess behind the altar where the officiating priest or abbot usually conducted the rituals of the ‘dismissal' in accordance with the rites of the Church. In the apse lay a large sandstone slab which stood three inches above the rest of the floor. Incongruously, at the head of the slab, on a small stone plinth stood a statue of a cherub. At the foot of the slab was a similar plinth with a seraph upon it.
‘You will see just a simple cross,' pointed Rumann, ‘and the name Fachtna in the ancient Ogham script.'
‘Do you read Ogham?' she asked innocently.
‘My rôle as steward of the abbey requires me to be proficient in many forms of learning.' Rumann's fleshy face was complacent.
Fidelma turned back to the stone slab.
‘What lies beneath this stone?' she queried.
Rumann looked puzzled.
‘Why the sepulchre of Fachtna, of course. It is the only tomb within the abbey walls.'
‘I mean, what sort of tomb is it? A hole in the ground, a cave or what?'
‘Well, no one has ever opened it since Fachtna was interred there over a century ago.'
‘Really? Yet you described it as a sepulchre.'
‘It is true that it is known as the sepulchre,' replied Rumann. ‘Perhaps it is some sort of catacomb or cave. It would be sacrilege to enter to confirm that. There are several such caves hereabouts. We have other interesting tombs of that sort at Ros Ailithir but most of them lie without the walls of the abbey.'
‘Then there is no entrance to this sepulchre from the walled garden at the back of the church?' she demanded abruptly.
Rumann stared down at her in bewilderment.
‘No. Whatever makes you ask such a question?'
‘So the only entrance to the sepulchre is by the removal of this sandstone slab. It seems too strong and heavy.'
‘That it is, sister. And no one has been able to remove it in over a century.'
Cass began asking Rumann about other burial places for he could see that Fidelma wanted to be left to her own devices for a few moments. The plump-faced house steward's attention was distracted.
Fidelma went down on one knee by the great slab. She reached out a hand to touch that which had attracted her attention. It was slippery and cold. Cold candle grease spilt into a crevice by the old stone.
Someone entered the church with a noisy clatter of the great doors. Fidelma rose swiftly and saw that it was Brother Conghus who had entered and was beckoning frantically to Rumann.
The steward excused himself and hurried off down the aisle of the nave.
When he had gone Fidelma turned to Cass with lowered voice.
‘There is a way into that sepulchre, I swear it.'
Cass raised an eyebrow.
‘What makes you say that? And what has it to do with the investigation?'
‘Look at that candle grease and tell me what you observe.' Cass looked down.
‘It's just candle grease. There are plenty of such spots in the church. You can break a leg by slipping on them unless you watch where you tread.'
She sighed impatiently.
‘Yes. But they are all where they should be. Under candle holders. This spot is in a place where no candles hang. And see the way it has fallen.'
‘I don't understand.'
‘Really, Cass. Look. Observe. Deduce. Do you see that the edge of the stone slab is a straight line where it rests on the floor? Around it are splashes of candle grease which have grown cold. Look closer. Look at the join. It is as if the grease had been dropped before the slab was put in place, that the slab was slung back over the top of it.'
Cass rubbed the back of his neck in his bewilderment.
‘I still don't understand.'
She groaned and lowered herself to both knees, pushing at the slab, trying to compel it to move, first in one direction and then another. Her efforts were without success.
Finally, and reluctantly, she rose to her feet.
‘That sepulchre holds a valuable key to this business,' she said thoughtfully. ‘Someone has opened it and just recently. I think I am finally beginning to see the path through the darkness of this mystery …'
Brother Rumann came padding swiftly back to where they
stood. They could see from his face that he was bursting with some important news.
‘Sister Grella has been seen,' he blurted.
‘Has she returned to the abbey?' asked Fidelma in excitement.
Rumann shook his head.
‘Someone saw her riding with Salbach in the woods of Dór. It would seem that the chieftain of the Corco Loígde has found her. Excuse me, I must take this news to the abbot.'
Fidelma watched him hurry away. Cass was doing his best to conceal his excitement.
‘Well.' He smiled with satisfaction. ‘I think our mystery is near its end, eh?'
‘How so, Cass?' she asked wearily.
‘If Salbach has found Sister Grella, then we have found the culprit. You gave orders yourself to detain her. She was the person who was most implicated by the evidence,' he pointed out. ‘Doubtless she stole that evidence from the abbot's chamber.'
‘Yet Sister Grella has not been seen in the abbey since she disappeared.'
‘Well, maybe she returned without being noticed. I say, there is your thief and if she is the thief, she is also Dacán's killer. She would surely know that the evidence in that
marsupium
proves as much. It is logical that she would wish to destroy it. She probably heard from someone in the abbey that Brocc had the evidence.'
Fidelma suddenly gazed thoughtfully at him. She had neglected to tell him that the evidence that had been left behind implicated Grella rather than the reverse. She decided to keep this information to herself for the time being.
‘It is a possible explanation,' she conceded. ‘Where are the woods of Dór?'
‘Cuan D6ir is Salbach's fortress which is situated between the woods and the sea. It is less than a quarter of an hour's
journey across the headland,' Cass replied. ‘We may meet Salbach escorting Grella along the road, that is if he is bringing her back to the abbey.'
‘Much power in that word “if”,' muttered Fidelma but did not explain herself further. ‘I think we shall discover something else about Grella and Salbach as a result of this journey. Let's get our horses from the stables.'
Cass suppressed a sigh of irritation. He found Fidelma a most exasperating woman.
Cuan Dóir, Dór's harbour, was a short ride across the headland from Ros Ailithir. In fact, it was little more than three miles from the gates of the abbey. The track ran within sight of the stormy sea through wild scenery of granite rocks, gorse and heather, a landscape devoid of trees because of the nearness of the expanse of ocean with its prevailing coastal winds. Almost halfway along this path they crossed the remains of an ancient stone circle. Tall, grey granite sentinels stood as silent testimony to the beliefs and practices of the ancients, forming a circle some thirty feet in diameter, while just beyond was a small stone cabin. It seemed to fit so naturally into the wild, windswept landscape and conjure images of times past.
A little further on, the path descended into an inlet which seemed as natural a harbour as the one offered by Ros Ailithir. It was an area replete in fuchsia-strewn hedgerows which laced a breathtaking scenery. There were a few ships anchored in the small harbour. Several buildings comprised the township but dominating them was the fortress of Salbach: a round, stone-walled stronghold, well appointed to control the sea approaches as well as the road to the harbour. Fidelma saw that, like many of the fortresses she had seen, its walls, which rose some twenty feet high, were of dry stone. She estimated the circular fortification was probably some hundred feet in diameter with only one entrance, a large gateway with sloping jambs
big enough for only one horse and rider to pass through at a time.
Armed warriors lounged at this gate watching with ill-concealed curiosity as Fidelma and Cass rode up.
‘Is Sister Grella of Ros Ailithir within the gates?' called Fidelma as they halted. She had not bothered to dismount.
‘This is the fortress of Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loígde,' came the uncompromising reply from one of the guardians of the portal. He did not bother to change his lounging posture as he leant against the wall staring at them.
Fidelma decided to change tack.
‘Then we should like to see Salbach.'
‘He is not here,' came the wooden response.
‘Then where is he, man?' demanded Cass, moving forward so that the warrior could see his golden collar emblem and know him for one of the élite warriors of Cashel.
The man made no sign that he had observed the emblem. He gazed insolently back at Cass.
‘He went riding a while ago.' As Cass was about to make a sharp retort, the warrior relented and pointed with his spear. ‘He will probably be hunting in the wood of Dór, which is in that direction.'
‘Was anyone with him?' demanded Fidelma.
‘Salbach likes to hunt alone.'
This statement brought forth a low chuckle from the other guard as if it were some witticism.
Fidelma motioned Cass to follow and they turned in the direction of the distant woodland which the warrior had indicated.
‘If Grella is not with Salbach, what need to go in search of him?' inquired Cass as he realised her intent.
‘Perhaps Salbach does not hunt alone?' Fidelma suggested. ‘The idea seemed to amused our taciturn friend's companion.'
They walked their horses at a quiet pace along the track as it
twisted upward again from the shoreline, crossing undulating ground for a few miles before entering a thick woodland area which was, Fidelma noticed, rich in the variety of its trees although it was predominated by conifers intermixed with many birch and hazels. Heather grew everywhere in abundance. They followed the main track as it cut through the forest.
The woodland suddenly halted to make way for a river, cutting its way tempestuously down from the distant hills and heading in a broad sweep towards the sea behind them. It was wide but looked shallow enough. Fidelma was about to cross when Cass called softly to stay her.
He pointed wordlessly.
She saw, a short distance along the banks on the farthest side, a small woodsman's
bothán
or cabin. There was smoke rising from its chimney.
Outside, in front of the cabin, stood two horses. One was fairly richly accoutred while the other was in plain harness.
Fidelma exchanged a meaningful glance with Cass.
‘We'll cross,' she instructed, and proceeded to urge her horse through the rapidly flowing water. The track had, in fact, come to a natural ford and the water was little more than two feet in depth at its deepest point. They eased their horses carefully across to the far bank.
‘We'll leave our horses in that clearing,' Fidelma said, pointing to a small, sheltered spot a little way ahead of them. ‘Then we will make our way to the
bothán.
It is my guess that we will find both Salbach and our missing librarian there.'
Cass shook his head in perplexity but did not say anything.
Fidelma choose to make her way to the cabin surreptitiously, for she had embarked upon a series of thoughts which had brought her to a conclusion that she found scarcely creditable but whose progression seemed to fit the facts she had gathered so far.
They followed a small path which kept parallel with the river bank and brought them to the small clearing in which the woodsman's cabin stood.
They halted at the edge of the trees before the open area and Fidelma raised her head to listen.
There came the sound of a woman's peal of laughter from within the cabin.
Fidelma smiled in grim satisfaction towards Cass. It seemed that she had been right in her prediction.
She had started forward towards the cabin when Cass reached forward and grabbed her arm to halt her.
It was then she heard the soft pounding of a horse at a canter.
Swiftly, she moved back into the shelter of the shrubbery and crouched down beside Cass.
A rider burst into the clearing before the woodsman's cabin from the direction of what must have been a track through the forest on the far side of the clearing. The figure was that of a thick-set man. He was clad in a woollen cloak but dishevelled and dirty.
‘Salbach!' cried the warrior, reining in his horse before the cabin and sitting at ease, leaning slightly forward on the pommel.
A moment or two passed before Salbach appeared at the door of the cabin pulling on his shirt.
‘What news?' he called. Salbach was carrying a fur-lined cloak over his arm and this he proceeded to slip round his shoulders.
‘The hearing is to take place at Ros Ailithir within days. And Ross's
barc
is anchored in the inlet. They must have returned.'
Fidelma saw Cass glance in her direction with rounded eyes. She pulled a face and turned back to the two men.
‘Does she know?' demanded Salbach.
‘I doubt it. There was nothing to be learnt at Sceilig Mhichil.'
‘Well, I think I know where they might be hidden,' Salbach was saying.
‘That will please the
bó-aire,'
grunted the warrior.
Salbach was walking to his horse and he swung himself easily into the saddle. He did not even glance back at the cabin.
‘I'll accompany you to Cuan Dóir and as we go I'll give you my instructions for Intat.'
Fidelma heard Cass draw in his breath sharply.
The two riders, Salbach and the warrior, moved down to the river, trotting their horses along the shallows until they reached the ford. Fidelma and Cass could hear the splash of their passage as they crossed it.
Cass pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
‘I thought Salbach was supposed to be sending warriors to capture Intat to try him for his crime at Rae na Scrine?' he whispered.
‘Intat is obviously Salbach's man,' replied Fidelma, rising and brushing the leaves from her skirt. ‘I had suspected as much. Come, I think it time we had a word with our missing librarian.'
She strode firmly across the clearing to the cabin door and pushed it open without ceremony.
Sister Grella, not yet fully dressed, swung round, her eyes staring in consternation.
Fidelma smiled humourlessly.
‘Well, Sister Grella? It seems you have decided to quit the religious life.'
Sister Grella, her jaw slack, open-mouthed, her face pale, stared beyond Fidelma to where Cass was returning her gaze in equal astonishment over Fidelma's shoulder. Grella broke the spell by grabbing a garment to cover herself.
Fidelma saw her embarrassment and turned to cast a look of reproach at Cass.
The young warrior, red in the face, backed out of the cabin and took a stand beyond the door.
‘Dress yourself, Grella,' instructed Fidelma, ‘and then we shall talk.'
‘Where is Salbach?' whispered the erstwhile librarian. ‘What are you going to do?'
‘Salbach has ridden off,' Fidelma replied. ‘And in answer to your second question, well, that depends. Now hurry up and get your clothes on.'
Fidelma, spotting a chair, seated herself.
Grella began to dress hastily.
‘Are you going to take me back to the abbey?'
Fidelma allowed a cynical smile to play at the corner of her mouth.
‘You are answerable to ecclesiastical law as well as civil law for your conduct.'
‘There is no sin in it. Salbach plans to make me his second wife. I have quit the abbey.'
‘Without informing the abbot? But, you say, Salbach is already married?'
‘His wife is old,' replied Grella, as if this explained everything.
‘Just as Dacán was old?' Fidelma asked innocently.
Grella jerked her head in surprise. Then, recovering her poise, she shrugged.
‘So, you have found out? Yes, like Dacán was. Shrunken, worn and weak, he was. That's why I divorced him.'
‘Since the coming of the Faith to this land, the custom of taking a second wife or husband, or of taking a concubine, has been condemned by the bishops,' Fidelma commented. ‘Should Salbach take you as a second wife, you will be condemned by the church anyway.'
Grella sneered.
‘A few years ago Nuada of Laigin had two wives. The civil law still provides the rights of a second wife.'
‘I know the law, Grella. But you are a religieuse and should know that the rules of the Faith are oft-times contrary to the civil law.'
‘But your task is to uphold the civil law,' Grella snapped.
Fidelma did not press the matter further because she knew that while the Church opposed polygny, which had been widespread in ancient times, there was only limited success. Finally, one Brehon, writing the law text of the
Bretha Crólige,
had written in despair: ‘there is dispute in Irish law as to which is more proper, whether many sexual unions or a single one; for the chosen people of God lived in plurality of unions, so that it is easier to praise it rather than to condemn it.' Grella was right. But it was not the morality of her liaison with Salbach of the Corco Loígde that was uppermost in Fidelma's mind.
‘Did you plan never to return to the abbey? Why then did you take no personal possessions with you?'
Grella bit her lip. She finished her dressing and setting her hair to rights. She stood in front of Fidelma, hands on hips.
‘I don't need to excuse myself. There is little of mine at the abbey and what I need Salbach can supply. As for returning, perhaps I would have returned after I had become Salbach's wife. None would then dare to level any accusations against me. I would have Salbach's protection.'
‘Salbach is equally answerable to the law as you are, Grella. There are some questions you need to answer and at once. You knew that your former husband, Dacan, had come to Ros Ailithir for a special purpose?'
‘How much do you know?' demanded Grella. In spite of her glare of anger there was some alarm in her eyes.
‘I know that you were once married to Dacán.'
‘Mugrón must have told you. A stupid coincidence that he saw me at Cuan Dóir.'
‘He saw you there with Sister Eisten,' Fidelma said quietly. Grella did not rise to her bait.
‘So what does it matter? I have told you my relationship with Salbach.'
‘Why did you take Sister Eisten to Salbach's fortress?'
Grella frowned a moment.
‘Salbach asked me. He had heard that Eisten was running an orphanage at Rae na Scríne. He wanted to meet her and the children. He knew that I was friendly with the young woman.'
‘And did she take the children there?' Fidelma was nonplussed.
But Grella shook her head.
‘She accompanied me to Cuan Dóir but refused to take the children. She did not want them to travel because of the Yellow Plague.'

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