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Authors: Peter Tremayne
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‘Have we now identified all Cináed’s friends? Is there anyone else … any particular friend of Cinaed?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Abbot Erc replied and made to take back the piece of burnt paper, but Fidelma shook her head with a smile.
‘We’ll hold on to this for the time being,’ she said, putting it carefully in her marsupium.
Slightly put out, the abbot reseated himself.
Conrí, who had been silent during most of the discussion, coughed slightly to draw attention to himself and said: ‘My aunt, the Abbess Faife, was a close friend of the Venerable Cinaed. You have forgotten her. She often helped Cinaed in the library, for his eyesight was not of the best as he grew older.’
Abbot Erc flushed.
‘Of course,’ he said stiffly. ‘There was the Abbess Faife, but as she is … no longer with us, I did not think her name need be mentioned.’
Eadulf’s lips twitched in a grimace.
‘On the contrary, it is useful to know there was such a link between the two victims of violent death.’
‘Do you think that there was some connection between the deaths then, Brother Eadulf?’ the steward demanded.
‘Perhaps. We need …’ he avoided Fidelma’s eyes, ‘we need facts before we can speculate.’
‘Your primary task was to find out why the Abbess Faife was killed and where her charges are,’ the abbot exclaimed in disapproval. ‘This cannot be accomplished in this abbey. You should go to the lands of the Corco Duibhne and make inquiries there.’
Fidelma rose abruptly from her seat.
‘You are quite right, Abbot Erc. I do mean to proceed very shortly. But not until I have made those inquiries here that I think necessary. However, as it grows late, and we have had a long ride today, we shall retire now and continue in the morning.’
The abbot also rose, looking confused. He had apparently expected some argument or some further discussion.
The young rechtaire, taking a lantern, conducted them from the abbot’s chamber through the grounds of the abbey to the guests’ quarters.
‘If there is anything you wish, call upon me or Sister Sinnchéne.’
He was turning to go when Fidelma stayed him.
‘You will remember that Brother Eadulf will be conducting a search of the clothing in the washroom tomorrow?’
‘I have not forgotten.’
‘Nor that I shall be expecting the merchant, Mugrón, at the abbey tomorrow in the morning.’
‘Neither have I forgotten that, lady.’
‘Excellent.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Then first thing in the morning, I would like to talk to you while we await Mugrón’s arrival.’
Brother Cú Mara looked surprised.
‘Me, lady?’
‘I need your advice as the rechtaire.’
‘Of course.’ The young man was puzzled but acknowledged her request. ‘I shall be at your service.’
The morning service was over. The bell denoting the end of prayers had scarcely ceased to toll before the community of the entire abbey became a hive of activity as the religious dispersed to their individual tasks. Some had gone to tend the herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, others to the herb gardens or to the fields, although there was little to do in the freezing
wasteland at this time of year. Even during the more clement weather the crops were not bountiful in this open stretch of coastland where the winds off the great western sea were so fierce and constant. Other members of the community departed to the libraries - the scriptors, the artists, the researchers and the students.
Brother Eadulf, with the two warriors who had accompanied Conrí, had set off to the tech-nigid . Conrí, wanting to be active, had volunteered to ride south along the road to meet Mugrón the merchant and escort him to the abbey.
Seizing the quiet time that ensued, Fidelma accompanied Brother Cú Mara to a corner of the herb garden where they could speak without being overheard.
‘Last night you said that you needed my advice, lady,’ the young man said, as they seated themselves on a wooden bench
‘Not that I know of,’ Abbot Erc replied and made to take back the piece of burnt paper, but Fidelma shook her head with a smile.
‘We’ll hold on to this for the time being,’ she said, putting it carefully in her marsupium.
Slightly put out, the abbot reseated himself.
Conrí, who had been silent during most of the discussion, coughed slightly to draw attention to himself and said: ‘My aunt, the Abbess Faife, was a close friend of the Venerable Cinaed. You have forgotten her. She often helped Cinaed in the library, for his eyesight was not of the best as he grew older.’
Abbot Erc flushed.
‘Of course,’ he said stiffly. ‘There was the Abbess Faife, but as she is … no longer with us, I did not think her name need be mentioned.’
Eadulf’s lips twitched in a grimace.
‘On the contrary, it is useful to know there was such a link between the two victims of violent death.’
‘Do you think that there was some connection between the deaths then, Brother Eadulf?’ the steward demanded.
‘Perhaps. We need …’ he avoided Fidelma’s eyes, ‘we need facts before we can speculate.’
‘Your primary task was to find out why the Abbess Faife was killed and where her charges are,’ the abbot exclaimed in disapproval. ‘This cannot be accomplished in this abbey. You should go to the lands of the Corco Duibhne and make inquiries there.’
Fidelma rose abruptly from her seat.
‘You are quite right, Abbot Erc. I do mean to proceed very shortly. But not until I have made those inquiries here that I think necessary. However, as it grows late, and we have had a long ride today, we shall retire now and continue in the morning.’
The abbot also rose, looking confused. He had apparently expected some argument or some further discussion.
The young rechtaire, taking a lantern, conducted them from the abbot’s chamber through the grounds of the abbey to the guests’ quarters.
‘If there is anything you wish, call upon me or Sister Sinnchéne.’
He was turning to go when Fidelma stayed him.
‘You will remember that Brother Eadulf will be conducting a search of the clothing in the washroom tomorrow?’
‘I have not forgotten.’
‘Nor that I shall be expecting the merchant, Mugrón, at the abbey tomorrow in the morning.’
‘Neither have I forgotten that, lady.’
‘Excellent.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘Then first thing in the morning, I would like to talk to you while we await Mugrón’s arrival.’
Brother Cú Mara looked surprised.
‘Me, lady?’
‘I need your advice as the rechtaire.’
‘Of course.’ The young man was puzzled but acknowledged her request. ‘I shall be at your service.’
The morning service was over. The bell denoting the end of prayers had scarcely ceased to toll before the community of the entire abbey became a hive of activity as the religious dispersed to their individual tasks. Some had gone to tend the herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, others to the herb gardens or to the fields, although there was little to do in the freezing
wasteland at this time of year. Even during the more clement weather the crops were not bountiful in this open stretch of coastland where the winds off the great western sea were so fierce and constant. Other members of the community departed to the libraries - the scriptors, the artists, the researchers and the students.
Brother Eadulf, with the two warriors who had accompanied Conrí, had set off to the tech-nigid . Conrí, wanting to be active, had volunteered to ride south along the road to meet Mugrón the merchant and escort him to the abbey.
Seizing the quiet time that ensued, Fidelma accompanied Brother Cú Mara to a corner of the herb garden where they could speak without being overheard.
‘Last night you said that you needed my advice, lady,’ the young man said, as they seated themselves on a wooden bench
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