Eadulf pulled a face. ‘But the motive is there. Gáeth could have killed Donnchad in resentment and retaliation for his rejection. It’s a logical suggestion.’
Fidelma shook her head but did not answer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The tech-screptra, or scriptorium, was a large wooden structure located next to a muddy area from which a new stone building was rising. Several men were at work on the site, some carrying stones, others sawing and nailing wood. There was no sign of Glassán, the master builder, but they presumed that he would be somewhere in the construction. The wooden scriptorium was the most imposing of the old buildings in the abbey complex. It was imposing not because of its size but in its design. It was an oblong two storeys high, with a frame of large oak timbers and covered with red yew planking decorated with intricate carvings of symbols and icons.
As they entered through large double oak doors, the first impression was of one great room that rose up to a high vaulted ceiling. The second floor, accessible by steep stairs at both ends of the room, was a gallery that ran round the building halfway up. The walls of the library were entirely covered by pels, or racks, from which hung tiaga lebar, leather book satchels. Each satchel contained one or more manuscripts, whose titles were labelled on the outside. The satchels were also used to carry books, especially by missionaries on their travels. They were regarded with great veneration. It was famously told that when Longarad of Sliabh Mairge, a friend of Colmcille and the mosteminent scholar of his age, died, the book satchels of Ireland fell down from their racks.
At the far end of the scriptorium, underneath two large windows that were designed to let in as much light as possible, were six desks. Each had an elaborately edged flat top placed on a carved wooden plinth shaped like a tripod. Six young members of the brethren were bent over books placed on these. One hand used a maulstick to support their wrists while they wrote industriously with the other.
A fleshy-faced man who had been overseeing one of the busy scribes looked up and saw them. He came waddling towards them, for he was overweight and moved awkwardly. His heavy flushed jowls seemed to move of their own accord but there was a friendly smile on his features.
‘Sister Fidelma! You are most welcome. Welcome. As soon as I heard you were in the abbey, I knew that you would come to visit me before long.’
Fidelma held out both hands to take the fat man’s great paw between them.
‘Brother Donnán, it is good to see you again.’
The man beamed happily at her remembrance of him. ‘It is some years since you were here last and then sitting in judgement in the court …’ he began.
‘And you were my clerk and helped to keep the court in order,’ responded Fidelma. She turned to Eadulf. ‘Brother Donnán is the leabhar coimedach here,’ she said, using the Irish term. ‘This is Eadulf.’
‘Greetings, Brother Eadulf.’ Brother Donnán smiled. ‘I am called the scriptor these days. Brother Lugna, our steward, prefers us to use the Roman titles rather than our own Irish ones.’ He suddenly chuckled. ‘Yet he finds it difficult to get people to call him Œconomus instead of rechtaire.’
‘Brother Lugna is the only senior member of the community I have seen here with a Roman tonsure,’ Fidelma remarked.
‘That is true,’ agreed Brother Donnán. ‘And true again that our rechtaire is keen to adopt the ideas agreed at the councils at Streonshalh and at Autun. He wants the abbey to bring in Roman usage and the Rule of Benedict. He has already brought in several new rules.’
‘And what does the community say?’
‘We elect to follow our own liturgy. But Brother Lugna, as steward, makes small changes here and there, such as our titles of office. These changes can be tolerated. But he has begun to discourage the old concepts of the conhospitae. He is one of the aesthetes that favours celibacy.’
‘I had noticed that there were few women in your community now,’ murmured Fidelma.
‘Indeed, and they will not be here long for already arrangements have been made for them to move. This idea of celibacy among us seems to be spreading quickly now.’
‘Brother Lugna appears very involved in the proposals to rebuild the abbey.’
‘Indeed, he is. When he arrived here he was always boasting of the great stone buildings he had seen in Rome. He felt that this abbey should be built in their image.’
‘But I thought it was Lady Eithne’s idea as a tribute to her sons. Are you saying that it was Brother Lugna who persuaded Lady Eithne to rebuild the abbey?’
‘Brother Lugna is a strong personality and no doubt when Abbot Iarnla is taken to the heavenly pasture, Brother Lugna will be his succesor,’ replied Brother Donnán glumly. ‘At that time, I have no doubt that as abbot he will introduce the Penitentials and Benedictine Rule. Let us pray that Abbot Iarnla may have a long life before him.’
‘I suspect that you do not approve of Brother Lugna?’ Eadulf remarked with humour. ‘Do I detect that your steward is not entirely popular?’
The fat librarian grinned. ‘You have a keen eye, Brother Eadulf,’ he replied.
‘Brother Lugna can only enforce his changes if he is elected abbot and the community approve the changes,’ pointed out Fidelma more seriously. This was the custom of all the abbeys and of the native churches. Abbots were chosen and elected in the same way that chieftains and kings were chosen. In the abbeys the community were considered the family of the abbot and therefore it was the derbhfine, the electoral college, who chose and endorsed his successor.
‘True enough, Sister,’ agreed the scriptor. ‘But, as I say, let us hope that the day when Abbot Iarnla stands down as abbot is a long way ahead of us. But enough gossip. I am sure you have come to speak to me about the death of poor Brother Donnchad. How may I serve you?’
‘I am sure that you must have known him well,’ said Fidelma. ‘His reputation as a scholar was well known.’
‘I thought I knew him well enough. I joined the community shortly after he and his brother Cathal did. Both of them spent most of their time in our scriptorium, as did I.’ He gestured with his podgy hand around the hall. ‘They were both scholars of considerable merit. And a great asset to the reputation of this library.’
‘You certainly have a magnificent library, Brother Donnán,’ agreed Eadulf.
The fat librarian seemed to appreciate the praise. ‘We have a great many books here,’ he said with satisfaction. Then his expression changed into one of seriousness. ‘But it is not for books that you have come here.’
‘Would you know Brother Donnchad’s handwriting?’ Fidelma asked.
The scriptor nodded. ‘I believe I would. He wrote with a distinctive style.’
Fidelma produced the scrap of parchment they had found below Donnchad’s window.
‘Si vis transfer calicem istrum a me … Deicide! Deicide! Deicide!’ muttered Brother Donnán as he studied the text.
‘Is that his hand?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘It is not much of a sample by which to judge,’ he said. Then he glanced at it again and shook his head. ‘I would say that Brother Donnchad did not write this.’
‘What subjects was he interested in?’
‘Arguments on philosophical matters mostly. But that was before he left on his pilgrimage.’
‘Did he continue to research here after he returned from his pilgrimage?’
The scriptor shook his head immediately. ‘He did request parchment, ink and quills and I provided him with what he wanted. Such writing materials are getting expensive these days,’ he added.