‘I would not know,’ the scriptor replied. Then, realising they were waiting for him to make some further reply to the question,he added, ‘Some said that he was not right in the mind because of the hardships encountered on his journey. Others opined that he felt abandoned by his elder brother Cathal because he remained behind, having been offered the pallium of some foreign city.’
‘But what did you think?’
Brother Donnán was reflective. ‘To be truthful, I thought he had become a little crazy.’
‘In what way?’
‘He became furtive, secretive, felt people were hatching plots against him or about to rob him of things. I heard that he demanded a lock to the door of his cubiculum — a lock and key!’ The scriptor raised his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Now I realise that perhaps he wasn’t so crazy after all because of the manner of his death. But I thought at the time that his fears were part of his dementia.’
‘As you say, now that he has been murdered, perhaps he wasn’t so crazy,’ Eadulf commented.
The scriptor remained silent.
‘We are told that he brought back manuscripts from his travels and other artefacts,’ said Fidelma. ‘Precious manuscripts.’
Brother Donnán smiled and turned to her eagerly. ‘I was looking forward to seeing them. I heard there were some valuable manuscripts which our library could take a pride in owning.’
‘But you have not seen them?’
‘Brother Donnchad, as I have said, was scared of someone stealing them and so kept them in his cubiculum.’
‘So he did not deposit any of his manuscripts with the library?’
Brother Donnán shook his head. ‘Not since his return from the pilgrimage.’
‘And the artefacts,’ Eadulf said. ‘Who were they given to?’
‘He brought back a sliver of the True Cross, of course. That is now in the recess of the altar in our chapel.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I think he brought some gifts for his mother Lady Eithne. One was a lovely ornate cross from the east. The jewels are magnificent. When he presented them at the fortress …’ The scriptor suddenly hesitated.
‘You were there?’ prompted Fidelma.
‘I have visited several times to take manuscripts to Lady Eithne,’ admitted the librarian.
‘Brother Donnchad used to visit his mother, then?’
‘Her fortress is not far from here. You passed it on the road that crosses The Great River before you turn along it westward to the abbey.’
‘I know it,’ said Fidelma quickly. ‘So you saw him recently at his mother’s fortress?’
Brother Donnán shook his head. ‘He went to pay his respects to his mother the day after he arrived back. That was early summer. I think he spent several days with her before returning to the abbey. It was a coincidence that I was there at the time.’
‘He was not there more recently?’
‘Not that I know of. I often take books to the fortress.’
‘Did you know that his mother was sent for when it became clear that all was not well with him?’
‘It is now well known among the brethren,’ Brother Donnán said. ‘The master builder, Glassán, told me. He spoke to Lady Eithne when she was leaving the abbey just a few days before he was found murdered. Glassán is a talkative fellow.’
‘Well,’ Fidelma said, after a moment’s further thought, ‘that seems to be all …’ Then she hesitated. ‘One thing does strike me. Do you know of any library that holds the original work of Celsus? Have you ever heard of any library holding such a work?’
Brother Donnán thought deeply before replying: ‘Never.’
‘So Brother Donnchad visited the scriptorium to read some works but you knew nothing of what he was working on apart from the fact that he spent long hours over the text of Origenes. Is that correct?’
‘It is.’
‘But you knew he was behaving oddly in the days before his death.’
‘I have already said it was well known among the brethren. He was always very quiet-’
‘Except that last day he was in here, a day or so before his death.’
They looked round. Brother Máel Eoin had risen from the table, where he had been reading, to put away his text and had overheard Brother Donnán’s last remark. Fidelma turned to him with interest.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was in here that day. You must remember, Brother Donnán,’ the hospitaller said. ‘I like to come, when time permits, and read some of the hagiographies of the saints that we have here.’
‘Go on,’ said Fidelma. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, Brother Donnchad came in. It struck me that he was behaving very out of character. I don’t mean his reclusive change since he returned to the abbey. Not at all. He came roaring into the library.’
‘Roaring?’ For a moment Eadulf had to think about the word that the hospitaller had used. The word was bláedach and not one that Eadulf had heard used of a person before.
‘He was in an angry temper, shouting, his face red. He had mislaid something and was convinced that it had been stolen from him. Don’t you remember, Brother Donnán?’
‘Stolen?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘What was it? A manuscript?’
‘Not as such,’ replied the librarian, entering the conversation for the first time since Brother Máel Eoin’s interruption. ‘It was his pólaire. I had forgotten the incident.’
Eadulf looked blank. ‘A pólaire?’
‘In Latin it is called a ceraculum, from the word for wax,’ explained the scriptor pedantically.
Brother Máel Eoin nodded. ‘Just so. It is a wooden writing tablet whose surface is hollowed out and filled with wax so that one can write on it, making temporary notes. You can re-warm the wax, smooth it out, and re-use it.’
‘And he had lost his?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Indeed. He claimed that it had been stolen from him. I denied all knowledge of seeing it, which was only the truth. He had not left it in the library.’
‘And you told him that?’ asked Fidelma.
‘I did. I had seen him looking at it several times during his former visits here. He was making notes from the Origenes book. But I swear he had taken it with him. I am sure of it.’
‘He went away, but still in a great temper,’ confirmed Brother Donnán. ‘That was the last time ever I saw him.’
‘Let me be clear about this,’ Fidelma said. ‘This incident happened when exactly?’
‘On the day of his death. I am sure of it,’ the hospitaller confirmed.
Fidelma glanced at the scriptor.
‘I suppose it was that day,’ he affirmed after a moment.
‘Had he not been away from the abbey the entire day before?’
‘You are correct, Sister,’ Brother Máel Eoin said. ‘He had, indeed. He might well have left it wherever it was that he went.’
‘You have no idea where he went?’
The hospitaller shook his head.
‘Perhaps he went to visit his mother again,’ offered the librarian.
‘Very well, Brother Donnán,’ Fidelma nodded. ‘Thank you for your information. And thanks also to you, Brother Máel Eoin. You have both been most helpful.’
CHAPTER NINE
Outside the door of the scriptorium, Eadulf shook his head.
‘Brother Donnán has presented us with more questions than he has answered. We can’t even identify the manuscripts that Brother Donnchad was afraid might be stolen.’
‘The assumption that the murderer sought to steal them remains the only motive for the crime,’ replied Fidelma. ‘One thing I do find worrying is that Brother Lugna seems to be more in charge of this community than the abbot.’
‘But he is the steward and surely the steward does have charge of the running of the community?’