Anger began to harden Cumscrad’s features. Fidelma laid a hand on his arm.
‘Let me ask this young man some questions.’
Cumscrad hesitated before saying, ‘This is my youngest son, Cunán. He was training as an assistant to Dubhagan the librarian.’
‘Cunán.’ Fidelma spoke gently, for she could see that the young man was in a state of shock. ‘Tell me what you know of this.’
Cunán ran a hand over his forehead as if to gather his thoughts. ‘It was a short time ago. We were working in the copying section of the library. I suddenly smelt smoke and heard the crackle of flames. I raised the alarm and ran to find Dubhagan-’
‘Where was he?’
‘In his chamber in the tower.’
‘And where is the copying section?’
‘The twelve copyists work in the main hall, at the opposite end of the main library building to the tower. The tower is where Dubhagan kept his place of study and special books that are considered valuable.’
‘Very well, you say you smelt smoke and raised the alarm. Then you hurried to find Dubhagan. Is that correct?’
‘I rushed into his chamber, for it was no time to stand on protocol. The books and manuscripts in that room were already burning, the smoke was choking, but I saw our leabhar coimedech lying face down on the floor. He was already dead. There were two wounds, one in his chest and one in his neck.I knew it to be useless, but I seized him by the wrists and dragged him out of the building.’
Cunán paused and licked his parched lips. He nodded at the body of the librarian.
‘By the time I turned back, the flames were already in control. They were leaping from the tower across to the main library room. One of the copyists was ringing the alarm bell and people were coming to our aid. But the flames were too strong. They seized and swallowed the books — they were just fuel to the fire. We formed a chain, trying to bring out the books, while others formed chains to bring water to douse the fire, but there was little we could save. All the priceless works consumed … irreplaceable!’ He broke off with an uncontrollable sob.
‘Are you saying that the place where the fire started was in Dubhagan’s chamber? That he had been killed and then the place set on fire?’ pressed Fidelma.
Cumscrad scowled and before his son could speak retorted, ‘I clearly understood that is what he said. And we saw the culprits themselves riding away — the Uí Liatháin!’
Fidelma ignored him and kept her eyes on those of the young man. It was clear that she was expecting an answer from him and so Cunán nodded. ‘That is so.’
‘And there was no sign of an assailant or assailants when you found him?’
‘None.’
‘I saw them,’ called a voice from the crowd. A slight man came forward. ‘Our chief is right. I recognised them by the banner carried by one of their number. It was the grey fox’s head, the symbol of the Uí Liatháin.’
‘How were they allowed to do this?’ shouted Cumscrad. ‘Is there no man among you to take sword and shield to defend my people while I am absent? Who allowed these raiders to ride in without any attempt to stop them?’
A burly man pushed forward from the crowd. He was red in the face and spoke defensively.
‘They rode in openly, Cumscrad. We thought that they came in peace, for their swords were sheathed and they made no display of war. Their leader called out that they had only come to consult with Dubhagan.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Fidelma when she saw that Cumscrad was framing some angry retort.
‘They did just that. Two of them dismounted from their horses and entered the library tower. The rest remained outside. We did not realise anything was amiss until there was shouting, a smell of burning and we saw the flames appearing. By then, the two who had gone inside re-emerged with swords in hand, leapt on their horses and they all galloped out towards the forest beyond before we knew what was happening.’
‘Not all of them.’ It was the slight man who spoke. They turned to him. ‘I was mending my bow when they rode out. I managed to loose an arrow at one of them. I thought I hit him.’
‘You did,’ Eadulf replied, remembering the riderless horse and body. ‘He lies in the field outside the town, his horse nearby.’
Soon volunteers went to retrieve the body and the horse and when they were brought back, they crowded round to see if they recognised the person. It was Gormán who turned with a serious expression to Fidelma. ‘I think you should look at him, lady,’ he said softly.
She looked down. The man was thin, with a head of hair that was as white as snow, and a pale skin to match. She glanced back to Gormán with a query in her eyes. He nodded. ‘It is the bánaí. One of the two who tried to ambush us on the road to Lios Mór. And look at that.’ He pointed to the man’s neck where there was a dark mark, almost an abrasion, such as they had seen on the dead attacker on the road to Lios Mór.
‘Does anyone recognise this man?’ Fidelma demanded of thosewho were staring at the body. There was a shaking of heads and muttered denials.
‘A warrior, that is clear,’ replied the archer who had claimed his life.
‘That he was part of a party of Uí Liatháin raiders is good enough for me,’ Cumscrad said angrily. ‘I regret no more of them paid a price for this crime.’
‘What could we do?’ It was the burly man again. ‘Fight the fire or make ready our horses and ride after them? We fought the fire.’
‘You made the better choice,’ Fidelma agreed before turning to Cumscrad’s son. ‘You mentioned that Dubhagan’s chamber was where special books were stored. What do you mean by special books?’
The young man gazed at her blankly. His face was black with smoke and his cheeks and forearms looked singed.
Cumscrad, now icy calm, answered for him. ‘They were the ancient works, some of which many might condemn as heretical to the new Faith.’ Then he added to his son, ‘When you feel better, come to the rath, for we must talk further.’ He turned to a woman who was helping to attend those who had exhausted themselves fighting the fire. ‘Take Cunán and see to his needs,’ he instructed. The young librarian allowed himself to be guided away by the woman.
Fidelma turned to Cumscrad. The chief’s features were set and bitter and before she could speak he had turned to one of his warriors and issued rapid orders. Tasks needed to be done, assessing the damage, removing the bodies of Dubhagan and the albino raider, attending those who had been injured. One of the scribes had already volunteered to start listing what books had been saved and what had been destroyed. Other volunteers started removing the rescued books to a place of safety to store them. Cumscrad also gave orders to his warriors to arrange a specialwatch in the unlikely event of the raiders returning. Only when he was sure that all matters were being taken care of did he turn back to Fidelma and her companions. His expression was still bitter.
‘Let us go to my hall and discuss this matter,’ he suggested shortly. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode to where he had left his horse. They followed him and collected their mounts. The rath was only a short distance away and so the four of them walked in moody silence to the gates, where Cumscrad issued orders to his stable boys to take their horses and care for them. Then he led the way into his great hall where an attendant waited. He called for mead and refreshments and then invited them to sit in seats arranged before a glowing fire. When the drinks were brought, he gazed thoughtfully at Fidelma.
‘It was deliberate,’ he began. ‘The place was fired deliberately and my librarian killed.’ Cumscrad’s features were hard. ‘First they attack our barge and steal its precious cargo. Two books which our library had copied for Ard Mór. Then comes this attack on our library and its destruction. Yet I fail to see the motive. Why would they want these books? Why would they attempt to destroy the library? Why kill our librarian? It doesn’t add up.’