Sister Sinnchene stared at her for a moment or two and then it seemed she let her shoulders relax.
‘My father walked out on my mother when I was twelve years old. I had not seen him from that day until I saw him walk through the gates of the abbey as Conri’s prisoner.’ She spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Even when my mother was dying of the Yellow Plague, he did not return, and that was well before the battle of Cnoc Aine when he could have easily come to us. He never came to her funeral. So what misdeeds he has done are nothing to me.’
Fidelma saw the bitterness in her eyes.
‘So for nearly ten years you have had no contact with him?’
‘I have said as much.’
‘But you could still recognise him?’
Sister Sinnchene shrugged.
‘His image was burned in my memory all these years; years when I needed a father and prayed each day for his return. He had aged a little but I recognised him.’
‘Do you know why he deserted your mother and you?’
She shook her head. ‘The word was that he had led his warriors in raids to the north, against the U
Fiachrach Aidne, the U
Briuin Seola and the northern clans. Then, after Eoganan fell at Cnoc Aine and the Ui Fidgente surrendered to Cashel, there was word that my father refused to swear allegiance to the new chief Donennach. I heard he was raiding in the south and in the war band of Uaman…’
‘Uaman the Leper?’
The girl nodded. ‘Uaman was not a leper then but simply Lord of the Passes on the southern Ui Fidgente borders.’
‘How did you come by this knowledge?’
‘I heard talk from travellers.’
‘Mugron the merchant knew about your father,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘He knew of my father because my mother told him. But I do not believe he could identify him. He knew only that my father had deserted my mother and me.’
‘How did your mother know Mugron?’
‘Because, after my father left, my mother went to live near An Bhearbha, near the port where Mugron has his base.’ She suddenly turned wide pleading eyes upon Fidelma. ‘Olcan has not recognised me, has he?’
Fidelma frowned at the question.
‘He has not mentioned you,’ she said truthfully. ‘Why do you ask?’
Sister Sinnchene ignored the question. ‘Then I would ask you a favour. Do not reveal that I am his daughter.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if he did not want to acknowledge me, there is no reason for me to acknowledge him now.’
Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at her. ‘And are you telling me that during all these years you never told anyone here, in the abbey, that Olcan was your father?’
The girl raised her head a little but a colour sprang to her cheeks.
Fidelma smiled grimly. ‘There was someone, wasn’t there?’
Sister Sinnchene hesitated and then nodded.
‘Was it Brother Cu Mara?’
To Fidelma’s surprise the girl shook her head. ‘The only person that I ever told was Cinaed.’
Fidelma was silent and then she said slowly, ‘You told the Venerable Cinaed?’
‘I did.’
‘In what context did this arise? When did you tell him?’
The girl spoke nervously.
‘I have told you about my relationship with Cinaed. We were talking about the changing situation in the lands of the Ui Fidgente and he was speaking of the stories that were being spread about Uaman. It was said that Uaman, in spite of his blemish in that he was a leper, was plotting to return the Ui Choirpre Aedba to the throne of the Ui Fidgente. The Ui Choirpre are-’
Fidelma raised her hand.
‘I know all about the two divisions of your chiefs,’ she said.
‘Very well. There were stories that Uaman was amassing wealth on the borders of the lands of the Corco Duibhne so that he could buy an army to lead the assault on Caola’s fortress which is Donennach’s capital.’
‘But how did your father’s name come into this?’
‘Cinaed told me that he was just completing a book — this was just
‘What was his reaction?’
‘I told you that Cinaed and I felt for each other. He told me to put Olcan out of my mind. I did so until…’ She paused.
‘Until?’ pressed Fidelma quickly.
‘It was a few weeks before Cinaed’s murder. There had been some travellers from the Corco Duibhne and they were talking of the rumours that Uaman the Leper had perished. Cinaed was preoccupied with the news and kept asking me if I had heard any recent rumours about my father. I told him that I had heard nothing.’
‘Did he say anything further?’
‘He seemed fascinated by the stories that had spread about Uaman’s death and then stories of Uaman being alive again. He kept muttering something about “the old story might be true”.’
‘The old story might be true?’ Fidelma repeated. ‘Do you know what he meant by that?’
The girl shook her head. ‘I asked him and he simply smiled and said he had to look up something about trees in the library.’
‘Something about trees?’
‘Then he told me that Abbess Faife was taking her band of pilgrims to Breanainn’s mount soon and they would be passing Uaman’s Island. He wanted me to go with them to see if I could identify Olcan if he dwelt there. Faife refused to take me. Although a friend of Cinaed, she did not believe my… my relationship with him was right. That was the last time my father was mentioned by Cinaed. Then I saw Olcan coming into the abbey as a prisoner. It is true, as you say, that I recognised him and fainted.’
‘This book that you said Cinaed had prepared…?’
‘I think he had finished it and it was given to young Brother Faolchair to copy. I suppose…’ She paused and her mouth formed an ‘o’. Then she said: ‘Was it one of those that were destroyed in the library?’
‘It might well have been,’ countered Fidelma evasively. ‘Can you recall what it was called?’
She shook her head. ‘Only that it had a Latin title.’
‘Scripta quae ad rempublicum…?’ began Fidelma.
‘I would not recognise the title,’ replied Sister Sinnchene firmly. ‘All I know is it was something about gemstones.’
Fidelma smiled quickly. She had only been seeking confirmation of the title she had suspected it would be.
‘De ars sordida gemmae,’ she said softly.
‘I told you that I would not recognise the title,’ protested the girl.
‘No matter,’ Fidelma said. Absently she began to move away. Then she turned abruptly back to the girl.
‘Did you kill your father last night?’
It was a brutal way to get to the truth but it produced an immediate result. The look on Sister Sinnchene’s face told her that the news came as a shock. Fidelma found herself watching curiously as the emotions played across the girl’s face and finally resolved themselves into a grim mask.
‘Are you saying that he is dead?’ she asked coldly.
‘This morning Olcan was found in his cell. He was dead.’
The girl’s face was now without animation.
‘He killed himself? Perhaps he felt that he had to do so rather than face the disgrace of being a prisoner of the Eoghanacht.’
She now spoke quietly, almost in a matter-of-fact way.
Fidelma reached out a hand and touched the girl’s shoulder and shook her head.
‘I said that he was murdered.’
The girl’s expression still did not change but Fidelma felt her muscles harden under her hand.
‘That’s impossible.’
‘I am afraid it is not only possible, Sinnchene, but it is a fact. That is why I cannot promise you that I can keep your secret now. I will keep it if possible but it may be that it will come out as a means of tracking down the person or persons responsible.’
Sister Sinnchene still stood immobile.