‘You seem to think that her death is connected with that of Abbot Segdae,’ Enda said. ‘But what could the poor lass have known, that she had to be killed to silence her? And could one of the brethren from Imleach really have done such a thing?’
‘You ask very pertinent questions, Enda,’ Fidelma said. ‘Perhaps it was something that Ciarnat had already told us that brought about her death.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘If we understood, we would probably know everything,’ Fidelma answered with weary resignation. ‘Anyway, no speculation without …’
‘… information,’ ended Eadulf, completing one of her favourite sayings.
She glanced at him in annoyance before allowing herself a whimsical smile.
‘Very well, Eadulf. But I was always taught by Brehon Morann, my mentor, that speculation can be the enemy of a tranquil mind. If the mind is not tranquil it cannot perceive and question with the necessary calmness and control.’
‘How else do we arrive at a conclusion to a mystery other than to speculate on possibilities with the information that we have? It is a human condition. Speculation is the art of life.’
‘I did not realise you were such a philosopher, Eadulf,’ she said, accepting that he had made a valid point.
‘It’s not much of a philosophy,’ he returned moodily.
She was about to respond when they came to the door of the guest-hostel, which was opened by the haughty steward, Brother Tuaman. He seemed put out at the sight of them.
‘You are becoming a frequent visitor to our quarters, lady,’ he said, unsmiling.
‘I believe Abbot Segdae did not ask to die here,’ she answered dryly. ‘I am obliged to ask questions and you, I am afraid, are equally obliged to answer them.’
The steward inclined his head in grudging resignation and stepped aside to allow them to enter the hostel. Brother Mac Raith was inside, busy collating some vellum pages. He looked up from his task and on seeing them, stood up.
Fidelma’s eyes immediately fell to the waist of his robe. There was the twisted hemp rope, tied on his right side and the two ends of equal length falling almost level to the hem of the robe. There were the three knots in the one end. She glanced at Brother Tuaman, who wore the more normal leather belt as did Eadulf.
‘I merely wanted to ask about this new fashion that I have seen … the one Brother Mac Raith is wearing.’
‘The rope girdle? I believe it is called a loman.’ Brother Tuaman sniffed. ‘I know nothing of it. Best ask him,’ he added with a jerk of his head to the young man.
The scribe’s brows had drawn together. ‘It is generally called a loman,’ he said, ‘although I have also heard it called a sursaing. What can I tell you about it, lady?’
‘It is unusual. Where does it come from?’
‘From Gaul, I believe, lady. It is being adopted by the religious brethren there.’
‘Can you tell me the purpose?’
The young man hesitated, seemingly embarrassed. Then he took courage. ‘Many of the brethren not only spend time within the abbey in pursuit of their contemplation but many work in the fields to provide food and crops to sustain the members of their communities. Wearing robes in the fields, especially on rainy, wet days, presents a problem. So the Gaulish brethren have developed a custom of taking their long robes and drawing them up between their legs before tying them around the waist with a piece of cord. Some choose linen cord and some twisted hemp. Three knots are tied in the end in symbolism of the Faith – the Holy Trinity.’
‘You say this idea originated among the brethren in Gaul?’
‘So I am told, lady. Even those who no longer work in the fields but, like myself, work within the abbey as scribe and illustrator, have begun to adopt this form of dress.’
‘You do not wear such a girdle, Brother Tuaman,’ Fidelma said, addressing the steward.
‘I am old-fashioned and prefer a solid leather belt and trews under my robes,’ replied the steward. ‘So do most members of the community at Imleach.’
‘So it is not a new rule of the Abbey at Imleach?’
‘Indeed it is not, lady,’ he averred sharply. ‘Abbot Segdae did not believe in conformity of dress for members of his abbey, but people were free to choose.’
‘So this is why only Brothers Mac Raith and Mael Anfaid wear the loman?’
Brother Mac Raith was frowning. ‘Is there some rule which we have broken here by using this dress?’
‘By the wearing of it? None that I know of,’ Fidelma said. ‘But I am interested to know why you decided to adopt this form. You have just admitted that as a scribe you did not have to wear it if it was only introduced as a practical aid for workers in the field.’
The young man hesitated again; this time he actually blushed.
‘Come on, man. Answer the question!’ Brother Tuaman ordered impatiently.
‘We thought it made us look more distinguished. Few others at Imleach had adopted the fashion so we thought it would make us stand out.’
Fidelma was actually smiling broadly.
‘Vanitas vanitatum!’ Brother Tuaman sneered.
‘Well, I suppose it is natural for a young man to have a certain vanity about his looks and dress.’
‘Natural – for a member of the Faith?’ Brother Tuaman was outraged. ‘“Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things,” say the holy scriptures.’ He whipped round to the young man, who had now gone pale. ‘Remember the words of the Lord – “for the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” Remember that. You would learn that lesson in pain, if we followed the Penitentials of Cuimin.’
‘I was not aware you knew of Cuimin’s Penitentials?’ Fidelma seized on his words.
‘I know of their content. You may recall that I have told you that Abbot Segdae was considering that content,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I was trying to show Brother Mac Raith that surrender to vanity is not the way to a good religious life. We must strive to follow the teachings of the Faith. I remind him of …’
‘I know. A quote from the Psalms echoed by Samuel,’ replied Fidelma, causing the eyes of the steward to widen in astonishment. ‘Wanting to have a good appearance is a natural condition of men and women of all ages. Do we not have a proverb that cleanliness is part of the glory of this world?’ Then she turned to the chastened young man. ‘Still, it is wise to remember, Brother Mac Raith, that the tree with handsome foliage may look beautiful but it often bears bitter fruit, so good appearance may not be worth pursuing, after all.’
‘There is one thing I would like to ask,’ Eadulf intervened. ‘How many of these loman, as you call them, do you and Brother Mael Anfaid possess?’
The young man looked bewildered. ‘Why, we only have one each. The art of twisting the strands and tying the knot at the end cause them to be hard to come by, as well as expensive.’
‘So you have one and Brother Mael Anfaid has one?’
‘That is so.’
‘I was told that you were looking for Brother Mael Anfaid earlier,’ Brother Tuaman commented. ‘Was this what you were seeking him for?’
‘Not exactly,’ Fidelma replied evasively. ‘But you remind me, has he returned yet? I would still like to see him.’
‘Returned?’ The steward raised his brows a moment.
‘He was not here when we came looking for him earlier. We were told he had gone into town, perhaps to see his uncle at the Abbey of Nechta. But we could not find him. I just wondered if he had returned.’
‘Not that I know.’ The steward glanced at the young scribe, who quickly shook his head.
‘Then we will trouble you no longer,’ Fidelma said.
‘Now what?’ Eadulf asked as they left the guest-hostel and Fidelma turned towards the main gate of the fortress.
‘I thought we should go in search of the missing brother and see if he still retains his loman.’
Enda said, ‘If there were only two and Brother Mac Raith still wears his, then it seems obvious …’