Fidelma regarded him with a sardonic expression.
"Indeed, that is our starting point." She smiled thinly. "However, who is responsible for paying that reparation? That is what we must now discover."
She rose abruptly to her feet.
Cass followed her example more reluctantly.
"What now, cousin?" asked Brocc eagerly, as he gazed up at his young relative.
"Now? Now, I think that Cass and myself will find something to eat for we have not had anything since yesterday noon and then we must rest a while. We had little sleep in the cold and damp of the forest last night. We'll begin our investigation after vespers."
Brocc's eyes widened.
"Begin? I thought I had told you all at the abbey we know of this matter."
Fidelma's lips thinned wryly.
"You do not appreciate how a Brehon conducts an investigation. No matter. We will begin to find out who killed Dacán and why."
"Do you think you can?" demanded Brocc, a faint light of expectation growing in his eyes.
"That is what I am here for." Fidelma's voice was weary.
Brocc looked uncertain. Then he reached forward to a tiny silver bell on the table and rang it.
A fleshy, middle-aged anchorite seemed to burst into the room, his every movement speaking of a frenetic activity, a scarcely concealed energy which seemed to inspire an agitation of his every limb. The nervous restlessness of the man made even Fidelma feel uncomfortable.
"This is my fer-tighis, the house steward of the abbey," introduced Brocc. "Brother Rumann will attend to all of your needs. You have but to ask. I will see you again at vespers."
Brother Rumann seemed to physically propel them before him as he ushered them out of the abbot's chambers.
"Having heard from Brother Conghus that you had arrived, I have prepared rooms in the tech-óiged, sister." His voice was as breathless as his appearance was flustered. "You will be most comfortable in our guest hostel."
"And food?" queried Cass. Fidelma's reference to the fact that they had eaten little in the last twenty-four hours had reminded him of that truth and created a gnawing hunger to register in his mind.
Brother Rumann's head bounced up and down, or so it seemed; a large, fleshy round ball on which the hair grew sparsely. The flesh of his moon face was so creased that it was almost impossible to see whether he was smiling or scowling.
"A meal is prepared," he confirmed. "I will lead you to the hostel at once."
"The same hostel where the Venerable Dacán stayed?" queried Fidelma. When Brother Rumann nodded she made no comment.
They followed him through the gray stone aisles of the abbey buildings, across tiny courtyards and along darkened passages.
"How are Sister Eisten and the children?" she asked, after some moments of silence.
Brother Rumann made a clucking sound with his tongue, like a nervous mother hen. Fidelma suddenly smiled for that was precisely what Brother Rumann reminded her of as he waddled before them, hands flapping at his sides.
"Sister Eisten is exhausted and appears to have been greatly shocked by her experience. The children are just tired and need warmth and sleep more than anything else at this time. Brother Midach, our chief physician here, has examined them. There are no signs of any illness among them."
Brother Rumann paused before a door of a rectangular, two-storeyed building standing by one of the main walls of the abbey, separated from the imposing central church by a square of paved stones in the middle of which stood a well.
"This is our tech-óiged, sister. We pride ourselves on our guests' hostel. In summer we have visitors from many places."
He threw open the door, like a showman performing some difficult feat before a large audience, and then ushered them into the building. They immediately found themselves in a large hall which was both spacious and well decorated with tapestries and icons. A wooden staircase led them to a second floor where the steward showed them to adjoining rooms. Fidelma noticed that their saddle bags had already been placed inside.
"I trust these quarters will be comfortable enough?" asked Brother Rumann and, before they could answer, he had turned and bustled off into another room. "For this occasion," his calling voice beckoned them to follow him, "I have ordered your meal to be brought here for convenience. However, from this evening, meals are taken in the refectory which is the building adjoining this one. All our guests usually eat there."
Fidelma saw, on a table in the room, bowls of steaming broth with platters of bread, cheeses and a jug of wine with pottery goblets. It looked appetizing to their hungry eyes.
Fidelma felt her mouth moistening at the sight.
"This is excellent," she said approvingly.
"My chamber is downstairs, at the far end of the hostel," Brother Rumann went on. "Should you require any service then you may find me there or, by ringing the bell," he indicated a small bronze handbell on the table, "you can summon my assistant, Sister Necht, She is one of our young novices and serves the wants of all our guests."
"One thing before you go," Fidelma said, as Brother Rumann started to bustle toward the door. The plump man halted and turned back inquiringly.
"About how many people are there in the hostel?"
Brother Rumann frowned.
"Only yourselves. Oh, and we have placed Sister Eisten and the children here temporarily."
"I was told that the abbey has hundreds of students."
Brother Rumann chuckled wheezily.
"Do not concern yourself with them. The students' dormitories are situated on the other side of the abbey. We are a mixed community, of course, as are most houses. The male members of our order predominate. Will that be all, sister?"
"For the time being," agreed Fidelma.
The man clucked his way out. Almost before he was beyond the door, Cass let restraint go to the winds and slid into a seat, drawing a bowl of the steaming broth toward him.
"Several hundred students and religious." He turned a grim expression to Fidelma as she joined him at the table. "To find a murderer amongst this number would be like trying to identify a particular grain of sand on a seashore."
Fidelma pulled a face and then raised the wooden spoon to her mouth, savoring the warmth of the broth.
"The odds are much more in our favor," she said, after an appreciative pause. "That is, if the murderer is still in the abbey. From what Brocc says, people have come and gone in the interval since the killing. If I had killed the Venerable Dacán, I doubt whether I would remain here. But that would all depend on who I am and the motive for the killing."
Cass was cleaning his bowl with satisfaction.
"The killer might be confident that he will not be caught," he suggested.
"Or she," corrected Fidelma. "The curious thing about this investigation is that, in other inquiries that I have been involved with, there is always some discernible motive that comes immediately to the mind. This is not so in this case."
"How do you mean?"
"A person is found dead. Why? Sometimes there is a robbery. Or the person is intensely disliked. Or there is some other obvious reason as a likely motive for the killing. Knowing the motive we can then start inquiries as to who is most likely to benefit from the crime. Here we have a respectable and elderly scholar who comes to a violent end but no motive immediately springs to mind."
"Perhaps there was no motive? Perhaps he was killed by someone who was insane and…"
Fidelma reproved Cass gently.
"Insanity is in itself a motive."
Cass shook his head and turned back to the bowl of broth he had been devouring and gazed sadly at the empty dish.