Fidelma leaned forward with interest.
‘Did this merchant have a name?’
‘I think it was Assíd. My fer-tighis, Brother Rumann, would know.’
‘When did this merchant leave for Laigin?’
‘I think it was the very day that Dacán’s body was discovered. I am not exactly sure when. Brother Rumann would have such details.’
‘But Brother Rumann found nothing to explain the death?’ interrupted Cass.
As the abbot nodded agreement Fidelma asked: ‘When did you first learn that Laigin held you responsible for the death and was demanding reparation from the King of Muman?’
Brocc looked grim.
‘When that warship arrived and its captain came ashore to tell me that, as abbot, I was being held responsible. Then I received a messenger from Cashel which further informed me that reparation, in the form of the lands of Osraige, was demanded by the new king of Laigin but that King Cathal was sending for you to investigate the matter.’
Fidelma sat back in her chair, placing her hands together, fingertip to fingertip, seeking refuge for a moment in thought.
‘And these are all the facts as you know them, Brocc?’
‘As I know them,’ affirmed Brocc solemnly.
‘Well, the only clear thing is that the Venerable Dacán was murdered,’ Cass summed up morosely. ‘It is also clear the deed was done in this abbey. Therefore it is also clear that reparation has to be paid.’
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 noonand 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 teeh-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 grewsparsely. 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 grey 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 appetising 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 towards 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 towards 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, savouring the warmth of the broth.