Fidelma heard a rustle and turned to frown a warning at the young novice in case she felt the need to respond.
‘So.’ Fidelma returned her gaze to Conghus. ‘We begin to build up a picture. Go on. Having realised that Dacán had been killed, what then?’
‘I made directly to see the abbot. I told him what I had discovered. He sent for our assistant physician, Brother Tóla, who examined the body and confirmed what I knew already. The abbot then placed matters in the hands of Brother Rumann. As steward of the abbey it was his job to conduct an inquiry.’
‘One question here: you said that the abbot sent for theassistant physician, Brother Tóla? Why did he not send for the chief physician? After all, the Venerable Dacán was a man of some standing.’
‘That is true. But our chief physician, Brother Midach, was away from the abbey at that time.’
‘You said that Dacán had been staying here two months,’ observed Fidelma. ‘How well had you come to know him?’
Brother Conghus raised his eyebrows.
‘How well?’ He grimaced wryly. ‘The Venerable Dacán was not a man you came to know at all. He was reserved; austere, if you like. He came with a great reputation for piety and scholarship. But he was a man of brusque manner and testy demeanour. He was a man of regular habits … as I have said before … and never spent time merely gossiping. Whenever he went abroad from his chamber he went for a specific purpose and did not pause to exchange pleasantries or waste an hour or two in conversation.’
‘You paint a very clear picture, Brother Conghus,’ Fidelma said.
Conghus took it as a compliment and preened himself for a moment.
‘As doorkeeper, it is my task to assess people and notice their behaviour.’
‘Physically, what manner of man was he?’
‘Elderly, well over three-score years. A tall man, in spite of his age. Thin, as if he were in need of a good meal. He had long white hair. Dark eyes and sallow skin. Perhaps the only real distinctive feature was a bulbous nose. His features were generally melancholy.’
‘I am told that he came here to study. Do you know much about that?’
Brother Conghus pushed out his lower lip.
‘On that matter you would have to consult the abbey’s librarian.’
‘And what is the name of this librarian?’
‘Sister Grella.’
‘I am told that the Venerable Dacán also taught,’ Fidelma said, making a mental note. ‘Do you know what he taught?’
Conghus shrugged.
‘He taught some history, so I believe. But, it would probably be best if you saw Brother Ségán, our chief professor.’
‘There is something else that puzzles me, though,’ Fidelma said, after a moment’s pause. ‘You say that Dacán was austere. That was the word you used, wasn’t it?’
Conghus nodded agreement.
‘It is an interesting word, very descriptive,’ she went on. ‘Yet why did he have the reputation of one beloved by the people? Usually a man who is ascetic, compassionless and stern, for this is what austere seems to imply, would hardly be a likable person.’
‘We must all speak as we find, sister,’ declared Conghus. ‘Perhaps the reputation, which doubtless was spread from Laigin, was unjustified?’
‘That being so, why were you so worried when Dacán missed a single meal? If he were not that likable, surely human nature might react and say, why bother to go searching for such a man? Why did you go searching for the Venerable Dacán?’
Conghus looked uncomfortable.
‘I am not sure that I follow your thoughts, sister,’ he said stiffly.
‘They are simple enough,’ Fidelma pressed, her voice clear and slow. ‘You seem to have been overly concerned with the fact that a man, whom you deemed unlikable, had missed the breaking of his fast to the extent that you went looking for him. Can you explain that?’
The doorkeeper compressed his lips, stared at her for a moment and then shrugged.
‘A week before Dacán’s death, the abbot called me to himand told me to have a special care for Dacán. That was why I went to his chamber after he had missed his meal.’
It was Fidelma’s turn to be surprised.
‘Did the abbot explain why you should have this special care for Dacán?’ she demanded. ‘Was he afraid that something might happen to the Venerable Dacán?’
Conghus gestured with indifference.
‘I am merely the aistreóir here, sister. I am doorkeeper and bellringer. When my abbot tells me to do something, I will do it, so long as it is not contrary to the laws of God and the Brehons. I will not question my abbot on his motives so long as those motives do not compass harm to his fellow men. It is my duty to obey and not to question.’
Fidelma gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment.
‘That is an interesting philosophy, Conghus. It is one we might discuss at leisure. But let me get this clearly fixed in my mind. It was only a week before Dacán’s murder that the abbot specifically asked you to keep a special watch over Dacan? He did not say why? He did not say whether he might have some reason to be fearful for Dacán’s safety?’
‘It is as I have already said, sister.’
Fidelma stood up with an abruptness that surprised everyone.
‘Very well. Let us go downstairs so that you may show me the chamber that Dacán occupied.’
Conghus came to his feet, blinking a little at the rapid change.
He conducted them out of the room, along the corridor and down the stairs.
Cass and Sister Necht followed closely behind Fidelma. Necht’s face still shone with enthusiastic excitement while Cass merely looked bewildered.
Conghus paused before a door on the ground floor of the hostel, at the far end of the corridor in which Sister Eisten and the children had their rooms.
‘Does any one currently occupy the chamber?’ Fidelma asked as Conghus bent to the handle in order to open the door.
Conghus hesitated and straightened up again.
‘No, sister. It has been left unoccupied since the death of Dacán. In fact, his possessions have also been left untouched in the room by the order of the abbot. I believe that the representatives of Dacán’s brother, Abbot Noé of Fearna, have demanded the return of these personal effects.’
‘So why have they been kept?’ interposed Cass, speaking for the first time since the questioning of Conghus began.
Conghus glanced at him, somewhat startled at his unexpected interruption.
‘I presume that the abbot decided that nothing should be touched until the arrival of the dálaigh and the conclusion of the investigation.’
Conghus bent again, fumbled with the latch and then flung open the door. He was about to enter the dark room when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and held him back.
‘Get me a lantern.’
‘There is an oil lamp beside the bed which I can light.’
‘No,’ Fidelma insisted. ‘I want nothing touched or moved, if nothing has been moved so far. Sister Necht, hand me down that oil lamp behind you.’
The young novice moved with alacrity to take down the lamp from its wall fixture.
Fidelma took the lamp, holding it high, and stood on the threshold peering round.
The chamber was almost as she had envisaged it would be.
There was a bed, a wooden cot with a straw palliasse and blankets in one corner. By it was a small table on which stood an oil lamp. On the floor, just below this, was a pair of worn sandals. From a row of pegs hung three large leather satchels. There was another table at the end of the bed on which were spread some wooden writing tablets covered with a waxsurface and nearby a graib, a stylus of pointed metal, for writing. Next to this was a small pile of vellum sheets and a cow’s horn which was obviously an adircín used for containing dubh or ink made from carbon. A selection of quills taken from crows was piled next to it and a small knife ready for their sharpening. Fidelma realised that Dacán, like most scribes, would make his notes on the wax tablets and then transcribe them for permanence onto his vellum sheets, which would then be bound.