‘That is so. The abbot thought it was best to send them on directly to the care of Brother Molua, who has a house along the coast and cares for orphans. Sister Aíbnat was instructed to take them there. I was asked to examine them to see if they were fit.’
Fidelma showed her disappointment.
‘So they have all gone?’
Midach nodded absently as he continued to pulp leaves by grinding his pestle in a mortar.
‘We have no facilities for children here,’ he explained in a conversational tone. ‘The two little girls were very healthy,’ he smiled. ‘And the sooner the young boy, Tressach, is with others of his kind, the happier he will be. Yes, they will be better off in the house of Molua.’
Fidelma was about to turn for the door when she hesitated and frowned at the chief physician.
‘You say nothing of the two brothers — Cétach and Cosrach?’
Midach raised his head from the mortar, his eyes suddenly dark and fathomless.
‘What two brothers?’ he demanded. ‘There were two sisters …’
‘The black-haired boys,’ she interrupted impatiently. Midach pulled a doleful face.
‘I know nothing of any black-haired boys. I was asked to examine the two girls and a young lad of eight years old.’
‘You saw nothing of a boy of fourteen and one of ten or so?’
Midach shook his head in mystification.
‘Don’t tell me that Brother Rumann has made some mistake and there were two other lads to be sent to Molua? I certainly have not seen them …’
Fidelma was already gone hurrying back to the hostel.
Brother Rumann started in surprise as Fidelma burst in on him again.
‘The two black-haired boys,’ she demanded. ‘Cétach and Cosrach. Where are they?’
Brother Rumann regarded her with a woebegone expression then glanced down at his brandubh board. The pieces had been spilled from their positions, apparently by his jerk of surprise when Fidelma had burst through the door.
‘Really, sister. A little patience. I had almost worked out a new ploy. A wonderful means of …’
He paused, observing, for the first time, her agitated expression.
‘Is something the matter?’
‘I am asking you where the two black-haired boys are — Cétach and Cosrach.’
Brother Rumann began to slowly gather the scattered pieces and replace them on the brandubh board.
‘Sister Aíbnat was told to take all the children to Brother Midach and, if he said that they were healthy enough, then she was to set out for the house of Molua along the coast.’
‘Brother Midach says that he saw only the two little girls, Ciar and Cera, and the boy of about eight years whose name was Tressach. What has happened to the other two boys?’
Brother Rumann climbed to his feet with an expression of annoyance, his hands clutching the brandubh pieces.
‘Are you sure that they did not go with Sister Aíbnat?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Brother Midach knows nothing about them,’ replied Fidelma with an air of exaggerated patience.
‘Then where can they have hidden themselves? Stupid, wilful little children. They should have gone with Sister Aíbnat. Now it means that a second journey will have to be made to take them to Molua’s orphanage.’
‘When did you last see them?’
‘I can’t remember. Perhaps when Salbach arrived here. I recall that young Sister Necht was talking to them in theirroom. The order for the children to be sent to the orphanage came from Brocc shortly afterwards.’
‘Is there anywhere obvious that they would have hidden themselves?’ Fidelma asked, remembering how afraid Cétach had been of Salbach. Could he and his brother have hidden somewhere, waiting for Salbach to leave the abbey? Could they be remaining in hiding not realising that he had already left?
‘There are many hiding places,’ Rumann assured her. ‘But don’t worry, sister. It will soon be vespers and the bell and hunger will draw them out of their hiding place.’
Fidelma was unconvinced.
‘It was thought the bell for the midday meal would lure them out for food. If you see Sister Eisten, tell her that I would like to see her.’
Brother Rumann nodded absently, turning his attention back to the brandubh game. He slowly began to reassemble the pieces on the board.
Back in her chamber Fidelma stretched exhausted on her cot. She wished she had told Brocc that she wanted the children from Rae na Scríne to remain at the abbey until she had resolved the mystery. It had not occurred to her that he would have them removed so soon. For every mystery solved there were new ones to be confronted.
Why had the young boy Cétach pleaded with her not to mention him or his brother, Cosrach, to Salbach? Why had the boys then vanished? Why was Salbach so reluctant to believe her charge against Intat? And had any of these matters a connection with the death of Dacan, which mystery was her main task to solve?
She gave a snort of frustration as she lay on her back with hands clasps behind her head.
So far, there was little that made sense in this investigation. Oh, there were a couple of theories that she could develop but the old Brehon Morann had warned against creating theories before all the evidence was in. What was his favouritesaying? ‘Do not make the cheese until you have first milked the cows.’ Yet she was acutely aware of the rapid passing of her greatest enemy — time.
She wondered how her brother, Colgú, must be feeling now that he was king of Muman. She felt anxiety for her elder brother.
There would be little time to mourn the dead king, Cathal mac Cathail, their cousin. The main thing now was to prevent the impending war. And that great responsibility rested entirely with her.
She found herself wishing once again that Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham was here with her so that she could discuss her ideas and suspicions with him. Then she felt somehow guilty for the thought and did not know why.
The sound of a door banging abruptly caused her to sit up. She could hear heavy footsteps running across the stone-flagged floor below and then ascending the steps to the second floor of the hostel. Such footsteps did not augur well. By the time the steps reached her door and halted she had swung off her cot and stood facing the door.
It was Cass who came pushing through the door, after a cursory knocking. He was breathing hard from his exertions.
He pulled up sharply in the middle of her chamber and stood with heaving shoulders facing her.
‘Sister Fidelma!’ He had to pause to recover his breath.
She stared at him, wondering what had made the young warrior so agitated. She quickly worked out that he would have to run a distance over a difficult path to arrive in such a condition. A warrior, such as he, did not loose breath so easily.
‘Well, Cass?’ she asked quietly. ‘What is it?’
‘Sister Eisten. She has been found.’
Fidelma read what was in his eyes.
‘Has she been found dead?’ she asked softly.
‘She has!’ confirmed Cass grimly.
Chapter Ten
The body lay by the water’s edge on the sandy beach below the abbey walls. It was already dusk but a group of fishermen and several members of the religious community had gathered around with morbid curiosity. Several of them were holding brand torches which illuminated the scene. Fidelma followed Cass towards the group. She observed that Brother Midach was already there, bending to examine the body. There was a middle-aged brother with a nervous, consumptive cough, holding a lantern for Midach to work by. Fidelma assumed that this was the apothecary, Brother Martan. The physician had obviously been summoned by those who had found the young anchoress. Fidelma thought he looked visibly shaken in the flickering light.
‘Clear some of these people back,’ Fidelma instructed Cass quietly, ‘excepting those who actually found the body.’