Fidelma stifled a sigh of disappointment. She had beenwondering whether there was some further link with Osraige and between Midach and Necht. What exactly there might be, she was not sure. Osraige was certainly at the core of the mystery.
The abbot did not press her further.
‘What am I to make of it all?’ he repeated almost pathetically.
Fidelma had considered what ways forward there were and she now realised that, with Sister Grella missing, there was nothing she could do unless she could find some new path to follow. That meant revealing some of the information that she had gathered as a bait to lure other information.
‘Did you know that Sister Grella had once been the wife of the Venerable Dacán?’ she asked innocently.
Abbot Brocc’s jaw dropped expressively.
‘What are you saying? Did she tell you this?’
‘I was told by someone who knew her in Laigin. So you did not know?’
‘I knew only that she came from Cealla and was qualified to the level of sai. But as for being a former wife of the Venerable Dacán — are you absolutely sure …?’
‘I have a witness to answer that. I searched her chamber last night. I have that right,’ she added quickly, as she saw annoyance form on Brocc’s features. ‘Dacán was bound before he was killed. The bindings were, thankfully, preserved by Brother Martan, your apothecary. Last night I found the skirt from which those bindings were torn. The skirt was hidden in a satchel in Sister Grella’s chamber.’
Abbot Brocc’s response, when he realised the implication of this, was to put both his hands to his head and actually whimpered.
Fidelma studied him with a contemptuous eye.
‘The reputation of this abbey is shamed,’ he moaned. ‘What can I do? You are telling me that Grella is the murderess and the motive is for some sordid matter of passion?’
‘You can forget about the shame to the abbey, for the moment, cousin,’ Fidelma replied dryly. ‘Let us solve the puzzle first.’
‘But such news brings a blush to my cheeks,’ moaned Brocc.
‘Then remember that Diogenes once wrote “blushing is the colour of virtue”,’ Fidelma countered cynically. ‘The only shame is to have none.’
Brocc drew himself together as she pricked his conceit.
‘I do not care for myself,’ he sniffed a little contritely. ‘I was only thinking of the reputation of the abbey. So you believe that Grella killed Dacan?’
Fidelma did not bother to comment.
‘Did you know, Brocc, that Sister Grella visited the fortress of Salbach at Cuan Dóir about a week ago? If so, did she have your permission to leave the abbey and visit Salbach?’
The abbot stared at her blankly.
‘No. I gave Sister Grella permission to ride to Rae na Scríne a week ago to visit Sister Eisten who worked there. She was to use the visit to collect a book and take some herbs and medicines from Brother Martan to help fight the plague there. Why would she ride in the opposite direction to see Salbach?’
‘Perhaps she first visited Sister Eisten and then they went together to Salbach’s fortress?’
‘But why?’
An idea abruptly occurred to Fidelma. If Eisten had been seeking passage for herself and Sister Grella then perhaps Grella had fled on board the merchant ship? Fidelma rose and went to the window to look down into the inlet.
Still anchored near to Mugrón’s warship was the Frankish merchantman, with its heavy lines. The abbot had joined her and was gazing down in bewilderment.
‘What do you see, cousin?’
‘I was fearful that the Frankish merchantman had already weighed anchor.’
Brocc frowned.
‘I believe it is due to sail on the mid-morning tide.’
‘Then I want you to give authority to Cass to board and search that vessel before it sets sail.’
‘Search?’
‘Yes. A thorough search now, as we talk,’ Fidelma insisted. ‘I command it under my authority as a dálaigh.’ She unbent a little and added, ‘It is possible that Sister Grella might be on board.’
Brocc looked shocked but he did not reply. Instead he rang his bell to summon the scriptor and then issued the necessary orders to find Cass and give him Fidelma’s instructions.
‘If there is any trouble, tell Cass to inform the Frankish captain that while at anchor in the bay he has to obey the laws of this kingdom,’ Fidelma instructed the scriptor as he hurried off to perform his task.
‘You must explain, cousin,’ Brocc said, reseating himself. ‘You are saying that Grella realises that you have discovered her guilty secret and that she is trying to flee?’
‘I wish I could explain fully, cousin,’ Fidelma responded. ‘But I am not in possession of all the facts. Can you tell me anything about Sister Eisten and her relationship with your librarian?’
Brocc raised his hands as if in supplication.
‘Poor Eisten. There is little to tell. She trained at this very abbey and was initially trained to help the physician, Midach. She specialised in the care of children. She had been with us since the age of fourteen, apart from the three years during which she went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.’
‘Brother Conghus told me that she also studied in the library,’ Fidelma interrupted.
‘Eisten was no scholar but she did do some studying in the library earlier in the year.’
‘And how did Eisten come to be sent to Rae na Scríne?’
‘So far as I recall, Sister Eisten volunteered to go there and look after the travellers’ hostel we maintain there. This was about six months ago. There were some orphans in the vicinityand Eisten took to looking after their needs as well. She did much good work at Rae na Scríne.’
He paused and picked up a jug of water, raising his eyebrows in inquiring fashion towards Fidelma. She shook her head. Brocc then poured himself a drink and sipped it slowly.
‘Go on,’ Fidelma prompted.
‘Well, we knew that the Yellow Plague had reached the village earlier this summer. There seemed no rhyme nor reason as to who its victims were. I and Brother Midach, for example, have had a touch of it but have recovered. So has Sister Grella. But Eisten had not. Yet she did not succumb to it.’
‘There is no accounting for it,’ Fidelma agreed solemnly. ‘Go on.’
‘Eisten insisted on remaining in the village but we heard that things were getting worse. Midach went to visit her there several times this last week. Finally you brought us the terrible news of Intat’s destruction of the village and its surviving inhabitants.’
‘You knew Intat, of course?’
‘Not personally. But I knew that Intat was one of Salbach’s right-hand men. You saw how angry Salbach was when he came to the abbey after I had reported what you had told me. At first he seemed to refuse to believe the story. He only accepted it when you told him who you were and he was therefore unable to challenge your authority.’
Fidelma leaned forward a little, anger showing on her features.
‘It is a poor chieftain who accepts truth only when told him by an authority greater than his. Did it occur to you that Intat might, for some reason, have been acting with Salbach’s approval?’
Brocc was horrified.
‘Of course not. Salbach is of an ancient line of chieftains of the Corco Lofgde. He traces his line back to …’
Fidelma was openly sarcastic.
‘I know; he traces his line to Míl Easpain, the founder of the race of the children of the Gael. Yet he would not be the first distinguished chieftain to go contrary to the laws of God and man. Might I remind you that perhaps the very reason we have this situation is because we are prisoners of history? It was a king of Laigin, who was also a descendant of a line of ancient and distinguished kings, who took it upon himself to murder Edirsceál, the High King? That was when this drama began.’