‘I had no idea that you resided here, Olcán,’ she said.
The young man shook his head swiftly.
‘I do not. I am only a guest enjoying the hospitality of Adnár. I am here to fish and to hunt.’
He half turned as a hollow cough sounded in the shadows.
Behind him, a broad-shouldered, good-looking man in a religieux robe came forward. He was about forty, perhaps even in his mid-forties. Fidelma took in his pleasant features. His red gold hair, whose lights shone like burnished metal in the sun that permeated the windows, was cut in the tonsure of St John, the front half of his head shaven back to a line from ear to ear. His eyes were wide and blue, the nose slightly prominent but the lips were red and humorous. Yet his appearance was made slightly sinister by the fact that the religieux had stained his eyelids black with berry juice. It was an old custom of some religieux; a custom, so it was said, which dated back to the time of the Druids. Many Irish missionaries going abroad often adopted the style.
Again it was Adnár who moved quickly forward to make introductions.
‘This is Brother Febal, sister,’ he announced. ‘He is my anam-chara and tends to the spiritual needs of my community.’
It was the custom in the church to have a ‘soul-friend’ in whom to confide one’s spiritual problems and confusion. The custom, Fidelma knew, differed in the Church of Rome where people were encouraged to confess their sins to a priest. But in the five kingdoms the anam-chara was more a confidant and a spiritual guide than one who simply allotted punishment for spiritual transgressions. The handsomereligieux smiled warmly and his handshake was firm and sure. Yet there was something Fidelma found she did not trust about the man. Something that conjured up ladies’ bedchambers and softly turning door handles. She tried to shake the thought from her mind.
Olcán seemed to have taken over as host in Adnár’s feasting hall and waved Fidelma to take a seat near him while Adnár and Brother Febal sat opposite them at the round table. As soon as they were seated, a youthful attendant hurried forward to pour wine for them.
‘Is your brother, Colgú, well?’ asked Olcán. ‘How goes it with our new king?’
‘He was well when I last saw him at Ros Ailithir,’ replied Fidelma cautiously. ‘He returned to Cashel just before I came away.’
‘Ah, Ros Ailithir!’ Olcán cast her an appraising look. ‘All Muman thrilled to the news of how you solved the mystery of the murder of the Venerable Dacán there.’
Fidelma stirred with embarrassment. She did not like her work to be considered anything out of the ordinary.
‘It was a puzzle to be solved. And it is my task as an advocate of the courts to probe conundrums and perceive the truth. However, you said all Muman thrilled at my solution. I doubt this could be true among your people, the Loigde? Salbach, your former chieftain, did not come well out of that situation.’
‘Salbach was an ambitious fool.’ Olcán pursed his lips sourly at her response. ‘My father, Gulban, had often clashed with him when attending the clan assembly. Salbach was not welcome in this land.’
‘Yet the people of Beara are a sept of the Loígde,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘Our first allegiance is to Gulban and his allegiance is then to the chieftain who sits at Cuan Dóir. Anyway, Salbach is no longer chieftain but Bran Finn Mael Ochtraighe. Personally, I have no interest in politics. For this, my father and I are-’he grinned, ‘are estranged. My view is that life is to be enjoyed and what better means than hunting …?’ He was about to go further but hesitated and then ended: ‘However, you did well in ridding our people of an ambitious incompetent.’
‘As I have said, I performed no more than my duty as an advocate.’
‘A task that not everyone is as adept at. You have earned a reputation of being very accomplished. Adnár tells me that it is just such a mystery as brings you hither. Is this true?’
He passed her a plate of cold meats which she declined, preferring to help herself to a bowl of oats and nuts with fresh apples to follow.
‘That is so,’ Adnár intervened quickly.
Brother Febal had appeared uninterested in the opening conversation and was devoting himself, head down, to concentrating on his meal.
‘I have come at the request of the Abbess Draigen,’ confirmed Fidelma. ‘She asked the Abbot Brocc to send a dálaigh to her abbey.’
‘Ah,’ Olcán sighed deeply, apparently studying the dregs in his wine goblet as if interested by them. Then he raised his gaze to Fidelma. ‘I am told that the abbess has something of a reputation in this land. She is not regarded as, how can I say it? “spiritually advanced”? Isn’t that so, Brother Febal?’
Febal raised his head quickly from his plate. He hesitated and swung his blue eyes to Fidelma, staring at her for a moment, before dropping his gaze back on his plate.
‘It is as you say, my prince. The Abbess Draigen is said to have unnatural tendencies.’
Fidelma leaned forward, her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on Brother Febal.
‘Perhaps you would be good enough to be more explicit, brother?’
Brother Febal jerked his head up again, his expression startled, and glanced nervously to Olcán and Adnár. Then he reset his features almost woodenly.
‘Sua cuique sunt vitia,’ he intoned.
‘Indeed, we all have our own vices,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘but perhaps you will tell us what you discern are the vices of the abbess?’
‘I think that we all know what Brother Febal means,’ Adnár interrupted petulantly, as if annoyed at Fidelma’s lack of understanding. ‘I think that if a young female corpse were found in the abbey, and I were conducting an investigation, then I would look no further than the abbey for a suspect and, for a motive, no further than base and perverted passion.’
Sister Fidelma sat back and regarded Adnár curiously.
‘And is this what you have invited me here to tell me?’
Adnár inclined his head in a brief gesture of affirmation.
‘Originally, I invited you here to register my protest that the Church has sent one of its own to deal with the matter at the request of the chief suspect. I thought you had come here to help exonerate the abbess.’
‘And now you have changed your mind?’ Fidelma caught the careful phraseology of the bó-aire.
Adnár cast an uncomfortable look at Olcán.
‘Olcán assures me that he knows of your reputation; that you have been trusted by the High King himself as well as kings and princes in other lands. I am therefore content to leave this matter in your hands, sister, knowing that you will not exonerate where blame is due.’
Fidelma was studying the man, trying to keep her surprise to herself. That an accusation of this kind should be brought against the leader of a religious community was a matter of gravity.
‘Let me get this clear, Adnár,’ she said slowly. ‘You are openly claiming that the Abbess Draigen was responsible for the death of this young girl and the motive was to hide her own sexual partiality?’
Adnár was about to reply when Olcán interrupted.
‘No, I do not think that Adnár is making an official charge. He is pointing out an obvious course of inquiry. It appears common knowledge in these parts that the Abbess Draigen has a predilection for attractive young religieuses and encourages them to her abbey. That is no more than common gossip. Now we have a young female corpse found at the abbey. I think Adnár is advising you that it would be well to examine whether anything amiss has happened within the abbey walls.’