As Sister Brónach warmed to her explanation, she seemed to come alive for the first time in Fidelma’s brief encounters with her.
Fidelma paused for a moment in thought, seeing a path to extend her knowledge.
‘And this water-clock was the method by which you were sure of the hour in which you found the body?’
Sister Brónach nodded absently, as she checked the heat of the water and stoked the fire underneath the big basin.
‘It is a tedious business then, tending this water-clock?’
‘Tedious enough,’ agreed the sister.
‘It was therefore surprising to find the rechtaire of the community, the house steward, fulfilling this task,’ Fidelma commented pointedly.
Brónach replied with a shake of her head.
‘Not so; our community prides itself on the accuracy of our clepsydra. Each member of the community, when they join us, agrees to take her turn in keeping the watch. It is written into our Rule. Sister Síomha has been keen that this rule be applied. Why, during these last few weeks, for example, she has insisted on taking most of the night watches herself — that is from midnight until the time of the morning Angelus. Even the mother abbess herself sometimes takes her turn, like everyone else. No one is allowed to keep watch above one cadar, that is a six hour period.’
Fidelma suddenly frowned.
‘If Sister Síomha takes this night watch, what was she doing here just now, after noon?’
‘I did not say that she takes every night watch. It would not be allowed for every sister must do her turn. She takes most of them and she is a very meticulous person.’
‘And was Sister Síomha taking the night watch on the night before the body was discovered?’
‘Yes. I believe she was.’
‘It is a long time to be here, just watching, waiting for the bowl to sink and then remembering how many times to strike a gong,’ Fidelma observed.
‘Not if one is a contemplative,’ replied Sister Brónach. ‘There is nothing more relaxing than to take the period of the first cadar, that is from midnight until the morning Angelus at the sixth hour. That is the time I like best. That is probably why Sister Síomha also likes to take most of these night watches. One is here, alone with one’s thoughts.’
‘But thoughts can run away with one’s mind,’ persisted Fidelma. ‘You could forget the period that has passed by and how many times you must strike the gong.’
Sister Brónach picked up a tablet, a wooden-framedconstruction in which was a layer of soft clay. There was a stylus nearby. She made a mark with the stylus and then handed it to Fidelma.
‘Sometimes it does happen,’ she confessed. ‘But there are rituals to be observed. Each time we sound the gong, we have to record the pongc, the uair and the cadar.’
‘But mistakes happen?’
‘Oh yes. In fact the night you were speaking of, the night before we found the corpse, even Sister Síomha had made a miscalculation.’
‘A miscalculation?’
‘It is a very exacting task being a time keeper, but if we forget the number of times to strike, we merely have to look at the record and when the tablet is filled, we simply scrape it smooth again and start all over again. Síomha must have misjudged several time periods for when I took over from her that morning, the clay tablet was smudged and inaccurate.’
Fidelma peered carefully at the clay tablet. She was not so much concerned with the figures that were enumerated there but with the texture of the clay. It was a curious red colour and seemed familiar to her.
‘Is this local clay?’ she asked.
Sister Brónach nodded.
‘What makes it so strangely red in colour?’
‘Oh, that. We are not far from the copper mines and the soil around here often produces this distinctive clay. The copper mixes with natural clay and water to produce that fascinating red effect. We find the clay very good for writing tablets. It keeps its soft surface longer than normal clay, so that we do not have to waste other writing materials. It is perfect for keeping the enumeration of the clepsydra.’
‘Copper,’ breathed Fidelma reflectively. ‘Copper mines.’
She let a finger trail over the surface of the smooth damp clay and then, with an abrupt motion, dug her fingernail into it and lifted a fragment out.
‘Careful, sister,’ protested Sister Brónach, ‘do not damage the enumeration.’
Sister Brónach looked slightly outraged as she gently removed the writing tablet from Fidelma’s hand and carefully erased the disturbance to its smooth surface.
‘I am sorry,’ Fidelma smiled absently. She was examining the reddish material on her fingertips with fascination.
Chapter Seven
Sister Fidelma left the tower through the library rooms and began to cross the abbey courtyard. She was half-way across when she became aware of the short figure of a heavy-set religieuse waddling towards her with the aid of a stick. She recognised that it was the disabled religieuse whom she had seen at the funeral with Sister Brónach and it was clear that she was attempting to intercept Fidelma. Fidelma halted and allowed the sister to catch up. Once again, Fidelma felt compassion as she surveyed the girl’s broad, rather plain face with pale, watery eyes. But it was a young, intelligent face. When the sister spoke, Fidelma heard that she had a nervous stammer as a further handicap. The girl twisted her lips and made faces as she tried to get her words out, as if it were some painful exercise.
‘Sis … Sister Fidelma? Sis … Sis … Lerben is loo … looking for you … The mo … mo … mother abbess … requests your pres … presence immediately in her cha … chamber.’
Fidelma tried not to alter her expression but she felt a grim satisfaction. She had estimated that Sister Síomha would have immediately complained about her to the Abbess Draigen. It was obvious what the abbess wanted to see Fidelma about.
‘Very well. Will you show me the way? I have forgotten where the abbess’s chamber is, Sister …?’
She raised her eyebrows in interrogation.
‘I am Sis … Sis … Sister Berrach,’ replied the girl.
‘Very well, Sister Berrach. If you will lead the way?’
The young religieuse nodded her head rapidly several times before turning to lead the way. Her body swayed from side to side on her short, deformed legs, across the courtyard to the group of stone buildings in which the Abbess Draigen had her chambers. She paused before a heavy oak door and tapped timidly with the tip of her staff. Then she swung it open.
‘Sis … Sis … Sister Fidelma, mo … mother abbess,’ gasped the girl and turned, with relief on her face, as if thankful to escape, and disappeared.
Fidelma entered and closed the door behind her.
Abbess Draigen was seated alone in her chamber at her dark oak work table. The room was gloomy, for the windows did not provide much light. Even though it was just after noon, there was a lighted tallow candle on the table by which she was reading. The expression she raised to Fidelma, lit by the flickering candle, was unfriendly and set in pinched lines.
‘It has been reported that you have been extremely discourteous to my rechtaire. A house steward is deserving of respect. Surely I do not have to remind you of this?’
Fidelma moved forward and took a seat opposite the abbess. For a moment, Abbess Draigen’s features took on a look of astonishment and then outrage.
‘Sister, you forget yourself. I did not ask you to be seated.’