There was a silence until the doors thudded shut behind her.
‘It is truly said, only God can absolve our transgressions. We can only forgive.’
Heads were turned as Sister Brónach took a pace forward, her tone was without rancour.
‘Amen!’ added Fidelma loudly when she saw the community stood hesitant as to their response.
There was a slow murmur of approval and Abbess Draigen bowed her head in acceptance of the verdict of the congregation and returned to her place.
The chanter rose and began to intone:
Maria de tribu luda,
summi mater Domini,
opportunam dedit curam
aegrotanti homini …
‘Mary of the tribe of Judah, mother of the mighty Lord, has provided a timely cure for sick humanity.’
Fidelma swiftly genuflected to the altar, turned and made her way rapidly out of the chapel after Sister Berrach.
A timely cure for sick humanity? Fidelma pursed her lips cynically. There seemed no cure for the sickness which was permeating this abbey. She was not even certain what that sickness was except that hatred was at the heart of it. There was something here which she could not understand. This was no simple problem; no simple riddle of who killed who and why.
Two women had been found, each stabbed through the heart, each decapitated and each placed with crucifixes in the right hand and aspen wands written in Ogham in the left. How were these two women connected? Perhaps if she knew that she would be able to discover a motive. So far, the sum total of her investigation had revealed hardly anything of value in pointing a path towards a motive let alone a culprit.All she had been able to gather was that the community of The Salmon of the Three Wells was governed by a woman of powerful personality and whose attitudes were, at least, questionable.
The matins had given way to the singing of the lauds, the psalms which marked the first of the daylight hours of the Church. The voices of the sisters were raised in a curious vehemence:
‘Let the high praises of God be in their mouth, and a two-edged sword in their hand.
‘To execute vengeance upon the heaven, and punishments upon the people;
‘To bind their kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron;
‘To execute upon them the judgment written: this honour have all his saints. Praise ye the Lord.’
Fidelma shivered slightly.
Did these words take on some new meaning which she was not privy to?’
Yet the lauds always consisted of Psalms 148 to 150, always sung together as one long psalm each morning at the first hour of daylight.
The words did not change. Why did she see in them some vague threat?
She knew that there was someone who was taking her for a fool. But she was unsure of what she was being made a fool over.
Chapter Eleven
Sister Fidelma was about to continue crossing the courtyard in the wake of Sister Berrach when a hollow cough halted her.
‘I am told that you requested my presence here this morning, sister.’
She turned to find herself gazing into the blue, humorous eyes of Brother Febal. He still wore the traditional black eyelid colouring which highlighted them. He was wrapped from head to foot in a thick woollen, fur-edged cloak which also provided a cowled hood, and he carried a stout cambutta or walking stick in his hand.
She stared at him blankly for a moment. So much had happened since she had talked with Adnár yesterday afternoon. She tried to recollect her thoughts.
‘I did so,’ she acknowledged hastily. She glanced round and then indicated the path down to the inlet and the abbey’s landing stage. She realised that Brother Febal would not be welcome at the abbey if he were seen by Abbess Draigen or any of her acolytes. ‘Come, walk with me a while and let us talk.’
Brother Febal examined her curiously with his large blue eyes and then he nodded and fell in step beside her. The sun was now climbing into the sky but it was still fairly chill.
‘What do you wish to talk about?’ he began, almost in a bantering tone.
‘There are some questions I wish to ask you, Febal,’ Fidelma replied.
‘Adsum! he answered pretentiously in Latin. ‘Then I am here!’
‘Have you heard that there has been another death here at the abbey?’ Fidelma asked.
‘News travels fast in this land, Sister Fidelma. It has been spoken of at Dun Boí.’
‘By whom?’
‘I think the news was brought by a servant,’ he replied vaguely and then seemed to change the subject. ‘I have been asked to pass on a message to you, sister. It is from Adnár and the lord Olcán. They ask you to attend this evening’s feasting at Dun Boí. My lord Torcán adds his voice especially to this request. He wishes to compensate you for the fright that you received in the forest yesterday. Adnár has offered to send his personal boatman to bring you from the abbey and return you safely again.’
He grinned and reached into the small leather bag which was strung at his belt.
‘Oh yes, and see here!’ He brought out a small purse. ‘On Torcán’s behalf I am also the bearer of the fine which you imposed on him. I understand that it is to be given for the good works of the abbey.’
Fidelma took the purse of coins and, without bothering to check it, absently placed it in her own crumena.
‘I will see that this is delivered.’ She was considering the invitation. It did so happen that she wanted to know more about the attitudes in Dún Boí to the situation in the abbey and she finally accepted the proposal. ‘You may tell Adnár that I shall await his boatman.’
They walked on for a short time before Fidelma asked: ‘Did you know Sister Síomha?’
‘Who did not?’ The answer was blandly given.
‘You will have to explain that.’
‘As rechtaire of this abbey, Sister Síomha was second only to the abbess. She often came to my lord’s fortress.’
‘For what purpose?’ asked Fidelma, somewhat surprised.
‘You must know that Adnár was not on the best terms with Abbess Draigen. It was better, therefore, that Sister Síomha conducted any business between the abbey and my lord.’
‘And was there much business to be conducted?’ pressed Fidelma.
‘As chieftain along this coast, Adnár controlled much of the trading and the abbey required goods and trade which had to be reported to Adnár. Therefore, as rechtaire of the abbey, Sister Síomha visited Adnár very often.’
‘And was Sister Síomha on friendly terms with Adnár?’
‘Very friendly.’
Fidelma glanced quickly at Brother Febal but his face was inexpressive. She was not sure whether she had heard a slight inflection in his voice.
‘How well did you know Sister Síomha?’ she was prompted to ask.
‘I knew her but not well.’ The reply came back firmly.
They had reached the abbey quay and Fidelma led the way down some steps along the shoreline of the inlet. She walked towards a section of rocks by the water which seemed to provide a good, sheltered place to sit away from the northerly wind. The sun was now high in the blue, cloudless sky, and its rays were mild but warming, provided one kept out of the shadows. Only the plaintive cry of the swooping gulls together with the soft whispering of the water along the pebbled shore cut through the still air.
Fidelma seated herself on a comfortable rock on which the sun was casting its warmth and waited while Brother Febal also seated himself.
‘When you were talking about Abbess Draigen yesterday, you failed to mention that you were married to her.’