‘You didn’t have much to do with her?’
‘She spent most of her time in the library and the rest in isolated prayer in her cell.’
‘You were not interested in books?’
‘I have not learned to read or write well. Draigen still teaches me.’
Fidelma was shocked.
‘I thought you were sent away for an education?’
‘My father arranged it. I was sent to a drunken farmer. There is a township not far away called Eadar Ghabhal. It is ten miles east of here. I was sent there to work as a servant. I became no more than a slave.’
‘And you were not taught reading or writing?’
‘No.’
‘Did your father or your mother know what kind of place it was that you had been sent to?’
‘My father knew well. That was why he arranged it. It was the last time my mother ever allowed him to interfere in our lives. He often visited the farmer.’ Lerben’s voice was full of pent-up passion. ‘That is where I learned what pigs men are. The farmer … he violated me. I finally managed to escape from that vile place. My mother found out only after I managed to return to the abbey. My father had kept the truth from her. It was his revenge against her. The farmer arrived here drunk, he had my father with him. They tried to get me to return, pretending that I had robbed the farmer and broken the contract my father had made. Draigen protected me, giving me sanctuary here, and driving them away.’
‘What happened to the farmer?’
‘He was killed when his farm burned down.’
Fidelma examined the girl’s features carefully but there was no expression on them. They were almost vacuous as if she had chased any emotion out of them.
‘Have you seen your father, since?’
‘Only from a distance. My mother had warned him that he would not be long on this earth if he ever tried to harm me again.’
Fidelma sat quietly for a moment, turning the information over in her mind.
‘You say that Draigen has been teaching you to read and write since your return to the abbey?’
‘When she has time.’
‘What about Sister Almu? She was young, wasn’t she?Surely she was not much older than you? She was a good scholar and could have taught you to read and write?’
Was there some hesitation now.
‘I was not friendly with her. She was a year or so older than I was. It was Sister Síomha who was Almu’s friend.’
‘Was Almu a pretty girl?’
‘It depends on what you believe to be pretty.’
Fidelma conceded that it was a good riposte.
‘Did you like her?’
‘I did not really know her. She, too, worked in the library, copying those musty old books. Why are you asking me these questions?’
‘Oh, just to get some background,’ Fidelma rose from her seat. ‘I have finished now.’
‘Then, by your leave, I shall return to my duties.’
Fidelma gave a vague affirmative gesture and began to walk down the aisle towards the door. Then she halted there and glanced back as if in an afterthought.
‘Why did you say that Sister Brónach has had her time?’ she asked sharply. ‘What did you mean by that?’
Sister Lerben looked up from where she had resumed her polishing of the gold icons of the chapel. For a moment it seemed that she had not understood Fidelma, then her expression lightened.
‘Because she is old. Draigen says that she has had her man, her child, and there is nothing else in life for her. Draigen says …’
Fidelma had already passed on thoughtfully.
She was still deep in thought when Adnár’s boatman reported to the abbey guest hostel that he had come to row her across to the bó-aire’s fortress. It was already dark but the boat had lanterns set fore and aft and there were two men who bent their backs into the oars so that the craft cleaved through the dark waters and made the crossing, so it seemed, within moments. Fidelma was handed up on to the dark quay andthe boatman, bearing one of the lamps, lighted her way up the steps into the fortress.
Once through the granite walls the fortress was brightly lit with burning torches and the sounds of music came drifting from the main buildings. Warriors patrolled here and there but otherwise it seemed a peaceful enough citadel.
Adnár was coming down the stairs, hands held out in greeting.
‘Welcome, Sister Fidelma. Welcome. I am glad that you have come.’
He led the way back up the wooden stairs and into the large feasting room where she had breakfasted on the previous morning. The furnishings had not changed but the great table was piled with mountains of food and a fire roared in the hearth sending out a tremendous heat. A musician sat in the corner, playing unobtrusively on a stringed instrument.
Adnár himself helped her to remove her cloak and conducted her to the circular table. Here an attendant bent to remove her shoes. It was the custom, both in secular communities as well as ecclesiastical life, to remove the shoes and sandals before sitting down to an evening feast.
Olcán was there; so was Torcán. Both young men greeted her with such an effusion of spirit that they seemed to be trying to outdo each other in manners. Only Brother Febal stood quietly, his eyes lowered, his manner almost surly. Fidelma tried not to show her distaste for him. She must keep an open mind. Yet if the claims of Sister Lerben were true then he was a bitter and evil man.
It was Olcán who opened up the conversation.
‘How goes your investigation? I was given to understand that you have interrogated Brother Febal here? Is he the dread killer and decapitator of women?’
Brother Febal did not join in their humour.
Fidelma answered them gravely.
‘We shall have to wait until the investigation is complete in order to make a judgment.’
Adnár raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
‘May the sky fall on us! I do believe that she does suspect you, Febal.’
Brother Febal shrugged. His handsome face was bland.
‘I have nothing to fear from the truth.’
Olcán’s sallow features were split by a grin and he pointed to the table.
‘Well, I fear starvation unless this meal begins. Sister Fidelma, will you do us the honour of saying the Gratias as is the custom?’
Fidelma bowed her head.
‘Benedic nobis, Domine Deus, et omnibus donis Tuis quae ex lorgia …’
She intoned the ritual and they set to the meal. Servants now came forward to pour the wine and hand round the plates. Fidelma was slightly surprised to see that Adnár not only supplied a knife for each person, for one ate with a knife in the right hand and used the fingers of the left hand only, but each diner was given a clean lámhbrat, or hand-cloth, which was usually placed over the knees when eating and, at the end of the meal, used to clean one’s hands. Generally such refinement was found only at the tables of the kings and bishops. It was clear that Adnár had social pretensions in the setting of his feasting table.
‘Please begin, Fidelma. Would you prefer wine or mead?’
Silver goblets were filled with imported red wine but jugs of local mead were also placed on the table. She saw that brother Febal selected this rather than wine. There was a choice of dishes: ox-meat, mutton and venison. There were fish dishes, goose eggs and a dish even of rón or seal meat. It was a dish that was once popular but now few people ate it. A story told that a family in the west of the country was once metamorphosed into seals by a druid and now no one would eat seal meat in case they were eating their own relatives.
Fidelma helped herself to some venison cooked with wild garlic, some barley cakes and parsnip.
‘Seriously,’ Adnár was saying, ‘how is your investigation? Have you discovered the identity of the headless body?’
‘Not for sure,’ replied Fidelma, sipping at her wine.
Torcán’s glance was searching.