Master of Souls (37 page)

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Authors: Peter Tremayne

Tags: #_NB_Fixed, #_rt_yes, #blt, #Clerical Sleuth, #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery, #Medieval Ireland

BOOK: Master of Souls
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‘You have done well, Conrí,’ Fidelma said approvingly. ‘Very well.’ She looked for Sister Sinnchéne and waved her forward. ‘The young religieuse can bathe and be fed before I examine them.’ She glanced at Eadulf and confessed quietly, ‘I do not think they will add anything to what our friend Sister Easdan has already told us.’
Sister Sinnchéne came forward. Suddenly she stopped dead, staring at Conrí, and then she stumbled and collapsed on the ground.
Eadulf was at her side immediately. A moment later she was stirring.
‘She seems to have passed out,’ Eadulf said. Two of the community came forward and volunteered to help the girl back to her quarters while someone else was found to take the young women under her charge.
Abbot Erc had now arrived, glaring at the gathering.
‘What happened?’ he demanded, looking at the disappearing women.
‘Sister Sinnchéne seems to have fainted, that’s all,’ Fidelma replied.
‘Since you are here you may tell me whether you have a secure chamber in the abbey where we can hold this man?’ She gestured towards Olcán.
‘There is such a chamber below the
tech-screptra
,’ replied the abbot stiffly. ‘There is a good lock upon the door.’ He glanced at Olcán. ‘Who is he?’
Fidelma’s features were grim.
‘This is the man who slew Abbess Faife and imprisoned her companions. Let us make sure he is locked up safely and treated well, so that he may have no complaints when he comes before the Brehon.’
Abbot Erc motioned Brother Cú Mara forward. The steward had been hanging back but now the abbot repeated Fidelma’s instructions.
The man, Olcán, did not speak or even glance at his captors. He remained gazing woodenly before him, head unbowed.
Brother Cú Mara led the way through the buildings to the stone edifice of the library. They passed through groups of curious bystanders. The physician, Sister Uallann, whose apothecary stood near the library building, was staring at Olcán with narrowed eyes. The songmaster, Brother Cillin, had retreated to the library door with Brother Eolas the librarian and his young assistant, Brother Faolchair. They appeared interested in the proceedings. Fidelma noticed that Sister Buan had disappeared among
the crowd. Nearby was an intent-looking Brother Benen, the Venerable Mac Faosma’s student. Brother Cú Mara took them into the building and down a stone stairway to a series of chambers that were so dark they had to be lit with torches and lanterns. There was a musty smell in the gloomy passageways.
The steward unlocked one of the thick wooden doors with an iron key and pushed the still bound Olcán into a cell.
Fidelma glanced in by the light of a lantern. There was a wooden cot, a table and a chair but, being below ground, no window, and no entrance or exit except by the single door.
‘I think he can have the freedom of his hands and arms,’ she decided, speaking to Conrí. ‘He can have food and drink later and I shall question him then.’
Conrí was indifferent.
‘I doubt if you will get anything out of him, lady. I tried to question him and he has remained as silent as if he were mute.’
Nevertheless, the warlord severed the dark man’s bonds in accordance with her instructions. They left him alone in the cell and Brother Cú Mara locked the door and hung the key on a nearby hook.
Fidelma was looking around at the musty smelling cellars.
‘To what use are such rooms put?’ she asked with curiosity.
The steward seemed to have overcome his animosity of the previous evening. He was polite, even helpful.
‘Originally, they were storage rooms,’ he explained. ‘When it became the custom for a visiting Brehon to hold court in the abbey, we used a couple of these chambers to detain those who were due to face serious charges before the Brehon.’
Fidelma made no comment but led the way back up into the light and the fresher air. She noticed that the onlookers had dispersed.
She glanced at Eadulf with a satisfied smile.
‘And now our course is set,’ she said mysteriously. ‘We will soon have our prey in the snare.’
It was after the main meal when Fidelma, Eadulf, Conrí and Brother Cú Mara returned to the subterranean cell of Olcán. The steward had brought a tray of food. He handed this to Eadulf while he took down the key and opened the door. He did it warily but the lamp beyond showed the big warrior sitting immobile on the bed staring as if at some distant object before him.
The steward put down the tray of food and, at Fidelma’s signal, withdrew, while Fidelma sat in the only chair and Eadulf and Conrí. took up positions just inside the door.
Fidelma examined the man carefully. She summed him up as a man without feeling. A killer who obeyed orders without question. His cruel features were not possessed of sensitivity or much intelligence.
‘Do you know who I am?’
Olcán made a slight movement with one shoulder which expressed either affirmation or disinterest.
‘That your name is Olcán I know. Of what clan are you?’
The man continued in silence.
‘You have a choice of two paths before you, Olcán. You may make things hard on yourself or easy. It is up to you.’
Olcán glanced quickly at her.
‘I have nothing to say.’
‘Then things will go hard with you. You are already facing charges of heinous crimes. There are witnesses to them. The wrecking of a Gaulish ship. The murder of Abbess Faife. The raids and destruction of settlements among the Corco Duibhne. The imprisonment of six young religieuse from this abbey as well as the hermit community on Seanach’s Island, one of whom you slew or had slain.’
Her voice was remorseless as she recited the litany.
Olcán eyed her with hate simmering in his eyes.
‘And do you expect me to admit to all this, sister of Colgú the usurper?’ he sneered.
Fidelma smiled faintly.
‘At least you admit that you know who I am?’
He was silent again.
‘And since you describe my brother as a usurper I presume that you felt you owed allegiance to Eoganan of the Uí Fidgente?’
Once more only silence met her.
‘Let me put it this way, Olcán. You may well be responsible for all these evil deeds. You may well have been in command of the war band that carried them out. Yet I do not believe that it was your own design. The command was given by another - your so-called “master”? Is that not so?’
Olcán laughed harshly.
‘Then you will have to capture this “master” and ask him. That you will never do.’
Fidelma forced herself to remain relaxed.
‘What I am trying to tell you, Olcán, is that if you tell me who gave you those orders, then things may not go as harshly with you.’
‘The chief of the wolf tribe does not betray his lord,’ snapped Olcán.
Fidelma frowned as a chord of memory suddenly struck. She was about to say something when Conrí. exclaimed: ‘Olcán! Olcán the wolf! I have heard of you.’ In spite of Fidelma’s warning glance, he turned to her excitedly.
‘This man was head of a band of raiders when Eoganan ruled the Ui Fidgente. They called themselves the wolf tribe.’
He paused when he saw Fidelma’s angry look at the interruption to her interrogation.
Olcán had missed the silent warning and was smiling viciously. He seemed proud of his reputation.
‘Is that why you continue to take your orders from Uaman the Leper?’ Fidelma asked quietly.
Olcán turned to her with a brief look of puzzlement that was gone before she had time to register it. Then he burst out with a short laugh.
‘You must have heard, woman of Cashel, that Uaman is dead. He died in the month of
Cet Gaimred
.’
‘And so we must assume that it is his troubled wraith that rides through the Sliabh Mis valleys with you?’
‘It would be hard to take orders from a shade from the Otherworld, woman. Oh, but have no fear. The seed of Eoganan will lead the Uí Fidgente against Cashel once more and that very soon.’
‘That will be difficult,’ interjected Conrí. with a sneer. ‘The true Ui Fidgente do not follow ghosts or voices from the Otherworld.’
Olcán smiled knowingly for a moment.
‘They will hear a voice shortly. A voice crying vengeance for our people. And, indeed, it will not be a voice from the Otherworld.’
‘You are in no position to be truculent, Olcán,’ Fidelma warned him.
The man, however, relapsed into a pugnacious silence.
Fidelma uttered a deep sigh of disgust and rose to her feet.
‘Very well, Olcán, chief of the wolf tribe. We can be patient also but not too patient. You have much to answer for. Your crimes are many in the counting. As I have said, the path you choose may be hard or easy and that is your choice. Your future is black—’
Olcán glanced up belligerently. ‘And your future, the future of all the
spawn of the Eoghanacht of Cashel, does not even exist. The U
Fidgente will find their backbone again and come against you — even in spite of your lapdog’ — he gestured to Conr
— ‘or a thousand treacherous U
Fidgente like him. They will not alter the course of the river we have set in flood. That river will lead the U
Fidgente not only to recover their lost lands but to claim Cashel, and beyond Cashel they will claim Tara, the seat of the High Kings. The master has prophesised it and so it will come to pass.’

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