in a helpless gesture.
‘I will do so now,’ he said defensively.
Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘A little late, perhaps. But it will do no harm. I presume that there is a communal laundry for the brethren?’
‘There is, indeed, a tech-nigid , a washhouse,’ confirmed the steward.
‘And when is the washing done?’
‘Every week on Cét-ain, the day of the first fast.’
Eadulf’s face brightened. ‘That is tomorrow. So the laundry has not been done since the murder?’
‘I suppose not,’ replied Brother Cú Mara.
‘Who is in charge of the tech-nigid? ’ asked Fidelma.
It was Abbot Erc who responded.
‘At the moment it is Sister Sinnchéne. Each month the task of being in charge of the washing is changed. It is Sinnchéne’s turn this month.’
‘Sinnchéne the young sister who looks after the hospitium?’ Fidelma turned to the steward, who nodded confirmation. ‘Ensure that nothing is touched. Nothing is to be washed until all the clothes are examined, which we will do tomorrow morning.’ She glanced at Eadulf. ‘I am afraid that will be your task while I am questioning the merchant Mugrón. Conrí’s two warriors will doubtless help you.’
Eadulf accepted the task without enthusiasm.
Fidelma turned back to Abbot Erc.
‘So much for the manner of his death. What of the manner of his life? His work was well known. Had he enemies who would want to take such extreme vengeance on him?’
Abbot Erc appeared shocked at the suggestion.
‘The Venerable Cináed led a blameless life. Everyone loved him. He had no enemies.’
Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘One thing I have learnt is that you do not
achieve fame and wide respect without someone feeling that you have done them a wrong. It may be through jealousy of achievement. It may be some slight had been given without intention.’
Abbot Erc was indignant. ‘The Venerable Cinaed was a great scholar.’
‘The greater the scholar, the more people grow envious,’ pointed out Eadulf.
Abbot Erc made a dismissing gesture with a frail hand.
‘Scholastic debate is encouraged here but that does not mean that those who disputed with the Venerable Cinaed would murder him because they did not like what he said. Even I did not agree with everything he taught.’
Fidelma pursed her lips cynically.
‘I have come across many such cases where a dispute of ideas leads to a clash of personalities and the growth of hate. Who disputed with him? Let us start somewhere in unravelling this mystery.’
Abbot Erc was shaking his head.
‘Surely you know his scholastic reputation, Sister? No one would … I refuse to believe in such a possibility.’
Fidelma spoke with suppressed irritation.
‘I am not asking questions to while away the time,’ she said pointedly. ‘I know very well the reputation of the Venerable Cináed. I have read his discourse on the Computus Cummianus and De Trinatate Interpretatio Perversa. While the old saying goes that fame is more lasting than life, nevertheless, he is dead. He has been murdered and the culprit must be found to make amends according to our law, of which I am a representative.’
There was a silence. A young Sister of the Faith had not spoken to the old abbot in such a tone before. He flushed in anger.
Brother Cú Mara, the steward, moved forward nervously.
‘The Venerable Cinaed encouraged lively debate and questioning, lady.’ The steward stressed the title in recognition of her secular authority with a glance at the abbot. ‘He liked to be questioned sharply and was just as sharp in his replies.’
Abbot Erc, reminded of Fidelma’s authority, recovered his equilibrium. ‘My rechtaire is correct. Some of our most renowned debates have seen many scholars gather here; scholars from many colleges in the land - even from the great college of Mungret.’
Fidelma had always wanted to visit Mungret, which lay in the heart of Uí Fidgente territory. It had been founded by Nessan, a disciple of
‘I will do so now,’ he said defensively.
Fidelma grimaced disapprovingly. ‘A little late, perhaps. But it will do no harm. I presume that there is a communal laundry for the brethren?’
‘There is, indeed, a tech-nigid , a washhouse,’ confirmed the steward.
‘And when is the washing done?’
‘Every week on Cét-ain, the day of the first fast.’
Eadulf’s face brightened. ‘That is tomorrow. So the laundry has not been done since the murder?’
‘I suppose not,’ replied Brother Cú Mara.
‘Who is in charge of the tech-nigid? ’ asked Fidelma.
It was Abbot Erc who responded.
‘At the moment it is Sister Sinnchéne. Each month the task of being in charge of the washing is changed. It is Sinnchéne’s turn this month.’
‘Sinnchéne the young sister who looks after the hospitium?’ Fidelma turned to the steward, who nodded confirmation. ‘Ensure that nothing is touched. Nothing is to be washed until all the clothes are examined, which we will do tomorrow morning.’ She glanced at Eadulf. ‘I am afraid that will be your task while I am questioning the merchant Mugrón. Conrí’s two warriors will doubtless help you.’
Eadulf accepted the task without enthusiasm.
Fidelma turned back to Abbot Erc.
‘So much for the manner of his death. What of the manner of his life? His work was well known. Had he enemies who would want to take such extreme vengeance on him?’
Abbot Erc appeared shocked at the suggestion.
‘The Venerable Cináed led a blameless life. Everyone loved him. He had no enemies.’
Fidelma smiled sceptically. ‘One thing I have learnt is that you do not
achieve fame and wide respect without someone feeling that you have done them a wrong. It may be through jealousy of achievement. It may be some slight had been given without intention.’
Abbot Erc was indignant. ‘The Venerable Cinaed was a great scholar.’
‘The greater the scholar, the more people grow envious,’ pointed out Eadulf.
Abbot Erc made a dismissing gesture with a frail hand.
‘Scholastic debate is encouraged here but that does not mean that those who disputed with the Venerable Cinaed would murder him because they did not like what he said. Even I did not agree with everything he taught.’
Fidelma pursed her lips cynically.
‘I have come across many such cases where a dispute of ideas leads to a clash of personalities and the growth of hate. Who disputed with him? Let us start somewhere in unravelling this mystery.’
Abbot Erc was shaking his head.
‘Surely you know his scholastic reputation, Sister? No one would … I refuse to believe in such a possibility.’
Fidelma spoke with suppressed irritation.
‘I am not asking questions to while away the time,’ she said pointedly. ‘I know very well the reputation of the Venerable Cináed. I have read his discourse on the Computus Cummianus and De Trinatate Interpretatio Perversa. While the old saying goes that fame is more lasting than life, nevertheless, he is dead. He has been murdered and the culprit must be found to make amends according to our law, of which I am a representative.’
There was a silence. A young Sister of the Faith had not spoken to the old abbot in such a tone before. He flushed in anger.
Brother Cú Mara, the steward, moved forward nervously.
‘The Venerable Cinaed encouraged lively debate and questioning, lady.’ The steward stressed the title in recognition of her secular authority with a glance at the abbot. ‘He liked to be questioned sharply and was just as sharp in his replies.’
Abbot Erc, reminded of Fidelma’s authority, recovered his equilibrium. ‘My rechtaire is correct. Some of our most renowned debates have seen many scholars gather here; scholars from many colleges in the land - even from the great college of Mungret.’
Fidelma had always wanted to visit Mungret, which lay in the heart of Uí Fidgente territory. It had been founded by Nessan, a disciple of
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