Suffer Little Children

'So they were quarrelling? About what?'

'I do not know. Their voices were not raised but intense. Angry sounding.'

'And what was Dacan studying that night?' Fidelma frowned. 'I have been told that nothing has been taken from his chamber. Yet there were no books there nor any writing by Dacan in the room.'

Sister Necht shrugged and made no reply.

'When did you last see Dacan?'

'I had just returned from the service for the completa when Dacan summoned me and told me to fetch him a pitcher of cold water.'

'Did you visit his chamber after that?'

'No. I avoided him as much as I could. Forgive me this sin, sister, but I hated him and cannot say otherwise.'

Sister Fidelma sat back and examined the young novice carefully for a moment.

'You have other duties, Sister Necht, I shall not detain you from them. I will call you when I have further need of you.'

The young novice rose looking chagrined.

'You will not tell Brother Rumann of my sin of hatred?' she asked eagerly.

'No. You feared Dacan. Hate is merely the consequence of that fear; we have to fear something to hate it. It is the cloak of protection used by those who are intimidated. But, sister, remember this, that feelings of hate often lead to the suppression of justice. Try to forgive Dacan in death for his autocracy and understand your own fears. You may go now.'

'Are you sure there is nothing else I can do?' Necht asked, as she hesitated in the doorway. She looked eager again as if the confession of her hatred of Dacan had cheered her spirits.

Fidelma shook her head.

'I will call you when there is,' she assured her.

As she went out, Cass rose and came to sit in the chair vacated by Necht. He regarded Fidelma with sympathy.

'It is not going well, is it? I see only confusion.'

Fidelma pulled a face at the young warrior.

'Come let us walk by the seashore for a moment, Cass. I need the breeze to clear my head.'

They walked through the complex of the abbey buildings and found a gate in the wall which led onto a narrow path winding down to the sandy strand. The day was still fine, still a little blustery, with the ships rocking at anchor. Fidelma drew in a deep breath of salt sea air and exhaled it loudly with a resounding gasp of satisfaction.

Cass watched her in quiet amusement.

'That is better,' she said, and glanced quickly at him. 'It clears the head. I have to admit that this is the hardest inquiry that I have undertaken. In other investigations that I have worked on, all the witnesses remained in the one place. All the suspects were gathered. And I was at the scene of the crime within hours, if not minutes, of the deed being done so that the evidence could not evaporate into thin air.'

Cass measured his pace to match her shorter stride as they walked slowly along the sea's edge.

'I begin to see some of the difficulties of a dalaigh now, sister. In truth, I had little idea before. I thought that all they had to know about was the law.'

Fidelma did not bother to answer.

They passed fishermen on the shore, unloading their morning's catch from the small canoe-like vessels, locally called naomhog, boats of wickerwork frames, covered in codal, a hide tanned in oak bark, and stitched together with thongs of leather. They were easy and light to carry and three men could manage the largest of them. They rode high in the water, dancing swiftly over the fiercest of waves.

Fidelma paused watching as two of these craft came ashore towing the carcass of a great beast of the sea behind them.

She had seen a basking shark brought ashore only once before and presumed that the beast was such a creature.

Cass had never seen anything like it and he moved eagerly forward to examine it.

'I had heard a story that the Blessed Brendan, during his great voyage, once landed on the back of such a monster thinking it was an island. Yet this beast, big as it is, does not look like an island,' he called across his shoulder to her.

Fidelma responded to his excitement.

'The fish Brendan is reported to have landed on was said to be far bigger. When Brendan and his companions sat down and made a fire to cook their meal, the fish, feeling the heat, sank into the sea and they barely escaped with their lives into their boat.'

An aged fisherman, overhearing her, nodded sagely.

'And that's a true story, sister. But did you ever hear of the great fish, Rosault, which lived in the time of Colmcille?'

Fidelma shook her head, smiling, for she knew old fishermen carried good tales which could often be retold around a fire at night.

'I used to fish up Connacht way when I was a lad,' the old man went on, hardly needing an invitation. 'The Connacht men told me that there was a holy mountain inland which they called Croagh Patrick, after the blessed saint. At the foot of the mountain was a plain which was called Muir-iasc, which means 'sea-fish.' Do you know how it received its name?'

'Tell us,' invited Cass, knowing there was no other answer to give.

'It was named because it was formed by the great body of Rosault when it was cast ashore there during a great storm. The dead beast, as it lay decomposing on the plain, caused a great pestilence through the malodorous vapors which rose from its body and descended on the country. It killed men and animals indiscriminately. There be many things in the sea, sister. Many threatening things.'

Fidelma cast a sudden glance towards the Laigin warship.

'Not all of them are creatures of the deep,' she observed softly.

The old fisherman caught the direction of her gaze and chuckled.

'I think that you would be right there, sister. And I am thinking that the fishermen of the Corco Loigde might one day have to go casting their spears at stranger creatures than a poor basking shark.'

He turned and sank his skinning knife into the great carcass with relish.

Fidelma began to walk along the shore again.

Cass hurried after her. For a few moments they walked on in silence and then Cass observed: 'There are signs of war in the air already, sister. It does not bode well.'

'I am not oblivious to it,' she replied shortly. 'Yet I cannot work miracles even though my brother expects it of me.'

'Perhaps we have to accept that this war is our destiny. That there will, indeed, be war.'

'Destiny!' Fidelma was angry. 'I do not believe in the preordination of things, even if some of the Faith do. Destiny is but the tyrant's excuse for his crimes and the fool's excuse for not standing up to the tyrant.'

'How can you change what is inevitable?' demanded Cass.

'By first saying that it is not so and then by proceeding to make it otherwise!' she answered with spirit.

If there was anything she did not need at this moment in time it was someone telling her that things were inevitable. Sophocles had once written that that which the gods have brought about must be born with fortitude. Yet to make the excuse that one's self-induced limitations were simply destiny was a philosophy that was alien to Fidelma. The creed of destiny was simply an excuse to save oneself from choice.

Cass raised a hand, opened it and gestured as if in resignation.

'It is a laudable philosophy which you have, Fidelma. But sometimes…'

'Enough!'