Suffer Little Children

'I do not think 'like' is an appropriate word, sister. I did not dislike him and, in academic terms, we seemed to get along well together.'

Fidelma pursed her lips a little.

'That in itself seems unusual,' she commented.

'Why so?'

'Because, by those I have already questioned, I have been told that Dacan was universally disliked here. Perhaps that was a motive for murder? I gather that he was austere, cold, unfriendly and an ascetic.'

Segan now laughed openly, a rich rather comfortable laugh.

'These are hardly attributes for which to condemn a man to hell fire. If we went around killing everyone we disliked then by the time each of us were through there would be no one left to people the earth. Certainly Dacan was not a man possessed of humor, nor was he given to playing the clown. But he was a serious scholar and, as such, I respected him. Yes 'like' is not an exact word but 'respect' is, perhaps, a better term to describe my attitude to him.'

'I am told that he taught here as well as studied.'

'That is so.'

'Presumably he taught history?'

'What else? His interest was in the early stories concerning the coming to Eireann of our forefather Mil Easpain and the Children of the Gael and how Mil's brother Amergin promised the goddess Eire that the land would henceforth be known by her name.'

Fidelma was patient.

'That path seems innocuous enough,' she commented.

Segan chuckled again.

'Surely, sister, you were not seriously considering that Dacan was murdered because someone did not like his personality or his interpretation of history?'

'It has been known,' replied Fidelma solemnly. 'Scholars can be like savage animals when they disagree with one another.'

Segan bowed his head in agreement.

'Yes, we are guilty as charged, sister. Some historians are as trapped in history as history is trapped in them. Dacan was, certainly, a man of his people…'

'What do you mean by that?' queried Fidelma quickly.

'He was a man who was intensely proud of Laigin, that's what I mean. I remember that he and our chief physician, Brother Midach, once…'

He suddenly compressed his lips and looked uneasy.

'Tell me,' prompted Fidelma. 'Anything, no matter how unimportant, is of value to my investigation.'

'I do not want to spread alarm, especially where there is no cause to spread it.'

'Truth is always a good cause, chief professor,' insisted Fidelma. 'Tell me about Brother Midach and Dacan.'

'They once had a row in which they nearly came to blows, that is all.'

Fidelma's eyes widened.

Here, at last, was something positive.

'What was this fierce argument about?'

'A simple matter of history. That's all. Dacan was boasting about Laigin, as usual. Midach apparently called the men of Laigin no more than foreigners. He claimed that they were simply Gauls who arrived in the province which was then called Galian. The Laigin came as mercenaries to help the banished Labraid Loinseach seize the throne of his uncle Cobhthach. Midach argued that the Gauls carried broad-pointed spears of blue-green iron called laigin and when they had set Labraid on the throne of Galian the kingdom became known by this name—Laigin—after their spears which had won the victory for him.'

'I have heard something of that story before,' Fidelma confessed. 'An innocuous argument, as you say. But I was given to believe that Midach himself was from Laigin?'

'Midach? From Laigin? Whoever told you that? No, Midach is contemptuous of Laigin. But he did come from somewhere along its border. Perhaps that accounts for his prejudice. Yes, that's it. He was from Osraige.'

'Osraige?' Fidelma groaned inwardly. Osraige and Laigin! No matter which way one turned there always seemed some connection with Osraige and Laigin. They appeared to permeate this entire mystery.

'Why don't you ask him?' countered the chief professor. 'Midach will tell you soon enough.'

'So Midach insulted Laigin to Dacan's face,' went on Fidelma, without replying to the question. 'What did Dacan say to that?'

'He called Midach an ignorant fool and knave. He said the kingdom was older than Muman and that it had taken its name from a Nemedian, the descendant of Magog and Japhet, who had come to this land from Scythia with thirty-two ships. He argued that Liath, son of Laigin, was the hero who founded the kingdom.'

'How did such an academic discussion get out of hand?' Fidelma was curious.

'Both argued their case in voluble tones and neither gave way even when the argument transferred into personal abuse. It was only when I and Brother Rumann intervened that each was persuaded to return to his own chambers and take oath not to bring the discussion up again.'

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

'Did you have any clashes with Dacan yourself?'

Segan shook his head.

'As I said, I respected the man. I left him to run his classes and I think most of his students appreciated his knowledge though, it is true, there were some reports of disharmony and antagonism among a few of them. Abbot Brocc apparently took the disharmony seriously. I think he even asked Brother Conghus to watch that Dacan did not cause serious dissension. But to be truthful, I spent little time with him.'

Fidelma reluctantly came to her feet.

'You have been most helpful, chief professor,' she said.

Brother Sagan smiled broadly.

'It is little enough. If you have further need of me, anyone will direct you to my college chambers.'

Fidelma returned towards the hostel and while crossing the flagged courtyard she came abruptly upon Cass. The warrior's face was tired.

'I have made inquiries and looked everywhere for the two boys, also for Sister Eisten,' he greeted Fidelma in disgust. 'Unless they are all purposely hiding from us, I would say that they have all left the abbey confines.'

Chapter Nine

Sister Grella came as a surprise to Fidelma. She was an attractive woman in her late thirties. Though short in height and inclined to fleshiness, nevertheless she was vivacious in character, with well-kept brown hair and humorous dark eyes. To Fidelma, only a pouting, voluptuous mouth marred her features. She was, at first impression, out of place among the somberness of the abbey, let alone in a library. Yet this was the chief librarian of the abbey. And, in spite of her initial sensual appearance, Sister Grella carried herself in a straight-backed and stately manner, like a queen in the midst of her court. She sat, in an ornately carved oak chair, at the far end of the great library chamber, which was almost as big and as vaulted as the abbey church. It was an impressive building, even by the standards of the great libraries Fidelma had visited elsewhere in the five kingdoms of Eireann.

The books were not kept on shelves but each work was kept in a taig liubhair or book satchel, a leather case which hung on one of a row of pegs along the walls, clearly labeled as to its contents. Fidelma, looking at the impressive collection, was reminded of the story of the death of the saintly Longargan, a most eminent scholar and contemporary of Colmcille. On the night that the Blessed Longargan had died, all the book satchels of Ireland were supposed to have fallen from their pegs as a mark of respect and in symbolism of the loss to learning through his passing.

Most of the books contained in the book satchels were works of reference, frequently consulted by the