Suffer Little Children

scholars. But here and there were special works of great value, kept in beautifully ornamented leather covers and embossed with enamels and layers of gold and silver and even studded with precious stones. It was said that Assicos, Patrick's coppersmith, made quadrangular book covers in copper to hold the books of the saintly man. Some of these works were also kept in special cases of wood as well as metal.

Containers of carved wood were used to keep bundles of hazel and aspen wands, on which were cut letters in ancient Ogham, the rods of the poets, but these works were vanishing as the thin rods of wood rotted. Their information was often transferred to the new alphabet and sheets of vellum before they were destroyed.

There were several people in the musty and gloom-shrouded library. In spite of the daylight filtering through the high windows into the Tech Screptra, giant candles, in large wrought-iron stands, were lit. These cast a flickering illumination across the room. The choking atmosphere of the smoke from these candles, thought Fidelma, was hardly conducive to good scholarship. Here and there scribes sat at special tables crouching over sheets of vellum, quills of swan or goose in one hand and a maulstick to support the wrist in the other as they transcribed in elaborate or ornamental fashion some ancient work for posterity. Others sat reading quietly or with occasional sighs and the rustle of the turning page.

Fidelma made her way along the aisles of book satchels and by the various tables of the diligent scholars. No one raised their head as she passed by.

The reflected glint in the dark eyes of Sister Grella showed that the librarian had watched her approach closely. Fidelma came to the head of the hall, where the librarian's chair was placed behind a desk on a dais so that she might overlook the length and breadth of the Tech Screptra.

'Sister Grella? I am…' began Fidelma as she halted before the librarian.

Sister Grella raised a small but shapely hand to silence her. Then she placed a finger across her lips, rose from her seat and gestured towards a side door.

Fidelma interpreted this as an invitation to follow.

On the other side of the door, Fidelma found herself in a small chamber which was filled with shelves of books but with a table and several chairs. There were sheets of vellum on the table and a conical capped ink holder, an adiricin, with a selection of quills and a pen knife for cutting them into nibs. It was obviously a private workroom.

Sister Grella waited until Fidelma had entered and then closed the door behind her and, with another imperial gesture of her hand, pointed to a chair, indicating that Fidelma should be seated. As Fidelma did so, the librarian lowered herself in the same regal posture into a chair facing her.

'I know who you are and why you have come,' the librarian said in a soft soprano voice.

Fidelma smiled quizzically at the personable woman.

'In that case, my task will be made that much simpler,' she replied.

The librarian arched an eyebrow but she said nothing.

'Have you been librarian at Ros Ailithir a long time?'

Sister Grella was obviously not expecting this question to start with and she frowned.

'I have been leabhar coimedach here for eight years,' she replied after a moment's hesitation.

'And before that?' Fidelma pressed.

'I was not at this foundation.'

Fidelma had asked merely in order to obtain some background of the librarian but she detected a faint note of suspicion in the other's voice and wondered why.

'Then you must have come here highly recommended to obtain such an important post as librarian without having been trained in this monastery, sister,' she commented.

Sister Grella made a dismissive gesture, a cutting motion of her left hand.

'I qualified to the level of sai.'

Fidelma knew that to achieve the degree of a sai one had to study at an ecclesiastical school for six years and have a knowledge of scriptures as well as a general knowledge.

'Where did you study?' Her interest was a natural curiosity.

Again, Sister Grella hesitated a little. Then she seemed to make up her mind.

'At the foundation of the Blessed Colmcille known as Cealla.'

Fidelma stared at her dumbfounded for a moment.

'Cealla in Osraige?'

'I know of no other,' said Grella reprovingly.

'Are you of Osraige then?' That borderland between Muman and Laigin seemed to confront her whatever path she took on this investigation. Fidelma was incredulous of the number of times that the kingdom of Osraige seemed to have connections with Ros Ailithir.

'I was,' admitted Sister Grella. 'I have yet to see what this has to do with your task. Abbot Brocc informs me that you are a dalaigh come to investigate the death of Dacan of Fearna. But my birthplace and qualifications have surely little to do with that matter?'

Fidelma gazed thoughtfully at the other.

The woman had become tense. The veins showed blue against the white skin of the forehead. The mouth was trembling slightly and her facial muscles seemed strained. One shapely hand was toying nervously with the silver crucifix which hung around her neck.

'I am told that the Venerable Dacan spent a considerable portion of his time in the library.' Fidelma did not bother to reply to Sister Grella's protest but went straight to her questions about Dacan.

'He was a scholar. The purpose of his visit to Ros Ailithir was to study. Where else should he spend his time?'

'How long was he here?'

'Surely the abbot would have told you that?'

'Two months,' Fidelma supplied, realizing that the vivacious-looking librarian was not going to be helpful and that her questions would have to be phrased carefully to extract any information at all from her guarded responses. 'And in that two months,' Fidelma went on, 'he spent most of his time in this library studying. What did he study?'

'He was a scholar of history.'

'He was well respected for his knowledge, I know,' replied Fidelma patiently. 'But what books did he study here?'

'The books that are studied are a matter for the librarian and the scholar,' countered Sister Grella woodenly.

Fidelma realized it was time to establish her authority.

'Sister Grella,' she said quietly, so softly that the librarian had to bend forward in her chair to catch the words. 'I am a dalaigh engaged in the investigation of a murder. I am qualified to the level of anruth. This places certain rights and obligations on any whom I feel that I need to question. I am sure that as a sai you are perfectly aware of those obligations. You will now answer the questions that I put to you without further prevarication.'

Sister Grella suddenly sat stiff and upright as Fidelma's voice rose sharply. Her eyes had widened a little, staring in ill-concealed anger at the younger woman. That she was unused to being so roundly rebuked showed by the tinge of red on her cheeks. She swallowed noisily.

'What books did Dacan study here?' repeated Fidelma.

'He… he was interested in the volumes we have which applied to the history of… of Osraige.'

Osraige yet again! Fidelma gazed at the now impassive face of the librarian.

'Osraige? Why would an abbey in the land of the Corco Loigde have books on a kingdom that lies many miles from here?'

For the first time Sister Grella's lips twisted into a smile of superiority. It made her look coarse.

'Obviously, Fidelma of Kildare, in spite of your qualification in law, you have little knowledge of the history of this land.'

Fidelma shrugged indifferently.