Suffer Little Children

Conghus flushed.

'I was not informed. The onus is on people to obey the rule and you should have informed me.'

Fidelma sighed deeply.

'This means that your records are not entirely reliable. They are only reliable in so far as people obey your rules.'

'If Sister Grella had left the abbey, she would know the rule,' replied Conghus stubbornly.

'Only if she wanted it to be known that she had left,' intervened Cass, finding something he could contribute to the conversation.

Conghus replied with a snort of annoyance.

'What do you know of Sister Grella?' Fidelma suddenly asked.

Conghus was bewildered by her question.

'Know of her? She is the librarian of the abbey and has been so ever since I have known her.'

'And you know nothing else?'

'I know that she came here from the abbey of Cealla. I know that she is well-qualified in her profession. What else should I know?'

'Was she ever married?' Fidelma asked.

'She has never mentioned anything of a marriage in her past.'

'How well did she know Sister Eisten?'

The question came as a sudden intuitive shot but it did not seem to register with Brother Conghus.

'She knew her, that is all I can say. Sister Eisten did some studying in the library earlier in the year and so I presume that the librarian would know her.'

'Then it was not a close liaison? They were not particular friends?'

'No more than any other member of the abbey whom Sister Grella knew.'

'About a week ago, Sister Grella visited Salbach's fortress at Cuan Doir. Do you know why?'

'Did she? A week ago?' Conghus looked bemused. 'Then we should have a record of that.'

He rose and turned to a shelf of wax tablets and started to check their contents, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

'You do not know offhand why she would go to Salbach's fortress?' demanded Fidelma, while the doorkeeper diligently searched for the right tablet.

'None, unless Salbach was presenting a gift to the library. Sometimes, some chieftains find they are possessed of the ancient rods of the poets. Such old Ogham books are rare now, even here in Muman. The abbey offers rewards for the gathering of them. It could be that Salbach found some and decided to present them to our library. But if Grella did go there for that, or any other purpose, she would have informed me that she was leaving the abbey. There is no record of her doing so.' He turned aside from his tablets to Fidelma. 'I cannot find any reference to Sister Grella having left to go to Cuan Doir. She did, however, leave here to go to Rae na Serine a week ago.'

'Rae na Serine?' Fidelma echoed.

'It is so recorded,' replied Brother Conghus with a smirk. 'She went to collect a book from Sister Eisten and take some medicines to her.'

Fidelma fought back a feeling of utter frustration.

'She could have gone in the opposite direction to Cuan Doir,' she suggested. 'Or she and Sister Eisten could have travelled to Cuan Doir afterwards.'

'She would have told us if she was going to visit Cuan Doir,' replied Conghus stoically. 'And there is no reference to any such journey.'

'If it were noted.'

'Of course it would be noted. To visit Salbach on behalf of the abbey would require the permission and blessing of the abbot.'

'Who said that it would necessarily be a journey on behalf of the abbey?' queried Fidelma.

'Why else would the librarian visit the local chieftain?'

'Why else, indeed?' Fidelma's patience was at an end. 'Thank you for your help, Conghus.'

Outside, Cass examined Fidelma's worried expression.

'Do you think that he is hiding something? He seems less than helpful.'

'Perhaps he is, perhaps not. I suspect that Brother Conghus simply lives by the rules and cannot conceive of anyone breaking them.'

Even as they stood hesitating outside, Conghus came hurrying out and, with a curt nod to the both of them, he scurried across the stone flags of the quadrangle to the tall bell tower.

'It must be nearly time for the completa,' muttered Cass.

A few moments later, as if in response to his spoken thought, the bell sounded its chimes to summon the brethren to the service.

The last time Fidelma had attended such a lavish mass had been in Rome in the luxuriant round basilica of St. John of Lateran where the body of Wighard, the murdered archbishop-designate of Canterbury, lay. A dozen bishops and their attendants, and the Holy Father himself, had conducted the service.

The dark, high-walled abbey church was nothing compared to the splendor of the Roman basilica but, nevertheless, it was impressive. Tapestries covered the high granite walls, candles gave out heat, light and an assortment of perfumes. Fidelma sat in a pew reserved for distinguished guests with Cass seated alongside her. All around members of the abbey religious and their students crowded together to pay their respects to the passing of the soul of Cathal of Cashel. Though she examined their faces carefully, Fidelma could see no sign of Sister Grella.

The choristers were raising their voices in the Sanctus.

'Is Naofa, Naofa, Naofa Til, a Thiarna. Dia na Slua …'

'You are Holy, Holy, Holy, oh Lord God of Hosts…'

Something made Fidelma glance across the aisle of the church; some sixth sense which pricked at her mind.

She saw the eyes of young Sister Necht staring intensely at her. The novice had been watching her keenly and now, startled, she dropped her head to peer at her feet. Fidelma was turning away when she realized someone else was staring, but this time the object of scrutiny was Sister Necht herself and the examiner was the pudgy- featured Brother Rumann. Next to Rumann, Brother Midach was also watching the young novice.

What surprised Fidelma was that all trace of jollity had gone from the physician's face and if looks could kill, thought Fidelma, Midach would surely have been guilty of slaying the young woman. Then Midach caught her eye, forced a smile and dropped his gaze to concentrate on the holy office. When she turned her attention back to Brother Rumann, the moon-faced house steward was also concentrating on the words of the service.

Fidelma wondered what this curious digression meant. By the time she could concentrate again on the service the choristers had progressed into the Agnus Dei.

It was when the voices were pausing to begin A Ri an Domhnaigh—Great God— that there came a faint noise. The voices of the choristers hesitated and faded away. The noise therefore grew. There was a murmur of apprehension for the noise was that of a wailing child's voice. It was sobbing in heart- rending fashion.

Everyone peered about looking for the waif but no one could identify the source of the sound. It seemed to echo through the great abbey church, spreading as if through its very granite walls, echoing and re-echoing.

Several of the brethren, more superstitious than logical, genuflected.

Even Abbot Brocc exchanged worried glances with his senior clerics.

Fidelma felt Cass's hand on her arm. The warrior gestured with his head towards the nave and, following his