Whispers of the Dead

go through with your plan and eliminate Selbach and then persuade Cúan to nominate you his heir-apparent anyway.”

Fidelma shook her head slowly.

“You almost had me fooled, Declan.”

Cúan had stood and motioned to his warriors to secure the pale-faced Brehon.

“What stopped you being fooled, Fidelma?” he asked softly.

“I was suspicious at how aggressive Declan was in laying the blame at Selbach. No Brehon worth his salt would be so forgetful of his office, and the need for impartiality, to act as he did. However, what really alerted me and made me realize what had happened was the fact that Declan had mentioned a phial of poison. How did he know that the poison had been introduced into the mugs by means of a phial and not by some other method? There are many ways of introducing poison other than a phial. Only the murderer would know this and then the meaning of the pantomime of his stumbling against Selbach became clear to me.”

Fidelma watched with sad eyes as the warriors escorted Declan from the hall.

“Nobody has a more sacred obligation to obey the law than those who take on the robes of Brehons to judge others by the law.”

WHO STOLE THE FISH?

Sister Fidelma glanced up in mild surprise as the red-faced religieux came bursting through the doors into the refectory where she and her fellow religieuses were about to sit down at the long wooden tables for the evening meal. In fact, Abbot Laisran had already called for silence so that he could intone the gratias.

The man halted in confusion as he realized that his abrupt entrance had caused several eyes to turn questioningly upon him. His red cheeks, if anything, deepened their color and he appeared to wring his hands together for a moment in indecision. He knew well that this was no ordinary evening meal but a feast given in welcome to the Venerable Salvian, an emissary from Rome who was visiting the Abbey of Durrow. The patrician Roman was even now sitting by the side of the abbot, watching the new arrival with some astonishment.

The red-faced monk apparently summoned courage and hurried to the main table where Abbot Laisran stood with an expression of irritation on his rotund features. He bent forward. A few words were whispered. Something was wrong. Fidelma could tell that by the startled look which formed momentarily on the abbot’s face. He leaned across to his steward, who was seated at his left side, and muttered something. It was the steward’s turn to look surprised. Then the abbot turned to his guest, the Venerable Salvian, and seemed to force a smile before speaking, waving his hand as if in emphasis. The old patrician’s expression was polite yet puzzled.

The abbot then rose and came hurrying down the refectory in the wake of the religieux who had delayed the meal. To her surprise, Fidelma realized the abbot was making directly toward her.

Abbot Laisran was looking very unhappy as he bent down with lowered voice. “I have need of your services, Fidelma,” he said tersely. “Would you follow me to the kitchens?”

Fidelma realized that Laisran was not prone to dramatic gestures. Without wasting time with questions, she rose and followed the unhappy man. Before them hurried the red-faced brother.

Beyond the doors, just inside the kitchen, Abbot Laisran halted and looked around. There were several religieux in the long chamber where all the meals of the abbey were prepared. Curiously, Fidelma noted, there was no activity in the kitchen. The group of religieux, marked as kitchen workers by the aprons they wore and rolled-up sleeves, stood about in silent awkwardness.

Laisran turned to the red-faced man who had conducted them hither. “Now, Brother Dian, tell Sister Fidelma what you have just told me. Brother Dian is our second cook,” he added quickly for Fidelma’s benefit.

Brother Dian, looking very frightened, bobbed his head several times. He spoke in rapid bursts and was clearly distressed.

“This afternoon, our cook, Brother Roilt, knowing that the Venerable Salvian was to be the guest of the abbey at this feast, went down to the river with his fishing rod and line, intent on hooking a salmon to prepare as a special dish.”

Laisran, fretting a little at this preamble, cut in: “Brother Roilt caught a great salmon. He showed it to me. It was just right for the dish to present to Salvian. It would show him how well we live in this part of the world. .”

Brother Dian, nodding eagerly, intervened in turn. “The fish was prepared and Brother Roilt had started to cook it a short while ago for we knew that the gratias was about to be said. I was in charge of preparing the vegetables, so I was working at the far end of the kitchen. Brother Roilt was cooking the fish over there. .” He indicated the respective positions with a wave of his hand. “A short while ago, the chief server entered and told me that everyone was ready at the tables. I looked up to see whether Brother Roilt was ready also so that the servers could take in the fish. I could not see Brother Roilt. I came down to where he had been cooking the fish and. . and the fish was gone.”

Abbot Laisran gave a groan. “The fish has been stolen! The delicacy that we were to present to the Venerable Salvian! What shall I do?”

Fidelma had not said a word since she had been summoned from the refectory. Now she spoke. “The fish is missing. How do you deduce it was stolen?”

It was Brother Dian who answered. “I made a thorough search of the kitchens and questioned the kitchen staff.” He gestured to the half-dozen or so brothers who stood gathered in their silent group. “Everyone denies knowledge of the missing fish. It has simply vanished.”

“But what of the cook, Brother Roilt?” Fidelma demanded, irritated by the lack of explanation of the obvious. “What does he say about this matter?”

There was a pause.

“Alas,” moaned Brother Dian. “He, too, has disappeared.”

Fidelma arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that one moment he was cooking the salmon over a fire in this kitchen, with half a dozen others around him, and the next moment he had vanished?”

“Yes, sister,” the man wailed. “Maybe it’s sorcery.Deus avertat! ”

Fidelma sniffed disparagingly. “Nonsense! There are a hundred reasons why the cook might have disappeared with his fish.”

Brother Dian was not convinced. “He took such care with it because he knew it was going to be placed before the emissary from Rome. He caught the fish in the River Feoir itself-a great, wise salmon.”

“Show me exactly where he was last seen with this fish,” Fidelma instructed.

Brother Dian took her to a spot at the far end of the kitchen beside an open door leading into the abbey gardens. There was a table below an open window to one side and next to this was a hearth over which hung both a bir, or cooking spit, and an indeoin, or gridiron.

“It was at this gridiron that Brother Roilt was cooking the fish,” the red-faced brother informed her. “He was basting it with honey and salt. See there.” He pointed to a large wooden platter on the table before the open window. “There is the platter he intended to put it on.”

Fidelma bent forward with a frown. Then she put a finger to the platter where she had seen grease stains and raised it to her lips.

“Which he did put it on,” she corrected gently.

Then her eyes fell to the floor. There were a several spots on the oak boards. She crouched down and looked at them for several seconds before reaching forward, touching one with her forefinger and bringing it up to eye level.

“Has anyone been slaughtering meat in this part of the kitchen?” she asked.

Brother Dian shook his head indignantly. “This area of the kitchen is reserved for cooking fish only. We cook our meat over there, on the far side of the kitchen, so that the two tastes do not combine and ruin the palate.”

Fidelma held her red-tinged fingertip toward Abbot Laisran.

“Then if that is not animal blood, I presume our cook has cut himself, which might account for his absence,”