Whispers of the Dead

room.” He hesitated. “The rest you must know. Brother Caisín came in and discovered me. There was blood on my clothes where I had touched Muirenn. No one listened, and hence I am accused of theft and murder. Sister, I swear to you that I never saw such a cross nor would I have killed Muirenn. She was one of the few people here who did not treat me as if I were beneath contempt!”

Fidelma found it difficult to question the sincerity in the boy’s voice.

She joined Brehon Tuama outside.

“Well?” asked the Brehon morosely. “Do you see the difficulty of this case?”

“I have seen the difficulty ever since you explained it to me,” she replied shortly. “However, let us now find this Brother Caisín and see what he has to say.”

“He has accommodation in the hostel.”

They went to the town’s bruighean, which was situated in the center of Droim Sorn and provided accommodation and hospitality to whoever sought it there.

Brother Caisín was well built and, in spite of his robes, Fidelma noticed that he was muscular and had more of a build associated with a warrior than that of a religieux. It was when she examined his features that she found herself distrusting the man. His eyes were close set in the narrow face, shifty and not focusing on his questioner. The lips were too thin, the nose narrow and hooked. He spoke with a soft, lisping voice that seemed at odds with his build. The line from Juvenal came to her mind: fronti nulla fides-no reliance can be placed on appearance.

“Brother Caisín?”

Caisín glanced quickly at her and then at Brehon Tuama before dropping his gaze to focus on a point midway between them.

“I suppose you are the dálaigh from Cashel?”

“You suppose correctly. I am Fidelma of Cashel.”

The man seemed to sigh and shiver slightly.

“I have heard of your reputation, Sister. You have a way of ferreting out information.”

Fidelma smiled broadly.

“I am not sure whether you mean that as a compliment, Brother. I will accept it as such.”

“I must tell you something before you discover it for yourself and place a wrong interpretation on it.” The monk seemed anxious. “Have you heard of Caisín of Inis Geimhleach?”

Fidelma frowned and shook her head.

“I know Inis Geimhleach, the imprisoned island, a small settlement in Loch Allua, a wild and beautiful spot.”

At her side, Brehon Tuama suddenly snapped his fingers with a triumphant exclamation.

“Caisín. . I have heard the story. Caisín was a warrior turned thief! It was ten years ago that he was found guilty of stealing from the church there. He claimed that he had repented and went into the service of the church and disappeared. .”

Brehon Tuama’s voice trailed off. His eyes narrowed on the religieux before him.

“Caisín of Inis Geimhleach? Are you saying that you are that man?” Fidelma articulated the conclusion of his thoughts.

The monk bowed his head and nodded.

Brehon Tuama turned to Fidelma with a glance of satisfaction: “Then, Sister, we. .”

Fidelma stilled him with a warning glance.

“So, Caisín, why do you confess this now?”

“I have paid penance for my crime and have continued to serve in the abbey of Cluain. You might discover this and leap to the wrong conclusion.”

“So why did you not reveal this before, when the Brehon questioned you?” she demanded.

Caisín flushed.

“One does not always do the correct thing at the correct time. This last day, I have had a chance to think more carefully. I realized it was foolish not to be completely honest even though it has nothing to do with the current matter.”

Fidelma sighed.

“Well, your honesty does you credit in the circumstances. Tell me, in your own words, what happened when you discovered the body of Muirenn, the wife of the smith.”

Caisín spread his arms in a sort of helpless gesture.

“There is nothing complicated about it. My abbot told me that some time ago he had commissioned a new silver cross for our high altar from Findach the Smith. I was instructed to come to Droim Sorn to collect it.”

“How was payment to be made to Findach?” asked Fidelma.

Caisín looked bewildered.

“The abbot made no reference to payment. He simply asked me to come and collect the cross. As it was for the high altar, I understood it to be heavy, and so I asked permission to take one of the mules from the abbey. I had been to Droim Sorn before and so I knew where to find Findach’s forge.”

Fidelma glanced quickly at him.

“You went to the forge directly?”

“Oh yes. Where else would I go to collect the cross?”

“Where, indeed? What then?”

“Findach was at the forge, and when I arrived he told me that the cross was at his house and I should precede him there. He would join me once he had doused his furnace.”

“Was anyone else at the forge when you arrived?”

“No. . well, I did see a man riding away.”

“I don’t suppose you knew who it was?”

Brother Caisín surprised her by an affirmative nod.

“I recognized him later as Odar, the chieftain. He had his hunting dogs with him. I left Findach and went to the house. I arrived at the door. It was slightly ajar. I caught sight of clothing on the floor. I pushed the door open and then I realized the clothing was a body. It was a woman. I was standing there when I heard a noise beyond an interior door. I opened it and found the youth, Braon, hiding there. He had blood on his clothes and instinct made me grasp hold of him. A moment later, Findach, who followed me from the forge, entered and cried out when he recognized the body of his wife. His cry brought someone else who ran to fetch Brehon Tuama. That is all I know.”

Outside, Brehon Tuama looked worried.

“Do you think he is being honest? Once a thief. .? Isn’t it said that opportunity makes the thief, and this man had opportunity.”

“Publilius Syrus once wrote that the stolen ox sometimes puts his head out of the stall,” smiled Fidelma, mysteriously.

Brehon Tuama looked bewildered. Fidelma went on without enlightening him: “I am going to ride to Cluain to see the abbot. When I return I hope to have resolved this mystery.”

Brehon Tuama’s eyes lightened.

“Then you think that Caisín is responsible?”

“I did not say that.”

Cluain, the meadow, was the site of an abbey and community founded by Colmán Mac Léníne some sixty years before. It was evening when she reached the abbey and demanded to be announced to the abbot immediately. The abbot received her without demur for he knew that Fidelma was also the sister of the young king of Cashel.

“You have come from Droim Sorn, lady?” asked the elderly abbot when they were seated. “I suppose that you wish to speak with me of Brother Caisín?”

“Why do you suppose that?”

“His background and the circumstances make him suspect in the murder and theft there. I have had word of the event from Brehon Tuama. Caisín is a good man in spite of his history. He came to this abbey ten years ago as a penitent thief. Like the penitent thief of the Bible, he was received with rejoicing and forgiveness and never once has he given us cause to question his redemption.”