Whispers of the Dead

“I suspect but suspecting would cast doubt on the good name of Connla.”

Fidelma frowned slightly.

“I fail to understand that.”

“The explanation of every riddle is contained in itself,” Brother Ledbán replied, rising. “Connla was fond of reading Naturalis Historia. .”

“Pliny?” queried Fidelma.

“Indeed-Gaius Plinius Secundus. Connla once remarked to me that he echoed Pliny in acknowledging God’s best gift to mankind.”

He had gone even before Fidelma felt that she should have pointed out that he could be ordered to explain by law under pain of fine. Yet, somehow, she did not think it was appropriate nor that she would be able to discover his suspicions in that way.

She sat for some time on the log, turning matters over in her own mind. Then she pulled out the piece of parchment and read it again, considering it carefully. She replaced it in her marsupium and stood up abruptly, her mouth set in a grim line.

She retraced her steps back down the hill to the community and went straight to the Father Superior’s chamber.

Father Máilín was still seated at his desk and looked up in annoyance as she entered.

“Have you finished your investigation, Sister?”

“Not as yet,” Fidelma replied and, without waiting to be asked, sat down. A frown crossed Father Máilín’s brow but before he could admonish Fidelma, she cut in with a bored voice, “I would remind you that not only am I sister to the King of Cashel but, in holding the degree of anruth as an advocate of the court, I have the privilege of even sitting in the presence of the High King. Do not, therefore, lecture me on protocol.”

Father Máilín swallowed at the harshness of her tone.

He had, indeed, been about to point out that a member of the brethren was not allowed to sit in the presence of a Father Superior without being invited.

“You are a clever man, Father Máilín,” Fidelma suddenly said, although the Father Superior missed the patronizing tone in her voice.

He stared at her not knowing how to interpret her words.

“I need your advice.”

Father Máilín shifted his weight slightly in his chair. He was bewildered by her abrupt changes of attitude.

“I am at your service, Sister Fidelma.”

“It is just that you have been able to reason out an explanation for a matter which is beyond my understanding and I would like you to explain it to me.”

“I will do my best.”

“Excellent. Tell me how these thieves were able to overpower and hang an old man in his chamber and leave the room, having secured the window on the inside and locking the door behind them, leaving the key in the room?”

Father Máilín stared at her for some moments, his eyes fixed on her in puzzlement. Then he began to chuckle.

“You are misinformed. The key was never found. The thieves took it with them.”

“I am told that there was only one key to that room which the Venerable Connla kept in his possession. Is that true?”

Father Máilín nodded slowly.

“There was no other key. Our smithy had to pick the lock for us to gain entrance to the room.”

Fidelma reached into her marsupium and laid the key before him.

“Don’t worry, I tried it in Connla’s lock. It works. I found the key on the floor behind his desk.”

“I don’t. . I can’t. .”

His voice stumbled over the words.

Fidelma smiled sharply.

“Somehow I didn’t think you would be able to offer an explanation.”

Father Máilín ran a hand, distractedly, through his hair. He said nothing.

“Where are the writings that the Venerable Connla was working on?” went on Fidelma.

“Destroyed,” Father Máilín replied limply.

“Was it you who destroyed them?”

“I take that responsibility.” “Veritas odium parit,” repeated Fidelma softly.

“You know your Terence, eh? But I did not hate old Connla. He was just misguided. The more misguided he became, the more stubborn he became. Ask anyone. Even Brother Ledbán, who worked closely with him, refused to cast a mold for a bookplate which carried some Ogham script because he thought Connla had misinterpreted it.”

“You felt that Connla was so misguided that you had to destroy his work?”

“You do not understand, Sister.”

“I think I do.”

“I doubt it. You could not. Connla was like a father to me. I was protecting him. Protecting his reputation.”

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“It is the truth that I tell you,” insisted the Father Superior. “Those papers on which he was working, I had hoped that he would never release to the world. He was the great philosopher of the Faith and yet he grew senile and began to doubt his faith.”

“In what way did he grow senile?”

“What other condition could account for his doubt? When I reproved him for his doubt he told me that one must question even the existence of God for if God did exist then he would approve of the homage of reason rather than fear born out of ignorance.”

Fidelma inclined her head.

“He was, indeed, a wise man,” she sighed. “But for those doubts. . you killed him!”

Father Máilín sprang to his feet, his face white.

“What? Do you accuse me of his murder? It was the itinerants, I tell you.”

“I do not believe your itinerant theory, Father Máilín,” she said firmly. “No one who considers the facts could believe it.”

The Father Superior slumped back in his seat with hunched shoulders. There was guilt written on his features. He groaned softly.

“I only sought to protect Connla’s reputation. I did not kill him,” he protested.

“You, yourself, have given yourself a suitable motive for his murder.”

“I didn’t! I did not. .”

“I will leave you for a moment to consider your story. When I return, I shall want the truth.”

She turned out of his chamber and made her way slowly to the chapel. She was about to pass the Venerable Connla’s door when some instinct drew her inside again. She did not know what made her enter until she saw the shelf of books.

She made her way across the room and began to peer along the line of books.

“Gaius Plinius Secundus,” She muttered to herself, as her eyes rested on the book which she was unconsciously looking for-Naturalis Historia.

She began to flip through the pages seeking the half forgotten reference.

Finally, she found the passage and read it through. The passage contained what she expected it would.

She glanced quickly ’round the room and then went to the bed. She climbed on it and stood at the edge, reaching her hands up toward the beam above. It was, for her, within easy arm’s length. She stepped down again to the floor. Then she made her way to the chapel and stood inside the door as she had done a short time before.

Her gaze swept around the chapel and then, making up her mind on some intuition, she walked to the altar