Afterwards, Fidelma realised that Buan might have been embarrassed to discuss her marriage contract before Eadulf, but by then it was too late.
‘When we were last here, Buan, you told me that Abbot Erc had been against your marriage to the Venerable Cinaed but you had legally been married by an ordained priest from the abbey of Colman. Can that be proved?’
The woman nodded quickly. ‘It can.’
‘Therefore, under the law, you are legally a cetmuintir.’
‘That was my understanding.’
‘You asked me for a legal opinion as to whether in these circumstances you could keep the possessions of the Venerable Cinaed, your late husband, and seek some compensation for the manner in which he met his death.’
‘I did so.’
‘I examined the law texts in the abbey library. As I see it, the Dire text puts limitations on your ability to make a contract without the authorisation of your father, a foster father, or, as a member of the religieuse, the abbess or abbot of your community. But even with those limitations, and even in a marriage, such as apparently yours was, where a wife has brought no goods or property into the marriage, the wife can still impugn contracts relating to personal goods.’
‘What does that mean, Sister?’ asked the woman, looking bewildered.
‘I am sorry.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘I should say that the Bretha Crolige, one of our central law texts, says that you can go before a Brehon and be assessed by that judge in proportion to your miad, that is a legal term meaning your “dignity” or worth, rather like an honour-price. In other words, you can claim compensation. In fact, as a religieuse you are better off than a lay person. Your rank as a lay person, from what you say, would be a lesser rank than that of the Venerable Cinaed. But here, in the abbey, as a religieuse you are recognised as being part of a marriage of equals. Therefore the division of inheritable assets, the dibad, means that you inherit two-thirds of the assets of Cinaed while one-third has to go to the abbey.’
Sister Buan smiled broadly.
‘It is so kind of you to have taken this trouble for me, Sister. I have been really worried. The law can be very frightening.’
‘Dura lex sed lex,’ intoned Eadulf solemnly.
‘Exactly so,’ agreed Sister Buan with a smile of relief. ‘It is good to know that I have a legal right to retain something.’
Fidelma rose and Eadulf with her.
‘I am only too glad to be of some help.’
‘Are you any the closer to finding out who killed Cinaed?’ asked Sister Buan as they were crossing the threshold. ‘It is frightening to think that someone in this abbey is his killer and not yet discovered.’
‘You need have no fear,’ Fidelma replied with assurance. ‘I am
They left Sister Buan and made their way back to the hospitium as the abbey bell began tolling the hour of the final prayers of the evening.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After they had eaten the next morning, Fidelma asked Sister Easdan to show her and Eadulf to the workroom where she and her companions plied their art. Sister Sinnchene, who seemed in a slightly more agreeable mood, came to tidy the hospitium and asked if there was anything else that was required of her that morning as she had to distribute the robes that she had washed the previous day to members of the community. Fidelma had not forgotten that one of Sister Sinnchene’s chores at present was running the tech-nigid or washing room of the abbey.
‘I think not,’ Fidelma replied. ‘If anyone wants us we shall be at the workshop where Sister Easdan and her companions worked.’
It was an isolated two-storey building with a flat roof, situated on the southern side of the abbey complex, sticking out at right angles to the main dormitory building but separated from it by a narrow passageway. It had been built on the south side, Sister Easdan explained, so that it caught the maximum amount of sun. Light was precious to the task of cutting and polishing the stones. The workroom contained a long central table or workbench, access to water and, along one side, a series of cupboards and other benches with all manner of implements and tools.
Fidelma stood still on the threshold, casting her eye about the place. ‘What is it that you wish to see, lady?’ asked Sister Easdan. ‘The place looks exactly as we left it.’
‘You and your companions were all known as experts in this art, that of stone polishing?’
‘Known only within the abbey,’ the girl corrected pedantically. ‘We were, indeed.’
‘But surely your names and reputation were known outside the abbey?’
‘The abbey was well known for our work but Abbot Erc insisted that we should not be known by name outside the abbey.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because he wanted the reputation for the abbey, I suppose, and not for individuals. He wanted to avoid personal vanity.’
‘You and your companions have all done this work for some time?’
‘I started my training as soon as I came to the abbey, which was just after I reached the age of choice. Most of the others have worked about ten years or so at the art.’
Eadulf pointed to some implements on a bench.
‘Are those bows?’ he asked curiously. ‘In what manner would you use those?’
Sister Easdan smiled easily.
‘They are what we call bow lathes, Brother. We work the stone with them and drill holes in the stones with them so that we may string necklaces. It takes a long time to prepare a single necklace, including the cutting and polishing of the stones. Sometimes we have to use special liquids to lubricate the crystals for the grinding and polishing.’
Fidelma was silent for a while, looking at the range of work tools.
‘If the expertise of you and your companions was not known outside the abbey, how do you think it came to the ears of those who abducted you?’ asked Fidelma.
Sister Easdan considered the matter silently for a while and then she said: ‘I suppose the only answer is that the information came from inside the abbey. Or, of course, the merchant Mugron would have known.’
‘But the information would have had to be specific,’ Fidelma said thoughtfully. ‘Your abductors would have had to know that you were all travelling with Abbess Faife on your way to Breanainn’s mount, and to know exactly by what road and the day on which you would be passing the spot where you were attacked.’
‘Only a few people would have known that.’
‘Did Sister Sinnchene know it?’
‘There is no reason why she should.’
‘Did you know that she asked Abbess Faife if she could join you?’
As the girl was shaking her head, something caught Fidelma’s eye, flickering in the rays of the sun, something that sparkled and flashed in a thousand little points of light on the workbench.
She moved to it and ran a finger over it and then, with a pinching
‘What exactly is this?’ she asked.
Sister Easdan peered at the granular crystals and then grimaced.
‘It is only powdered stone.’
‘Corundum?’ Eadulf intervened.
‘Exactly so,’ Sister Easdan replied. ‘We use it in the grinding process of the precious stones. We choose a particular crystallised rock, crystal we know is especially hard. The crystals are almost opaque and we have to smash them until they fragment into little pieces, just as you see there. We sort them until we find splinters that
