Chalice of Blood

‘Not that I know of. I often take books to the fortress.’

‘Did you know that his mother was sent for when it became clear that all was not well with him?’

‘It is now well known among the brethren,’ Brother Donnán said. ‘The master builder, Glassán, told me. He spoke to Lady Eithne when she was leaving the abbey just a few days before he was found murdered. Glassán is a talkative fellow.’

‘Well,’ Fidelma said, after a moment’s further thought, ‘that seems to be all …’ Then she hesitated. ‘One thing does strike me. Do you know of any library that holds the original work of Celsus? Have you ever heard of any library holding such a work?’

Brother Donnán thought deeply before replying: ‘Never.’

‘So Brother Donnchad visited the scriptorium to read some works but you knew nothing of what he was working on apart from the fact that he spent long hours over the text of Origenes. Is that correct?’

‘It is.’

‘But you knew he was behaving oddly in the days before his death.’

‘I have already said it was well known among the brethren. He was always very quiet-’

‘Except that last day he was in here, a day or so before his death.’

They looked round. Brother Máel Eoin had risen from the table, where he had been reading, to put away his text and had overheard Brother Donnán’s last remark. Fidelma turned to him with interest.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was in here that day. You must remember, Brother Donnán,’ the hospitaller said. ‘I like to come, when time permits, and read some of the hagiographies of the saints that we have here.’

‘Go on,’ said Fidelma. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, Brother Donnchad came in. It struck me that he was behaving very out of character. I don’t mean his reclusive change since he returned to the abbey. Not at all. He came roaring into the library.’

‘Roaring?’ For a moment Eadulf had to think about the word that the hospitaller had used. The word was bláedach and not one that Eadulf had heard used of a person before.

‘He was in an angry temper, shouting, his face red. He had mislaid something and was convinced that it had been stolen from him. Don’t you remember, Brother Donnán?’

‘Stolen?’ demanded Eadulf. ‘What was it? A manuscript?’

‘Not as such,’ replied the librarian, entering the conversation for the first time since Brother Máel Eoin’s interruption. ‘It was his pólaire. I had forgotten the incident.’

Eadulf looked blank. ‘A pólaire?’

‘In Latin it is called a ceraculum, from the word for wax,’ explained the scriptor pedantically.

Brother Máel Eoin nodded. ‘Just so. It is a wooden writing tablet whose surface is hollowed out and filled with wax so that one can write on it, making temporary notes. You can re-warm the wax, smooth it out, and re-use it.’

‘And he had lost his?’ Fidelma asked.

‘Indeed. He claimed that it had been stolen from him. I denied all knowledge of seeing it, which was only the truth. He had not left it in the library.’

‘And you told him that?’ asked Fidelma.

‘I did. I had seen him looking at it several times during his former visits here. He was making notes from the Origenes book. But I swear he had taken it with him. I am sure of it.’

‘He went away, but still in a great temper,’ confirmed Brother Donnán. ‘That was the last time ever I saw him.’

‘Let me be clear about this,’ Fidelma said. ‘This incident happened when exactly?’

‘On the day of his death. I am sure of it,’ the hospitaller confirmed.

Fidelma glanced at the scriptor.

‘I suppose it was that day,’ he affirmed after a moment.

‘Had he not been away from the abbey the entire day before?’

‘You are correct, Sister,’ Brother Máel Eoin said. ‘He had, indeed. He might well have left it wherever it was that he went.’

‘You have no idea where he went?’

The hospitaller shook his head.

‘Perhaps he went to visit his mother again,’ offered the librarian.

‘Very well, Brother Donnán,’ Fidelma nodded. ‘Thank you for your information. And thanks also to you, Brother Máel Eoin. You have both been most helpful.’

CHAPTER NINE

Outside the door of the scriptorium, Eadulf shook his head.

‘Brother Donnán has presented us with more questions than he has answered. We can’t even identify the manuscripts that Brother Donnchad was afraid might be stolen.’

‘The assumption that the murderer sought to steal them remains the only motive for the crime,’ replied Fidelma. ‘One thing I do find worrying is that Brother Lugna seems to be more in charge of this community than the abbot.’

‘But he is the steward and surely the steward does have charge of the running of the community?’

‘What I mean is that he seems to have some extreme ideas that are contrary to those of the abbot and are disapproved of by some of those we have spoken to. Yet he seems to be able to dominate them. How did he get to be chosen as steward?’

‘I find it worrying that he has ordered the destruction of pagan books.’ Eadulf’s eyes widened as he thought about it. ‘Brother Lugna is a natural suspect.’

‘It is too early to suspect any particular person yet. He is making himself obvious by his behaviour and that makes me think the opposite. The guilty try to hide their guilt and make themselves inconspicuous. We must not speculate withoutinformation,’ she said, voicing her favourite maxim. ‘The sad thing is that there are many clerics who think it helpful to the Faith to destroy pagan works. They think that the exhortation to go out and turn people from darkness and idols to the light of the living God means they should destroy everything their ancestors thought and wrote, and they do so without a second thought.’

‘Whatever was in those books that Brother Donnchad was protecting must be something very powerful if they were the cause of his murder,’ Eadulf reflected.

At that moment the sound of a shout and a loud bang from the direction of the new building caused them to glance in that direction. Loud and angry voices rose. Someone had apparently dropped something heavy and was being rebuked by another of the builders. Eadulf caught sight of a small figure dodging among the debris. As he turned back to Fidelma, he saw Brother Lugna appear round the corner of the scriptorium.

‘Lupus in sermone,’ muttered Fidelma, ‘the wolf in the story’, whose colloquial meaning was ‘talk of the devil’.

The rechtaire of the abbey greeted them without expression.

‘How goes your investigation? Is there progress?’

‘We move slowly,’ replied Fidelma.

‘But we move surely,’ added Eadulf, whose dislike of the man had hardened.

Brother Lugna looked at him, as if trying to decide what the tone in his voice implied.

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ he replied flatly.

‘Did Brother Donnchad report to you that he had lost his ceraculum?’ Fidelma asked.

A frown passed quickly over Brother Lugna’s features before they re-formed without expression.