‘What makes you so sure that he is not of the Muscraige Tíre?’ Eadulf asked, having thought the matter through.
‘It is from Cairbre Musc that they took their name. Any member of the Muscraige Tíre, even a farmer, would know and be proud of their progenitor. Yet when I mentioned the name, Biasta did not appear to know it.’
As they turned into the grounds of the chapel, the sky was still cloudless and the afternoon was warm for an autumn day. At the rear of the chapel they found a sheltered wooden cabin with some outbuildings. Fidelma remained on her horse for a moment, surveying the surrounding terrain before dismounting. Then they tied their horses to the wooden rail outside the cabin. Gormán insisted that he should enter first to ensure all was safe. Almost at once an odour assailed them. They did not need the sight of the discarded earthenware jugs to recognise the smell of stale alcohol. The odour permeated the room. In spite of the fact that the sun was still warm outside, it was dark and cold within the cabin.
‘I’ll light the oil lamp,’ Gormán said, moving across to the table and taking from the bag at his belt his tenlach-teined, containing his flint, steel and kindle. This was the tenlam or hand fire which every warrior was taught to use so that they could ignite a fire quickly. It was a few moments before the oil lamp was lit, throwing dancing shadows over the interior of the room. They stood just within the door and looked about. The place had certainly not been tidied in a long time. There were two rough wood cots with straw mattresses and discarded blankets. A bundle of clothes, immediately identified as religious robes, were dumped in a corner. A wooden crucifix hung from one wall and on a small table a free-standing wooden cross was balanced. It was splintered as if ill-used.
Eadulf looked around in disapproval.
‘So here is another thing that Brother Ailgesach did not believe in,’ he muttered.
Gormán raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’
‘Did not the Blessed Paul adjure the believers in Corinth to cleanse themselves from defilement both of flesh and spirit?’ he replied. ‘We have seen how he drowned his spirit with alcohol, and now we see that he did not believe in cleansing his flesh. I have seen pigs living in much cleaner circumstances.’
Gormán grimaced in agreement. ‘I have to admit, the odours and mess do not indicate the home of a religieux or clean man. There is an old proverb that cleanliness is part of glory. Obviously, Brother Ailgesach did not have an ambition for glory.’
‘The sooner we commence our search, the sooner it will be finished,’ Fidelma said curtly, ‘and the sooner we can remove ourselves from the foul odours of this place.’
Gormán held high the oil lamp and peered round. ‘Where shall we start, lady?’
Fidelma had caught sight of a wooden box in one corner. It seemed the only object in which anything could be hidden. She pointed to it without speaking, and they moved towards it. The light of the oil lamp revealed the lid was coated with dust and the iron lock seemed quite rusty. There was no key and Fidelma instructed the warrior to use the handle of his sword to break it. The lock splintered away easily and she threw back the lid. A smell of must emerged and, at first, it seemed only to contain clothing; the robes of a religieux. She picked them out one by one.
‘They are rather long for Brother Ailgesach,’ remarked Eadulf.
‘Then we may suppose this trunk belonged to Brother Tressach, his predecessor,’ she replied. ‘I doubt if this box has been opened for years.’
Under the clothes, Fidelma found some vellum texts but they were of little interest, only sections of the Scriptures. There was one bound book. It was fairly small, with its vellum pages bound in polished boards of oak. Fidelma had seen similar books before. She frowned as she remembered that a scribe had come to Cill Dara when she was there and brought three such treasures to the abbess. They were the special work of the abbey from which he had come. Her eyes widened suddenly. It was the Abbey of the Blessed Ruadhan at Lothra. Lothra! An abbey situated between Tír Dhá Ghlas and Biorra. Was it merely a coincidence that these places were beginning to feature in this investigation?
‘What is that?’ Gormán asked, as she stood quietly turning the pages over.
‘It is called in Latin a Missale, a book of liturgical instruction for the celebration of Mass throughout the year. It is rare for a poor religieux in such a spot as this to possess such a valuable book. Usually, a man of wealth, an abbot or a bishop, would have one, but a simple Brother …’
‘I heard that Brother Tressach was well-respected and something of a scholar,’ Gormán offered.
‘He certainly served here for several decades, as we have heard from Grella,’ Eadulf commented. ‘That does not reflect any influence or power.’
‘Not all talented people are interested in power or influence,’ reproved Fidelma. ‘However, the book and manuscripts should go to the Abbey of Imleach.’
‘Then the book itself is valuable?’
‘It is. I shall make sure that Abbot Ségdae receives it. He should decide what to do with Brother Tressach’s belongings.’
Eadulf had turned his attention to a pile of old clothes on a chair and absent-mindedly gathered them up. Something fell from them and he picked it up. It was a small sheet of paper with some spidery writing on it, in Latin. He read it aloud.
‘“Brother Ailgesach, I send this by a trusted courier who will be passing your chapel. I shall be leaving this place soon and will be with you before the time of the last quarter moon. I have proof of conspiracy. A philosopher once said that if you want something hidden, then place it where everyone can see it. I shall follow that advice. I think I am suspected. If I have not joined you and our friends by then, know that I am discovered and you must act on your own.”’
Fidelma took it from his hand and read through it silently. Then she added: ‘There is no signature, only the letter “B”.’
‘The last quarter moon was three or four nights ago,’ Eadulf pointed out.
‘But does this message refer to that quarter moon?’ she pondered. ‘There is no knowing when this was written.’
‘It looks new,’ Eadulf replied. ‘And it seemed as if Ailgesach was hiding it from prying eyes, since he tucked it among those old clothes. He did not agree with the writer’s advice to hide it where everyone could see it.’
Fidelma did not want to appear over-enthusiastic about the find. It raised many questions that could not be answered at that moment. ‘We will keep it with us.’
‘The word conspiracy sounds serious. A conspiracy about what?’
Fidelma placed the paper in her marsupium, the bag she carried slung from her shoulder, and made no further comment, ignoring Eadulf’s disappointed glance. She then renewed her search, going slowly through the contents of the cabin until she was sure there were no other hidden surprises. There was little else in the cabin that caught their attention.
‘I’ll place the Missale and vellum texts in my saddle-bag,’ Fidelma announced as she made for the door. ‘They can be delivered to Abbot Ségdae when we have a chance.’ She paused and glanced back at the darkened hut. ‘We have done enough here. Let us see if there is anything more of interest in the outbuildings or in the chapel.’
They tried the closest outbuilding first. It bore a resemblance to a stable, although there were no animals inside. However, there were signs of recent occupation. Gormán pointed to the straw-covered floor.
‘Those droppings were made by horses — and recently. Perhaps as recently as last night. I’d say that two horses were stabled here, according to the dung.’