Free Master of Souls by Peter Tremayne Page A

steps did you undertake to investigate the crime?’
    The young man looked uncomfortable.
    ‘I am not a dálaigh like you, lady.’ The words were uttered as a protest.
    ‘So you did nothing?’
    ‘On the contrary. I asked the members of the community if anyone knew anything.’
    ‘They did not, of course?’ Fidelma said cynically.
    ‘They did not. It was generally agreed that some wandering bandit probably entered the abbey grounds and was discovered by Cinaed who then paid with his life for attempting to stop the thief.’
    ‘Having obliged his assailant by turning his back to him?’
    The young man did not understand Fidelma’s sarcasm and said so.
    ‘By whom was it generally agreed?’ pressed Fidelma, ignoring his remark.
    ‘By the elders of the community.’
    ‘Being the abbot … and who else?’
    ‘The Venerable Mac Faosma, Brother Eolas the librarian, our physician …’
    ‘Was anything stolen by these wandering bandits?‘interrupted Fidelma.
    ‘Stolen?’
    Fidelma felt the young man was being deliberately obtuse.
    ‘Presumably, in your oratory, you would have icons and items worthy of theft? Why else would this hypothetical thief break into the abbey?’
    The young steward paused a moment and then shook his head.
    ‘Nothing was taken. The oratory was searched for a weapon. It was not found, showing that the murderer took it away with him.’
    ‘So much for the theory of the thief,’ Fidelma observed coldly.
    Before Brother Cú Mara could respond, Eadulf emerged at the entrance of the herb garden, hurrying towards them with a triumphant expression. He bore a bundle of clothing in his arms.
    ‘Success!’ he cried.
    He held out two robes. They both bore the unmistakable dark patches of bloodstains.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    F idelma rose from the bench to examine the bloodstained robes that Eadulf held out to her.
    ‘Indeed, it is dried blood and splattered in such quantity that the wearer must have bled profusely or been in contact with someone whose blood has drenched their clothing.’ She gave an appreciative look at Eadulf. ‘Well done. Now, is there a way of finding out the identity of the wearer?’
    Brother Cú Mara was staring at the clothes with a curious frown.
    ‘Did you not ask Sister Sinnchéne?’ he inquired. ‘She is very particular about the washing and would not mix such stained garments with the other clothing for wash.’
    Eadulf looked a little crestfallen.
    ‘I was so agitated by the discovery that I came straightway to inform you, Fidelma. Sister Sinnchéne was not in the tech-nigid when I discovered them and so I did not think to ask. They were certainly in a pile set to one side,’ he added defensively to the young steward.
    Fidelma reached out a hand to touch Eadulf’s arm.
    ‘Go now and repair the omission. Seek the identity of the wearer of these garments but do not approach them until I am ready. I see,’ she glanced across the herb garden, ‘Conrí has returned and that must be the merchant with him. I will deal with him and then we will pursue the wearer of these clothes.’
    A little downcast, for he realised that he should have discovered the information before coming to Fidelma, Eadulf nodded and went back to the tech-nigid.
    Fidelma turned to watch Conrí approaching with his companion. Mugrón looked more like a sailor than a merchant. He was a stocky man, barrel-chested and walking, arms akimbo, with the rolling gait of
someone more used to being on the swaying deck of a ship than terra firma. He had large hands, sturdy legs, a short neck and a round, florid face set with dark hair that was beginning to streak with silver. His eyes were of a fathomless blue, almost violet.
    ‘Greetings, Fidelma of Cashel. We have met before.’ He had a deep, rasping voice.
    Fidelma frowned, searching her memory but gave up with a shake of her head.
    ‘I do not recall …’ she began.
    The merchant interrupted with a smile.
    ‘You would not. You were a little girl. I