Fidelma was told that Sister Brónach was to be found in Sister Berrach’s cell. She was walking across the courtyard to the building when the mournful-faced Brónach emerged from the doorway. She hesitated and seemed as if she wanted to avoid Fidelma but Fidelma stopped her with a greeting.
‘How is Sister Berrach, sister?’
Sister Brónach hesitated.
‘She sleeps at the moment, sister. She has had a trying night and an unpleasant morning.’
‘That she has,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘She is lucky to have a friend in you. Will you walk a way with me, sister?’
Reluctantly, Sister Brónach fell in step with Fidelma, moving slowly across the flagged courtyard towards the guests’ hostel.
‘What do you wish of me, sister?’
‘The answers to a few questions.’
‘I am always at your service. I did not have the chance to thank you for what you have done for Sister Berrach.’
‘Why should you thank me?’
Sister Brónach grimaced defensively.
‘Is it wrong to thank someone for saving the life of a friend?’
‘I only did what was right and what all members of the Faith should do. Though some sisters here appear to be easily swayed by emotion.’
‘By Abbess Draigen, you mean?’
‘I did not say that.’
‘Nevertheless,’ went on Sister Brónach confidently, ‘that is what you meant. You may have noticed that all the sisters here are young? Sister Comnat, our librarian, and I are the oldest among them. There is no one else, except the abbess, over the age of twenty-one.’
‘Yes, I have noticed the youth of the acolytes of this abbey,’ Fidelma acknowledged. ‘That I have found most strange for the idea of a community is that the young may learn from the experience and knowledge of the old.’
Sister Brónach’s voice held a bitter tone.
‘There is a reason for it. The abbess dislikes to be with anyone who does not accept her total authority. She can manipulate young people but often older people can see her errors and are frequently more knowledgeable than she is. She can never forget that she was a poor farmer’s daughter with no education before she came here.’
‘Do you censure the abbess, then?’
Sister Brónach halted outside the hostel door and anxiously looked round as if to check that they were unobserved. Then she pointed inside.
‘It will be easier to talk in here.’
She led the way in and along a corridor to a small cell which she used in the manner of an office, where she conducted the business of doorkeeper and attendant of the hostel.
‘Be seated, sister,’ she said, seating herself in one of the two wooden chairs that were in the tiny room. ‘Now what was it that you were asking?’
Fidelma seated herself.
‘I was asking whether you censured Abbess Draigen in gathering such a young, inexperienced community around her? It was obvious that she used the youth and inexperience of Sister Lerben to threaten Sister Berrach. Do you censure her attitude towards Berrach?’
Sister Brónach pulled a face to demonstrate her disgust.
‘Any rational person would censure such action as proposed by the abbess, although I am willing to concede that it was not entirely Draigen’s fault.’
‘Not her fault?’
‘I would imagine that Sister Lerben has something to do with the matter.’
Fidelma was perplexed.
‘My understanding is that Sister Lerben was entirely under the influence of Draigen. She is too young to be anything but a pawn in this game. Someone has told me that there is a close relationship between the abbess and Lerben and that, you’ll forgive my candour, sister, Lerben sometimes shares the bed of the abbess. That same person told me that you could vouch for this.’
The doleful religieuse started to chuckle. It was an expression of genuine mirth. Fidelma had never seen mirth on Brónach’s solemn features before.
‘Of course Sister Lerben has been known to share the bed of the abbess! You have been in this abbey for two days and yet you do not know that Lerben is the daughter of the abbess?’
Fidelma was thunderstruck.
‘I thought that Lerben …’ Fidelma blurted in surprise and then snapped her mouth shut.
Sister Brónach continued to smile with amusement. It transformed the usually sad face of the
doirseór
so that she became almost youthful.
‘You thought that Lerben was her lover? Ah, you have been listening to evil stories.’
Fidelma leant towards the elder woman, trying to work out the new information.
‘Was Sister Síomha never the lover of Draigen?’
‘Not to my knowledge. And to my knowledge Draigen is not the sort of woman who would choose such carnal relationships. Draigen is a moody woman. Capricious, is a
better word. She is a misanthrope, one who distrusts men and avoids them. She surrounds herself with young women, in order to intellectually dominate them, but that does not mean there is any sexual connotation to it.’
Fidelma was thinking rapidly. If this were so, then the motive put forward by Adnár and Brother Febal, which had seemed so plausible, was now invalid. It changed her thoughts about the situation entirely.
‘I have heard much gossip and speculation about Draigen. Are you saying that all those stories are untrue?’
‘I have no cause to love the abbess. But I would have to say that I have no experience or knowledge in this field. Abbess Draigen simply likes to surround herself with young girls because they will not question her knowledge or her authority. There is no other reason.’
‘You say that she distrusts and hates all men and yet she was married to Brother Febal.’
‘Febal? A marriage that lasted less than a year. I think that they deserved one another. If the truth were known he was a misogynist balanced against Draigen’s misanthropy. They both hated each other.’
‘You knew Febal when he was at the abbey?’
‘Oh yes,’ Brónach’s face was grim. ‘I knew Febal well.’ For a moment or two her eyes glinted. ‘I knew Febal before Draigen came to this abbey.’
‘Why did they marry if they hated each other?’
Sister Brónach shrugged.
‘You will have to ask them that question.’
‘Did the old abbess, Abbess Marga, approve of this relationship?’
‘This was then a mixed house at that time with several married couples rearing their children in the service of the Christ. Marga was old-fashioned in her ideas. She encouraged marriages between the members of the community. Perhaps this was the main reason why Draigen married, in order to curry favour with her. Draigen was a calculating woman.’
‘You disapprove of her and yet you remain in this abbey. Why?’
Fidelma was watching Sister Brónach’s expression carefully. The religieuse blinked and there seemed a momentary expression of pain and alienation on her features.
‘I remain here because I need to remain here,’ she said resentfully.
‘But you dislike Draigen?’
‘She is my abbess.’
‘That is not an answer.’
‘I cannot answer in any other way.’
‘Then let me help you. Did you know Draigen when she was young?’
Sister Brónach glanced furtively at Fidelma. A quick glance of assessment.
‘I knew her,’ she admitted cautiously.
‘And did your mother know her?’
Sister Brónach breathed deeply, slowly and suddenly painfully.
‘So? You have heard that story? There are so many chattering mouths in this land.’
‘I would like to hear the story from your own lips, Sister Brónach.’
There was a pause before she answered.
‘I dislike Draigen with an intensity which you would never understand,’ the doorkeeper began. Then she paused and was silent again; this time for so long that Fidelma was about to prompt her when Brónach turned troubled eyes to her. ‘Each day I spend in prayers asking the good God to ease my pain, to stop my hatred. He does not. Is that the will of God that I should retain these feelings?’
‘Why do you stay here?’ Fidelma pressed again.
The woman sounded bitter.
‘That is like asking the ocean why it stays in the same place. There is nowhere else I can go. Perhaps this is the penance for my sins; to serve the person who took the life of
my mother. But do not misunderstand me. I would do no harm to Draigen. I would not have her dead. I would prefer that she lived and suffered each minute of her life.’
‘Tell me the story.’
‘Draigen was fifteen years old at the time. I was in my mid-thirties. I was already a religieuse here, serving the Abbess Marga in this abbey of The Salmon of the Three Wells. My mother, Suanech, was not of the Faith. She preferred to hold her allegiance to the old gods and goddesses of this land. She was a wise woman. She knew every flower and herb. She knew their names and curative values. She was at one with the forests in which she continued to dwell.’
‘And your father?’ interposed Fidelma.
‘I never knew him. I knew only my mother and her love for me.’
‘Go on.’
‘Near the forest where my mother was dwelling was an óc-aire, a man with a small patch of land which was not enough to keep him and his wife and children. The man was Adnár Mhór, the father of Draigen.’
‘Also the father of Adnár who dwells in the fort across the bay?’
‘The same. My mother sometimes helped young Draigen. When Adnár the son had left to join the army of Gulban the Hawk-Eyed, Adnár the father began to grow ill. My mother felt sorrow for the young girl. When Adnár the father died, my mother offered to foster her. Soon after Draigen’s mother also died. Draigen went to live with my mother.’
‘By this time you were already serving in this abbey?’
Brónach nodded absently.
‘This happened when Draigen was about fourteen, as you may have been told. A year of sorrow that was.’
There were suddenly tears around Sister Brónach’s eyes and somehow Fidelma had the feeling that they were not tears being shed just for her mother.
‘What exactly happened?’
‘Draigen is a self-willed person. She is prone to rages. One day she fell into a rage, took a knife used for skinning rabbits and stabbed my mother, Suanech.’
Fidelma waited for a further explanation and when there was none asked for one.
‘Since the death of her father and mother and what she saw as her abandonment by her brother, Draigen had become very possessive. She was quick to temper and very jealous. She was jealous of me as Suanech’s blood daughter. It was, perhaps, a good thing that I visited my mother infrequently for the duties at the abbey allowed little time for such visits. I am sure that we would have clashed more often and more violently.’
‘But clash you did?’
‘Invariably; every time I went to see my mother. If my mother paid me attention, Draigen was there demanding double that attention be shown to her.’
‘So, at the time of Draigen’s attack on your mother … ? What then?’
‘My mother …’ Sister Brónach hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. ‘My mother had taken into care a young baby. It was the child of, of a relative.’
Fidelma noted the awkward pauses.
‘My mother thought that Draigen would help her with the child as it grew. But Draigen felt the same jealousy towards that child as she had shown towards anyone or anything that took my mother’s affections from her.’
‘She attacked your mother because she was paying too much attention to the baby?’ Fidelma felt a surge of cold repulsion.
‘She did. It was an insane attack. She was then fifteen years old. The child my mother was looking after was only three years old. The Brehon who sat in judgment on the matter decreed that Draigen was not responsible in the highest degree of homicide. He ordered that compensation be paid in
that the tiny plot of land which Draigen’s parents had owned should be sold off and the proceeds then given to Suanech’s heir. That was me, of course. And being a member of this community, the money went to the abbey. Now Draigen is abbess here, it seems ironic.’ Brónach laughed dryly. ‘It makes you wonder whether there is a god of justice, doesn’t it?’
‘Was the three-year-old child harmed by Draigen?’
Sister Brónach shook her head.
‘It was returned … to its own mother.’
‘The Brehon must have placed some restraints on Draigen,’ Fidelma observed.
‘Yes. Draigen was ordered to enter a religious community where she would be looked after and devote her life to service of the people. That again is ironic, for she was placed in this abbey. The very abbey where I was.’
‘Ah!’ Fidelma interrupted. ‘I now see the reason why Adnár failed in his claim for part of the land. As it was sold to fulfil a legal fine, Adnár, as Draigen’s brother, had to forfeit his share for the kin must pay the fine of the culprit if that culprit cannot pay it all.’