The Devil's Seal by Peter Tremayne Page A

Náile.’
    ‘Eadulf says that his name would indicate that he too was from Magonsaete.’
    ‘Which implies?’ The abbess glared at her.
    ‘After your experience at Laestingau, I would expect you to have some antipathy towards people from that land,’ pointed out Fidelma.
    The abbess’ mouth formed into a thin line. ‘I would hope, even after my experience, that I could differentiate between an entire people and individuals.’
    ‘That would be a laudable quality. But I have to ask you . . . did you kill Brother Cerdic?’
    ‘I did not!’ came the sharp reply.
    ‘You had the opportunity,’ went on Fidelma. ‘You left your horse at the bottom of the hill and came up here on foot. You told me that you wanted to rest your horse.’
    ‘It is the truth. Sister Dianaimh thought her mount was going lame.’
    ‘So you both came into the palace on foot. Why?’
    ‘I came to see Abbot Ségdae.’
    ‘But you did not find him. You did not find him and so returned without speaking to anyone. Only the guard saw you come and then depart. Where did you look for the abbot? In the chapel?’
    Abbess Líoch’s face was a pale mask without expression.
    ‘You have already made up your mind, is that it?’ she said slowly. ‘I thought you were only interested in truth. It seems you are more interested in finding a sacrifice to explain this man’s death.’
    Fidelma gazed into her eyes, long and hard. ‘Tell me, by all you hold sacred, by our friendship when we were young, Líoch . . . that you did not have anything to do with the death of Brother Cerdic.’
    Abbess Líoch pushed her head towards Fidelma so that their faces were scarcely a hand’s width apart. Her expression was intense.
    ‘I tell you by all I hold sacred, on the grave of poor Olcán, far away in a foreign land, that I raised no hand against this man Cerdic.’
    Fidelma waited for a few moments and then said: ‘I have accepted your word, Líoch. You, I hope, will understand why I had to pursue this path. Unless we find out who killed Brother Cerdic, Colgú will have much to answer for when Bishop Arwald and his deputation arrive here.’
    Abbess Líoch stared bleakly at her friend.
    ‘We have known the days, Fidelma of Cashel. We were both young and, perhaps, innocent. Now we have grown to know that there is much evil in the world and that it must be challenged. You have chosen your method of challenging it and I have chosen mine. When I depart from here, I will have no wish to see you as a friend again. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall return to my studies.’
    ‘I am sad to hear that,’ Fidelma said. ‘But friendship does not cancel out the search for truth.’
    Fidelma left the library feeling dissatisfied. She had made no progress at all. If anything, she had simply gathered more suspicions. The story of what had happened at Laestingau could well have provided Líoch with a motive. Fidelma thought she knew the abbess well enough to accept her oath, and yet there was a conflict of emotions within her; she was not entirely at ease with the woman’s denial.
    She paused in the covered entrance outside the library door. A figure was hurrying through the driving rain, across the courtyard, head down. It was the abbess’ young female steward, Sister Dianaimh. She halted before Fidelma in the cover of the porch and wiped the rain from her pale face, then gave a nervous smile.
    ‘I am looking for the abbess – have you seen her?’
    ‘She is inside,’ confirmed Fidelma, but as the girl moved to open the library door, Fidelma stayed her. ‘A word with you first.’
    The bright blue eyes of the girl turned enquiringly on her.
    ‘I wondered how long you have served Abbess Líoch?’
    ‘Since last summer.’
    ‘You are young to be a
bann-mhaor
.’
    ‘Before joining the abbess, I served in the Abbey of Sléibhte in Laighin, lady. I joined Abbot Aéd’s community there when I was at the age of choice.’
    ‘When Brother Cerdic called at