Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER TEN

Eadulf knocked gently on Fidelma’s door to escort her to the evening meal. His eyes widened as she opened it.

Fidelma was not wearing her simple and practical robes; she had put on the clothing that was hers by right to wear as both daughter and sister of a king of Muman. Eadulf had not seen her wear such finery since she had made a plea before the Airechtais, the Great Assembly of the High King, at Tara a year before. He had, of course, seen her wearing such clothes several times before but never when a guest in an abbey.

Her gown was of deep blue satin with intricate gold thread patterns. It fitted snugly at the waist and then flowed out into a full skirt that came to her ankles. The sleeves were of a style called lamfhoss, tight on the upper arms but spilling out just before the elbow in an echo of the lower part of her dress. Over this was a sleeveless tunic, called an inar, which covered the top of the dress but ended at the waist. From her shoulder hung a short lummon, a cape of contrasting red-coloured satin edged with badger’s fur. The cape was fastened on the left shoulder by a round brooch of silver and semi-precious stones. On her feet were specially decorated sandals, sewn with pieces of multicoloured glass, called mael-assa.

She had put on bracelets of complementary coloured glassaround her wrists and round her neck she wore her golden torc which proclaimed not only her royal position but that she was of the élite Nasc Niadh of Muman, the bodyguards of the Eóghanacht. In her fiery red hair was a band of silver with three semi-precious stones at the front — two emeralds from the country of the Corco Duibhne, in the west of the kingdom, and a glowing red stone which reflected the stones in the silver brooch that held her cape. The headband served to keep in place a piece of silk that covered her hair but left her face unobstructed. It was called a conniul and indicated her married status.

‘Are you being wise?’ Eadulf finally asked, having found some difficulty articulating his thoughts.

Fidelma had that mischievous look on her face. ‘Firstly, I need to prove something. Secondly, I need to assert something. Have no fear, Eadulf, I know what I am doing. And now, the support of your arm, please. I suspect that I may need the support of more than your arm before the evening is over.’

Eadulf sighed. He felt incongruous clad as he was in a simple religious robe. But he said nothing.

The bruigad, Brother Máel Eoin, was waiting for them outside the refectorium, with Gormán. The hosteller registered some surprise and then bowed his head in acknowledgement to her. The young warrior grinned broadly and straightened a little as if to salute her.

‘It is good to see an Eóghanacht reassert their presence,’ he said simply.

He preceded Fidelma and Eadulf into the refectorium and led them to the table they had been assigned. As they passed by the tables of the brethren, a silence fell throughout the hall and glances of astonishment were cast towards Fidelma. Then a muttering began to rise from the lines of seated brethren. Ignoring it, Fidelma and her companions reached the table where Glassán and Saor sat opened-mouthed at her change ofappearance. Then a sharp voice cried from the table of the abbot, ‘This is an affront, a sacrilege!’

Fidelma, with Eadulf and Gormán at her side, turned slowly to face the abbot’s table. It was not Abbot Iarnla but his steward, Brother Lugna, who was on his feet. His face was red and almost quivering in his indignation.

‘Sacrilege, Brother Lugna?’ Fidelma’s voice cracked like a whip.

‘How dare you come into this refectorium in … in those shameless garments?’ cried the steward.

Fidelma drew herself up a little. ‘Do you insult the Eóghanacht? You have been too long in Rome, Brother Lugna. You are now in the kingdom of Muman and in the presence of an Eóghanacht princess.’

‘What … what did you say?’ demanded the steward, taken aback.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she went on in the haughty manner that Eadulf knew she could assume at will. ‘I am sister to Colgú, King of Muman. Have I not been requested to come to this place as the guest of your abbot, the Abbot Iarnla, who presides over this abbey and this refectorium? Am I not an honoured guest in this abbey … an abbey that, I must remind you, is part of my brother’s kingdom? For his is the ultimate authority over all the chieftains, nobles, abbots and bishops of this land. Am I not here as sister to your King as well as a dálaigh, come to investigate a matter on behalf of my brother your King. If Abbot Iarnla wishes to withdraw his request for my presence, let him do so and I will return to Cashel and report this insult to the King and his advisers.’

The blood had drained from the face of Abbot Iarnla, sitting at the side of the risen figure of Lugna. He seemed mesmerised, as if he had no part in the scene being enacted before him.

‘There are rules in this abbey-’

‘There are rules everywhere. Usually, the rules are agreed upon by the community and not imposed on them,’ Fidelma cut across him.

‘We are talking about the rules of dress among the religious,’ spluttered Brother Lugna. ‘For you to enter our refectorium in those clothes … that dress …’ He seemed at a loss for words.

‘You object to my dress which distinguishes me as the sister of your King and a dálaigh?’ challenged Fidelma.

‘I object to it as you are a member of the religious and should obey the edicts of the Faith.’

‘Indeed I do. The edict on dress is very clear. The Holy Father wrote to the bishops of Vienne and Narbonne that all the religious should be distinguished by their Faith and not by their clothing. We have it from the Holy Father himself that it does not matter what a person wears but how he lives his life and what his beliefs are.’

Brother Lugna frowned. ‘What Holy Father wrote such words?’ he sneered. ‘Name him!’

‘He was Celestine, the first of his name to sit on the throne of Saint Peter,’ replied Fidelma. Only Eadulf detected the barbed innocence in her voice.

‘Celestine?’ barked Brother Lugna as if she had uttered an obscenity ‘Celestine was but a …’ He struggled to find the words. ‘He was no credit to the throne of Saint Peter. Had it not been for that manipulative woman, the Empress Galla Placidia, he would never have been elected Bishop of Rome. He persecuted many of the True Faith because they held different ideas to himself.’

There was absolute quiet in the refectorium as the brethren tried to understand the meaning of the exchange.

‘I know who he regarded as heretics to the Faith,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And those he regarded as heretics are still regarded as heretics by the current Holy Father in Rome.’

Brother Lugna sat down suddenly in his seat. His mouth snapped shut and a series of emotions chased one another across his features; the predominant one was anger. A hum of voices began to rise across the hall. Fidelma had clearly made some point that had reduced Brother Lugna to silence but no one was sure what point had been made.

Abbot Iarnla took the opportunity to rise to his feet and bang his staff of office on the floor beside him.

‘Tacet!’ He commanded silence. ‘This is a prainntech.’ He flushed, glanced at his steward and corrected himself. ‘A refectorium where we gather to feed our bodies just as we gather in the chapel to feed our souls. It is no place for debates on the Faith.’

‘In view of the objections raised by your steward,’ Fidelma said, not letting the matter go, ‘does the request you sent to my brother, the King, remain your request, or do you wish me to return to Cashel?’

Abbot Iarnla glanced quickly at Brother Lugna before he replied. ‘Fidelma of Cashel, you and your companions are guests here at my invitation as abbot, by special request to your brother, the King, and his advisers. Be seated with your companions but I would urge you, for the future, to seek an accommodation of compliance with the rules of our community.’

Fidelma bowed gravely to the abbot. ‘I will do my best to do so. We will discuss the matter after the meal in your chamber in, of course, the presence of the steward.’

She turned before he could reply and seated herself. Her companions followed suit. Suddenly the silence erupted into loud conversation. Glassán, the builder, was still staring at her open-mouthed. At his side Saor watched her nervously.

‘Are you truly the sister of King Colgú?’ Glassán stammered after a moment or two. ‘Are you Fidelma of Cashel of whom we have heard so many stories?’

‘Yes, this is Fidelma of Cashel,’ Gormán announced proudly before she could answer. ‘And you have also doubtless heard of her companion, Eadulf.’

‘I did not know,’ confessed the builder. ‘I heard only that an advocate of the law was coming to investigate the death here.’

Fidelma was about to say that it was of no consequence, but of course she had made if of consequence in order to find out what she wanted to know. Her action had been overly dramatic but perhaps it would bear fruit in the long run; it had already provided an answer to her suspicion about Brother Lugna.

Glassán now seemed nervous. He glanced at his plate, pushed it away unfinished, then rose quickly and glanced at his assistant, Saor.

‘Forgive us,’ he mumbled, ‘there is something we must examine at the works before the light totally fades.’

He turned from the table. Saor, apparently unwillingly, followed, but not before he had grabbed a piece of bread and a lump of cheese.

Gormán watched them leaving with a broad smile. ‘What a pity we did not tell him who you were on the first evening, lady. We might have been spared the lecture on the joys of being a master builder. He obviously has an aversion to relatives of kings. Maybe his former association with the King of Laighin is to blame.’

Fidelma was looking thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you are right, Gormán. But remember this, there is much to be learned from a conversation with even the most boring of people.’

Eadulf cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of which, I am not sure I learnt anything from your exchange with Brother Lugna. That is, apart from what we had already realised, that poor Abbot Iarnla seems to be totally under his thumb.’

‘The abbot does occasionally show flashes of his old self,’Fidelma replied. ‘We must hope that he has not abandoned himself entirely to Brother Lugna’s control.’

‘But what about this pantomime of your dress? You do not usually assert your rank and authority of birth so blatantly. In fact, you only do so when you feel that the person needs to be put in his place …’ Eadulf paused and smiled. ‘So you were attempting to put Brother Lugna in his place?’

‘Not entirely. But I have a suspicion about Brother Lugna that I wanted to put to the test,’ she replied, helping herself to a bowl of hot vegetable soup.

‘And did that exchange confirm it?’

‘I think it did,’ she said. ‘Between us, my exchange confirmed to me that he is of a heretical sect. But I will keep the detail to myself a while longer. The main thing to remember is that Brother Lugna is a fanatic and tolerates no dissension.’

‘I dislike the man anyway,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘I still think we should be treating him as a suspect.’

‘Dislike him or not, suspect or not, Brother Lugna is steward of the abbey. It is best that he knows where he stands with us.’

After the meal and the blessing from the abbot, Gormán leaned forward.

‘Shall I come with you to see the abbot, lady?’ he asked quietly. ‘You may need …’ He tapped a finger on his belt where his sword should have hung.

Fidelma pretended shock. ‘Heavens, no! I do not mean to start a war. This is simply an essay in diplomacy.’

‘Diplomacy?’ Gormán grunted in surprise. ‘I did not think so, the way you responded to the steward.’

‘Don’t worry, Gormán. If you are needed, I will call you. But Eadulf will be with me.’

Eadulf had no understanding what was in Fidelma’s mind. He felt it better to hold his peace and see what happened rather than show his ignorance by asking her what she intended.

The abbot and the steward had disappeared by the time Fidelma and Eadulf left the refectorium, so Fidelma led the way to the abbot’s chambers. Outside, lurking in the shadow of the building, they found Brother Máel Eoin. The hosteller came forward, until the light of the lantern hanging over the door illuminated his features. He placed a finger against his lips. With outstretched hand he drew Fidelma and Eadulf aside and spoke in a whisper.

‘I just wanted to warn you about Brother Lugna, lady,’ he said. ‘He is not a … nice person. You made an enemy of him tonight in the refectorium. You made him back down in front of the brethren, and he knows they do not like him.’

Fidelma smiled and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Take comfort, Brother Máel Eoin. We are aware of Brother Lugna’s temperament.’

‘Before he came to the abbey,’ the hosteller went on, ‘Abbot Iarnla was strong and independent. Then Brother Lugna came with his strange ideas. Whenever anyone questions them, he says this is done in Rome or that is the rule of Rome. We cannot argue when we are also told that Rome is the centre of the Faith and where the Holy Father dwells. Brother Lugna persuaded sufficient numbers of the brethren to support him in becoming the steward of the community. It was afterwards that things began to change.’

‘And these changes are not liked?’

‘The changes have upset many of us and, I have to be honest, lady, it has been sad to see how he is usurping Abbot Iarnla’s position. The abbot seems unable to stand against him. We feel that it is Brother Lugna who is in control and not the abbot.’

‘Do you know why that should be?’ asked Eadulf.

‘It is as if Brother Lugna has some power over him,’ replied Brother Máel Eoin. ‘What it is, I do not know. But I felt I mustwarn you to be careful, lady. Be very careful.’ The hosteller turned and left them.

After a few moments, they rapped sharply on Abbot Iarnla’s door and entered.

Abbot Iarnla was seated in his usual chair, while Brother Lugna was standing to one side and a little behind him.

‘What was the meaning of your exchange in the refectorium, Fidelma?’ the abbot demanded at once. ‘I have no understanding of it.’

‘I think your rechtaire understands,’ replied Fidelma coolly.

Brother Lugna scowled, shifted his weight but said nothing.

Abbot Iarnla looked up at him with a trace of his old assertive self.

‘Well, Brother Lugna, will you explain?’

When the steward remained silent, Fidelma said, ‘Brother Lugna was kind enough to inform me, when we arrived here, that he did not favour my coming. He believed that this investigation should be an internal matter.’

‘I did not hide my view,’ Brother Lugna said sullenly.

‘You did not,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But when the abbot overruled your objections and insisted I came here, that should have been an end to the matter, should it not?’

Abbot Iarnla appeared troubled again. ‘Of course that was an end to it. You have complete authority to make your investigation.’

‘Yet I do not think Brother Lugna shares that view.’ Fidelma was looking straight at the steward.

‘Explain,’ demanded the abbot.

Brother Lugna’s mouth was a tight, thin line.

‘What Brother Lugna is going to explain,’ went on Fidelma, ‘is why he went round to those I wanted to question and told them not to cooperate with me. He told them to answer questions as sparsely laden with facts as possible.’

Brother Lugna’s jaw rose aggressively. ‘I suppose the simpleton has been telling you a story,’ he sneered.

‘If you refer to Brother Gáeth, it was certainly not he who revealed this to me. And we find that he is no simpleton. I shall not tell you who it was who told me but be assured it was not Brother Gáeth. I shall not be happy if I hear some punishment falls on him because of such a suspicion.’ There was no belligerence in her quiet voice. She made a statement of fact.

Abbot Iarnla looked scandalised. ‘Of course nothing will happen to Brother Gáeth.’ Then he paused, again uncertain and nervous. He turned to his steward. ‘Are you admitting that what Fidelma says is correct, Brother Lugna? Did you tell members of our brethren not to cooperate with her?’

When the steward hesitated, Fidelma went on, ‘I thought the manner in which the physician responded to my questioning was extraordinary. A physician trying to avoid questioning by a dálaigh of the courts is unprecedented in my experience. I soon found out that he had been told to behave in that manner.’

‘But why, Brother Lugna, why?’ demanded the abbot.

The steward shrugged. ‘My views have not altered since you rejected my advice, Abbot Iarnla,’ he said defiantly. ‘This abbey has no need of outsiders poking their noses into the affairs of the community.’

‘This abbey is not independent of the kingdom,’ Eadulf observed. ‘It has to conform to the laws of the kingdom.’

‘What would you know of this, Saxon?’ The steward’s voice was taunting.

‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham is my husband and stands foremost among those whose advice is sought by my brother, the King,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘And he advises correctly. This abbey is not above obedience to the law.’

‘Many abbeys adopt the Penitentials and claim a right to their own rules,’ replied Brother Lugna.

‘The Penitentials again?’ snapped Eadulf. ‘They do not run in this abbey.’

‘There should be no husbands and wives among the religious, ’ retorted the steward.

‘But there are. There is no rule of celibacy in the Faith, even in Rome.’

‘Not yet.’

‘And it is to be hoped there never will be, for that would be to reject our human condition created by God,’ Eadulf returned angrily. ‘And isn’t that an insult to God’s creation rather than a happy acceptance of it?’

Fidelma suddenly smiled and laid a hand on Eadulf’s arm. ‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘But we are not talking about how we interpret the Faith. We are talking of the law, of which I am a representative. There is a set list of fines for those who try to conceal evidence from a dálaigh in a case of murder, Brother Lugna.’ Fidelma turned to address the abbot. ‘Perhaps Brother Lugna did not realise that a person who conceals or gives false evidence, or persuades others to do so, according to the Din Techtugad text, loses their honour price. Of course, if Brother Lugna can convince a Brehon that he acted in ignorance, the fines will be halved and he may keep half his honour price.’

Brother Lugna’s mouth was a thin line again, his eyes staring maliciously at her. He said nothing.

Abbot Iarnla spread his hands helplessly. ‘I am sure that if Brother Lugna did do what you accuse him of, he must have acted without appreciating the law of the kingdom.’ The abbot’s voice was almost pleading.

‘I am sure he did,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘No one would be so stupid as to put his honour price in jeopardy. The fact that he went against your ruling as abbot is a matter for your internal discipline. I will accept that it was his adherence to hisbelief that made him think he was above the law and your decisions as abbot. So we will leave it with a simple reminder of the law. But now we would be grateful to Brother Lugna if he would accompany Brother Eadulf and me across the quadrangle to the guesthouse.’

Brother Lugna moved forward unwillingly. Then frowned. ‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘Because,’ Fidelma said softly, ‘a dálaigh has requested you to do so.’

They left the abbot gazing in dismay after them.

The waxing moon was now bright and they had no need of lanterns to cross the stone flags.

‘He is a sweet old man,’ Fidelma remarked as they reached the fountain in the centre of the quadrangle where she suddenly halted. ‘I do not want him to be troubled unduly over this matter of Brother Donnchad’s death. In order to spare him, I am sure you will cooperate with me now that my position here is clear.’

Brother Lugna breathed out slowly as if in resignation.

‘The sooner this matter is resolved, the better,’ he replied.

‘Then a few questions. How did you come to choose Glassán as your master builder?’

Whatever questions Brother Lugna was expecting, it did not appear to be that one. There was a momentary stiffening of his shoulders. He had his back to the moon and it cast too many shadows for them to make out his expression.

‘He was a master builder in my own land, in Connachta,’ he replied firmly.

‘Oh? I thought he was from the Kingdom of Laighin?’

There was an awkward silence.

‘What is it you want, Fidelma of Cashel?’ Brother Lugna asked sharply. It was the first time he had acknowledged her rank.

‘I?’ Fidelma sounded surprised. ‘I want nothing more than to fulfil the task that my brother, the King, asked me to fulfil.’

‘I will not stop you,’ replied Brother Lugna ungraciously.

‘But, hopefully, you will also help me and advise others to do so? Simply not stopping someone do something is not the same as helping them do it.’

‘As I have said,’ repeated the steward, ‘the sooner this is over, the better.’

‘Then I think we have an understanding.’ She paused. ‘There was once a learned man, centuries ago, in another country, who had convinced opinions and felt that no one should disagree with those opinions. When his superior disagreed, he tried to overthrow his superior and set himself up in his stead. But his superior spoke for the vast majority of people. The man himself was eventually overthrown instead of his superior. His opinions were denounced as not conforming to what everyone else agreed. They were considered heretical and punishments were drawn up for anyone who followed the man and tried to force his opinions on others.’

Brother Lugna seemed to be watching her in the semi-light like a hunter watching his prey.

Eadulf found he was barely able to repress a shudder, a cold feeling ran along his spine in the darkness as he sensed the malignancy in the man.

‘I acknowledge my mistake in opposing your investigation, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the steward said in a begrudging tone. ‘You will have my support.’ Then he added, ‘There can be many paths to the same belief and each are entitled to their own path.’

‘That is precisely my point,’ agreed Fidelma vigorously. ‘We should be tolerant of one another; conformity of opinion, by its very nature, cannot be enforced.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Brother Lugna’s voice was almost sullen.

‘Do we have an agreement?’

‘We do.’ With that the steward turned and left them standing in the middle of the quadrangle.

‘I don’t trust him,’ muttered Eadulf as they walked to the guesthouse. ‘When he says the sooner the investigation is over, he really means that the sooner we leave the abbey, the better for him.’

‘At least we have made a little progress today,’ Fidelma said. She turned at the door of her chamber and wished Eadulf a good night.

Eadulf could not sleep. His mind kept thinking about the last few weeks; of the arguments he had had with Fidelma and the cause of them. What was it that Aeneas said about leaving Dido, the Queen of Carthage? Varium et mutabile semper femina. Was that it? Woman is ever fickle and changeable. But Fidelma was not really capricious, it was just that she had a low tolerance of faults in others. She had a low tolerance of her own faults, too. He knew that, she had allowed him close enough to know it, still her sharp criticism frustrated and angered him.

She had been right to demand to know what he wanted. It was true that he wanted to be with her and their son Alchú, but did he really want to force them to go into some religious community and settle down? Did he really think that this meant security, a means of avoiding the complexities of the world? Or was it merely a means of trying to exert his individuality? As a youth he had met the missionary called Fursa in his village of Seaxmund’s Ham, who had persuaded him to journey across the sea to the land of Éireann. He had studied in the great teaching abbey of Tuaim Brecain, a celebrated medical school of the religious, founded by Bricin. There were two other colleges in the abbey, one of poetry and one of law.

Eadulf had arrived there many years after its founder Bricinhad died. Cennfaeladh ran the school. As a youthful warrior Cennfaeladh had fought in a battle at Magh Rath and received a dangerous wound in the head. He had been taken to Bricin’s medical school where his skull had to be trepanned. It was an ancient surgical procedure that had long been practised among the Gauls as well as the Britons and people of the Five Kingdoms. As soon as he recovered, Cennfaeladh had devoted himself to studies there and eventually became head of the school.

It was Cennfaeladh who had taught Eadulf the language of the country. Then he urged Eadulf to go and study in Rome. While he was in Rome, he had been chosen to attend the great Council in St Hilda’s abbey at Streonshalh in Northumbria. Had he not been at that Council he would not have met Fidelma. Since then, he had been back to Rome, travelled extensively among the Five Kingdoms of Éireann and been to the Kingdom of Dyfed, to Burgundia, Frankia, Gaul and Bro-Waroch.

Surely he could not be accused of hiding from the world and its complexities. Maybe it was just that he was tired. Tired of the rigours of travel. And now, here he was in another strange abbey. He had been here once before but only briefly. There had been no new buildings then. New buildings …

Eadulf suddenly sat upright. That was what was worrying him. The ladder and the young boy — what was his name? Gúasach. Fidelma had not pursued the idea of the ladder and boy being the means of gaining access to Brother Donnchad’s locked cell. Yet it seemed the obvious answer. The ladder had been easily accessible on the building site. Young boys had been known to kill people before. Didn’t Fidelma always say that the obvious answer, even if unpalatable, was often the right one?

Eadulf swung off his bed. He would take a look at that ladder lying by the new building. He would at least see if it was longenough to reach Brother Donnchad’s cell. He would do it now. He would not wait until morning, as he did not want Fidelma to know that he had not accepted her dismissal of the idea. If he could argue from knowledge then …

Impatiently he lit the candle at his bedside with his tenlach-teined, the tinderbox with its steel and flint. Eadulf had, over the years, become more adept at creating the tenlam, or hand-fire, as it was called, for he had taken instruction from Gormán. Warriors prided themselves on being able to create a fire by means of steel, flint and tinder faster than most people. It was part of their training. Eadulf pulled on his robes and sandals and, taking the lantern, made his way quickly and silently down to the abbey courtyard. The dark shadows of the abbey were shrouded in silence. Here and there he saw the flicker of lamps that were kept burning all night by the main gates and outside the doors of the main buildings.

Eadulf peered around, judging his bearings and checking to see if anyone was about, but all was quiet. The moon was now sheltering behind clouds. He was thankful for the light of the lantern. He made his way quickly across the quadrangle, wishing his leather sandals did not slap so noisily on the stone flags. The splashing fountain appeared to provide a muffle to his footsteps. It seemed that the entire abbey and its occupants were blissfully asleep. Not even the lonely cry of a distant wolf outside the abbey gates seemed to disturb their slumber. As he passed the library building and reached the building site, the clouds parted and a nearly full moon provided an ethereal light. The stone walls of the lower part of the building had been built to window level; the windows needed lintels to cap them before the walls could rise higher. But the main door seemed to have its lintel in place although it appeared to be at a curious angle.

Eadulf paused and listened. He thought he had heard a sound.But it was only an owl perched somewhere in the wooden framework above him.

Eadulf looked around, trying to locate the ladder. He could not see it and moved forward, towards the doorway. Then he heard a creaking noise, a rasp of moving stone. As lifted his lantern to identify the sound, he heard a loud gasp behind him and something slammed into his back. It was such a force that the lantern flew from his hand and he was flung forward. His head smashed against something solid and unyielding. There was a moment of bright light and then utter blackness.