Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An Dún, the fortress of Lady Eithne, lay no more than two kilometres due east of Lios Mór, overlooking the main road from Cashel where it forded An Abhainn Mór, The Great River. It had been built in ancient times to guard the roadway. Fidelma had passed it many times but had never visited it. All she had ever known of Lady Eithne was that she was very pious, a staunch upholder of the Faith, as befitted the mother of two sons who had become scholars of reputation at Lios Mór. The fortress lay a little way south of the river crossing, on a dominant hill. The track from Lios Mór ran through cultivated lands that belonged to the abbey, just north of a series of hills, to join Rian Bó Pádraig. The hills were no more than rounded hummocks, on which some ancient mounds, like carbuncles, rose. The fortress dominated. Its walls were imposing, a mixture of wood and stone.

Gormán, riding behind them, drew Fidelma’s attention to the dark silhouettes of several figures on top of the fortress walls.

‘There are many warriors there,’ he observed. ‘I thought this lady was more given to religion than to war.’

‘There does seem more than the usual number of bodyguards a chieftain is entitled to,’ agreed Fidelma, looking towards the figures.

They had just turned up an incline where the track formed an avenue between yew trees, leading towards the great wooden gates of the fortress, when a harsh voice called on them to halt. A moment later a heavily armed warrior stepped from behind the cover of some trees. His sword was drawn and he examined them in a professional manner. His eyes came to rest on Gormán.

‘Disarm yourself and dismount, warrior,’ he snapped in an accent that they did not recognise.

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, come to speak with Lady Eithne,’ Fidelma said sharply, edging her horse forward.

The man looked at her closely, and saw the torc emblem she was wearing round her neck.

‘You and your religious companion may go on up, lady,’ he said with more respect, ‘but I am under orders not to allow any strange warriors beyond this point.’

‘This man is no strange warrior. He wears the insignia of the Nasc Niadh, the King’s bodyguard, and has the King’s authority. Where I go, he goes,’ Fidelma replied firmly.

‘I have my orders, lady,’ he said awkwardly.

‘From your accent, I take it you are a stranger to this land.’

‘I am a Briton in the employ of Lady Eithne,’ the man said defensively.

‘A mercenary?’ sneered Gormán.

‘My sword is bought by Lady Eithne,’ admitted the man. ‘She has the right to be apprehensive for her security. Her son has been murdered. To the south are the Uí Liathán and to the west are the Fir Maige Féne. She trusts neither clan. Even to the east, among her own people, the Déisi, there are some chiefs who cast envious eyes on this territory.’

‘Are you telling me that Lady Eithne has been threatened from these sources and needs mercenaries from a strange land to defend her?’ Fidelma frowned.

‘It is not for me to say. I obey her orders.’

‘Well, here is an order. I am sister to the King of Muman, a dálaigh of the courts. I order you to let me pass to the fortress with my companions. Is this order understood?’

The man looked as if he would argue for a moment. Gormán’s hand was already on his sword hilt, his body tensed. Then the opposing warrior shrugged as if the matter were no longer of concern to him. He stood back and they proceeded at a walking pace until they came to the closed gates of the fortress.

They were uncomfortably aware of archers on the ramparts above them, with bows unslung, ready to be drawn. The dark oak gates of the fortress were forbidding. Gormán looked up at the figures on the wall and shouted, ‘This is Fidelma of Cashel who comes to speak with Lady Eithne.’

There was movement and the sound of a whispered exchange above them. Then a voice replied, ‘Wait.’

It seemed an eternity before they heard the noise of large wooden bolts being slid back. Then one of the gates creaked and moved. It swung open with a rasp of its hinges and another warrior appeared and gestured for them to enter. As they halted in the inner courtyard, they saw several warriors on either side with bows in their hands. The gate swung shut behind them with a crash. Then a warrior, who seemed in command, approached.

‘The Lady Eithne will see you and Brother Eadulf,’ he told Fidelma. ‘But my lady says nothing of the warrior. He must await you here.’

Fidelma slid from her horse and glanced apologetically at Gormán.

‘You will have to wait with our horses while we speak to Lady Eithne.’ Then she turned to the warrior who seemed in charge. ‘I trust you will see my companion is refreshed and our horses watered.’

‘He can take the horses over to the blacksmith’s forge,’ the warrior said, pointing to where a smith was working his bellows in a corner of the yard. Then he guided them across the courtyard towards the main building. The wooden doors opened immediately into the great hall where Lady Eithne waited to welcome them with her sad smile

‘It is good to see you both again. Come, be seated with me and take refreshment.’

She indicated two comfortable chairs adorned with cushions and coverings before a fire at the far end of the hall. She seated herself in a third chair before motioning with a slim hand towards a servant. Moments later wine and sweet pastries were brought and served.

‘We are told that you fear some attack, lady,’ Fidelma said after the courtesies had been exchanged. ‘Who do you fear?’

Lady Eithne’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who says I fear attack?’ she demanded softly.

‘Your warriors proclaim the obvious. Mercenaries as well.’

Lady Eithne suddenly smiled and shrugged. ‘What is there to say? My son is murdered and we know not how or why. My other son has chosen to remain in some foreign land. I am but a poor widow. In the days of old Maolochtair of the Déisi, both my sons were threatened, as you know, and perhaps the spirit of that threat lives on among certain chiefs of our people. Old Maolochtair was my husband’s cousin and he thought my sons wanted to wrest the chieftainship from him. Some of his relatives who live beyond the boundaries of The Great River still think our family nurse that ambition. In such circumstances, and because of the murder of poor Donnchad, should I not take to myself some protection?’

‘No blame to you for doing so, lady,’ agreed Fidelma lightly. ‘So there is no specific threat, for example from the surrounding clans — the Uí Liatháin and the Fir Maige Féne?’

‘A flock of swallows is a good sign of rain,’ she replied, using the old proverb that meant one should be prepared in case of trouble.

‘Yet both clans owe allegiance to Cashel, just as you do,’ Fidelma pointed out.

Lady Eithne stiffened slightly. ‘This is true. But the Uí Fidgente to the north are also supposed to be loyal and subservient to Cashel and yet their history of insurrection is well known.’

‘There is no denying that,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘Therefore, it is good that your warriors train in preparation. I heard that one of them injured himself while training. I trust his wound is healing.’

Lady Eithne seemed slightly taken aback. ‘Who told you this?’

‘I believe that you had cause to send for the physician from the abbey.’

‘Brother Seachlann?’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Yes, I did send for him. I do not have my own physician here. I have seen men die from small wounds that have been neglected.’

‘So Brother Seachlann was able to successfully attend the man? That is good.’ Fidelma smiled. ‘It seems that he returned to the abbey after nightfall and his lateness in returning caused some concern.’

‘I am afraid I sent for him in the evening,’ Lady Eithne said. ‘I am glad that he returned without mishap. Sometimes, one has to be careful of wolves in these hills. They come down to The Great River to drink at night. Even in the day they have been known to roam abroad without fear.’

‘Brother Seachlann met with no mishap,’ Fidelma confirmed.

‘Good. But I am sure that you have not come here simply to ask about the health of one of my warriors.’

‘Indeed. There are a few matters we need to clear up.’

‘I have said that I would help you in any way to find the murderer of my son. Ask your questions.’

‘I was wondering whether you could tell us any more about the intrigues and jealousies which your son feared within the abbey?’

There was a sudden brightness in Lady Eithne’s blue eyes. ‘My son, Donnchad, accused no one by name but I would look to those of a jealous nature.’

‘People who were jealous of his learning?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Many were jealous of his piety and learning,’ replied Lady Eithne. ‘He could have been the greatest scholar of the Faith. Some were even willing to besmirch his reputation with false accusations of some heresy or other.’

‘Do you suspect someone in particular?’ pressed Fidelma.

‘It is not for me to sow suspicion when there might be no grounds at all. I make no accusations. You will surely be able to pick out those who resent the young and talented.’

‘Let me get this clear, Lady Eithne. Are you saying that there are some in the abbey who resent people younger than themselves who might be more talented than they are?’ Fidelma asked in an even tone. It seemed clear that once again she was pointing a finger at Abbot Iarnla.

‘I do.’

‘Furthermore, do you believe that they might have killed your son out of jealousy?’

The woman’s mouth hardened for a moment before she said, ‘You asked for my thoughts. That had occurred to me.’

‘What of Brother Lugna?’ Eadulf asked with an innocent air. ‘He arrived at the abbey a few years ago when your sons were both on their pilgrimage. Might he not have resented the return of your son Donnchad? Brother Lugna seems to have created a powerful position for himself at the abbey.’

A dark shadow crossed her features and Lady Eithne spent a moment or two fighting some emotion.

‘Brother Lugna is a pleasant and devout young man. He isthe best thing to have happened to the abbey since my sons left. He has my full confidence and support.’

Fidelma nodded. ‘You know him well?’

‘I offered him hospitality when he returned from several years in Rome. He was returning to Connachta, which was his home.’

‘I am told that you persuaded him to stay here and join the abbey.’

Lady Eithne did not deny it. ‘I think he liked this place so much that he needed little persuading. But the abbey is lucky to have the services of such a talented young man. A learned man, a devout man, one who has such an aura of saintliness about him. He may one day become the most famous abbot of the community here.’ Her voice had grown strident with enthusiasm. Then she paused and shook her head sadly. ‘It was a role that I was hoping that one of my sons would fulfil. But this was not to be.’

Eadulf tried to keep his tone even. ‘There is no point, then, in asking you whether you fully support the changes that Brother Lugna is making in the abbey. I mean the changes to the liturgy and practices native to churches here in favour of ideas emanating from Rome. For example, Brother Lugna tells us that he wants to introduce the Penitentials as the Rule of the abbey in place of obedience to the Law of the Fénechus.’

‘I am sure that whatever changes he is making will strengthen the community there and make Lios Mór venerated throughout Christendom,’ Lady Eithne firmly assured him.

‘In spite of the resentment against his ideas?’ Eadulf asked.

Lady Eithne grimaced as if in distaste. ‘From small-minded people, that is all,’ she replied curtly. ‘I suppose it is in the nature of the old to feel jealous of the young. But I will support those ideas that will strengthen and propagate the Faith in this land with all my power. Brother Lugna’s knowledge and pietyare not to be questioned. God has sent him to us. I will tell you this: until Brother Lugna began to show me the true path, I did not know what the way of Christ really was.’

There was a silence while they digested the vehemence in her voice.

‘He must be a powerful advocate of the Faith then,’ Fidelma observed softly.

‘He has persuaded me to seek the truth, a search which not even my sons were able to inspire.’

‘I have heard that you have a dispensation to borrow some of the texts from the library. Brother Donnán brings you the epistles of the saints to read.’

Lady Eithne’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment. Then she said, ‘You have a sharp eye and sensitive ear, lady. Are there those at the abbey who now object to my borrowing these works?’

‘I am told that Brother Lugna approves,’ she replied. ‘But I was merely going to ask what sort of books you borrow.’

‘What sort?’ She paused in surprise. Then said, ‘The epistles of the founders of the Faith, that is all. Why?’

‘I was just curious,’ dismissed Fidelma. ‘We have also heard that you are supporting the tremendous task of rebuilding the abbey.’

‘It is God’s work and I am privileged to be given the opportunity to help in it.’

‘Yet it is expensive to commission a professional master builder and those that work for him in an undertaking that will last for many years.’

‘You have doubtless met Glassán. He was master builder for the King of Laighin and came highly recommended.’

‘Ah, yes. The King of Laighin.’ Fidelma allowed a small smile to cross her features. ‘I had heard that Glassán was unwelcome in the Kingdom of Laighin and had been exiled inConnachta for some years after being found guilty of being responsible for a building that collapsed and killed and injured many people due to shoddy workmanship.’

Lady Eithne’s face went white. ‘Where did you hear such a thing?’ she demanded.

‘Such information is hard to keep secret,’ replied Fidelma smoothly. ‘In spite of this, I am told that Brother Lugna recommended him.’

‘All I can say is that Glassán is highly recommended and his work will be a great memorial to Donnchad.’ She suddenly rose, trying to control her irritation. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to.’

It was nearly noon when they rode into the abbey grounds. Brother Echen, the stableman, who was waiting to take charge of their horses, greeted them with a worried glance.

‘A short while ago Brother Lugna was asking whether you had returned or not.’

‘Why did he want to know?’ asked Fidelma, as she swung off her horse.

‘Cumscrad of the Fir Maige Féne arrived with a small guard of warriors some time ago. He demanded to see the abbot. Perhaps that has something to do with it.’

Eadulf glanced curiously at Fidelma. ‘The Fir Maige Féne? Lady Eithne’s bodyguard mentioned them as one of the clans they felt threatened by.’

‘Their main township is Fhear Maighe,’ Gormán said, ‘about twenty-four kilometres due west from here. I can’t say they are my favourite people.’

‘Well, let’s find out why Brother Lugna was asking after us.’

They left Gormán helping Brother Echen tend their horses and walked slowly across the quadrangle towards the guesthouse. They were halfway across when Brother Lugna appearedon the far side, calling to them with a disapproving expression on his face.

‘Cumscrad of the Fir Maige Féne has arrived here and demands to see you,’ he announced without preamble as they turned in his direction.

‘Demands?’ queried Fidelma mildly.

‘He had no idea that you were at the abbey until he spoke to the abbot and now he feels he must see you,’ replied the steward indifferently.

‘Where is Cumscrad now?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Abbot Iarnla has received him in his chamber and requested your presence as soon as you returned.’

‘Very well. Tell the abbot we will come immediately we have washed ourselves after our journey.’

Brother Lugna hesitated at this dismissal, then turned and hurried off. Fidelma turned to Eadulf with a shake of her head.

‘I wonder why Cumscrad wishes to speak to me? The Fir Maige Féne are not exactly robust in their loyalty to the Eóghanacht of Cashel.’

‘But surely they acknowledge the authority of your brother as King?’

‘With the same reluctance as the Uí Fidgente. They are hostile to the Eóghanacht and one of the few clans in Muman who claim no relationship to the line of the Eóghanacht succession. Even the Uí Fidgente claim to be Eóghanacht. But the Fir Maige Féne claim their ancestry is far older and more distinguished than ours.’

‘I seem to have heard that they are talked about as being involved in the black arts.’ Eadulf tried to dredge up a memory.

Fidelma smiled. ‘It is their claim that their ancestor was Mug Róth, a one-eyed Druid whose breath could raise a tempest and who flew like a bird on a chariot made of polished silver and lustrous gems, which made night shine as bright as day. It was called the wheel of light. Not far from Cashel, at Cnámhchaill,is a pillar of stone which local people say was once a fragment of that great wheel.’

Eadulf shuddered. ‘How can they boast such an ancestor?’

‘He was probably the old god of the sun before the coming of Christianity. When the Faith denied the existence of such gods, he took on human form in our eyes. In ancient times the clan were renowned for their knowledge of ancient lore and even supplied the kings at Cashel with their Chief Druid. This was before King Oenghus was converted to Christianity.’

They washed their faces and hands, refreshed themselves from the short journey and then made their way to the abbot’s chamber.

Cumscrad was a tall man with a deep voice that made him seem intimidating. He was sallow of skin, with thick black hair to his shoulders and a beard to match. His eyes, also black, like shiny pebbles, were shadowed by a ridge across his forehead. But his features were well formed and his face had a handsome quality to it. His manner and bearing suggested a person used to command. Nevertheless, he rose with courtesy when Brother Lugna showed Fidelma and Eadulf into the abbot’s chamber.

‘Ah, the Lady Fidelma. I have not seen you since your marriage at Cashel.’ His voice resonated in the stone chamber. He turned to Eadulf. ‘We meet again, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’ He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Eadulf returned the courtesy. He vaguely remembered meeting Cumscrad when all the nobles of the kingdom had come to attend the ceremonies at Cashel which had marked his official marriage to Fidelma.

‘I trust we find you well, Cumscrad?’ Fidelma inquired.

‘Well in body but not in spirit,’ he replied.

When Fidelma seated herself, he sank back into his seat next to Abbot Iarnla, who wore his usual worried expression.Brother Lugna and Eadulf remained standing to one side of the chamber.

‘Cumscrad comes with disturbing news,’ the abbot said. ‘When I told him that you were here in your official capacity, he asked that he might make some representation to you.’

Fidelma turned to face Cumscrad. ‘Representation?’

‘I came to asked Abbot Iarnla’s advice and now I find that you are here and I can ask your advice instead. Perhaps, through you, I can make an official complaint to your brother, the King.’

There was a silence while Cumscrad gathered his thoughts.

‘You may know that my people trade along the river here,’ he began. ‘The Great River is a watery highway that runs from our territory, past this community and then turns south to the great sea at Ard Mór. Our people have traded along its reaches for centuries beyond measure.’

Fidelma knew well the geography of An Abhainn Mór.

‘I know your smiths and metalworkers rely on the river for trade,’ she acknowledged.

‘Indeed, our smiths are dependent on it. As you well know, our territory is also known as Magh Méine, the plain of the minerals. Our mines provide the ores that allow our smiths to make their goods — goods that are eagerly sought as far away as Connachta and Ulaidh. Even beyond the great sea.’

‘All this is well known, Cumscrad. Is there a purpose in reminding me of it?’ inquired Fidelma mildly.

‘There is,’ snapped the chief. ‘The complaint I wish to make is that two days ago, one of our barges was attacked as it came along the river. It was a vessel taking goods to the abbey at Ard Mór.’

‘What happened?’

‘The barge was not far out of Fhear Maighe when warriors, having blocked the river with their own vessel, attacked the crew and took over the barge.’

‘Were there survivors of this attack?’ asked Fidelma.

‘Every one of the crew survived. A few were wounded in the attack but the crew were unarmed merchants. They were simply seized, bound and placed ashore, while the attackers continued on in the barge. They must have passed this community.’

Abbot Iarnla spread his hands in a helpless gesture and felt compelled to explain. ‘None of the brethren working along the river noticed anything untoward. Some of them saw the passing of the river barges, but many barges use the river here so no one questioned what they saw.’

‘The attackers who took charge of the boat disguised themselves as bargemen,’ Cumscrad said.

‘And you have no idea who these robbers may be?’ asked Fidelma.

A grim smile spread across Cumscrad’s features. ‘Oh indeed, lady. We know right well who they are.’ He paused, as if for dramatic effect. ‘The attackers were our southern neighbours, the Uí Liatháin.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘I have said that our crew survived. The master of the barge, Muirgíos, as well as his crewmen, were able to identify them.’

‘There was no mistake?’

‘I trust Muirgíos. He has sailed the river for many years. The attackers made no attempt to conceal their identity. Furthermore …’ He hesitated. ‘Furthermore, one of our bargemen, Eolann, who also trades along the river, was returning from Ard Mór and saw Muirgíos’s barge passing him on its way south. He was about to greet his comrade but found he did not recognise any of the crew. He felt it wise not to challenge them. Eolann is a clever man. He was in a small craft and so he backtracked along the river and saw the vessel turn west up the river Bríd that joins The Great River south of here.’

‘I know it. It is the river which provides the boundary between your people and the Uí Liatháin,’ Fidelma said.

‘You are right, lady. Eolann tied up his craft and waited awhile before setting off again upriver. He did not wish to be observed following. When he did set off, he had not far to go. He soon found the vessel tied up and deserted. Eolann came back and reported it to me and I came here to ask the abbot’s advice. We must do something about the thieves.’

‘This is not something the abbey is concerned with,’ Brother Lugna suddenly declared.

Cumscrad looked at him in astonishment and then turned to Abbot Iarnla.

‘Then if this is of no concern to the abbey, times have changed, Iarnla. More than once you have acted to resolve conflicts between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin. Do you tell me that you refuse to do so now?’

‘I am the steward of this abbey,’ Brother Lugna replied before the abbot could speak.

‘And I am chief of the Fir Maige Féne,’ snapped Cumscrad. ‘Very well, I shall send my envoy to Uallachán, chief of the Uí Liatháin, demanding reparation for the act. And if I do not receive it, we shall know how to answer.’ He had clamped his hand to his sword hilt, and made for the door.

‘One moment, Cumscrad.’ Fidelma spoke quietly but it had the effect of stopping the chief in his tracks. He turned to look at her. ‘Return to your seat, so that we may discuss this within the bounds of the law.’

‘I could raise my people and attack Uallachán and his robbers now,’ Cumscrad said as he obeyed her. ‘But I respect the law and so, before I do so, I shall send an intermediary. I will demand reparation first so that when we attack the Uí Liatháin it will be done in accordance with the law.’

Fidelma sighed and shifted her weight in the chair.

‘You have not been refused the intervention of either myself, on behalf of the King, or of this abbey.’

Cumscrad frowned for a moment and then jerked his head to where Brother Lugna was standing with a slightly belligerent thrust of his jaw.

‘But he said-’

‘He said he was the steward,’ pointed out Fidelma. ‘It is the abbot who makes such decisions.’

There was a spluttering sound and Brother Lugna went red in the face with anger. The abbot was looking at his feet with an unhappy expression.

‘Before we come to what course of action should be taken, I presume the cargo in the vessel was valuable,’ Fidelma went on, ignoring the reaction her words had provoked.

Cumscrad nodded. ‘The total value of the cargo was thirty seds.’

Eadulf’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Why, that is the honour price for …’

‘For my own worth as chief of my people,’ Cumscrad calmly agreed. A sed was the value of a milch cow.

‘Was there much gold in this cargo, then?’ asked Fidelma in astonishment.

‘Not gold, lady. And in truth the metalwork was not of great value — cooking pots, horse bridles, agricultural tools and the like. That was worth no more than a few seds, and Eolann reported that it was all intact on the vessel, it had not been removed.’

Fidelma was bewildered. ‘If this cargo was still on the barge when it was recovered, what was missing? How did your man identify what was missing?’

‘Because he had come upriver from Ard Mór and he knew that the barge was expected there and, moreover, what it was expected to deliver to the abbey there. It was carrying two bookswhich the scribes in our tech-screptra, our library, had been copying. The library of Ard Mór, knowing we had these books, had commissioned our scribes to make copies for them. The work had taken one year and had just been completed.’

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘What were the books?’

‘One was a copy of the poems of the great bard Dallán Forgaill, which we consider valuable.’

‘And the other?’

‘A Greek work. The True Word, I think they called it.’

‘Alethos Logos by Celsus?’ Fidelma gasped.

Cumscrad looked at her in admiration. ‘You are well read, lady. Indeed, it was a work by Celsus.’