Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The clouds were piled high and fluffy against the blue expanse of the sky. Fidelma noticed several swallows flying high above them, their long pointed wings, deeply forked tails and acrobatic flight unmistakable. The signs were that the weather was going to be dry and sunny. In fact, it would be another month before the swallows would begin to flock together and disappear en masse towards the south. With Gormán leading, they left the abbey on horseback and began their journey.

The ride to Lady Eithne’s fortress was a pleasant one. This time, although a few sentinels were still in evidence along the short route, they were not challenged until they reached the gates of An Dún. Even then, they were kept only a few moments before the gates swung open to allow the three of them to enter. Once again, however, it was only Fidelma and Eadulf who were allowed into the great hall to see Lady Eithne.

‘Well, lady,’ greeted the tall woman, standing in front of her chair in the great hall, ‘I was told that you had abandoned the abbey.’

‘Indeed?’ Fidelma was puzzled. ‘Then you were told falsely.’

‘Did you not ride off with Cumscrad of the Fir Maige Féne to investigate some paltry complaint of his and abandon the investigation of my son’s death?’

‘No complaint is paltry, lady, when it involves death. Speaking of death, I was surprised that you did not attend the abbey last night.’

A look of uncertainty appeared on Lady Eithne’s face. ‘I do not understand.’

‘I speak of the obsequies of your master builder, Glassán.’

Lady Eithne seemed irritated. ‘Glassán? The master builder of the abbey? Why would I attend the funeral of an artisan?’

Fidelma was surprised. ‘I thought Glassán was the creator of the memorial to your son.’

‘Creator? He was merely a workman and, as such, of no interest to me. The true creator is Brother Lugna.’ Her blue eyes were cold.

The woman’s indifference chilled Fidelma.

‘You feel it is not a matter of concern that the master builder has been killed while working on a project that you are financing?’

‘The work of rebuilding the abbey is entirely in the hands of Brother Lugna, as I have explained before,’ Lady Eithne replied distantly. ‘I am not expected to be in communication with the workmen he employed to do it.’

‘Did you know that there have been several accidents on the building site? Eadulf was knocked unconscious when a stone fell on the same site.’

‘I am told that accidents can happen,’ Lady Eithne replied unemotionally. ‘Is this why you came here, to find out why I was not at this workman’s funeral?’

‘We came to clear up a few matters which I believe are related. You told us that the rebuilding of the abbey was meant as a memorial to your son, Donnchad.’

‘I did. It is.’

‘But the rebuilding started three years ago,’ Eadulf pointed out. ‘Did you not expect Donnchad to return from his pilgrimage when you commissioned Brother Lugna to start the rebuilding?’

Lady Eithne uttered a sound like a hiss. ‘It is a lucky thing you are a guest in my house, Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’ There was ice in her voice.

‘What Eadulf meant was that you could not have started out with the intention of rebuilding the abbey in honour of your son,’ intervened Fidelma quickly. ‘You will forgive him for his clumsy use of our language.’ She knew that Eadulf spoke the language almost perfectly. But Fidelma shared his curiosity about the timing of the idea of creating the abbey as a memorial to her son.

Lady Eithne appeared slightly mollified. ‘The decision to rebuild the abbey was made before the return of my son,’ she said tightly. ‘That poor Donnchad died merely made me decide to dedicate the rebuilding to his honour.’

‘It is thought among the brethren that the idea for rebuilding came from Brother Lugna,’ Eadulf suggested, unabashed by her previous rebuke.

‘It may well have been,’ she admitted coldly. ‘Brother Lugna is such a clever and far-sighted young man. Needless to say, I am totally in agreement with his ideas.’

‘I am curious as to why you did not negotiate the idea with Abbot Iarnla?’ Fidelma made the sentence into a question.

‘Abbot Iarnla has been a long time at the abbey and he is conservative in his outlook. I have already tried to suggest this to you. He would be happy if all things remained exactly the way they are or, rather, were. He has shown himself jealous of Lugna and his ideas. Indeed, my ideas. I would like to see, before I die, a great complex of buildings rising at Lios Mór as a beacon to the Faith, not just here but throughout Christendom. I am sure that your brother, the King, would approve of such tribute in stone to the Faith in his kingdom. A tribute that will last for all time.’

‘Nihil aeternum est, nothing lasts forever,’ came unbidden to Eadulf’s lips before he could stop himself from uttering it.

The Lady Eithne turned to him with a disapproving scowl. ‘You disappoint me, Brother Eadulf. I would not expect such a philosophy from a man of your cloth. The one thing that will endure is the Faith and this will be its greatest physical memorial. I am determined upon it.’

‘Of course,’ Fidelma said hurriedly, with a frown of warning at Eadulf. ‘The buildings of Lios Mór are beginning to look impressive.’

‘Brother Lugna has been a great asset to the abbey. In a few years from now, everyone will be speaking of the greatness of Lios Mór. I feel humbled that I have been able to play a part in its creation.’

‘You have been and are most generous to the abbey,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘Is it not an edict from the Council of Nicaea that places of worship to the Faith should be built wherever possible?’

‘I think that was meant as-’

‘Indeed, lady, Lios Mór owes you much,’ Fidelma cut across Eadulf. Lady Eithne did not appear to notice.

‘I simply follow the teachings of Brother Lugna,’ Lady Eithne said. ‘He says that the Blessed Timothy taught that the rich should give generously to the Faith and in that way they will build themselves a good foundation in heaven.’

Once again, Fidelma shot Eadulf a warning glance before he could attempt to correct her interpretation of the writings of Timothy of Ephesus.

‘It seems that you are lucky to have Brother Lugna to guide you in these matters,’ she observed drily.

‘Indeed, I am. For he has brought a refreshing wind from Rome. Here, we have fallen into lax and immoral ways. Under his abbacy, new rules will clear away all that is corrupt at Lios Mór.’

‘Under his abbacy?’ queried Eadulf.

‘Abbot Iarnla, as I have said, is old and set in his ways. He must move with the times and give way to Brother Lugna soon.’

‘I am sure that you take pride in seeing the development of the abbey. Your generosity must be appreciated by the brethren,’ Fidelma went on before Eadulf could say more.

‘I contribute what little I can.’

‘I am told that you were always of a kind and generous nature.’

Lady Eithne frowned uncertainly. ‘I have always tried to keep to the rules of the Faith and raise my two sons to praise the Lord and do His great works.’

‘I was thinking of Brother Gáeth.’

‘Brother Gáeth?’ She blinked in surprise. ‘What has he to do …?’ Then she smiled sadly. ‘A poor creature. My husband had more to do with him than I did. He came as a refugee with his father and mother. Our Brehon advised us that we could give sanctuary but not freedom and so they became daer-fudir on our land.’

‘There was no question that the father, Selbach I think his name was, was unjustly sentenced of the crime of which he was accused?’

‘Not at all. The Uí Liatháin made representations to retrieve Selbach from our jurisdiction and presented testimony as to how Selbach killed the chief of the Uí Liatháin by stealth. We gave them assurances that Selbach and his family would remain as daer-fudir on our land and they went away, not happy but satisfied that Selbach would not trouble them any more.’

‘And Gáeth was raised on your estate?’

‘He was a field worker, that is all.’

‘He was a friend of Donnchad, I’m told.’

She laughed derisively. ‘Friend is not the word I would use. As a child Gáeth used to run after both my sons although it wasDonnchad who showed him more kindness and compassion than Cathal.’

‘I thought he became Donnchad’s soul friend?’

‘A matter which I thoroughly disapproved of. Even Abbot Iarna tried to persuade Donnchad to choose someone else.’

‘Yet you allowed Gáeth to go with your sons to join the brethren in the abbey.’

‘My weakness is that I indulged my sons, particularly my younger son, Donnchad. He pleaded with me and so I agreed. It was part of Donnchad’s kindness, to keep the poor simpleton happy.’

‘Surely he is no simpleton,’ reproved Eadulf, realising that she was not the first person to use the word in connection with Gáeth.

‘If not a simpleton, than a cunning young creature,’ she sniffed in reply. ‘He was much like his father, Selbach, and doubtless will end up the same way.’

‘And was that why you instructed Abbot Iarnla to ensure, if he granted him the right to join the breathren, that he remained as a daer-fudir within the community?’

Lady Eithne smiled. ‘The law is clear. Not until the third generation of the family of a daer-fudir can freedom be achieved. The Uí Liatháin made the judgement and we had to follow it. Abbot Iarnla agreed to the condition. When Donnchad returned from his pilgrimage, his sense of generous kindliness had altered and thankfully he realised that Gáeth could not be treated as anyone special.’

‘You do not like Gáeth?’ Fidelma put the question softly.

‘Not like him? Why should I feel anything at all about him? He was just a field worker. I cannot be expected to like or dislike those who are nothing to me.’

‘Yet Gáeth grew up with your sons and your son Donnchad believed him to be his friend,’ Eadulf pointed out.

‘I believe that in my stables there is an old workhorse who grew up with my sons,’ replied the lady in a cutting tone. ‘Am I suppose to like the horse too? It is just a horse.’

Fidelma rose to her feet. ‘We have troubled you long enough, Lady Eithne,’ she said decisively, glancing at Eadulf who also rose. ‘We thank you for your time and your hospitality.’

Lady Eithne raised a hand and beckoned to one of her attendants who had stood quietly in the background awaiting her orders. The man came forward.

‘My steward will see you out,’ she said. ‘I hope you find the culprit. When you return to Cashel, remember me to your brother, the King, and tell him something of the great work being done here at Lios Mór.’

‘When I return to Cashel, lady, I hope I shall be able to report a resolution of this matter,’ Fidelma said solemnly and bade Lady Eithne farewell.

On the road back to the abbey, Fidelma called a halt, ostensibly so that they could water their horses by a tiny stream. While Gormán led the beasts to the water, Fidelma sat on a nearby boulder. She seemed deep in troubled thought.

Eadulf guessed what she was thinking. ‘She seems a cold sort of woman,’ he observed.

‘She certainly does not like Abbot Iarnla,’ agreed Fidelma. ‘And is enamoured of Brother Lugna.’

‘Does not like Abbot Iarnla?’ grunted Eadulf. ‘Last time we saw her she more or less accused him of being her son’s murderer because he was jealous of young talent.’

‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility,’ sighed Fidelma. ‘I have known such things happen before. In fact, the thought crossed my mind the night he paid me a visit to claim how powerless he is.’ Fidelma had told Eadulf of her night visitor.

‘Abbot Iarnla told you that it was almost a good thing that Donnchad was murdered so that he had an excuse to send for us to tell us about the problems with Brother Lugna and Lady Eithne,’ said Eadulf. ‘Do you think he precipitated the cause to send for you?’

‘It occurred to me.’

‘Well, now, we are told that the plan is to replace Abbot Iarnla with Brother Lugna as abbot.’

Fidelma did not reply. ‘I think I can work everything out but it’s the basic motive that confuses me. There is just one thing I am not clear on, something that does not fit correctly here. Something that I am overlooking and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It is the linchpin, it holds together all the parts.’ She shrugged and stood up. ‘Let me think for awhile and then I will tell you what I believe happened but it is all supposition.’

They remounted their horses and continued in silence. They had just passed the spot where the roadway branched southward to Ard Mór when a figure moving up a hill to the south of them caught Fidelma’s attention. It was scrambling up towards a mound near the top of the hill. It was a man. He had his back to them and so he didn’t notice them. Fidelma halted to stare up at him. When he reached the mound he disappeared behind it.

‘Did you see who that was?’ Fidelma asked her companions.

‘A religieux,’ offered Gormán.

‘It was Brother Gáeth,’ Eadulf announced. ‘He is beyond the borders of the cultivated fields of the abbey. Aren’t daer-fudir supposed not to leave the lands of their community?’

‘Perhaps he has permission to do so,’ replied Fidelma. ‘Anyway, he is still on the lands of the Déisi so I am not going to report such a silly infraction of the law.’

She stared up at the mound behind which Brother Gáeth haddisappeared. There were many such ancient burial mounds scattered across the countryside.

The thought occurred to her in a sudden flash.

‘Gormán, what would you call that place?’ she asked.

The warrior looked up. ‘Don’t they call them the mounds of the dead?’

A broad smile spread across Fidelma’s face.

‘I think we may have found the solution.’ She swung off her horse.

‘Stay here with the horses and wait for me,’ she told an astounded Eadulf and Gormán. ‘We do not want to intimidate Brother Gáeth.’

‘Wait,’ protested Eadulf. ‘You cannot go up there alone.’

‘Of course I can,’ she retorted. ‘Stay here and do not follow.’

‘But you might be in danger,’ Gormán said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘You will both stay there. I am in no danger from Brother Gáeth.’

‘But you never know, he is-’

‘He is not a simpleton,’ snapped Fidelma, guessing what was passing through Gormán’s mind. She began to climb the hill. As she approached the mound on its summit, she saw that, although it was mainly earth-covered, it was certainly man-made. It was formed of large stones placed as a circular cabin over which sods of earth had been placed. She walked slowly round the circular stone wall and, as she expected, came to a small entrance. There was a flickering light inside. She halted and bent down to peer in.

‘Stop!’ cried an echoing voice. ‘This is a place of the dead.’

She halted, bending in the entrance. ‘Yet it is where you come, Brother Gáeth. Why are you here?’

Brother Gáeth was sitting in the centre of the small stone hut. It smelled of that strange mustiness that she associated with thegraveyard. There was an oil lamp on a stone ledge to one side. She noticed that there was also a bright polished crucifix perched on another stone ledge behind him. It was ornate and reflected the light of the lamp. There were some small boxes and other objects piled along the walls, and among them she noticed two funerary urns of baked clay.

‘This is a place of my dead,’ replied Brother Gáeth softly. ‘They are here, here beyond harm.’

‘And I have no wish to harm them or you, Gáeth. May I be allowed to enter?’

Brother Gáeth stared at her for a moment or so, as if trying to make up his mind what to do. Then he shrugged. ‘You have been kind to me, Sister. You may enter.’

She crawled in and sat down near some boxes. The interior was no more than five or six metres in diameter. She coughed a little in the musty air. Then she glanced towards the ornate crucifix. It was of silver with several semi-precious stones in it. She had seen similar workmanship before.

‘Brother Donnchad brought that back from the Holy Land, didn’t he?’ she said softly, inclining her head towards it.

‘It was his gift to me,’ Brother Gáeth said defensively.

‘Indeed.’ Fidelma glanced at the funerary urns. Brother Gáeth saw her look.

‘My father and my mother. I … Donnchad and I rescued their ashes and brought them here. This was an ancient chief’s mound. They deserved to rest here and not in the grave of paupers. My father was Selbach of Dún Guairne, a chief of the Uí Liatháin.’

‘I know,’ Fidelma replied softly. ‘Yet cremation is frowned on by the churches of Ireland. I thought the practice had ended.’

‘Because my parents were daer-fudir, Eochaid said it did not matter for there was no place to set up a memorial to them anyway. But they rest here now.’ Brother Gáeth reached out andtouched one of the urns. ‘Those I have loved rest here. Donnchad helped me bring them here when I was a boy, just after they died.’

‘Ah, Donnchad knew of this place.’

‘We often played here. It was,’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘it was our special camp. No one dared come near the mound of the dead. That’s what we called it. It was our secret.’

‘So Donnchad requested you to bring some things here before he died.’

Brother Gáeth’s brow creased. ‘How did you know that?’

‘He asked you to bring them here because he feared that he would die and they would be stolen. Isn’t that it?’

Brother Gáeth made a movement with his right hand that encompassed the interior of the mound. ‘Donnchad gave me things to bring here for safe keeping.’

‘Of course. You were his friend.’

‘I was. Whatever they say.’

‘You need take no notice of them,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘You were his friend but he gave you something particular for safe keeping just before he died, didn’t he?’

‘You know about that too?’ Brother Gáeth looked worried.

‘I know,’ confirmed Fidelma.

‘They do not know, do they? Those who harmed him?’

‘They do not. But now we must use what he gave you so that they will be punished for what they did to him. I give you my word on this.’

Brother Gáeth shook his head. ‘He asked me to come to his cell one night and told me to take it and keep it safe. I was never to give it to anyone.’

‘And you have kept it safe all this time?’

‘It remains here safely.’

‘But now he is dead. Do you know what a Brehon is?’

‘Of course.’

‘You know I am here to find out who killed Donnchad. The King, who has great authority over this land, sent me. He wants those who killed your friend Donnchad to be discovered and punished.’

Brother Gáeth was thoughtful for a moment.

‘The King has greater authority than Brother Lugna?’

‘He has.’

‘And greater than the abbot?’

‘He has. Do you understand that this thing Donnchad gave you will help uncover the person who killed him?’

‘But I was never to give it to anyone,’ repeated Brother Gáeth in a dull tone.

‘You do not want his killer to escape without answering for that evil deed, do you?’

Brother Gáeth looked uncertain.

‘I was never to give it to anyone,’ he said again but now there was confusion in his voice.

‘Never until it was needed to help poor Donnchad find rest and make those who killed him answer for their crime.’

‘You think that Donnchad would wish me to show you?’ He was wavering. He needed guidance.

‘I do.’

Brother Gáeth sat thoughtfully for a few moments and then moved to a corner where there was a pile of stones. Methodically, he began moving them to reveal a small hole in the ground. There was a box inside which he lifted out. Then he opened the box. Inside lay a scroll of papyrus.

Fidelma took the papyrus carefully from the box and unrolled it. It was written in a firm hand and in the language of her people. The title was Do Bhualadh in Brégoiri — The Hammering of the Deceivers. She swallowed nervously and held the lamp higher. ‘Ni rádat som acht bréic togáis …’ Shebegan reading aloud. ‘They speak only lies and deceit …’ She paused and licked her dry lips before she continued reading to herself.

A short time later she stopped reading and sat back. It was not a long manuscript but it was one whose contents chilled her to the marrow. She rolled up the papyrus, replaced it in the box and handed it back to Brother Gáeth. He was looking at her with troubled eyes.

‘What did it say, Sister?’ he asked. ‘I do not have the ability to read it. It is too complicated for my poor learning.’

‘It tells how distressed Brother Donnchad was.’ She smiled quickly. ‘He was confused and concerned.’

‘But will it help track down who killed him?’

‘It does. Continue to hide it safely, Brother Gáeth,’ she said. She crawled towards the entrance and paused. ‘A time will come in the next few days when I shall ask you to bring that box and papyrus to me. Then I shall reveal who killed your friend.’

‘You won’t tell anyone of this place, Sister?’ Brother Gáeth asked anxiously.

‘Have no fear. Your monument to your dead will not be violated again.’

She left him and walked slowly back down the hill where she found Eadulf and Gormán waiting with the horses, their impatience and anxiety plain to see.

‘Well?’ Eadulf demanded anxiously. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’

‘Why would I not be?’ she answered evenly.

‘Then what did you discover?’

‘The final piece of the jigsaw.’

‘You know who killed Brother Donnchad?’ asked Gormán.

‘I wish I did not,’ she replied grimly. ‘I was certain before but unable to understand the motive that could drive a person to such a crime. Even so, it must stand the test of argumentand that might prove the most difficult part of the entire puzzle. Gormán, I must ask you to ride directly for Cashel with some instructions for my brother-’

‘Instructions? For the King?’ asked the warrior, astounded.

‘It will be up to you to impress on Colgú that he must obey these instructions to the letter, otherwise danger may ensue, a danger that might result in a threat to the security of the kingdom.’

‘A threat?’ stammered Gormán.

Fidelma was irritable. ‘Gormán, I thought more of you than to see you impersonate a newly landed salmon, opening and closing your mouth like that,’ she snapped. ‘When you ride for Cashel you must ensure that you go by a route that is shrouded from the main paths so that no one will know that you have gone or in which direction.’

‘Very well, lady.’

‘Good. I will now tell you what you must say to my brother.’ She spoke rapidly and clearly. Gormán nodded that he had understood the instructions. When he remounted his horse, she stood back and smiled at him. ‘I will expect you back at the abbey in three days’ time.’

Gormán raised his hand in salute and sped northwards.

Fidelma watched him go with an expression of satisfaction.

‘I presume that you are going to tell me what these curious instructions meant?’ Eadulf asked, almost petulantly.

‘Indeed I shall. And then we shall have a few days to occupy ourselves until my brother arrives, so we will be able to prepare our case. The presentation will fall entirely on me, Eadulf, as only a qualified dálaigh will be able to do this. But you must stand ready to find references to back me. This will be a difficult case to present and I fear there will be few precedents.’

Eadulf knew that any judge needed to see precedents in law before making a judgement.

‘I will do my best,’ he said.

Fidelma looked suddenly tired. ‘We have to be well prepared, Eadulf. I swear that I would never have believed that virtue was the cause of so much evil.’