Chalice of Blood

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘Brother Donnchad was the victim of extreme virtue, or should I say intolerance disguised as virtue,’ began Fidelma. ‘He was a great scholar. Had he lived, he might have been one of the greatest scholars of the Five Kingdoms.’

‘His name will be remembered in such a light,’ came the stern voice of Lady Eithne. ‘That is why I sanctioned the rebuilding of this abbey. By these stone buildings, he will be remembered as a great teacher of the Faith.’

Fidelma allowed the murmuring to die away. Then, without looking at Lady Eithne, she said loudly, ‘Is that what he would have wanted to be remembered as?’

There was a stir of surprise among the brethren.

‘Truth is great and will prevail, so let us consider what the truth is. For some time I did not know why Brother Donnchad was killed. Without a motive, I could not present a case against the killer. Finally, I discovered that motive.’

Everyone was hanging on her words now, leaning forward in their seats in silent expectation.

‘The reason why he was killed was because he had lost his Faith.’

There was immediate uproar. Lady Eithne shouted in outrage but her words were lost in the hubbub. Abbot Iarnla was whitewith shock and Brother Lugna’s features were drawn into a mask of barely controlled fury.

‘It is well known that Brother Donnchad was a great scholar of the Faith,’ Brehon Aillín admonished. ‘I cannot allow such a statement to be admitted in this court.’

Even Abbot Ségdae looked astounded at her words.

‘You can if it can be proved,’ protested Fidelma.

‘I must accept the proof, as we know it. The knowledge and respect accorded to Brother Donnchad and his known writings on the Faith constitute proof of his views and are a precedent, a fásach, which cannot be challenged.’

Eadulf stood up and coughed nervously. ‘I am not qualified to speak here, Brehon Aillín, but could I bring to your attention, through the dálaigh, that the Uraicecht Becc states that among the senfásach there is this admonition: that a Brehon cannot expect to find all truth contained in a fásach. It empowers the Brehon to consider any argument designed to overturn the precedent.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf in surprise. He passed her the text and she read it rapidly. Then she approached Brehon Aillín and handed it to him. The Brehon read it, pursed his lips and shook his head.

‘I cannot accept the statement you have made without proof. But I am willing to follow this admonition from the Uraicecht Becc and hear your evidence, Fidelma. If you cannot prove your claim then I must impose a fine on you. Will you attempt to prove it?’

‘It shall be proved,’ Fidelma replied, ‘and in the words of Brother Donnchad himself.’

‘How can that be?’ called out Brother Lugna, with a sneer. ‘Are you going to practise witchcraft and conjure him from his grave?’

There were gasps of horror at his words and several of the brethren performed the sign of the Cross.

‘That is unworthy of you, Brother Lugna,’ snapped Brehon Aillín. ‘There should be no need to remind you of the reputation of the learned advocate in this kingdom and even beyond.’

‘I will explain,’ Fidelma said. ‘The words of Brother Donnchad were written down before his death and hidden because he feared, correctly, that someone might kill him and destroy them. They certainly did their best to do so. They removed all traces of his writings and documents from his room, just in case his words were hidden among them. Thankfully, they were not and they have survived.’

‘Do you mean to present them before us?’ asked Brehon Aillín.

‘I will do so although I am loath to as Brother Donnchad presents some disturbing arguments as to why he lost his Faith.’

There was some confusion in the refectorium.

‘And have you proof that they were written by him?’ pressed the judge.

‘I can present someone who can testify to the handwriting of Brother Donnchad for I have learnt that each scribe forms letters in his own way and has a particular style of writing. Further, I will present the person to whom Brother Donnchad gave this writing, with the request that it be hidden.’

There was now silence.

‘Very well,’ Brehon Aillín said after a quick consultation with Colgú and Abbot Ségdae. ‘You may sum up what Brother Donnchad said in this work on condition that the work is afterwards presented to us and verified to be his work.’

‘I can do that simply. I do not have to remind you that Brother Donnchad was a talented scholar, able to read and write several languages. The librarian of this abbey, Brother Donnán, has pointed out on several occasions that Brother Donnchad wasmost interested in the works of the early believers in the Faith — indeed, in the very origins of how the Faith spread from the Holy Land across the world.’

‘That is not denied.’ Abbot Iarnla was frowning. ‘He was always interested in those origins.’

‘For Brother Donnchad, his pilgrimage to the Holy Land was a golden opportunity to further his studies. What concerned him were the references to James in the scriptures, particularly in the gospels according to Mark and Matthew, and in the epistle to the Galatians. James was said to be the brother of the Christ and executed by the Romans some thirty years after the execution of Jesus. The references were to James Adelphotheos, Brother of the Lord.’

‘That’s nonsense!’ cried Brother Lugna, standing up. ‘The name was miswritten, it was mistranscribed. The name should have been James Alphaeus, who-’

‘I cannot debate the translation,’ cut in Fidelma. ‘I do not have that scholarship. I am merely stating what Brother Donnchad said and believed. He had pored over the texts of the Faith that were translated into Latin by the Blessed Jerome who was also called Eusebius Hieronymus. Donnchad found references that confused him, references not only to James as the brother of Jesus, but also to Joses, Simon and Judas, and to sisters, one of whom was called Salome. They were all clearly identified as brothers and sisters of Jesus.’

Brother Lugna, still on his feet, began to argue.

‘Sit down, Brother Lugna,’ ordered Brehon Aillín. ‘This is not a scholastic debate.’ He turned to Fidelma. ‘I am allowing these statements, Fidelma, only on the grounds that you are presenting what Brother Donnchad’s thoughts were and that these thoughts have a direct bearing on his murder.’

‘I have said as much,’ agreed Fidelma firmly. ‘I am not asauthoritative as Brother Donnchad so merely I repeat what he says. Brother Donnchad records that the relationship of those I have mentioned is termed adelphos throughtout the texts. Adelphos means brethren in the blood relationship sense. Had the writer wanted to suggest brethren as in the meaning of the brethren of this community, the word he would have used is suggeneia.’

She paused but no one spoke.

‘I repeat, I am no scholar in this regard. Brother Donnchad believed that he would be able to find out more when he went to the Holy Land. He made inquiries and then, when he was waiting in Sidon, which I understand is a port on the coast of the Holy Land, he began to hear stories that truly shocked him. He found that he could not even discuss them with his own brother Cathal, who remained untroubled and secure in his Faith. This he comments on in his record.

‘He heard one story that particularly distressed him. The story referred to Jesus, and we must remember Jesus is but the Greek form of the Hebrew name Yeshu or Joshua. The story was about a Yeshu ben Pantera.’

‘Yeshu was a very common Hebrew name of the time.’ This came from Brother Donnán. He glanced apologetically at the Brehon. ‘I am sorry, but I had to mention that, just in case it was thought that the name Jesus is a unique name. It’s meaning in Hebrew is “red-handed hero”.’

‘You are no doubt correct,’ Fidelma replied mildly. ‘However, Donnchad was directed to a work called the Tosefta, which is a collection of Jewish oral law, and in it is a reference to Yeshu ben Pantera. The text makes clear that this was none other than Jesus of Nazareth. The word “ben” signifies “son of”, as in our own word, “mac”.’

She had to wait while the cacophony of voices that greeted her statement subsided.

‘I will not go on to recount the research that a distraught Donnchad continued to conduct. I know that he was also led to a work by a Greek philosopher named Celsus who wrote that Mary, or Miriam, the original Hebrew name, was a girl who lived in Sepphoris in Galilee. The Romans marched through the town and she was raped by a Roman soldier of Phoenician birth called Abdes Pantera and bore him a child-’

There was a gasp and Brother Lugna was first on his feet, shouting, ‘Sacrilege, blasphemy!’

‘I am only recounting what Celsus wrote. I do not claim that he speaks the truth or that I agree with him,’ Fidelma went on determinedly. ‘Celsus wrote that the parents of Mary, who many other sources claim to have come from this city near Nazareth called Sepphoris, drove her out from their home in shame. But eventually Joseph, a carpenter, accepted her and her son.

‘In Sidonia, Brother Donnchad found other sources that spoke of a local man from the city called Abdes Pantera. He was an archer and he had joined the Roman army some years before the birth of Jesus and when he became a Roman citizen, he took the name Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera. It is said that his regiment took part in the destruction of Sepphoris under the command of the Governor Quinctilius Varus.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ cried Brother Lugna in outrage. ‘It is profanity against the Faith. Are we to sit here and hear our Faith insulted?’

‘Once again I say that I do not offer this as fact,’ Fidelma continued doggedly. ‘It is what Brother Donnchad discovered in his research, came to believe as fact and formed his opinion.’

‘I have already ruled that it may be presented for that purpose,’ added Brehon Aillín. ‘If understanding this leads to the discovery of who killed him, then I am prepared to hear it.’

‘Brother Donnchad discovered that the name Abdes in the language spoken in Sidonia meant a “servant of Isis”, a god of the Egyptians. Abdes joined the first cohort of archers and rose to be the standard bearer, a signifer. Abdes served forty years in the Roman army and Brother Donnchad discovered that his regiment, the Cohors Primus Sagittariorum, was stationed in Judea until Jesus was nine years old. Then the cohort was moved to the northern frontier in Germania Superior along the banks of the River Renos. Abdes was stationed in a fort called Bingium where, at the age of sixty-two years, he died and where he was buried.’

‘You say all this was written down by Brother Donnchad?’ demanded Abbot Ségdae, then he turned to the Brehon. ‘Forgive me, Brehon Aillín, I want to be absolutely sure on this point.’

‘It was,’ replied Fidelma. ‘His written account will be presented to you as evidence. I know nothing of these places or their history. All I know is that Brother Donnchad wrote this down and was influenced by it. On his return journey, when he landed at Tarentum, he bade farewell to his blood brother, Cathal, and continued his journey north. He crossed the mountains. Finally, he arrived in Bingium by way of the River Renos. There, so he recounts, he found a guide who led him to the grave of Abdes Pantera. The Latin inscription was still clearly legible. He recorded it word for word.’

‘But all this proves nothing about who killed him,’ Brehon Aillín interjected.

‘What this is meant to prove is the state of Brother Donnchad’s mind — and a motive for his killing. As I have frequently said, I do not vouch for its accuracy one way or the other. But Brother Donnchad found himself troubled by the story, which is known to the people of Judea, the story of a rape in Nazareth, mentionedin a Jewish law text, recounted by the Phoenicians in Sidonia, and by Greek and Latin writers like Celsus. The story Celsus tells was even rebutted by Origenes who took the arguments seriously enough to argue with them. Brother Donnchad went so far as to trace the tomb of Abdes in Germania. Brother Donnchad was a great scholar. True or not, this was the matter that troubled him.

‘What he had uncovered created such doubts in his mind that he was losing his belief in the new Faith, He was a very logical man. But, at times, belief calls upon us to shed our rational minds and simply accept that which we are unable to prove. Credo quia impossible est, I believe it because it is impossible, as many of our priests would say. Well, faced with evidence of a rational story about Christ, Brother Donnchad found he could no longer believe what logic told him was impossible.’

There was another ripple of angry mutterings in the refectorium. Eadulf looked round uncomfortably. Fidelma was only presenting arguments that had caused Brother Donnchad to slip away from the Faith but to those who sincerely believed, it was as if she was preaching heresy or attacking the Faith itself.

Brehon Aillín rapped his staff of office. ‘And you maintain that his doubts provoked such anger in someone that that person killed him?’

Colgú intervened. ‘We have only to witness some of the emotions that this story has provoked here to realise that such an anger is not beyond possibility,’ he pointed out.

‘Exactly so,’ replied Fidelma, nodding. ‘Who in this abbey is so fanatical in their belief that they would do anything to stop a scholar of Brother Donnchad’s reputation from proclaiming his views that might harm the Faith? Many of our people havenot yet entirely accepted the Faith. It is only two centuries since the Five Kingdoms began to hear and accept the Word of Christ. What, then, if Brother Donnchad, recently back from the Holy Land, began to tell this story?’

There was an unhappy murmur and many of the brethren looked at one another awkwardly.

Abbot Iarnla’s face was pale. He said slowly, ‘Everyone in this abbey is of the Faith and to proclaim a disbelief in the Faith is a great sin.’

‘But we are a tolerant people for we are but newly come to this new understanding with God,’ Brehon Aillín declared. ‘We tolerate and seek to persuade others to the Faith, especially those who are reluctant to make the leap into a new world that has come upon us from the East.’

‘We cannot afford tolerance,’ Brother Lugna snapped. ‘The Faith is inviolable and every soul lost is a soul condemned to the fires of hell.’

‘Brother Lugna is dogmatic on such points,’ pointed out Fidelma mildly.

‘I am only dogmatic when people deny the truth of the Faith.’

‘Indeed. One would say that you have a fanatical belief.’

‘I am zealous for my Faith, that is true.’

‘And if someone disagreed with your Faith?’ prompted Fidelma.

Brother Lugna opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut as he realised where Fidelma was leading him.

Fidelma watched him. ‘Your sect does not hold with dissension, does it?’

Brehon Aillín had given up trying to make people accept the protocol of the court. Now he turned to Fidelma with a question. ‘His sect? What do you mean?’

‘I once talked with Brother Lugna about the rules of Pope Clement.’

‘Persecutions!’ Brother Lugna almost spat the word.

‘It was ruled by Clement that certain philosophies were not consistent with the Faith.’

‘He persecuted the Manichaeists and Donatists.’

‘And the Novatianists,’ added Fidelma. ‘That is the sect you follow, isn’t it?’

Brehon Aillín was clearly puzzled, as were several others.

‘Novatian was a religious and teacher in Rome,’ Fidelma explained. ‘In fact, he is regarded as the first member of the Faith to write his work in Latin instead of Greek. But he opposed the election of Cornelius as Pope on the grounds that Cornelius was too gentle and forgiving to lapsed Christians. He held that those who did not maintain the Faith, even under torture and persecution, should not be received back into the Faith, whether or not they repented. He also argued that if a widow or a widower remarried, their second marriage was unlawful and they should be publicly accused of fornication and punished. His mistake, however, was in setting himself up as a rival head of the Church in Rome. He claimed that he was Pope. He was immediately excommunicated at a Council in Rome. His teachings were deemed heretical.’

‘I have not heard of this,’ admitted Abbot Ségdae. ‘When was it?’

‘About three centuries ago, according to the annalists.’

‘If Novatian and his followers were declared heretics three centuries ago, how can you claim that Brother Lugna is a member of their sect?’ Brehon Aillín demanded.

‘Oh, the Novatianists still exist. Novatian was executed in the massacre of Christians in Rome by the Emperor Valerian. But his sect spread rapidly after his death. They were numerous in many lands and they called themselves katharoi, which is the Greek for “puritans”, to denote that they kept themselves pure from what they saw as the lax and forgivingways of the Roman popes. Some demanded that even those born and raised in the Faith must be baptised again before they could join the Novatianists and be considered saved. Of course the Novatianists are still regarded as heretics but I am not sure that they have been censured with any force since the time of Pope Clement.’

Abbot Iarnla turned to glare at his steward. ‘Is it true that you follow the teachings of this Novatian?’

‘Why should I deny it?’ retorted Brother Lugna with arrogance.

‘I hold the Faith pure and untainted. There is no room for those who are half-hearted about declaring their beliefs.’

‘And that is why you were concerned when Brother Donnchad returned from the Holy Land and you discovered that far from being strengthened in his Faith, his mind was full of questions for which he tried to find answers?’ said Abbot Iarnla.

‘The devil had tempted Donnchad while he wandered in the wilderness,’ Brother Lugna replied calmly.’ ‘He was not strong enough to fight the devil and fell into the greatest sin of all. He denied the Faith. There is no room in Christendom for those who deny the Faith even if they eventually come seeking forgiveness on their hands and knees. They should be turned away and punished.’

‘Just as your founder Novatian preached,’ said Fidelma.

‘Just as he taught,’ agreed the steward. ‘Such sinners are condemned in this life and in the next. Those who give them forgiveness and succour are the real heretics. They will not receive forgiveness of the Lord when the time comes. They will be made to answer at the awful Day of Judgement.’

‘There is a day of judgement come today,’ Fidelma pointed out. ‘We are here to judge who is responsible for Brother Donnchad’s death.’

‘I shall not deny my Faith,’ Brother Lugna replied stubbornly.‘At least I will not die a sinner and a blasphemer as Donnchad did.’

‘So you killed Brother Donnchad!’ Abbot Iarnla accused, his voice rising. ‘You admit it!’

The refectorium erupted once more.

‘I deny it!’ shouted the steward, red with anger.

Brehon Aillín stamped his staff of office loudly but it took a long time before he was able to quell the noise of surprise and outrage that had arisen.

When some degree of quiet was restored, Fidelma held up her hand.

‘Let us come to the answer in the proper order,’ she said, glancing at the Brehon.

Brehon Aillín was looking anxious and said, ‘There are contentious matters here and in view of what you have told me, I am prepared to let you proceed for a little while longer in the manner you wish. But I urge you, for the sake of peace in this abbey, come to the point as quickly as you can.’

‘I shall proceed as quickly as the matter allows.’ Fidelma’s voice was grave. She turned back to those gathered in the refectorium. ‘The views expressed by Brother Lugna are part of the intolerance that I believe we must fight against. Beliefs are things to be cherished but we cannot be intolerant of others whose beliefs we disagree with. That intolerance can lead to war and even murder. It did lead to murder in the case of Brother Donnchad.

‘As with the killing of Glassán the master builder, two people were involved in the murder of Brother Donnchad. Both parties to his murder were zealots for the Faith and could not tolerate someone who, rightly or wrong — for I make no judgement — began to ask questions instead of simply believing.

‘When it became known to these two people that BrotherDonnchad was researching writings that were critical of the Faith and meant to produce a scholastic work on them, they decided that he should be silenced. He was not to be allowed to proclaim his doubts or voice his questions because of the shame, as they saw it, it would bring upon this abbey.’

Many heads turned to Brother Lugna and to Abbot Iarnla. They both sat with expressions of defiance.

Brehon Aillín leant forward. ‘Do you accuse the abbot or his steward? Or both of them? There is no one in a higher position to protect the reputation of the abbey than they are.’

‘A moment more of patience,’ Fidelma urged. ‘One of the two people planned the murder and the other was their accomplice. But we must first comment on the circumstances of the murder. One of them entered Brother Donnchad’s cubiculum and killed him. They had to remove all the manuscripts that Brother Donnchad had in his cubiculum that would show what he was working on. They could not allow the papers to be known.’

‘How are you going to demonstrate that?’ snapped Abbot Iarnla. ‘There was only one key to the cubiculum, which Brother Donnchad had, and that was by his side when he was found. And no one came out of his cubiculum bearing any papers before his body was discovered.’

‘That was where the second person was involved. It was the Venerable Bróin who gave me the clue with his story of seeing an angel in white fluttering in the sky. The Venerable Bróin occupied the cubiculum beneath Brother Donnchad. What he actually saw was a large piece of parchment fluttering down. The killer, having despatched Donnchad, threw the precious manuscripts out of the window. The window, as you will recall, faces the wasteland that lies just before the abbey graveyard. The window is too small for anyone to enter or exit through it. But it is large enough to throw out themanuscripts to the second person waiting below to collect them.’

She suddenly swung round.

‘What happened to them, Brother Donnán? Have they been destroyed, given to your confederate, or have you hidden them away in the library?’

Brother Donnán turned white, stood up quickly, sat down again and then slowly rose to his feet once more.

‘I … I deny it!’ he gasped but there was no conviction in his voice.

‘The first mistake you made was over a piece of parchment written on by Brother Donnchad. We found the piece below the window. You neglected to pick it up; it was such a small piece, you probably did not notice it. There were only a few words written on it anyway. You, who are certainly an expert on his writings, denied it was Brother Donnchad’s hand. Yet Cunán, the assistant librarian at Fhear Maighe, who is also an expert, not only identified it as Brother Donnchad’s, but was also able to prove this by the particular way letters were formed, by showing us writings received from Brother Donnchad as example.

‘Donnchad wrote an entreaty that the chalice be removed from him. What chalice? The chalice of his knowledge. Brother Donnchad had also written Deicide several times; he was not referring to the Jews killing the Christ but to himself, to his own research, which was killing his Faith. He knew what was happening and he used the words written in the gospel of Luke when even Jesus doubted: “Father, if you be willing, remove this chalice from me …’ It was to be a bitter chalice for Brother Donnchad.

‘Brother Donnán also tried to lead us away from the books Donnchad was researching. Then he discovered that the original book by Celsus was in Fhear Maighe. By coincidence, theabbey of Ard Mór had asked and paid for a copy of it, having read Origenes’ answer to it, which this abbey had lent them after Brother Donnchad had read it. A messenger arrived at the library with the news that the copy was ready and that it would be sent by barge. As the physician, Brother Seachlann, was going to Ard Mór, he volunteered to take the message. Brother Donnán overheard this and even wrote down the titles of the books. However, he thought it was the original that Fhear Maighe was sending. He passed that information on to someone on the barge, who arranged for it to be attacked and the copy stolen.’

There was a deathly hush in the great room. Everyone was sitting spellbound.

‘The attack on the barge was made to appear as if men from the Uí Liatháin carried it out. I will explain why, in a moment.’

Uallachán and Cumscrad stirred uneasily in their seats but they made no comment.

‘Brother Donnán’s accomplice, or should I say the person who was the main instigator of all these events, then learned that Fhear Maighe still had the original of Celsus’s work. An attack on the library to destroy this copy and, indeed, to kill the librarian who might have read the work was arranged.

‘Why were you involved, Brother Donnán?’ Fidelma asked the scriptor. ‘You have been at this abbey a long time. I suppose you have pride in your library, your scriptorium, and pride in the abbey which you hoped would become one of the great teaching abbeys of Christendom. Did you fear that if a scholar of Brother Donnchad’s merit declared his doubts, it would destroy your ambitions for the abbey and tarnish the reputation you took such pride in?’

Brother Donnán resumed his seat and folded his hands before him. He was shaking his head. His face was set, his mouthcompressed into a firm line.

‘You will not tell us who the instigator was in all this?’ Fidelma shrugged and turned towards Abbot Iarnla. ‘Who, more than most, wanted to protect the reputation of this abbey and make it, as I have said, renowned for its Faith and learning throughout Christendom? Who wanted this abbey to rise as a great monument to the Faith that would last forever?’

Many in the refectorium were now looking with open hostility at Brother Lugna, while a few were casting suspicious glances at Abbot Iarnla.

‘Who,’ declared Fidelma, speaking in a slow, deliberate tone, ‘has the ultimate power here?’

The eyes of all the brethren now focused on the abbot. Abbot Iarnla stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes suddenly widened. An expression of horror crossed his face and he turned to look at Lady Eithne. Everyone followed his gaze.

‘This is a scandalous accusation!’ she declared, immobile in her seat. ‘Am I being accused of killing my own son? I cannot and will not stand for it.’

‘Did you kill your son, Lady Eithne?’ asked Fidelma coldly.

‘I loved my son. Anyway, it would have been physically impossible for me to do what is claimed here. There was only one key to the cell, which was found by my son’s body in the locked cell after I had left him on that final visit when Brother Lugna called me to the abbey.’

‘You had another key made,’ Fidelma asserted flatly.

‘How could I have done that?’

‘Simple. I had overlooked that you made two visits to his cell. Brother Lugna told us about the day.’ She turned to Brehon Aillín. ‘Brother Donnchad disappeared for a day but came back in the evening and locked himself in his chamber. That was four days before his death. Brother Lugna told me that he sent for Lady Eithne the next day and she came and saw him. Thatwas three days before his death, and later that same day Donnchad went to the scriptorium. Brother Máel Eoin remembered that he was upset because he had mislaid his pólaire, the wax tablet for making notes. He had not mislaid it, Lady Eithne had taken it during her visit.’

‘Why would I take his notebook?’

‘You pressed the key into it so that the shape of it was made in the wax. Donnchad was too preoccupied to notice your actions, or maybe you distracted him somehow. You took the tablet out concealed in your robes. I saw that you had your own smith at your fortress. It was easy to get him to make a key from the impression. The original key never left the cell. When I handled it later, when Brother Gilla-na-Naomh showed it to me, it was still slippery with wax.’

‘That is true,’ declared Brother Gilla-na-Naomh.

Lady Eithne’s mouth thinned.

‘You returned to see Donnchad on the day of his death. You returned specifically to kill him. After you had killed him, thrown the papers and books through the window to your accomplice, Brother Donnán, you were able to exit his chamber, leaving his key by his body. You locked the door with your newly made key. It was realising that you made two visits that put everything in perspective for me.’

In the brief moment of silence that followed, Brother Lugna cried out, ‘I was not involved in any of this!’

‘In a way, you are the person mainly responsible for this,’ Fidelma replied harshly. ‘Oh, you will not be found guilty of the killing nor of conspiracy to kill, but you were the malign influence over that woman,’ she indicated Lady Eithne. Then she turned back to the Brehon. ‘She had developed a fierce pride in the Faith. That pride increased when she encountered Brother Lugna and she saw in him the means to build up this abbey as a shrine to her sons Donnchad and Cathal. But Cathalchose to remain in Tarentum as its Bishop. Only Brother Donnchad had returned here. So this was to be his shrine, a beacon for the Faith, as she called it. But, to her horror, her son was having doubts about the very fundamentals of the Faith. He was even researching and writing an essay on the matter. That could not be allowed.’

Fidelma addressed Lady Eithne again. ‘Who could you turn to to stop your son ruining your great plans for the abbey and, by association, your self-aggrandisement? Brother Lugna was actually too pious. I suspect he also thought he was making a shrine for himself. But you knew the scriptor was proud of the abbey, proud of the library that he had built up, and proud of its reputation. So you drew him into the plan, the plan to take the documents your son had gathered and to destroy them and any trace of writings that questioned the Faith.’

‘I was not told that she was going to kill Brother Donnchad,’ Brother Donnán suddenly said, loudly and clearly. ‘I would not have agreed to that.’

‘Shut up, you fool!’ cried Lady Eithne.

‘By the time Brother Donnán knew Donnchad had been killed, he was too involved and too frightened to do anything but continue as Lady Eithne’s accomplice.’ Fidelma looked at the librarian. ‘What did you do with the books and papers Lady Eithne threw from the chamber?’

‘As you said, I gathered them up and later took them to Lady Eithne’s fortress.’

‘You met Brother Gáeth along the way and said you were simply taking books from the library to her. But how were you able to alert her about the copy of Celsus’s book at Fhear Maighe just as we were setting off there?’

‘I was on the road outside the abbey, on my way to see Lady Eithne, when I saw Glassán riding off on some errand. Hepaused long enough to tell me that Brother Lugna had just seen Cumscrad and was in a rage, for he had learned that the library at Fhear Maighe held the Celsus book. I knew Lady Eithne would be interested.’

‘Interested to send her warriors to Fhear Maighe. So all Brother Donnchad’s papers are now destroyed?’

Brother Donnán shrugged.

‘One thing that Lady Eithne and Brother Donnán did not know,’ Fidelma said to Brehon Aillín, ‘was that her son had already written a brief account of his findings and his thoughts. Oh, not the great reference work that he was planning, citing those writers of centuries ago who presented their criticisms against the new Faith. This was only a short account of his ideas. He included the fact that he had tried to talk to you, Lady Eithne, his own mother, about his doubts. Instead of discussing them, you threatened him if he spoke out. He believed that you would attempt to steal his work and suppress it. He mistakenly believed that your accomplice was Brother Lugna. He even thought Brother Lugna might contemplate physical violence against him. That’s why he asked Abbot Iarnla for a key to his cell.’

There was a deathly silence as Fidelma paused, shaking her head.

‘There were other matters to be considered along the way. When Lady Eithne heard that Abbot Iarnla had sent for me, she sent two of her mercenary warriors to waylay us on the road here. They were to ambush and kill my companions and me. They did not succeed and one of them was killed by Gormán, and the other, a bánaí, fled. He was later to die in the attack on Fhear Maighe. It seemed he was the leader of a band of mercenaries from a kingdom called Kernow on the island of Britain. A band of mercenaries that you hired, Lady Eithne. I have since found that your clan, the Déisí, has a small settlementin that kingdom. The mercenaries were disguised as Uí Liatháin. Then, of course, there was the earlier attack on the barge by warriors dressed as Uí Liatháin. One of these attackers was wounded. And you felt you should send for the physician, Brother Seachlann, to attend to the man’s wound. That was part of your undoing, lady. You have more than once demonstrated to me your complete lack of concern for those you consider beneath your rank. That is why you did not attend the funeral of Glassán.

‘You told Seachlann your warrior was wounded practising with his sword. So it was Brother Seachlann who provided me with an important piece of information. The two knife thrusts that killed Brother Donnchad showed some knowledge of anatomy, in that they were struck in points in the back where death was fairly certain. Brother Seachlann, when examining your warrior, realised you possessed a good knowledge of anatomy. You could have treated the man yourself and not aroused suspicion.’

Colgú was frowning. ‘Why the subterfuge? Why would Lady Eithne have her warriors disguised as Uí Liatháin? To create war between them and the Fir Maige Féne? To spread alarm and dissension?’

‘For an even more sinister purpose,’ replied Fidelma. ‘She knew of the tensions between the Fir Maige Féne and the Uí Liatháin and she knew they were often blamed for many things. Her intention was to create a conflict between them. She had hired an unusual number of mercenary warriors. I believe that she intended to use the ensuing conflict to step in as a peacemaker and claim, as a reward, some of the territories of the two clans to extend her own power around this abbey. Moreover, she needed the extra revenue from the new territories to finance her rebuilding of the abbey.’

Fidelma turned to Brehon Aillín.

‘I have rarely encountered a crime that sickens me so to the depths of my soul. This is the crime of fingal, or kin-slaying, which strikes at the very heart of our society, based as it is on kin, on clans and our relationship with one another. Our laws stress that this is the most horrendous crime of all. It is impossible to atone or compensate for such a crime. It is said that the fortress of a leader who has committed the crime can be erased so that all memory of it may be lost. It is a crime of such malevolence that-’

As she was speaking there came the sound of horses clattering through the abbey gates. Lady Eithne rose from her seat and glanced around. Her companions, the three warriors she had brought with her, drew their weapons and defensively closed around her.

The brethren began to move away from her but Brehon Aillín seemed unperturbed. ‘I presume this gesture is an admission of guilt,’ he said.

Colgú had signalled to Gormán and his two companions at the door, who had drawn their swords, as had Caol, standing behind the King.

‘You will have to deal with my warriors before you can walk out of here, Lady Eithne,’ Colgú warned. ‘There is no escape.’

Lady Eithne laughed harshly. ‘I am afraid you have not been very clever, Colgú of Cashel. While you may have a few of your bodyguard with you, they are not enough to challenge my warriors. Fidelma was right. I have increased my war band by hiring some of the best professionals I could find. Do you think I entered here with just these few men without making a plan? I suspected your sister might stumble on the truth.’ She turned to Fidelma. ‘Unfortunately for you, lady, when you came to see me a few days ago, I read the distrust in your eyes. Your companion, Eadulf, almost confessed your suspicions. Forewarned is forearmed. Mywarriors now surround this abbey. A moment ago, you heard my advance guard enter.’

Cries of alarm rose from the hall but Colgú remained relaxed in his seat, a curious smile on his face. Brehon Aillín called for quiet. When the hubbub had died away, he said softly, ‘So what do you intend, Lady Eithne of the Déisi? You say you have surrounded this abbey with your hired bands. Now what? You intend to kill me? To kill all the brethren here?’

‘As you leave me with no option,’ Lady Eithne replied evenly. ‘There will be an attack on this abbey by the Uí Liatháin who have long coveted the abbey and these lands.’

‘That is not true,’ cried Uallachán, springing from his seat. ‘I have no hand in this. My warriors will not attack this place.’

‘There will be enough evidence left to identify the attackers as your men,’ replied Lady Eithne icily. ‘Your own body will be found slain at the head of your warriors, bloody sword in hand. In the attack, you will have slain your arch-enemy, Cumscrad. Indeed, even the King and his retinue will not survive.’

Abbot Iarnla was staring at Lady Eithne in horror. ‘You are mad, lady. You intend to wipe out all these brethren, your kin and the others gathered here? You intend to kill the King and his advisers? How do you think you can get away with it?’

‘I am quite serious. Everyone will perish. This abbey will be cleansed of the faint-hearted. Purified, it will rise again under the leadership of its new abbot — Lugna. I appoint him as the new abbot.’ She gestured to Brother Lugna who was sitting in a state of shock, white-faced, as if unable to comprehend what was happening.

It was only then that Fidelma realised that not only was Lady Eithne a fanatic for the Faith, she was completely insane.

‘It will be reported that the Uí Liatháin are the culpritsand they will be punished,’ Lady Eithne said gleefully. ‘And now-’

The door of the refectorium swung open and several warriors stood there. The cries of alarm began to rise. Lady Eithne’s malicious smile faded when she saw Colgú grinning broadly. He rose and held up his hands, palm outwards. She swung round and noticed that the warriors at the door all wore the golden torc emblems of the Nasc Niadh, the bodyguard of the King of Cashel.

‘It is done, Colgú,’ called the leading man, his voice booming over the panicking hubbub. Brehon Aillín started calling for calm, telling the brethren that they had nothing to fear. The noise started to subside.

Colgú glanced at Fidelma and he inclined his head before turning to the now bewildered Lady Eithne, whose guards still stood ready to defend her.

‘There was just one problem with your plan, Lady Eithne,’ Colgú said. ‘You were right that my sister suspected you. When she sent for me she had specific instructions. This morning, after you and your escort had left your fortress for this place, a full catha, a battalion of my army, moved from the mountains across the river and surrounded your fortress just as your men were getting ready to follow you here.’

The leader of the newly arrived warriors approached the King and spoke urgently in his ear. The King smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you, Enda.’ He looked at Lady Eithne. ‘I am pleased to say, lady, that your mercenaries thought the better of fighting and surrendered their arms.’

Lady Eithne’s face was white.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered.

‘Oh, your lucht-tighe, your personal guard, those of your own clan, put up a brief resistance. But when you pay men to fightyour battles, when it comes to fighting to the death, they will often choose life, for they cannot spend money when they are dead.’

Brehon Aillín looked grave. ‘You should remember the words of the Audacht Moraind on nobility, lady. The noble who takes power with the help of foreign warriors can expect a weak and fleeting lordship — as soon as the warriors leave or surrender then that noble’s dignity and the terror it inspires will decline. So has it in this case.’

There was a silence.

‘You do not respond?’ the King asked drily. ‘I suggest, lady, you order your companions to put down their swords. I do not want to sully this abbey and this court with any more blood.’

With a gesture from Colgú, Caol and his men moved forward, weapons ready to meet any aggression. But without waiting for any order from Lady Eithne, her companions dropped their swords and raised their hands.

‘Excellent,’ approved Colgú. ‘Caol,’ he called to his commander of the Nasc Niadh, ‘escort the Lady Eithne and her companions to a safe place until Brehon Aillín decides how best to resolve this matter.’

Fidelma watched as Lady Eithne, her head raised in arrogant fashion, left with her escort, looking neither to right nor left.

‘I will never understand how a mother can kill her son even if she is insane,’ she commented softly as Eadulf rose and laid a hand on her arm.

‘I am sorry I could not help you more,’ he said. ‘That was one of the most complicated presentations you have ever had to give.’

‘And the most difficult I have ever had to understand,’ said Fidelma. ‘But we might not have been allowed to proceed had you not found that legal maxim from the Uraicecht Becc. Forthat alone your help was indispensable.’

Eadulf shrugged with mock indifference. ‘I suppose I have my uses after all.’