Suffer Little Children

Suffer Little Children

Peter Tremayne

A SISTER FIDELMA MYSTERY

For my old and very good friend Christopher Lowder— thanks to Arnold Bennett and The Six Towns Magazine

Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not…

—Matthew, 10:14

Fear them not therefore: for there is nothing concealed that shall not be revealed; and nothing hidden that shall not be known.

—Matthew, 10:26

Historical Note

The Sister Fidelma mysteries are set during the mid-seventh century a.d.

Sister Fidelma is not simply a religieuse, a member of the community of St. Brigid of Kildare. She is also a qualified dálaigh, or advocate of the ancient law courts of Ireland. As this background will not be familiar to many readers, this foreword provides a few essential points of reference designed to make the stories more readily appreciated.

Ireland, in the seventh century a.d., consisted of five main provincial kingdoms: Indeed, the modern Irish word for a province is still cuige, literally "a fifth." Four provincial kings—of Ulaidh (Ulster), of Connacht, of Muman (Munster) and of Laigin (Leinster)—gave their allegiance to the Ard Ri or High King, who ruled from Tara, in the "royal" fifth province of Midhe (Meath), which means the "middle province." Even among these provincial kingdoms, there was a decentralization of power to petty-kingdoms and clan territories.

The law of primogeniture, the inheritance by the eldest son or daughter, was an alien concept in Ireland. Kingship, from the lowliest clan chieftain to the High King, was only partially hereditary and mainly electoral. Each ruler had to prove himself or herself worthy of office and was elected by the derbfhine of their family— three generations gathered in conclave. If a ruler did not pursue the commonwealth of the people, they were impeached and removed from office. Therefore the monarchical system of ancient Ireland had more in common with a modern-day republic than with the feudal monarchies of medieval Europe.

Ireland, in the seventh century a.d., was governed by a system of sophisticated laws called the Laws of the Fènechas, or land-tillers, which became more popularly known as the Brehon Laws, deriving from the word breitheamh—a judge. Tradition has it that these laws were first gathered in 714 b.c. by the order of the High King, Ollamh Fodhla. But it was in ad. 438 that the High King, Laoghaire, appointed a commission of nine learned people to study, revise, and commit the laws to the new writing in Latin characters. One of those serving on the commission was Patrick, eventually to become patron saint of Ireland. After three years, the commission produced a written text of the laws, the first known codification.

The first complete surviving texts of the ancient laws of Ireland are preserved in an eleventh-century manuscript book. It was not until the seventeenth century that the English colonial administration in Ireland finally suppressed the use of the Brehon Law system. To even possess a copy of the law books was punishable, often by death or transportation.

The law system was not static and every three years at the Féis Temhrach (Festival of Tara) the lawyers and administrators gathered to consider and revise the laws in the light of changing society and its needs.

Under these laws, women occupied a unique place. The Irish laws gave more rights and protection to women than any other western law code at that time or since. Women could, and did, aspire to all offices and professions as the coequal with men. They could be political leaders, command their people in battle as warriors, be physicians, local magistrates, poets, artisans, lawyers, and judges. We know the name of many female judges of Fidelma's period—Brig Briugaid, Àine Ingine Iugaire and Dari among many others. Dari, for example, was not only a judge but the author of a noted law text written in the sixth century a.d. Women were protected by the laws against sexual harassment; against discrimination; from rape; they had the right of divorce on equal terms from their husbands with equitable separation laws and could demand part of their husband's property as a divorce settlement; they had the right of inheritance of personal property and the right of sickness benefits.

Seen from today's perspective, the Brehon Laws provided for an almost feminist paradise.

This background, and its strong contrast with Ireland's neighbors, should be understood to appreciate Fidelma's role in these stories.

Fidelma was born at Cashel, capital of the kingdom of Muman (Munster) in southwest Ireland, in ad. 636. She was the youngest daughter of Failbe Fland, the king, who died the year after her birth, and was raised under the guidance of a distant cousin, Abbot Laisran of Durrow. When she reached the "Age of Choice" (fourteen years), she went to study at the bardic school of the Brehon Morann of Tara, as many other young Irish girls did. Eight years of study resulted in Fidelma obtaining the degree of Anruth, only one degree below the highest offered at either bardic or ecclesiastical universities in ancient Ireland. The highest degree was ollamh, still the modern Irish word for a professor. Fidelma's studies were in law, both in the criminal code of the Senchus Mòr and the civil code of the Leabhar Acaill. She therefore became a dálaigh or advocate of the courts.

Her role could be likened to a modern Scottish sheriff-substitute, whose job is to gather and assess the evidence, independent of the police, to see if there is a case to be answered. The modern French juge d'instruction holds a similar role.

In those days, most of the professional or intellectual classes were members of the new Christian religious houses, just as, in previous centuries, all members of professions and intellectuals were Druids. Fidelma became a member of the religious community of Kildare founded in the late fifth century A.D. by St. Brigid.

While the seventh century a.d. was considered part of the European "Dark Ages," for Ireland it was a period of "Golden Enlightenment." Students from every corner of Europe flocked to Irish universities to receive their education including the sons of the Anglo-Saxon kings. For example, Aldfrith, who became king of Northumbria from a.d. 685-705, was educated at Bangor and achieved a reputation in Ireland as a poet in the Irish language. Three of his poems still survive in ancient texts. At the great ecclesiastical university of Durrow, at this time, it is recorded that no fewer than eighteen different nations were represented among the students. At the same time, Irish male and female missionaries were setting out to reconvert a pagan Europe to Christianity, establishing churches, monasteries, and centers of learning throughout Europe as far east as Kiev, in the Ukraine; as far north as the Faroes; and as far south as Taranto in southern Italy. Ireland was a by-word for literacy and learning.

However, the Celtic Church of Ireland was in constant dispute with Rome on matters of liturgy and ritual. Rome had begun to reform itself in the fourth century, changing its dating of Easter and aspects of its liturgy. The Celtic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church refused to follow Rome, but the Celtic Church was gradually absorbed by Rome between the ninth and eleventh centuries while the Eastern Orthodox Churches have continued to remain independent of Rome. The Celtic Church of Ireland, during Fidelma's time, was much concerned with this conflict.

One thing that marked both the Celtic Church and Rome in the seventh century was that the concept of celibacy was not universal. While there were always ascetics in both churches who sublimated physical love in a dedication to the deity, it was not until the Council of Nicea in a.d. 325 that clerical marriages were condemned but not banned. The concept of celibacy in the Roman Church arose from the customs practiced by the pagan priestesses of Vesta and the priests of Diana. By the fifth century Rome had forbidden clerics from the rank of abbot and bishop to sleep with their wives and, shortly after, even to marry at all. The general clergy were discouraged from marrying by Rome but not forbidden to do so. Indeed, it was not until the reforming papacy of Leo IX (a.d. 1049-1054) that a serious attempt was made to force the western clergy to accept universal celibacy. In the Eastern Orthodox Church, priests below the rank of abbot and bishop have retained their right to marry until this day.

The condemnation of the "sin of the flesh" remained alien to the Celtic Church for a long time after Rome's attitude became a dogma. In Fidelma's world, both sexes inhabited abbeys and monastic foundations which were known as conhospitae, or double houses, where men and women lived raising their children in Christ's service.

Fidelma's own house of St. Brigid of Kildare was one such community of both sexes in Fidelma's time. When Brigid established her community at Kildare (Cill-Dara = the church of oaks) she invited a bishop named Conlaed to join her. Her first biography, written in a.d. 650, in Fidelma's time, was written by a monk of Kildare named Cogitosus, who makes it clear that it was a mixed community.

It should also be pointed out that, showing women's coequal role with men, women were priests of the Celtic Church at this time. Brigid herself was ordained a bishop by Patrick's nephew, Mel, and her case was not unique. Rome actually wrote a protest in the sixth century at the Celtic practice of allowing women to celebrate the divine sacrifice of Mass.

To help readers locate themselves in Fidelma's Ireland of the seventh century, where its geo-political divisions will be mainly unfamiliar, I have provided a sketch map and, to help them more readily identify personal names, a list of principal characters is also given.

I have generally refused to use anachronistic place names for obvious reasons although I have bowed to a few modern usages, e.g.: Tara, rather than Teamhair; and Cashel, rather than Caiseal Muman; and Armagh in place of Ard Macha. However, I have cleaved to the name of Muman rather than the prolepsis form "Munster" when the Norse stadr (place) was added to the Irish name Muman in the ninth century a.d. and eventually anglicized. Similarly, I have maintained the original Laigin, rather than the anglicized form of Laiginstadr which is now Leinster.

Armed with this background knowledge, we may now enter Fidelma's world. This story is placed in the year a.d. 665.

Principal Characters

Sister Fidelma of Kildare, a dálaigh or advocate of the law courts of seventh-century Ireland

Cass, a member of the King of Cashel's bodyguard

Cathal, the dying King of Cashel

Colgu, the tánaiste or heir-apparent of Cashel, and Fidelma's brother

At Rae na Serine

Intat, a bó-aire or local magistrate of the Corco Loigde

Sister Eisten, caring for orphans

Cétach and Cosrach, young brothers

Cera and Ciar, young sisters

Tressach, an orphan boy

At the abbey of Ros Ailithir

Abbot Brocc, a cousin of Fidelma

Brother Conghus, the aistreóir or doorkeeper

Brother Rumann, the fer-tighis or steward of the abbey

Brother Midach, the chief physician

Brother Tola, the assistant physician

Brother Martan, the apothecary

Sister Grella, the librarian

Brother Sègán, the fer-leginn or chief professor

Sister Necht, a novice and assistant hostel keeper

Men of the Corco Loigde

Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Loigde

Scandlán, his cousin and petty king of Osraige

Ross, captain of a coastal barc or sailing vessel

Men of the kingdom of Laigin

The Venerable Dacán, the deceased

Fianamail, the king of Laigin

Forbassach, his Brehon or judge

Abbot Noé brother of the Venerable Dacán; abbot of Fearna and advisor to Fianamail

Mugrón, captain of a Laigin warship

Midnat, a Laigin sailor

Assid of the Uí Dego, a merchant and sea captain from Laigin

At Sceilig Mhichil

Father Mel, father superior of monastery of Sceilig Mhichil

Brother Febal, a monk

At Molua's House

Brother Molua, who runs an orphanage

Sister Aibnat, his wife

At the Great Assembly Sechnassach, King of Ireland

Barrán, the Chief Brehon of Ireland

Ultan, Archbishop of Armagh, Chief Apostle of the Faith

Chapter One

The storm broke with sudden violence. The white flash of lightning heralded a crash of angry thunder. A moment later the rain began to fall in heavy, icy droplets.

The horse and rider had just emerged from the shelter of a forest and halted on a ridge overlooking a broad, low level plain. The rider was a woman, clad in a long, brown woollen cloak and hood, thick and warm, wrapping her body against the late autumnal chill. She turned her gaze to the sky, unafraid of the frenzy of the tempest. The clouds were dark gray, rolling close to the ground and obscuring the distant mountain tops like a mist. Here and there, against this background, were patches of darker, scudding clouds, black and ominous, bringing the threatening thunder with them.

The woman blinked as the cold rain splattered against her face; it was chilly to the point of being painful. Her face was youthful, attractive without being pretty, and with rebellious strands of red hair streaking from under the hood of her cloak across her broad forehead. There was a faint hint of freckles on the pale skin. The eyes seemed momentarily gray, reflecting the color of the somber skies, yet when the lightning flashed there was a hint of green fire in them. She sat her horse with a youthful agility, her tall figure firmly in control of the restless animal. A closer examination would have revealed the silver crucifix hung around her neck and the habit of a religieuse hidden by the heavy riding cloak and hood.

Sister Fidelma, of the community of the Blessed Brigid of Kildare, had been expecting the approach of the storm for some hours now and was not surprised by its apparent sudden eruption. The signs had been there for a while. She had observed the closed pine cones on the trees, the withdrawn petals of the daisies and dandelions and the swelling stems of the meadow trefoil, as she rode along. All spoke of the coming rain to her keen, observing eye. Even the last of the swallows, preparing to disappear from the skies of Eireann for the winter months, had been keeping close to the ground; a sure indication of the tempest to come. If further indications were necessary, as she had been passing a woodsman's cabin, in the forest behind her, she had seen the smoke of the cabin fire descending instead of spiraling upward; descending and causing small eddies around the building before dispersing into the cold air. Smoke behaving in such a manner, she knew from experience, was invariably an indication of rains to come.

She was fully prepared for the storm, though not its ferocity. As she halted a moment or two, she wondered whether to return into the forest and seek shelter there until the gusting rains had abated. But she was only a few miles from her destination and the urgency of the message she had received, to come with all speed, made her dig her heels into the sides of her horse and urge it forward down the track leading onto the great plain toward the distant hill that was just visible in spite of the driving rain and darkness of the sky.

This spectacular mound was her objective; a large outcrop of limestone rock rising over two hundred feet to dominate the plain in every direction. It rose in precipitous fashion and now and then the lightning would silhouette it. Fidelma found a constriction in her throat as she gazed on its familiar contours. She could see the fortified buildings which commanded the natural stronghold—Cashel, seat of the kings of Muman, the largest of the five kingdoms of Eireann. It was the place of her birth and her childhood.

As she rode forward, head bowed into the teeth of the wild, gusty wind, which drove the soaking rain at her, she felt a curious mixture of emotions. She felt an excited pleasure at the idea of seeing her brother, Colgu, after several years of absence but she also experienced anxiety as to why he should have sent her a message requesting her to leave her community at Kildare and hasten to Cashel as a matter of urgency.

All through her journey, questions assailed her mind, even though she could not possibly answer them. She had rebuked herself several times for wasting time and emotional energy on the matter. Fidelma had been raised in an old discipline. She found herself remembering the advice of her former master, the Brehon Morann of Tara: "Do not place eggs on the table before you have visited the hen." It was no use worrying about the answer to the problem before she knew the questions that she must ask.

Instead, she tried to clear her mind of such worries and sought refuge in the art of the dercad, the act of meditation, by which countless generations of Irish mystics had achieved the state of sitchain or peace, calming extraneous thought and mental irritations. She was a regular practitioner of this ancient art in times of stress although some members of the Faith, such as Ultan, the archbishop of Armagh, denounced its usage as a pagan art because it had been practiced by the Druids. Even the Blessed Patrick himself, a Briton who had been prominent in establishing the Faith in the five kingdoms two centuries before, had expressly forbade some of the meditative arts of self-enlightenment. However, the dercad, while frowned upon, was not yet forbidden. It was a means of relaxing and calming the riot of thoughts within a troubled mind.

In such fashion did her journey through the blustery rains, with the continuous crash of thunder and flashes of white lightning, draw Fidelma nearer to the fortress of the kings of Muman. She reached the edge of the township almost before she realized it.

Around the foot of the limestone outcrop, under the shadow of the fortress, a large market town had slowly arisen over the centuries. The day had now darkened considerably as the storm continued unabated. Fidelma reached the entrance of the town and began to guide her horse into the narrow streets. She could smell the pungent odor of turf fires and see, here and there, the dim light from numerous flickering lanterns. Suddenly, out of the dark shadows, a tall warrior, holding a lantern aloft in one hand, a spear loosely but professionally held in his shield hand, challenged her entrance.

"Who are you and what business have you here in Cashel?"

Sister Fidelma drew rein on her horse.

"I am Fidelma of Kildare," she replied, her voice loud in order to be heard against the noise of the storm. Then she decided to correct herself. "I am Fidelma, sister of Colgu."

The warrior let out a low whistle and stiffened slightly.

"Pass in safety, lady. We were told to expect your coming."

He withdrew back into the shadows to continue his uncomfortable task as a sentinel against the dangers of the night.

Fidelma guided her horse through the dark, narrow streets of the township. Her ears picked up the sound of occasional laughter and lively music coming from some of the buildings as she rode by. She crossed the town square and started toward the track which wound up to the top of the rocky hill. It had been occupied since time immemorial. Fidelma's ancestors, the Éoganachta, the sons of Eoghan, had settled there over three hundred years ago when they claimed the kingship of Muman for their own, making the rock into their political, and later ecclesiastical, center.

Fidelma knew every inch of it for her father, Failbe Fland, had once been king of Cashel.

"Do not go further!" screeched a thin, reedy voice, rousing Fidelma abruptly from her reverie.

Fidelma halted sharply and stared down in surprise at the shapeless figure which had leapt out in front of her horse to bar the way. Only by the voice did Fidelma realize that the mess of furs and rags was a woman. The figure crouched, drenched by the rain and leaning heavily on a stick. Fidelma peered closely but could not discern the woman's features. That she was old was obvious but all was obscured save, by the lightning's illumination, the glimpse of white, rain-soaked hair, plastered to her face.

"Who are you?" demanded Fidelma.

"It matters not. Go no further, if you value life!"

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in surprise at this response.

"What threat do you make, old woman?" she commanded harshly.

"I make no threats, lady," cackled the crone. "I merely warn you. Death has settled in that grim palace yonder. Death will encompass all who go there. Leave this miserable place, if you value life!"

A sudden flash and roll of thunder momentarily distracted Fidelma as she tried to still her skittish mount. When she turned back, the old woman had disappeared. Fidelma compressed her lips and gave an inward shrug. Then she turned her horse along the track, up to the gates of the palace of the kings of Muman. Twice more she was challenged in her ascent and each time, at her reply, the warriors let her through with signs of respect.

A stable lad came running forward to take her horse as she finally slid from her mount in the stone-flagged courtyard, which was illuminated by oscillating lanterns, dancing with mysterious motions in the wind. Fidelma paused only to pet her horse on its muzzle and remove her leather saddle bag before striding hurriedly toward the main door of the building. It opened to receive her before she could knock upon it.

Inside she was in a large hall, warmed by a great roaring fire in a central hearth almost as big as a small room. The hall was filled with several people who turned to look at her and whisper among themselves. A servant came forward to take her bag and help her remove her traveling cloak. She shook the rain-sodden garment from her shoulders and hurried forward to warm herself at the fire. A second servant had, so the first told her, departed to inform her brother, Colgu, that she had arrived.

Of the people who stood about in the great hall of the palace, examining her drenched figure with curiosity, Fidelma saw no friendly familiar face. There was an air of studied solemnity in the hall. In fact, Fidelma caught a deeper air of melancholy about the place. Even an atmosphere of hostility. A dour-faced religious, with hands clasped as if in ostensive prayer, was standing to one side of the fire.

"God give you a good day, brother," Fidelma greeted him with a smile, attempting to strike up a conversation. "Why are there so many long faces in this place?"

The monk turned and stared hard at her, his face seeming to grow even more lugubrious.

"Surely you do not expect merry-making at such a time as this, sister?" he sniffed reprovingly and turned away before she could demand a further explanation.

Fidelma stood bewildered for a moment before glancing around in an attempt to find a more communicative soul.

She found a thin-faced man staring arrogantly at her. As she raised her eyes to meet his haughty examination, a chord of memory struck. Before she could articulate it, the man had walked across to her.

"So, Fidelma of Kildare," his voice was brittle and without warmth, "your brother, Colgu, has sent for you, has he?"

Fidelma was puzzled by his unfriendly tone but she responded with a smile of greeting as she identified the man.

"I recognize you as Forbassach, Brehon to the king of Laigin. What are you doing so far away from Fearna?"

The man did not return her smile.

"You have a good memory, Sister Fidelma. I have heard of your deeds at the court of Oswy of Northumbria and the service you performed in Rome. However, your talent will avail this kingdom naught. The judgment will not be impeded by your clever reputation."

Fidelma found her smile of greeting frozen for a moment. It was as if she had been addressed in an unfamiliar language and she tried to prevent the look of incomprehension spreading on her features. Brehon Morann of Tara had warned that a good advocate should never let an adversary know what they were thinking and certainly Forbassach was indicating that, somehow, he was her adversary; though in what matter she could not begin to guess.

"I am sure, Forbassach of Fearna, that your statement is profound but I have no understanding of it," she replied slowly, allowing her smile to relax a little.

Forbassach's face reddened.

"Are you being insolent with me, sister? You are Colgu's own sister and yet you pretend…"

"Your pardon, Forbassach."

A quiet, masculine voice interrupted the tones of anger that were building in the voice of the Brehon.

Fidelma glanced up. At her side was a young man, about her own age. He was tall, nearly six feet in height, dressed in the manner of a warrior. He was cleanshaven, with dark, curly hair, and he seemed ruggedly handsome at first glance. His features were agreeable and attractive. She had no time for a more careful appraisal. She noticed that he wore a necklet of twisted gold, worked with ornate embellishments, which showed him to be a member of the Order of the Golden Collar, the elite bodyguards of the kings of Muman. He turned to her with a pleasant smile.

"Your pardon, Sister Fidelma. I am instructed to bid you welcome to Cashel and bring you to your brother at once. If you will be so good as to follow me… ?"

She hesitated but Forbassach had turned away scowling toward a small group who stood muttering and casting glances in her direction. Fidelma was perplexed. But she dismissed the matter and began to follow the young warrior across the paved hall, hurrying slightly to keep up with his leisurely but lengthy pace.

"I do not understand, warrior." She gasped a little in her effort to keep level. "What is Forbassach of Fearna doing here? What makes him so petulant?"

The warrior made a sound suspiciously like a disparaging sniff.

"Forbassach is an envoy from the new king of Laigin, young Fianamail."

"It does not explain his disagreeable greeting nor does it explain why everyone is so mournful. Cashel used to be a palace filled with laughter."

The warrior looked uncomfortable.

"Your brother will explain how matters stand, sister."

He reached a door but before he could raise his hand to knock it was flung open.

"Fidelma!"

A young man came hurrying forward through the doorway. It was obvious to even the most cursory examination that he and Fidelma were related. They shared the same tallness of build, the same red hair and changeable green eyes; the same facial structure and indefinable quality of movement.

Brother and sister embraced with warmth. They broke apart breathlessly and held each other at arm's length, critically examining one another.

"The years have been good to you, Fidelma," observed Colgu with satisfaction.

"And to you, brother. I was anxious when I received your message. It has been many years since I was last in Cashel. I feared some mishap might have befallen you. Yet you look hale and hearty. But those people in the great hall, why are they so grim and melancholy?"

Colgu mac Failbe Fland drew his sister inside the room, turning to the tall warrior: "I will send for you later, Cass," he said, before following Fidelma into the chamber. It was a reception room with a fire smoldering in a corner. A servant came forward bearing a tray on which were two goblets of mulled wine; the heat from them was causing little wisps of steam to rise from the hot liquid. Having placed the tray on a table, the servant unobtrusively withdrew while Colgu motioned Fidelma to a chair in front of the fire.

"Warm yourself after your long journey from Kildare," Colgu instructed, as the thunder still rumbled outside. "The day is still angry with itself," he observed, taking one of the goblets of mulled wine and handing it to his sister.

Fidelma grinned mischievously as she took the goblet and raised it.

"Indeed, it is. But let us drink to better days to come."

"An 'amen' to that, little sister," agreed Colgu.

Fidelma sipped the wine appreciatively.

"There is much to talk of, brother," she said. "Much has happened since we last set eyes on one another. Indeed, I have journeyed to many places: to the island of Colmcille, to the land of the Saxons and even to Rome itself." She paused, as she suddenly noticed that there was some quality of pensiveness and anxiety in his eyes. "But you have yet to answer my question. Why is there this air of melancholy in the palace?"

She saw a frown pass across her brother's brow and paused.

"You always did have acute observation, little sister," he sighed.

"What is it, Colgu?"

Colgu hesitated a moment and then grimaced.

"I am afraid that it was not for a family reunion that you were asked here," he confessed gently.

Fidelma gazed at him, waiting for her brother to elaborate. When he did not, she said quietly: "I had not expected that it was. What is the matter?"

Colgu glanced almost surreptitiously around, as if to make sure that no one was eavesdropping.

"The king…" he began. "King Cathal has succumbed to the Yellow Plague. He is lying in his chamber at death's door. The physicians do not give him long."

Fidelma blinked; yet, deep down, she was not entirely surprised at the news. For two years now the Yellow Plague had spread itself across Europe, devastating the population. Tens of thousands had died from its virulence. It had spared neither lowly peasant, self-satisfied bishop, nor even lofty kings. Only eighteen months ago, when the plague had first arrived in Eireann, the joint High Kings of Ireland, Blathmac and Diarmuid, had both died within days of one another at Tara. A few months ago, Fáelán, the king of Laigin, had died from its ravages. Still the plague raged on unabated. Throughout the land were countless orphaned children, whose mothers and fathers had been carried off by the plague, left helpless and starving. Some members of the Faith, such as the Abbot Ultan of Ardbraccan, had responded by setting up orphanages and fighting the plague, while others, such as Column, the chief professor of the Blessed Finnbarr's college in Cork, had simply taken his fifty pupils and fled to some remote island in an attempt to escape it. Fidelma was well aware of the scourge of the Yellow Plague.

"Is that why you sent for me?" she asked. "Because our cousin is dying?"

Colgu shook his head swiftly.

"King Cathal instructed me to send for you before he succumbed to the fevers of plague. Now that he cannot instruct you, it falls to me to do so."

He reached across and took her by the elbow. "But first you must rest from your journey. There is time enough for this later. Come, I have ordered your old room to be prepared."

Fidelma tried to suppress her sigh of impatience.

"You know me well enough, brother. You know that I will not rest while there is a mystery to be explained. You keep goading my imagination. Come, explain what this mystery is and then I will rest."

Colgu was about to speak when there came the sound of raised voices beyond the door. There was the noise of a scuffle and Colgu was moving toward the door to inquire what was happening when it burst open and Forbassach of Fearna stood framed in it. He was red-faced and breathing heavily with exertion.

Behind him, his handsome face scowling in anger, was the young warrior, Cass.

"Forgive me, my lord. I could not stop him."

Colgu stood facing the envoy of the king of Laigin with displeasure on his face.

"What does this demonstration of bad manners mean, Forbassach? Surely you forget yourself?"

Forbassach thrust out his chin. His arrogant and contemptuous manner did not desert him.

"I need an answer to take back to Fianamail, the king of Laigin. Your king is on the verge of death; Colgu. Therefore it is up to you to answer the charges of Laigin."

Fidelma set her face into an immobile expression to disguise her frustration that she did not comprehend the meaning of this confrontation.

Colgu had flushed with anger.

"Cathal of Muman still lives, Forbassach. While he lives, his is the voice to answer your charge. Now, you have breached the hospitality of this court. As tánaiste I demand your withdrawal from this place. When the court of Cashel needs to communicate with you then you will be summoned to hear its voice."

Forbassach's thin lips twisted into a condescending sneer.

"I know that you merely seek to delay the answer, Colgu. As soon as I saw the arrival of your sister, Fidelma of Kildare, I realized that you will seek to delay and prevaricate. It will avail you nothing. Laigin still demands an answer. Laigin demands justice!"

Colgu's facial muscles worked in an effort to control his anger.

"Fidelma, instruct me in law." He addressed his sister without taking his eyes from Forbassach. "This envoy from Laigin has, I believe, overstepped the bounds of sacred hospitality. He has intruded where he should not and has been insulting. May I order him to be removed physically from this court?"

Fidelma glanced at the disdainful Brehon of Fearna.

"Do you make an apology for an unwarranted intrusion into a private chamber, Forbassach?" she asked. "And do you make an apology for your insulting manner to the heir-apparent of Cashel?"

Forbassach's chin jerked up, his scowl deepening.

"Not I."

"Then you, as a Brehon, should know the law. You will be thrown out of this court."

Colgu glanced at the warrior called Cass and gave an imperceptible nod.

The tall man laid a hand on Forbassach's shoulder.

The Laigin envoy twisted in the grip and his face reddened.

"Fianamail of Laigin shall hear of this insult, Colgu. It will serve to compound your guilt when you are judged before the High King's assembly at Tara!"

The warrior had spun the Laigin envoy on his heel and propelled him through the doorway without any apparent display of undue force. Then, with an apologetic gesture to Colgu, he shut it behind them.

Fidelma, turning to her brother, who had now relaxed from his stiff posture, showed her bewilderment.

"I think that it is about time that you told me what is really happening. What is the mystery here?" she demanded with quiet authority.

Chapter Two

Colgu looked as if he were about to delay once more but seeing the light in his young sister's eyes he thought the better of it.

"Very well," he replied, "but let us go where we may speak more freely and without the danger of any further interruptions. There are many ears attached to heads which may harbor ill-will to the kings of Muman."

Fidelma raised an eyebrow in surprise but made no further comment. She knew that her brother had never been one for exaggeration so she did not press him further. He would explain in his own time.

She followed him from the room without speaking and through the stone-walled palace corridors with their rich tapestries and spectacular artifacts gathered over the centuries by the Eóganacht kings. Colgu led her through a great room which she recognized as the Tech Screptra, the scriptorium or library, of the palace, where, as a small girl, she had learned to read and form her first letters. As well as the impressive illustrated vellum texts, the Tech Screptra held some of the ancient books of Muman. Among them were the "rods of the poets," wands of aspen and hazel wood on which the ancient scribes had carved their sagas, poems and histories in Ogham, the ancient alphabet, which was still used in some parts of Muman. In that Tech Screptra the little girl's imagination and thirst for knowledge had been awakened.

Fidelma paused briefly, feeling a little overwhelmed by nostalgia, and smiling at her memories. Several brothers of the Faith were seated there poring over those same books by the light of smoking tallow candles.

She realized that Colgu was waiting impatiently for her.

"I see you still open the library to scholars of the church," she said approvingly as she joined him and they moved on. The great library of Cashel was the personal property of the kings of Muman.

"It will not be otherwise while we are of the Faith," Colgu replied firmly.

"Yet I have heard some stories that certain narrow-minded members of the Faith have been burning the ancient texts, the 'rods of the poets,' on the grounds that they were written by idolatrous pagans. In Cashel, there are many such books. Do you still preserve them from such intolerance?"

"Surely intolerance is incompatible with the Faith, little sister?" Colgu observed wryly.

"I would say so. Others might not. I am told that Colmán of Cork has suggested that all pagan books should be destroyed. Yet I say that we have a duty to ensure that the treasures of our people are not incinerated and lost because of fashionable intolerance."

Colgu chuckled dryly.

"The matter is academic anyway. Colmán of Cork has fled this kingdom for fear of the plague. His voice no longer counts."

Colgu continued to lead the way beyond the Tech Screptra and through the tiny family chapel. There were many stories handed down in Fidelma's family of how the Blessed Patrick himself had arrived at Cashel and had proceeded to convert their ancestor, King Conall Core, to the new Faith. One story told how he had used the meadow trefoil, the seamrog, to demonstrate the idea of the Holy Trinity to Conall. Not that it was a difficult concept to understand, for all the pagan gods of ancient Ireland were triune gods, being three personalities in the one god. Fidelma had always carried a sense of time and place with her.

They passed beyond the chapel to the private chambers of the family and their immediate retinue, which were placed beyond the more generally accessible reception rooms.

A chamber had been prepared for her, with a newly lit fire blazing in the hearth. It was the very room in which she had been born and where she had spent the early years of her life. It had hardly changed.

Before the fire, a table had been set with food and wine.

Colgu waved his sister to a chair.

"Let us eat, and as we eat I will attempt to explain why King Cathal called you hither."

Fidelma did as he bid her. She realized that her journey had been long and uncomfortable and that she was ravenous.

"Are you sure our cousin is too ill to see me?" she queried, still hesitating before the meal. "I do not fear the Yellow Plague. These last two years I have crossed its path in safety many times. And if I do succumb, well, then surely it will be God's will."

Colgu shook his head despondently.

"Cathal is no longer in a state to even recognize me. His physician says he may not last this night. In fact, the arrogant Forbassach of Laigin was right. It is now my duty to reply to his demands."

Fidelma compressed her lips as she realized what that meant.

"If Cathal dies this night then you will be… ?"

She paused, realizing that it was improper to voice the thought while their elderly cousin was alive.

Colgu, however, finished the sentence for her with a bitter laugh.

"That I shall then be king of Muman? Yes, that is exactly what it means."

The Eóganacht kings, like all Irish kings and chieftains, were elected into office by the derbfhine of their families. On the death of a king, his family, that is the living descendants of the male line of a common greatgrandfather, called the derbfhine, would gather in assembly and vote for one among them who would next take the throne. Sons did not necessarily, therefore, inherit from fathers. Failbe Fland, the father of Colgu and Fidelma, had been king in Cashel. He had died twenty-six years before, when Fidelma and Colgu were only a few years old. Even to be considered for any office in the land, a candidate had at least to be at the "age of choice," which was fourteen years for a girl and seventeen years for a boy. Failbe Fland's cousins had succeeded him in office until Cathal mac Cathail had been chosen as king of Muman three years before.

It was the custom and law to also elect the heir-apparent, or the tánaiste, during a king's lifetime. When Cathal had become king of Cashel, Fidelma's brother, Colgu, had been chosen as his tánaiste.

So now if Cathal died, Fidelma realized suddenly, her brother would be king of Muman, the biggest of the five kingdoms of Eireann.

"It will be a heavy responsibility, brother," she said, reaching forward and laying a hand on his arm.

He sighed and nodded slowly.

"Yes; even in good times there would be many weighty responsibilities with this office. But these are bad times, Fidelma. There are many problems facing the kingdom. None more so than the problem that arose a few days ago and why, when he was not so ill, Cathal chose to send for you." He paused and shrugged. "Since you have been away from here, little sister, your reputation as a Brehon, an advocate of the courts and a solver of mysteries, has spread. We have heard how you have performed services for the High King, the King of Northumbria and even the Holy Father in Rome."

Fidelma made a deprecating gesture.

"I was in those places at the time when my talent was needed," she replied. "Anyone with a logical mind could have resolved the problems. There was nothing more to those problems than that."

Colgu smiled quickly at her.

"You were never given to conceit, my sister."

"Show me a conceited person and I will show you a mediocre talent. Which does not get us any nearer the reason that I was sent for. What does this have to do with Forbassach of Fearna?"

"Let me tell you in my own way. King Cathal believed that you could resolve a mystery which has threatened the safety of the kingdom. Indeed, it threatens the peace of the five kingdoms of Eireann."

"What mystery?" prompted Fidelma as she started to help herself to some of the food that had been prepared.

"Have you heard of the Venerable Dacán?"

Fidelma allowed an eyebrow to raise slightly as she recognized the name.

"Who has not?" she replied quickly. "He is already spoken of in some quarters as a saint. He is a teacher and theologian of no mean ability. Of course, his brother is the Abbot Noé of Fearna, the king of Laigin's personal advisor and supposedly as saintly as his brother. Both brothers are widely respected and beloved of many. Stories are told of their wisdom and charity in many corners of the five kingdoms."

Colgu nodded his head slowly at Fidelma's glowing recital. His face assumed a weary expression as though he did not like what he was hearing but expected no less.

"You know, of course, that there has been some enmity recently between the kingdoms of Muman and Laigin?"

"I have heard that since the old king, Fáelán, died of the plague a few months ago, the new king, Fianamail, has been examining ways of enhancing his prestige by trying to pick quarrels with Muman," she agreed.

"And what better way to enhance his prestige than to find an excuse to demand the return of the petty kingdom of Osraige from Muman?" Colgu asked bitterly.

Fidelma formed her lips in a soundless whistle of astonishment.

Osraige was a small kingdom which had long been a source of bad relationships between the two major kingdoms of Muman and Laigin. It stretched along the banks of the River Feoir from north to south. Hundreds of years before, when the kings of Muman held the High Kingship over all five kingdoms of Éireann, Osraige was under the tutelage of the kings of Laigin. When Edirsceál of Muman became High King, the men of Laigin contrived to assassinate him so that Nuada Necht of Laigin could assume the kingship. The king was murdered but the culprits discovered. Conaire Mór, the son of Edirsceál, eventually became High King and he and his Brehons met to agree what honor price the kingdom of Laigin should pay in compensation to Muman for their infamous act. It had been decided that the kingdom of Osraige should be forfeited by Laigin. Henceforth, Osraige would be part of the kingdom of Muman and its petty-kings would pay tribute to Cashel and not to Fearna, the capital of Laigin.

Now and again the kings of Laigin would raise a protest before the High Kings, requesting the return of Osraige to them. But six centuries had passed since the days of Conaire Mór when Osraige had passed to Muman. Each protest had been rejected by the Great Assembly of the Brehons of Èireann, who met every three years at the royal palace of Tara. The punishment and compensation were confirmed as being just.

Fidelma brought her gaze back to the worried face of her brother.

"Surely even Fianamail, as young and inexperienced a king as he is, would not consider attempting to wrest Osraige back by force?"

Her brother gave an affirmative gesture.

"Not by force alone, Fidelma," he agreed. "Do you know something of the internal politics of Osraige?"

Fidelma knew little of the kingdom and admitted as much.

"For reasons too long and complicated to explain now, nearly two hundred years ago the native kings of Osraige were replaced by a family from the Corco Loigde in the south-west of the kingdom. There has been friction in Osraige ever since. The Corco Loigde are not popular. Now and then, the Osraige have risen up to displace them. Less than a year ago, Ulan, the last descendant of the native kings of Osraige with a legal claim to the kingship, was killed by the current king, Scandlán. Needless to say, Scandlán is of the Corco Loigde ruling family."

Colgu paused a moment to gather his thoughts before proceeding.

"There is talk of an heir to Ulan. Rumor has it that this heir, if he exists, would be happy to court Laigin if Laigin promised to help him dislodge the Corco Loigde as kings."

"It would still mean a war between Laigin and Muman with Laigin having to wrest Osraige back by force," Fidelma pointed out.

Her brother leaned forward with an unhappy expression on his features.

"But what if some deed occurred, similar to the very deed that caused Osraige to be forfeited from Laigin in the first place?"

Fidelma sat straighter-backed now, her muscles suddenly tensed. Colgu's expression was grim.

"You have confirmed that you know how the Venerable Dacán of Laigin was held in the eyes of many people. He was a saintly and revered man. And you have confirmed that you know how his brother, Noé of Fearna, stands in similar regard within the sight of both his king, Fianamail, and the people of the five kingdoms."

Fidelma caught the use of the past tense but made no reply. She had, indeed, admitted that both men were highly respected throughout the land.

"Two months ago," went on Colgu in a troubled voice, "the Venerable Dacán arrived at Cashel and sought the blessing of King Cathal to work within this kingdom. Dacán had heard of the work being done at the Blessed Fachtna's abbey at Ros Ailithir and wanted to join the community there. Of course, King Cathal welcomed such a learned and esteemed scholar as Dacán to the kingdom."

"So Dacán set off to Ros Ailithir?" intervened Fidelma when Colgu paused.

"Eight days ago we heard news that the Venerable Dacán had been murdered in his cell at the abbey."

Fidelma realized that, even when death had become so commonplace due to the ravages of the Yellow Plague, the death of the Venerable Dacán would have a resounding impact on all the five kingdoms, and more so especially due to the fact that the death was attributable to violence.

"Are you telling me that you think the new king of Laigin, Fianamail, will use this death to demand the territory of Osraige be returned to his jurisdiction as a compensation?"

Colgu's shoulders hunched momentarily.

"I not only think so, I know it to be so. It was only yesterday that Forbassach of Fearna arrived here as an envoy from Fianamail, the king of Laigin."

Fearna was the seat of the kings of Laigin as well as the site of Noé's abbey.

"How can the news have reached them so quickly?" demanded Fidelma.

Colgu spread his hands.

"I suppose that someone rode from Ros Ailithir immediately to tell Dacán's brother, Noé, at Fearna."

"Logical," Fidelma agreed. "And what does the arrogant Forbassach have to say on this matter?"

"The envoy from Fianamail was quite explicit in his demands. Not only must the eric fine be paid but an honor price which entails the handing of all suzerain rights over Osraige to Laigin. If this is not done then Fianamail of Laigin will claim it by blood. You know the law better than I do, Fidelma, Are they within their rights to make such claims? I think they are, for Forbassach is no fool."

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Our law system grants the right for a killer to atone for his or her crime by payment of compensation. There is a fixed penalty, the eric fine, as you rightly say. This amounts to seven cumals, the value of twenty-one milch cows. But, often, when the victim is a man or woman of rank and influence, then the victim's kinsmen are within their rights to claim an honor price, the lóg n-enech. That was, in fact, the law by which Conaire Mór claimed Osraige for Muman in the first instance. If the culprit is unable to pay this honor price then their kinsmen are expected to pay it. If this is not forthcoming then the victim's kinsmen are allowed to commence a blood feud, or digal, to obtain the honor price. But this does not mean that the Laigin king is entitled to do so. There are a couple of questions that need to be resolved."

"Advise me, Fidelma," invited Colgu, leaning forward eagerly.

"What right does Fianamail have in this matter? Only kinship allows a person to name and demand an honor price."

"Fianamail is cousin to Dacán and speaks as kin. In this, of course, he is supported by Noé, the brother of Dacán."

Fidelma allowed herself a deep sigh.

"That certainly allows Fianamail to press his claim. But does Abbot Noe actually support him in his demands? Such demands must surely lead to an effusion of blood. Noé is a leading advocate of the Faith and beloved and respected for his conciliatory teachings, for his acts of forgiveness. How can he demand such vengeance?"

Colgu grimaced dispassionately.

"Dacán was, above all things, Noé's brother," he pointed out.

"Even so, I find it hard to believe Noé would act in such a manner."

"Well, he has. But you implied that there might be other reasons why Laigin could not inflict an honor-price fine on Muman. What more?"

"The most obvious question devolves on the fact that the fines can only be inflicted on the family of the person who was responsible for Dacán's death. Who killed Dacán? Only if a member of our family, the Eoganachta, as representing the kingship of Muman, is responsible, can Laigin claim an honor price from Muman."

Colgu gestured helplessly.

"We don't know who killed Dacán, but the abbey of Ros Ailithir is governed by our cousin, Brocc. He is charged, as abbot, as being responsible for Dacán's death."

Fidelma blinked to conceal her surprise. She had vague memories of an elder cousin who had been a distant and unfriendly figure to her brother and herself.

"What makes the king of Laigin charge our cousin with accountability for the death of Dacán? Is it simply because he is responsible for the safety of all who reside at his abbey or is something more sinister implied?"

"I don't know," confessed her brother. "But I do not think that even Fianamail of Laigin would make so light an accusation."

"Have there been any steps to find out?"

"The envoy from Fianamail has simply stated that all evidence and arguments will be placed before the High King and his Chief Brehon at the great assembly at Tara. The assembly will be asked to support Laigin and hand over Osraige to Fianamail."

Fidelma bit her lip as she thought for a moment.

"How can Fianamail be so sure that he can prove that Dacán's death is the responsibility of Muman? Forbassach, his envoy, is a vain and arrogant man, but he is an ollamh of the court. Even his friendship with the Laigin king, his pride in being a man of Laigin, would not blind

him to the law. He must know that the evidence is strong enough to lay a claim before the High King's court. What is that evidence?"

Colgu had no answer. Instead he said quietly: "Fidelma, the assembly of Tara is due to meet in three weeks. That does not leave us much time to resolve this matter."

"The law also allows one month from the decision of the assembly before Fianamail can march an army into Osraige to claim the land by force if it is not handed over in peace," observed Fidelma.

"So we have seven weeks before there is bloodshed and war in this land?"

Fidelma drew her brows together.

"Providing, that is, judgment goes to Laigin. There is much mystery here, Colgu. Unless Fianamail knows something that we do not, I cannot see how the High King and his assembly could give a judgment against Muman."

Colgu poured another two glasses of wine and handed one across to his sister with a tired smile.

"These were the very words of Cathal, our cousin, before he succumbed to the fever. It was the reason why he asked me to send for you. The morning after the messenger had been sent to Kildare, he fell a victim to the Yellow Fever. And if the physicians are right, I shall be king before this week is out. If there is war, then it will be on my hands."

"It will not be a good start to your rule, brother," agreed Fidelma as she sipped at her wine and considered the matter carefully. Then she raised her eyes to examine her brother's careworn face. "Are you giving me a commission to investigate the death of Dacán and then present the evidence to you?"

"And to the High King," added Colgu quickly. "You will have the authority of Muman to carry out this investigation. I ask you to be our advocate before the High King's assembly."

Fidelma was silent for a long while.

"Tell me this, my brother; suppose my findings are such as to support the king of Laigin? What if Dacán's death is the responsibility of the Eóganachta? What if the king of Laigin does have the right to demand Osraige as an honor price from Cashel? What if these unpalatable arguments become my findings? Will you accept that judgment under law and meet Laigin's demand?"

Her brother's face worked with complex emotions as he wrestled with the decision.

"If you want me to speak for myself, Fidelma, I shall say 'yes.' A king must live by the law established. But a king must pursue the commonwealth of his people. Do we not have an old saying?—what makes the people higher than a king? It is because the people ordain the king, the king does not ordain the people. A king must obey the will of his people. So do not ask me to speak for all the princes and chieftains of this kingdom nor, indeed, of Osraige. I fear they will not accept liability for such an honor price."

Fidelma regarded him with a level gaze.

"Then it will mean bloody war," she said softly.

Colgu attempted a grim smile.

"Yet we have three weeks before the assembly, Fidelma. And, as you say, seven weeks before the implementation of the law if the decision goes against us. Will you go to Ros Ailithir and investigate Dacán's death?"

"You do not have to ask that, Colgu. I am, above all things, still your sister."

Colgu's shoulders sagged in relief and he gave a long, low sigh.

Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and patted it.

"But do not expect too much of me, brother. Ros Ailithir is a minimum three days' journey from here, and lies through some harsh country. You expect me to travel there, solve a mystery and travel back in time to prepare a case for the assembly at Tara? If so, you are, indeed, asking for a miracle."

Colgu inclined his head in agreement.

"I think that King Cathal and myself both demand a miracle of you, Fidelma, for when men and women use their courage, intelligence and learning, then they are capable of inspiring a true miracle."

"It is still a heavy responsibility you place on me," she admitted with reluctance. She realized that she had no other decision to make. "I will do what I can. I shall rest in Cashel tonight and hope this storm abates by tomorrow. I shall set out at first light for the abbey of Ros Ailithir."

Colgu smiled warmly.

"And you will not set out alone, little sister. The journey to the south-west is, as you say, a harsh one, and who knows what dangers will await you at Ros Ailithir? I shall send one of my warriors with you."

Fidelma shrugged diffidently.

"I am able to defend myself. You forget that I have studied the art of troid-sciathagid, battle through defense."

"How can I forget that?" chuckled Colgu, "for many is the time that you have bested me in our youth with your knowledge of unarmed combat. But combat in friendship is one thing, Fidelma. Combat in earnest is another."

"You do not have to point this out, brother. Many of our religious missionaries going into the kingdoms of the Saxons, or into those of the Franks, are taught this method of self-defense in order to protect their lives. The training has already served me well."

"Nevertheless, I must insist that you be accompanied by one of my trusted warriors."

Fidelma was unconcerned.

"I am instructed by your commission, brother. You are tánaiste here and I am acting according to your wishes."

"Then that is agreed." Colgu was relieved. "I already have instructed a man for the task."

"Do I know this warrior whom you have chosen?"

"You have already met him," her brother replied. "He is the young warrior who earlier threw Forbassach out. His name is Cass of the king's bodyguard."

"Ah, the young, curly-haired warrior?" asked Fidelma.

"The same. He has been a good friend and I would not only trust my life to him but yours as well."

Fidelma gave a mischievous grin.

"That is precisely what you will be doing, brother. How much does Cass know of this problem?"

"As much as I have been able to tell you."

"So you trust him well?" observed Fidelma.

"Do you want to speak with him on this matter?" asked her brother.

She shook her head and stifled a sudden yawn.

"Time enough to talk during the three days of our journey to Ros Ailithir. Now I would prefer a hot bath and sleep."

Chapter Three

It had not been a pleasant journey through the great glens and across the high mountain ranges of Muman. While the storm had abated on the second day, the incessant rains had left the ground soaked with cloying mud which sucked at their horses' hooves and fetlocks like anxious, delaying hands and slowed their pace. The valley bottoms and grassy plains were turned into swampy, and often flooded, lands across which passage was almost impossible, and certainly not made with any speed. The skies continued sulky gray and threatening, with no sign of a bright autumnal sun breaking through, and the moody clouds continued to hang low and dark like hill fog. Even the occasional whining wind, moaning in the tree tops, where the leaves had almost vanished, did not dispel their shroud.

Fidelma felt cold and miserable. It was not the weather for traveling. Indeed, if the matter were not so urgent, she would never have contemplated such a journey. She sat her horse stiffly, her body felt chilled to its very marrow despite the heavy woollen cloak and hood which normally helped her endure the icy fingers of inclement temperatures. In spite of her leather gloves, the hands that gripped her horse's reins were numb.

She had not spoken to her companion for at least an hour or more, not since they had left the wayside tavern where they had eaten their midday meal. Her head was bent forward into the chill air. Her concentration was devoted to keeping her horse on the narrow path as it ascended the steep hill before them.

In front of her, the young warrior, Cass, equally wrapped in a heavy woollen cloak and fur collar, sat his horse with a studied poise. Fidelma smiled grimly to herself, wondering just how much he was attempting to present a good figure to her critical gaze. It would not do for a member of the elite bodyguard of the king of Muman to show any weakness before the sister of the heir-apparent. She felt a reluctant sympathy with the young man and when, every now and then in an unguarded moment, she saw him shiver from the damp chill, she felt herself more compassionately disposed toward him.

The path twisted over the shoulder of the mountain and a blast of cold air from the south-west hit them in the face as they emerged from the sheltering outcrop of rocks. Fidelma became aware of the subtle tang of salt in the air, the unmistakable odor of the nearness of the ocean.

Cass reined in his mount and allowed Fidelma to edge her horse alongside his. Then he pointed across the tree-strewn hills and undulating plain which seemed to disappear in the direction of the southern horizon. Yet the clouds hung above the plain in such a fashion that she could not see where land ended and sky began.

"We should be at the abbey of Ros Ailithir before nightfall," Cass announced. "Before you are the lands of the Corco Lofgde."

Fidelma screwed her eyes against the cold wind and stared forward. She had not made the connection, when her brother had told her that the kings of Osraige came from Corco Loigde. She had not realized that the abbey of Ros Ailithir was in their clan lands. Could this be merely a coincidence? She knew little about them except that they were one of the great clans which made up the kingdom of Muman and that they were a proud people.

"What is this hill called?" she asked, suppressing a shiver.

"They call this mountain the 'Long Rock,' " replied Cass. "It is the highest point before we reach the sea. Have you visited the abbey before?"

Fidelma shook her head.

"I have not been in this part of the kingdom before but I am told that the abbey stands at the head of a narrow inlet on the seashore."

The warrior nodded in confirmation.

"Ros Ailithir is due south from here." He indicated the direction with a wave of his hand. Then he winced as a sudden cold wind caught him full in the face. "But let us descend out of this wind, sister."

He urged his horse forward and Fidelma allowed him a moment to get a length ahead before she followed.

In addition to the intemperate weather, which had made their journey so unpleasant, Fidelma found that Cass was no easy traveling companion. He had only a little fund of small talk and Fidelma kept rebuking herself for the way she kept comparing him to Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham, her companion at Whitby and Rome. To her annoyance, she found that she felt a curious kind of isolation, the feeling that she had experienced when she had left Eadulf in Rome to return to her native land. She did not want to admit that she missed the company of the Saxon monk. And it was wrong of her to keep comparing Cass with Eadulf and yet…

She had managed to learn from the taciturn warrior that he had been in the service of Cathal of Cashel ever since he had reached the "age of choice" and left his father's house to take service at the court of the king. Fidelma found that he had only a slight general knowledge. He had studied at one of Muman's military academies before becoming a professional warrior or tren-flier. He had distinguished himself in two campaigns, becoming the commander of a catha, a battalion of three thousand men, in the king's army in time of war. Yet Cass was not one to boast of his prowess in arms. At least that was a saving grace. Fidelma had made inquiries about him before they had set out from Cashel. She discovered that he had successfully fought seven single combats in Muman's service to become a member of the Order of the Golden Collar and champion of the king.

She nudged her horse down the steep path behind him, twisting and turning sometimes into the wind and sometimes in thankful shelter from it. By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, the blustery squall had begun to ease a little and Fidelma saw the bright line of light along the horizon of the western sky.

Cass smiled as he followed her glance.

"The clouds will be gone by tomorrow," he predicted confidently. "The wind was bringing the storm from the south-west. Now it will bring fine weather."

Fidelma did not reply. Something had caught her attention among the foothills to the south-east. At first she had thought that it was merely a reflection from the light of the sun breaking through the heavy clouds. But what could it be reflecting against? It took her a moment or two to realize what it was.

"That's a fire over there, Cass!" she cried, indicating the direction. "And a big one, if I am not mistaken."

Cass followed her outstretched hand with keen eyes.

"A big fire, indeed, sister. There is a village that lies in that direction. A poor place with a single religious cell and a dozen houses. I stayed there six months ago when I was in this country. It is called Rae na Serine, the holy shrine at the level spot. What could be causing such a fire there? Perhaps we should investigate?"

Fidelma delayed, compressing her lips a moment in thought. Her task was to get to Ros Ailithir as quickly as possible.

Cass frowned at her hesitation.

"It is on our path to Ros Ailithir, sister, and the religious cell is occupied by a young religieuse named Sister Eisten. She may be in trouble." His tone was one of rebuke.

Fidelma flushed, for she knew her duty. Only her greater obligation to the kingdom of Muman had caused her to falter.

Instead of answering him, she dug her heels into the sides of her horse and urged it forward in annoyance at Cass's gentle tone of reproval at her indecision.

It took them some time to reach a spot in the road which was the brow of a small, thickly wooded hillock, overlooking the hamlet of Rae na Serine. From their position on the roadway, they could see that the buildings of the village appeared to be all on fire. Great consuming flames leapt skyward and debris and smoke spiraled upward in a black column above the buildings. Fidelma dragged her horse to a halt with Cass nearly colliding into her. The reason for her sudden concern was that there were a dozen men running among the flames with swords and burning brand torches in their hands. It was clear that they were the incendiaries. Before she could react further, a wild shout told them that they had been spotted.

Fidelma turned to warn Cass and suggest they withdraw in case the men be hostile, but she saw a movement behind them by the trees that lined the road.

Two more men had emerged onto the road with bows strung and aimed. They said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Cass exchanged a glance with Fidelma and simply shrugged. They turned and waited patiently while two or three of the men, who had obviously been putting the village to the torch, came running up the hillock to halt before them.

"Who are you?" demanded their leader, a large, red-faced individual, soot and mud staining his face. He carried a sword in his hand but no longer held the brand torch in the other. He had a steel war bonnet on his head, a woollen cloak edged in fur and wore a gold chain of office. His pale eyes were ablaze as if with a battle fever.

"Who are you?" he shouted again. "What do you seek here?"

Fidelma gazed down at his threatening figure as if she were unperturbed. Her artificial disdain hid her fears.

"I am Fidelma of Kildare; Fidelma of the Eóganachta of Cashel," she added. "And who are you to halt travelers on a highway?"

The big man's eyes widened a fraction. He took a step forward and examined her closely without answering. Then he turned to examine Cass with equal attention.

"And you? Who are you?" He asked the question with a brusqueness that implied he had not been impressed to learn that Fidelma was related to the kings at Cashel.

The young warrior eased his cloak so that the man might look on his golden tore.

"I am Cass, champion of the king of Cashel," he said, putting all the cold arrogance he could muster into his voice.

The red-faced man stood back and gestured to the others to lower their weapons.

"Then be about your business. Ride away from this place, do not look back, and you will not be harmed."

"What is happening here?" Fidelma demanded, nodding toward the burning habitations.

"The curse of the Yellow Plague sits on this place," snapped the man. "We destroy it by flame, that is all. Now, ride off!"

"But what of the people?" protested Fidelma. "On whose orders do you do this thing? I am a dalaigh of the Brehon Court and sister to the heir-apparent of Cashel. Speak, man, or you may have to answer before the Brehons of Cashel."

The red-faced man blinked at the sharp tone in the young woman's voice. He swallowed for a moment, gazing up at her as if he could not believe his ears. Then he said angrily,

"The kings of Cashel have no right to give orders in the land of the Corco Loigde. Only our chieftain, Salbach, has that right."

"And Salbach has to answer to the king at Cashel, fellow," Cass pointed out.

"We are a long way from Cashel," replied the man stubbornly. "I have warned you that there is Yellow Plague here. Now begone lest I change my mind and order my men to shoot."

He motioned with his hand to the bowmen. They raised their weapons again and extended the bowstrings. The arrow flights were firm against their cheeks.

Cass's features were taut.

"Let us do as he says, Fidelma," he muttered. If even a finger slipped, the arrow would find a sure target. "This man is one who does not reason except with force."

Reluctantly Fidelma drew away and followed Cass as he urged his horse to retrace its steps back along the roadway. But as soon as they were beyond the bend in the hills, she reached forward and gripped his arm to stay him.

"We must go back and see what is happening," she said firmly. "Fire and sword to deal with a plague village? What manner of chieftain would sanction such a thing? We must go back and see what has happened to the people."

Cass looked at her dubiously.

"It is dangerous, sister. If I had a couple of men or even were I on my own…"

Fidelma snorted in disgust.

"Don't let my sex nor holy order put fear in your heart, Cass. I am willing to share the danger. Or are you afraid of the plague?"

Cass blinked rapidly. His masculine warrior pride was stung.

"I am willing to go back," he replied distantly. "I was but concerned for you and your mission. However, if you demand to return, return we shall. But it would be best not to go directly back. Those warriors might be waiting in case we do. I am more concerned about them than of the plague. We will ride around the hills a little and then leave our horses to find a vantage point to observe what we can before we return to the village."

Fidelma reluctantly agreed. The circuitous route did make sense.

It was half an hour before they found themselves hiding behind a clump of shrubs on the outskirts of the still-burning buildings. The wooden constructions were crackling in the great fire while some were crashing in on themselves in a shower of sparks and billowing smoke. It would not be long, Fidelma realized, before the village was simply a black, smoldering mess of charcoal. The red-faced man and his followers seemed to have disappeared. There were no sounds of humanity against the crack and occasional roar of the flames.

Fidelma rose slowly to her feet and eased a piece of her head-dress across her mouth to protect her lungs from the billowing smoke.

"Where are the people?" she demanded, not really expecting an answer from Cass, who was staring in incomprehension as he surveyed the flaming wreckage of what had been a dozen homesteads. She had her answer even before the question was out of her mouth. There were several bodies lying between the burning homesteads; men, women and children. Most of them had been struck down before their homes had been set ablaze. They were certainly not victims of plague.

"Sister Eisten's cabin was over that way," pointed Cass, grimly. "She ran a small hostel for travelers and an orphanage. I stayed when I journeyed through here six months ago."

He led the way through the smoke and swirling debris to a corner of the village. There was a building by a rock over which water gushed from a natural well spring. The hostel had not been completely destroyed because it had been built mainly of stones, piled one upon another. But the wooden roof, the doors and what contents the building had once had, were now no more. Now it was a pile of hot, smoldering ashes.

"Destroyed," muttered Cass, hands on hips. "People slain and no sign of plague. There is a mystery here."

"A feud?" hazarded Fidelma. "Perhaps a reprisal for something this village had done?"

Cass shrugged eloquently.

"When we get to Ros Ailithir we must send a message to the chieftain of this area telling him of this deed and demanding an explanation in the name of Cashel."

Fidelma was inclined to agree. She glanced reluctantly at the eastern sky. It would not be long before dusk. They had to be on their way to the abbey or night would fall long before they reached it.

The shrill wail of a baby, at that time and in that place, was totally unexpected.

Fidelma glanced quickly around to try to locate the origin of the noise. Cass was already ahead of her, scrambling up an incline to the edge of a wood on the fringes of the village behind the burnt-out religious hostel.

Fidelma saw no alternative but to hurry behind him.

There was a movement in the shrubbery and Cass reached forward and caught something which writhed and yelled in his clutch.

"God preserve us!" whispered Fidelma.

It was a child of no more than eight years of age, dirty and disheveled, yelling with fright.

There was another movement farther on among the trees.

A young woman emerged from behind some shrubs; her face was fleshy and white where it was not smeared with soot and dirt. Anxiety was engraved on her features. In her arms she cradled the wailing infant while around her skirts, clutching at their folds, were two little copper-haired girls who were obviously sisters. Behind her stood two dark-haired boys. They all appeared to be in a state of distress.

Fidelma saw that the woman was scarcely out of her teens though dressed in the robes of a religieuse. In spite of the baby's near concealment of it, Fidelma noticed she wore a large and unusual crucifix. It was more in the Roman style than the Irish but it was also elaborate and encrusted with semi-precious stones. In spite of her apparent youthfulness, hers was a plump, round-faced figure which, normally, would have had an air of protective motherliness. Now she seemed to be trembling uncontrollably.

"Sister Eisten!" cried Cass in surprise. "Have no fear. It is I, Cass of Cashel. I stayed at your hostel six months ago when I was passing through this village. Do you not remember me?"

The young religieuse peered closely at him and shook her head. However, relief began to show in her features as she turned her dark eyes questioningly to Fidelma.

"You are not with Intat? You are not of his band?" she demanded, half fearfully.

"Whoever Intat is, we are not of his band," Fidelma replied gravely. "I am Sister Fidelma of Kildare. My companion and I are journeying to the abbey of Ros Ailithir."

The muscles in the young sister's face, so tightly clenched before, began to relax. She tried to fight back tears of shock and relief.

"Have… have they… gone?" she finally jerked out. Her voice was vibrating in fear.

"They appear to have gone, sister," Fidelma assured her as best she could, stepping forward and holding her hands out to take the baby. "Come, you look all in. Give me the child, that you may rest and tell us what happened. Who were they?"

Sister Eisten lurched backward as though she was afraid to be touched. If anything, she clutched the baby tighter to her chest.

"No! Do not touch any of us."

Fidelma paused in puzzlement.

"What do you mean? We cannot help you until we know what is happening here."

Sister Eisten stared at her with wide, expressive eyes.

"It is the plague, sister," she whispered. "We had the plague in this village."

The grip in which Cass absently held the young boy, who was still wriggling, seemed suddenly powerless. His body stiffened. The boy wrenched himself away.

"Plague?" whispered Cass, taking an involuntary step backward. In spite of his previous attitude, faced by confirmation of the presence of the plague, Cass was clearly troubled.

"So there is plague in the village after all?" demanded Fidelma.

"Several in the village have died of it during the last few weeks. It has passed me by, thanks be to God, but others have died."

"Is there any among you here who are sick?" pressed Cass, peering anxiously at the children.

Sister Eisten shook her head.

"Not that Intat and his men cared. We would have all died had we not hid…"

Fidelma was staring at her in growing horror.

"You would have been struck down whether you suffered the plague or not? Explain! Who is this Intat?"

Sister Eisten stifled another sob. She had nearly reached breaking point. With some gentle prompting, she explained.

"Three weeks ago the plague appeared in the village. First one person and then another caught it. It spared neither sex nor age. Now these children and myself are all that remains of the thirty souls who once dwelt in this place."

Fidelma let her eyes travel from the baby, scarce more than a few months old, to the children. The two copper-haired little girls were no more than nine years old. The young boy, who had fair hair, who had removed himself from the side of Cass to stand defensively behind Sister

Eisten, was also about their age. The two taller boys, scowling faces, black hair, and gray, suspicious eyes, were older. One could not be more than ten years old while the other was perhaps fourteen or fifteen. They seemed to be brothers. She returned her gaze to the plump, trembling young religieuse.

"You have not fully explained, sister," Fidelma cajoled, knowing that the young woman might break down in a flood of tears. "You are saying that this man Intat came and killed people, burnt your village, while there were still many healthy people here?"

Sister Eisten sniffed loudly and apparently tried to gather her thoughts together.

"We had no warriors to protect us. This was a farming settlement. At first I thought the attackers were frightened that the plague would spread to neighboring villages and were trying to drive us into the mountains so that we might not contaminate them. But they began to kill. They seemed to especially delight in slaughtering the young children."

She gave a low moan at the memory.

"Had all the menfolk of this village succumbed to the plague, then?" demanded Cass. "Was there no one to defend you when this attack came?"

"There were only a few men who tried to prevent the slaughter. What could a few farmers do against a dozen armed warriors? They died by the swords of Intat and his men…"

"Intat?" queried Fidelma. "Again, Intat. Who is this Intat whom you keep mentioning?"

"He is a local chieftain."

"A local chieftain?" She was scandalized. "He dared to put a village to fire and sword?"

"I managed to get some of the children and take them to safety in the woods," repeated Sister Eisten, sobbing as she recalled the scenes of carnage. "We hid while Intat did his evil work. He fired the village and…" She stopped, unable to continue.

Fidelma gave a sharp exhalation of breath.

"What great crime has been committed here, Cass?" she asked softly, staring down to the still burning houses.

"Could someone not have gone to the bo-aire, the local magistrate, and demanded protection?" demanded Cass, visibly shaken by Sister Eisten's tale.

The plump sister grimaced bitterly.

"Intat is the bo-aire of this place!" she exclaimed with anger. "He sits on the council of Salbach, chieftain of the Corco Lofgde." She seemed about to give way to exhaustion. Then she drew herself up, thrusting out her chin. "And now you have heard the worst; now that you know that we have been exposed to the plague, leave us to perish in the mountains and go your way."

Fidelma shook her head sympathetically.

"Our way is now your way," she said firmly. "You will come with us to Ros Ailithir, for I presume that these young children have no other family who will nurture them?"

"None, sister." The young religieuse was staring at Fidelma in wonder. "I ran a small house for the orphans of the plague and they are my charges."

"Then Ros Ailithir it is."

Cass was looking slightly worried.

"It is still a long way to Ros Ailithir," he whispered. Then he added more softly: "And the abbot may not thank you for exposing the abbey to any contact with the plague."

Fidelma shook her head.

"We are all exposed to it. We cannot hide from it nor burn it into non-existence. We have to accept God's will whether it passes us by or not. Now, it is getting late. Perhaps we should stay here tonight? At least we will be warm."

The suggestion drew instant protest from Sister Eisten.

"What if Intat and his men return?" she wailed.

Cass agreed: "She is right, Fidelma. There is that likelihood. It is best not to stay here in case Intat remains close by. If he realizes that there are survivors then he may wish to finish this terrible deed."

Fidelma reluctantly gave in to their objections.

"The sooner we start out then the sooner we shall arrive. We shall ride as far as we can toward Ros Ailithir."

"But Intat has driven off our animals," Eisten protested again. "Not that there were any horses but there were some asses…"

"We have two horses and the children can sit two or three together on them," Fidelma assured her. "We adults will have to walk and we may take turns carrying the baby. Poor thing. What happened to the mother?"

"She was one of those whom Intat slew."

Fidelma's eyes were steely cold.

"He will answer before the law for this deed. As bo-aire he must realize the consequences of his actions. And answer he shall!" There was no vain boast in her voice; merely a cold statement of fact.

Cass watched with undisguised respect as Fidelma quietly but firmly took charge, collecting the children and placing them on the horses, taking the baby to give the exhausted young Sister Eisten a chance, so far as she was able, to recover herself. Only the younger of the two black-haired boys seemed reluctant to move from the shelter of the woods, doubtless still terrified of what he had seen. It was his elder brother who finally persuaded him with a few quiet words. The elder boy was disinclined to take the opportunity to ride on the horse but strode alongside it, insisting that as he was approaching the "age of choice" they should regard him as an adult. Fidelma did not argue with the solemn-faced lad. They set off along the track in the direction of the abbey of Ros Ailithir with Cass silently hoping they would not encounter Intat and his band of cut-throats along the way.

Cass could understand, however, the fears that drove villagers to turn on their fellows. He had heard many a story of the Yellow Plague devastating whole communities not only among the five kingdoms of Eireann but beyond its shores from where the virulence was said to have originated. Cass realized that any genuine fear of the spread of plague did not absolve Intat and his men from their responsibilities under the law. To burn out an entire community because of fear of contagion was understandable but wrong. What he also knew, and realized that Fidelma knew it also, was that, as bo-aire, Intat would appreciate that if word reached Cashel of this terrible deed then he would have to face the consequences. He had only let Fidelma and Cass continue their journey unmolested in the belief they would not find out what had happened. If Intat realized that they had doubled back and come across survivors of his horrendous slaughter then their lives might be forfeit. Best to put distance between this place and themselves.

He admired the way Colgu's young sister did not seem to have any fear of the plague. He would not have associated so freely with these children had it not been for the fact that he did not wish to be shamed in front of Fidelma. So he repressed his fear and did as he was bid by her.

Fidelma chatted gaily in an attempt to keep up the spirits of the shocked and frightened children. She seized on what inconsequential topics she could, asking the young Sister Eisten where she had acquired the remarkable-looking crucifix she wore. After some prompting, Sister Eisten confessed that she had once been on a pilgrimage, which had lasted three years. Fidelma had to interrupt to say she had not thought Eisten old enough to have had such experience, but Eisten was older than her looks, being twenty-two years of age. She had journeyed with a group of religieuse to the Holy Land. She had found herself in the town of Bethlehem and made a pilgrimage to the very birthplace of the Saviour. It had been there she had purchased the ornate crucifix from local craftsmen. So Fidelma encouraged her to talk about her adventures, merely to keep the children occupied and content.

Inwardly Fidelma was far from happy. She was disconsolate, not at the idea of contact with potential plague carriers but at the fact that the conditions of her journey were even worse than they had been when, earlier that day, she had been bemoaning the weather and the cold and damp. At least she had been dryshod on horseback then. Now she was stumbling through the mud and slush of the track, trying to keep a delicate balance with the young baby in her arms. The child was constantly whimpering and trying to twist and turn, which made matters worse. Fidelma did not wish to cause alarm but even in the half light she had observed a tell-tale yellow tint to the child's skin and the fever on its little brow. Now and then, in order to keep the child from wriggling loose in her grip, Fidelma almost lost her footing in the mud which oozed around her ankles.

"How much farther is it to Ros Ailithir?" she allowed herself to ask after they had been walking two hours.

It was Sister Eisten who was specific.

"Seven miles from here, but the road does not get easier."

Fidelma momentarily clenched her teeth and did not reply.

The gloom of dusk was rapidly spreading from the east, merging with the gloomy low-lying clouds and, almost before she realized it, a thick night fog was obscuring the roadway. The weather had not cleared yet as Cass had predicted.

Fidelma regretfully called a halt.

"We'll never make it to the abbey like this," she told Cass. "We'll have to find a place to stay until morning."

As if to emphasize the dangers of night travel, a wolf pack began to yelp and bay in unison across the hills. One of the little girls began to cry, a plaintive, painful whimpering which twisted Fidelma's heart. She had learned that the copper-haired sisters were named Cera and Ciar. The fair-haired young lad was called Tressach while the other boys, as she had guessed, were brothers—Cétach and Cosrach. This much information had she been able to extract from them during their short journey through the cold woods.

"The first thing is to light some torches," Cass announced. "Then we will have to find a shelter."

He handed the reins of his horse to the elder boy, Cétach, and went to the side of the road where the woods bordered it. Fidelma listened to the snapping of twigs and a soft cursing as Cass searched for tinder dry enough to make and light a brand torch.

"Do you know if there are any dry places near here in which we can shelter?" Fidelma asked Sister Eisten.

The young religieuse shook her head.

"There is only the forest."

Cass had succeeded in lighting a bundle of twigs, but they would not burn long.

"Best if we kindled a fire," he muttered as he rejoined Fidelma. "If there is nothing else, at least the trees might afford some shelter. Perhaps we can find enough bushes to create some protection. But it will be a cold night for the children."

Fidelma sighed and nodded assent. There was little else to do. Already it was impossible to see more than a few yards. Perhaps she should have insisted that they remain in the village for the night. At least it would have been warm among the smoldering ruins. Still, there was little point in self-reproach now.

"Let's move into the wood, then, and see if we can find a dry spot. Then we'll get what sleep we can."

"The children haven't eaten since this morning," Sister Eisten ventured.

Fidelma groaned inwardly.

"Well, there is nothing to be done until it is light, sister. Let us concentrate on getting warm and as dry as we can. Food must be a later consideration."

It was Cass's sharp eyes that managed to spot a small clearing among the tall trees where a large bush extended itself almost in the manner of a tent over a fairly dry area of twigs and leaves.

"Almost made for the task," he said brightly. Fidelma could imagine him smiling in the darkness. "I'll tether the horses out here and light a fire. I have a croccah, my kettle, with me and so we may have a hot drink. You and Sister Eisten can get the children under the bush." He paused and added with a shrug: "It's the best we can do."

Fidelma replied: "Yes." There was little else to say.

Within half an hour, Cass had a reasonable fire alight and had set his croccah, filled with water, to boil upon it. It was Fidelma who insisted that they add herbs to the mixture, which she said would help protect them from the night chills. She wondered if Cass or Eisten would realize that an infusion of the leaves and flowers of the herb drémire but was used as a protective against the scourge of the Yellow Plague. No one commented as the drink was handed around, although the children complained against the bitterness of the mixture. Soon, however, most of them were asleep—more from exhaustion than any other cause.

The cry of wolves continued to break across the strange nocturnal sounds of the wood.

Cass squatted before the fire, feeding its hungry flames with salvaged pieces of wood which hissed and spat with their unsuitability but, at least, generated enough heat to burn and send out some sort of warmth.

"We'll move on at first light," Fidelma told him. "If we move at a reasonable pace then we should be at the abbey by mid-morning."

"We need to keep a watch tonight," Cass observed. "If not to make sure that Intat and his men are close by, then merely to ensure the fire is fed. I'll take the first watch."

"Then I'll take the second," Fidelma insisted, drawing her cloak closer around her shoulders in a vain effort to create more warmth from the garment.

It was a long, cold night but apart from the baying of distant wolves and the cry of other nocturnal creatures, nothing happened to disturb their uneasy peace.

When they all awoke in the gray, listless light of the morning, with the ice chill of the new day, it was Sister Eisten who discovered that the baby had died in the night. No one mentioned the yellow hue to the waxy texture of the babe's skin.

Cass dug a shallow grave with his sword and, against the bewildered sobbing of the younger children, Sister Fidelma and Sister Eisten uttered up a quiet prayer as they buried the tiny corpse. Sister Eisten had not been able to recall its name.

By then, the clouds had rolled away and the anaemic autumnal sun was hanging low in the pallid blue sky— bright but without warmth. Cass had been right about the change in the weather.

Chapter Four

The midday Angelus bell was sounding as Fidelma and her party came within sight of the abbey at Ros Ailithir. The journey had taken longer than she had estimated for, though the day was warm and bright, the road was still sodden and muddy and the passage was difficult.

The abbey was larger than Fidelma had imagined it would be; a vast complex of gray stone buildings standing, as she had already been informed, on the hillside at the head of a narrow inlet of the sea. It was an inlet too long and narrow to be called a bay. She noticed briefly that there were several ships riding at anchor there before turning her gaze back to the diversity of gray buildings. There were several large structures all contained behind tall dark granite walls which followed an oval course around them. At their center she could make out the imposing abbey church. It was a remarkable and unusual building. Most churches in the five kingdoms were built on circular patterns but this was built in a crucifix style with a long nave and a transept at right angles. Fidelma knew that this style was becoming more popular among the new church builders. Next to this was a lofty cloictheach, or bell house, from which the solemn chimes echoed across the small valley depression which led down to the sea.

One of the children, it was the younger of the two black-haired boys again, gave a low moan and started to tremble. His brother spoke sharply but quietly to him.

"What ails him?" Cass demanded. He was standing the closest to the two boys, the younger one being seated on his horse.

"My brother thinks that we may be harmed if we go where there are grown-ups," the elder replied solemnly. "He is scared after what happened yesterday."

Cass smiled gently at the younger boy. "Have no fear, son. No one down there will harm you. It is a holy abbey. They will help you."

The elder whispered sharply to his young sibling again and then, turning, said to Cass: "He will be all right now."

All the children were showing signs of fatigue now; fatigue and agitation after their terrifying experience. In fact, they were all exhausted both physically as well as emotionally. The unease and restiveness of the cold night's halt had not refreshed them and they had experienced a hard trek that morning from the woods to the coast. Weariness showed on everyone's face.

"I had not realized that the abbey was so large," Fidelma observed brightly to Cass to instill some air of normality into the depressed company. However, it was also true that she was impressed by the vastness of the buildings which dominated the inlet.

"I am told that hundreds of proselytes study here," replied Cass indifferently.

The bell suddenly ceased its clamoring.

Fidelma motioned them forward again. She felt a passing unease because she had ignored the call to prayer. Time enough to stop and pray when she and her exhausted charges were safely under the protection of the walls of the abbey. She glanced anxiously toward Sister Eisten. The plump young woman seemed to be lost in melancholy thought. Fidelma put this down to the woman's shock at the death of the baby that morning. Soon after they had set out, she had lapsed into a malaise, a maudlin contemplation, and did not seem to be at all conscious of her surroundings. She walked automatically, her head bent downward, eyes on the ground, and made no response when spoken to. Fidelma had noticed that she did not even bother to raise her eyes when they had come within sight of Ros Ailithir, and heard the chiming of the bell. Yes; it was better to get the party to the abbey rather than halt to indulge in ritual prayers along the roadway.

As they neared the walls of the abbey, she became aware of a few religieux at work in the surrounding fields. They seemed to be cutting kale, presumably to feed cattle. A few curious glances were cast in their direction but, generally, the men bent diligently to their work in the cold, autumnal morning.

The gates of the abbey stood open. Fidelma frowned when she saw, hanging by the side of the gate, a writhe, or bundle of twisted branches of osiers and aspen. It struck a chord in her memory but she could not identify it. She was still trying to dredge her memory about the symbolism of the writhe when she had to turn her attention to a thickset, middle-aged man in the robes of a religieux who stood in the gateway waiting for them. Where his hair grew long from his tonsure, it was speckled gray. He looked a muscular man and his grim visage seemed a warning that he was not someone to trifle with.

"Bene vobis" he intoned in a deep baritone, making the ritual greeting.

"Deus vobiscum" Sister Fidelma responded automatically and then decided to dispense with the rest of the usual courtesies. "These children need food, warmth and rest," she said without further preamble, causing the man's eyes to widen in astonishment. "So does the Sister here. They have had a bad experience. I have to warn you that they have been exposed to the Yellow Plague so your physician needs to examine them immediately. Meanwhile, my companion and I wish to be taken to Abbot Brocc."

The man stuttered in his surprise that a young anchoress should utter so many orders before she had been ritually admitted to the hospitality of the abbey. His brows drew together and he opened his mouth to voice his protest.

Fidelma interrupted before he could speak.

"I am Fidelma from Cashel. The abbot should be expecting me," she added firmly.

The man stood with open mouth, gulping like a fish. Then he drew himself together as Fidelma swept by him, leading her charges through the gates. The monk turned and hurried after her, catching up with her as she entered the large stone-flagged courtyard beyond the gate.

"Sister Fidelma… we, that is…" He was clearly flustered at the abrupt manner of her entrance. "We have been expecting you this last day or so. We were warned… told… to expect you… I am Brother Conghus, the aistreoir of the abbey. What has happened? Who are these children?"

Fidelma turned to the doorkeeper and replied tersely: "Survivors from Rae na Serine which has been burnt by raiders."

The religieux stared from the pitiable children to the plump, young Sister Eisten. His eyes widened as he recognized her.

"Sister Eisten! What has happened?"

The young woman continued to stare moodily into space and did not acknowledge him.

The monk turned back to Fidelma, clearly disconcerted.

"Sister Eisten is known to us in this abbey. She ran a mission at Rae na Serine. Destroyed by raiders, you say?"

Fidelma inclined her head in brief acknowledgment.

"The village was attacked by a group of men led by someone called Intat. Only Sister Eisten and these children survived. I demand sanctuary for them."

"You also mentioned something about plague?" Brother Conghus seemed confused.

"I am told that the reason for this horrendous attack was that there was plague in the village. This is why I ask that the physician of the abbey be summoned. Do you fear the plague here?"

Brother Conghus shook his head.

"With God's help, most of us have discovered an immunity in this abbey. We have had four outbreaks of the pestilence during this last year but it has claimed only a few lives from the young scholars. We no longer have fear of the disease. I will get someone to take poor Sister Eisten and her charges to the hostel where they will be well taken care of."

He turned and waved a hand to a passing young novice. She was a tall girl, slightly broad in the shoulders with a carriage that seemed clumsy.

"Sister Necht, take this sister and the children to the hostel. Tell Brother Rumann to summon Brother Midach to examine them. Then see that they are fed and rested. I will speak with Midach shortly."

His orders were issued in a series of staccato bursts. Fidelma noticed that the young girl hesitated, staring in open-mouthed surprise as she seemed to recognize Eisten and the children. Then she seemed to make a conscious effort to pull herself together and hurried forward to shepherd the children and the plaintive, plump Eisten away. Brother Conghus, assured his orders were being obeyed, turned back to Fidelma.

"Brother Midach is our chief physician while Rumann is our steward. They will take care of Sister Eisten and the children," he explained unnecessarily. He pointed the way forward across the courtyard. "I will bring you to the abbot. Have you come directly from Cashel?"

"We have," confirmed Cass as they followed him. The warrior in Cass paused to draw attention to a matter Fidelma had neglected. "Our horses need a rub down and feeding, brother."

"I will attend to your horses just as soon as I have conducted you to the abbot," Conghus replied.

The doorkeeper of the abbey started to hurry with somewhat unseemly haste across the paved yard, through the complex of buildings, pausing from time to time to urge them to follow with as much speed as they could. Fidelma and Cass complied, however, with a more leisurely pace which was governed by their fatigue. The walk seemed interminable but, at last, having ascended the stairs of a large building, set slightly apart from the others, the aistreoir halted before a dark oak door and motioned them to wait while he knocked and disappeared behind it. Only moments passed before he re-emerged and, holding wide the door, gestured for them to go inside.

They found themselves in a large vaulted chamber whose cold gray stone walls were relieved by colorful tapestries, each illustrating something of the life of Christ. A fire smoldered in the hearth and there was the smell of incense permeating through the room. The floor was carpeted with soft woollen rugs. The furniture was rich and the ornaments extravagant in their opulence.

The abbot of Ros Ailithir did not appear to believe in frugality.

"Fidelma!"

A tall man rose from behind a dark, polished oak table. He was thin, with a hook nose, piercing blue eyes, and his red hair was cut in the tonsure of the Irish church, shaven at the front to a line from ear to ear and the hair hanging long at the back. There was something about his facial appearance which, to the discerning eye, suggested a relationship to Fidelma.

"I am your cousin, Brocc," the thin man announced. His voice seemed to boom with a deep bass quality. "I have not seen you since you were a child."

The greeting was meant to be a warm one yet there was some false note in the abbot's voice. It was as if part of his thoughts were elsewhere while he was trying to summon a welcome.

Even when he stretched out both hands to take Fidelma's own in greeting, they were cold and flaccid and also seemed to belie the attempted tone of welcome in his voice. Fidelma had little recollection of her cousin from her exuberant childhood. Perhaps that was understandable, for Abbot Brocc was at least ten or fifteen years her senior.

She returned his greeting with a degree of studied formality and then introduced Cass.

"Cass has been appointed to assist me in this matter by my brother, Colgu."

Brocc examined Cass with an uneasy gaze, his eyes going to Cass's throat where the warrior had loosened his cloak and it had fallen away to reveal the golden necklet of his office. For his part, Cass reached out with a strong grip to take the abbot's hand. Fidelma saw Brocc's facial muscles twitch at the power of the grip.

"Come, be seated, cousin. You also, Cass. My doorkeeper, Brother Conghus, tells me that you arrived with Sister Eisten and some children from Rae na Serine. Eisten's mission there comes under the jurisdiction of this abbey and so we are much concerned at what has happened there. Tell me the story."

Fidelma glanced to Cass as she slumped thankfully into a chair, relaxing for the first time in twenty-four hours in some degree of comfort. The young warrior picked up the invitation that her glance implied and quickly told the story of how they had found Eisten and the children at Rae na Serine.

Brocc's face became a mask of anger and he reached up a hand to tap absently on the bridge of his nose.

"This is an evil business. I will send a messenger at once to Salbach, the chieftain of the Corco Loigde. He will have this man Intat and his men punished for this heinous act. Leave this matter with me. I shall ensure Salbach hears of this at once."

"And Sister Eisten and her charges?" asked Fidelma.

"Have no fears for them. We will care for them here. We have a good infirmary and our physician, Brother Midach, has dealt with ten cases of the Yellow Plague over the last year. God has been good to us. Three of the victims he has successfully cured. We have no fear of the plague here. And is it not right that we should have no fear for we are of the Faith and are in God's good hands?"

"I am delighted that you view the matter with such a perspective," replied Fidelma gravely. "I would expect no less."

Cass wondered, for a moment, whether she was being ironical at Brocc's pious attitude.

"So now," Brocc's cold eyes examined her steadily, "let us get down to the main reason for your visit here."

Fidelma groaned inwardly. She would prefer to have slept and recovered something of her serenity of mind before dealing with the matter. A long deep sleep was what she most desired. She would prefer to have eaten and drunk mulled wine to warm her and then fallen onto a dry bed no matter how hard. But Brocc was probably right. It would be best to get the preliminaries over with.

As she was contemplating her reply, Brocc rose from his seat and went to stand at a window which, she could see, even from her seated position, looked out across the inlet of the sea. The abbot stood, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down.

"I am aware that time is of the essence, cousin," he said slowly. "And I am aware that I, as abbot, am held accountable for the Venerable Dacán's death. If I was in need of reminding of the fact, then the king of Laigin has sent me a token as remembrance."

Fidelma stared at him for a moment.

"What do you mean?" Cass articulated the question that she was about to ask.

Brocc gestured with his head through the window.

"Look down there, at the mouth of the inlet."

Fidelma and Cass both rose and went to join the abbot, curiously peering over his shoulder toward the spot he had indicated. There were several ships at anchor in the inlet, among them two large ocean-going vessels. Brocc was specifying one of these larger vessels, riding against its sea anchor, near the exit to the sheltered bay.

"You are a warrior, Cass." Brocc's bass voice was morose. "Can you identify that vessel? You see the one I mean? Not the Frankish merchantman but the other one."

Cass screwed up his eyes as he examined the lines of the ship.

"It flies the standard of Fianamail, the king of Laigin," he replied with some surprise. "It is a Laigin ship of war."

"Exactly so," sighed Brocc, turning to motion them back to their seats while resuming his own. "It appeared a week ago. A Laigin ship of war sent to remind me that Laigin holds me accountable for Dacán's death. It sits there in the inlet, day in and day out. To emphasize the point, when it initially arrived, its captain came ashore to inform me of the intention of the king of Laigin. Since then no one from the ship has come to the abbey. It just sits at the entrance of the inlet and waits— like a cat waiting for a mouse. If they mean to destroy my peace, then they are succeeding. Doubtless they will wait there until the High King's assembly makes its decision."

Cass flushed angrily.

"This is an outrage to justice," he said fiercely. "It is intimidation. It is a physical threat."

"It is, as I have said, a reminder that Laigin demand their eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. What does the scripture say? If a man destroy the eye of another man, they shall destroy his eye?"

"That is the law of the Israelites," Fidelma pointed out. "It is not the law of the five kingdoms."

"A moot point, cousin. If we are to believe that the Israelites are the chosen of God, then we should follow their law as well as their religion."

"Time for theological debate later," snapped Cass. "Why do they hold you responsible, Brocc? Did you kill the Venerable Dacán?"

"No, of course not."

"Then Laigin has no reason to threaten you." To Cass the matter was simple.

Fidelma turned to him chidingly.

"Laigin abides by the law. Brocc is abbot here. He is the head of the family of this abbey and, in law, deemed responsible for anything that happens to his guests. If he is unable to pay the fines and compensations due, then the law says his family must do so. Because he is of the Eoganachta, the ruling family of Muman, then the whole of Muman is now held to hostage for the deed. Do you follow the logic now, Cass?"

"But that is no justice," Cass pointed out.

"It is the law," replied Fidelma firmly. "You should know this."

"And often law and justice are two things which are not synonymous," Brocc observed bitterly. "But you are right to state the case as Laigin sees it. There is not much time to present a defense before the High King's assembly meets at Tara."

"Perhaps, then," Fidelma tried to stifle a yawn, "you had best tell me the essential facts so that I may work out some plan by which my investigation may be conducted."

Abbot Brocc did not notice her fatigue. Instead, he spread his hands in an eloquent gesture of bewilderment.

"There is little I can say, cousin. The facts are these; the Venerable Dacán came to this abbey with permission from King Cathal to study our collection of ancient books. We have a large number of 'rods of the poets,' ancient histories and sagas cut in the Ogham alphabet on wands of hazel and aspen. We pride ourselves on this collection. It is the finest in the five kingdoms. Not even at Tara is there such a collection of genealogical tracts."

Fidelma accepted Brocc's pride. She had been instructed in a knowledge of the ancient alphabet which legend said had been given to the Irish by their pagan god of literature, Ogma. The alphabet was represented by a varying number of strokes and notches to and crossing a base line and texts were cut on wooden rods called "rods of the poets." The old alphabet was now falling rapidly into disuse with the adoption of the Latin alphabet due to the incoming of the Christian faith.

Brocc was continuing:

"We take exceptional pride in our Tech Screptra, our great library, and our scholars have shown that it was our kingdom of Muman which first brought the art of Ogham to the peoples of the five kingdoms. As you may know, this abbey was founded by the Blessed Fachtna Mac Mongaig, a pupil of Ita, nearly a hundred years ago. He established this place not only as a house of worship but a repository of books of knowledge, as a place of learning, a place where people from the four corners of the earth could receive their education. And they came and have been coming here ever since; a never-ending stream of pilgrims in search of knowledge. Our foundation of Ros Ailithir has become renowned throughout the five kingdoms and even beyond them."

Fidelma could not suppress amusement at the abbot's sudden burst of enthusiasm for his foundation. Even among the religious, who were supposed to be the examples of humility, conceit was often never far from the surface.

"And that is why the abbey is named as the promontory of pilgrims," Cass said softly, as if he wished to show that he had some knowledge to contribute.

The abbot regarded him with cold appraisal and inclined his head slightly.

"Just so, warrior. Ros Ailithir—the promontory of pilgrims. Not just pilgrims in the Faith but pilgrims of Truth and Learning."

Fidelma gestured impatiently.

"So the Venerable Dacán, with the permission of King Cathal, came here to study. This much we know."

"And to do some teaching as a repayment for access to our library," added Brocc. "His main interest was in deciphering the texts of the 'rods of the poets.' Most days he worked in our Tech Screptra."

"How long was he a guest here?"

"About two months."

"What happened? I mean, what were the details concerning the manner of his death?"

Brocc sat back, placing both hands, palms downward, on his table.

"It happened two weeks ago. It was just before the bell sounded the hour for tierce." He turned to Cass, to explain pedantically: "The work of the abbey is done between tierce in the morning and vespers in the evening."

"Tierce is the third hour of the canonical day," explained Fidelma when she saw Cass frowning in bewilderment at the abbot's explanation.

"It is the hour when we start our studies and when some of the brothers go into the fields to work, for we have cultivated lands to tend and animals to feed and fish to harvest from the sea."

"Go on," instructed Fidelma, becoming irritated at the length of time the account was taking. Her eyelids were feeling scratchy and she longed for a short rest, a brief sleep.

"As I have said, it was just before the bell was due to sound for tierce when Brother Conghus, my aistreoir, that is the doorkeeper of the abbey, who also has the duty to ring the bell, came bursting into my chambers. Naturally, I demanded to know why he could so forget himself…"

"He then told you that Dacán was dead?" interrupted Fidelma, trying her best to stifle her impatience at her cousin's long-winded approach.

Brocc blinked, unused to interference when he was speaking.

"He had been to Dacán's cubiculum in the guests' hostel. It appears that Dacán had not been seen at jenta-culum." He paused and turned condescendingly to Cass. "That is the meal by which we break our fast on rising."

This time Fidelma did not bother to stifle the yawn. The abbot looked slightly hurt and went on hurriedly.

"Brother Conghus went to the hostel and found the body of the Venerable Dacán lying on his cot. He had been bound, hand and foot, and then, so it appeared, stabbed several times. The physician was called and made an examination. The stab wounds were straight into the heart and any one could have been fatal. My fer-tighis, the steward of the abbey, was given the task of making an investigation. He questioned those in the abbey but none had heard or seen anything untoward. No explanation of why or who could have done the deed came to light. Because of the fact that the Venerable Dacàn was such a distinguished guest, I immediately sent word to King Cathal at Cashel."

"Did you also send word to Laigin?"

Brocc shook his head immediately.

"There was a Laigin merchant staying at the abbey at the time. We have a busy sea route along this coast to Laigin. Doubtless this merchant took word of Dacán's death to Fearna and to Dacàn's brother, the Abbot Noè."

Fidelma leaned forward with interest.

"Did this merchant have a name?"

"I think it was Assi'd. My fer-tighis, Brother Rumann, would know."

"When did this merchant leave for Laigin?"

"I think it was the very day that Dacán's body was discovered. I am not exactly sure when. Brother Rumann would have such details."

"But Brother Rumann found nothing to explain the death?" interrupted Cass.

As the abbot nodded agreement Fidelma asked: "When did you first learn that Laigin held you responsible for the death and was demanding reparation from the King of Muman?"

Brocc looked grim.

"When that warship arrived and its captain came ashore to tell me that, as abbot, I was being held responsible. Then I received a messenger from Cashel which further informed me that reparation, in the form of the lands of Osraige, was demanded by the new king of Laigin but that King Cathal was sending for you to investigate the matter."

Fidelma sat back in her chair, placing her hands together, fingertip to fingertip, seeking refuge for a moment in thought.

"And these are all the facts as you know them, Brocc?"

"As I know them," affirmed Brocc solemnly.

"Well, the only clear thing is that the Venerable Dacán was murdered," Cass summed up morosely. "It is also clear the deed was done in this abbey. Therefore it is also clear that reparation has to be paid."

Fidelma regarded him with a sardonic expression.

"Indeed, that is our starting point." She smiled thinly. "However, who is responsible for paying that reparation? That is what we must now discover."

She rose abruptly to her feet.

Cass followed her example more reluctantly.

"What now, cousin?" asked Brocc eagerly, as he gazed up at his young relative.

"Now? Now, I think that Cass and myself will find something to eat for we have not had anything since yesterday noon and then we must rest a while. We had little sleep in the cold and damp of the forest last night. We'll begin our investigation after vespers."

Brocc's eyes widened.

"Begin? I thought I had told you all at the abbey we know of this matter."

Fidelma's lips thinned wryly.

"You do not appreciate how a Brehon conducts an investigation. No matter. We will begin to find out who killed Dacán and why."

"Do you think you can?" demanded Brocc, a faint light of expectation growing in his eyes.

"That is what I am here for." Fidelma's voice was weary.

Brocc looked uncertain. Then he reached forward to a tiny silver bell on the table and rang it.

A fleshy, middle-aged anchorite seemed to burst into the room, his every movement speaking of a frenetic activity, a scarcely concealed energy which seemed to inspire an agitation of his every limb. The nervous restlessness of the man made even Fidelma feel uncomfortable.

"This is my fer-tighis, the house steward of the abbey," introduced Brocc. "Brother Rumann will attend to all of your needs. You have but to ask. I will see you again at vespers."

Brother Rumann seemed to physically propel them before him as he ushered them out of the abbot's chambers.

"Having heard from Brother Conghus that you had arrived, I have prepared rooms in the tech-óiged, sister." His voice was as breathless as his appearance was flustered. "You will be most comfortable in our guest hostel."

"And food?" queried Cass. Fidelma's reference to the fact that they had eaten little in the last twenty-four hours had reminded him of that truth and created a gnawing hunger to register in his mind.

Brother Rumann's head bounced up and down, or so it seemed; a large, fleshy round ball on which the hair grew sparsely. The flesh of his moon face was so creased that it was almost impossible to see whether he was smiling or scowling.

"A meal is prepared," he confirmed. "I will lead you to the hostel at once."

"The same hostel where the Venerable Dacán stayed?" queried Fidelma. When Brother Rumann nodded she made no comment.

They followed him through the gray stone aisles of the abbey buildings, across tiny courtyards and along darkened passages.

"How are Sister Eisten and the children?" she asked, after some moments of silence.

Brother Rumann made a clucking sound with his tongue, like a nervous mother hen. Fidelma suddenly smiled for that was precisely what Brother Rumann reminded her of as he waddled before them, hands flapping at his sides.

"Sister Eisten is exhausted and appears to have been greatly shocked by her experience. The children are just tired and need warmth and sleep more than anything else at this time. Brother Midach, our chief physician here, has examined them. There are no signs of any illness among them."

Brother Rumann paused before a door of a rectangular, two-storeyed building standing by one of the main walls of the abbey, separated from the imposing central church by a square of paved stones in the middle of which stood a well.

"This is our tech-óiged, sister. We pride ourselves on our guests' hostel. In summer we have visitors from many places."

He threw open the door, like a showman performing some difficult feat before a large audience, and then ushered them into the building. They immediately found themselves in a large hall which was both spacious and well decorated with tapestries and icons. A wooden staircase led them to a second floor where the steward showed them to adjoining rooms. Fidelma noticed that their saddle bags had already been placed inside.

"I trust these quarters will be comfortable enough?" asked Brother Rumann and, before they could answer, he had turned and bustled off into another room. "For this occasion," his calling voice beckoned them to follow him, "I have ordered your meal to be brought here for convenience. However, from this evening, meals are taken in the refectory which is the building adjoining this one. All our guests usually eat there."

Fidelma saw, on a table in the room, bowls of steaming broth with platters of bread, cheeses and a jug of wine with pottery goblets. It looked appetizing to their hungry eyes.

Fidelma felt her mouth moistening at the sight.

"This is excellent," she said approvingly.

"My chamber is downstairs, at the far end of the hostel," Brother Rumann went on. "Should you require any service then you may find me there or, by ringing the bell," he indicated a small bronze handbell on the table, "you can summon my assistant, Sister Necht, She is one of our young novices and serves the wants of all our guests."

"One thing before you go," Fidelma said, as Brother Rumann started to bustle toward the door. The plump man halted and turned back inquiringly.

"About how many people are there in the hostel?"

Brother Rumann frowned.

"Only yourselves. Oh, and we have placed Sister Eisten and the children here temporarily."

"I was told that the abbey has hundreds of students."

Brother Rumann chuckled wheezily.

"Do not concern yourself with them. The students' dormitories are situated on the other side of the abbey. We are a mixed community, of course, as are most houses. The male members of our order predominate. Will that be all, sister?"

"For the time being," agreed Fidelma.

The man clucked his way out. Almost before he was beyond the door, Cass let restraint go to the winds and slid into a seat, drawing a bowl of the steaming broth toward him.

"Several hundred students and religious." He turned a grim expression to Fidelma as she joined him at the table. "To find a murderer amongst this number would be like trying to identify a particular grain of sand on a seashore."

Fidelma pulled a face and then raised the wooden spoon to her mouth, savoring the warmth of the broth.

"The odds are much more in our favor," she said, after an appreciative pause. "That is, if the murderer is still in the abbey. From what Brocc says, people have come and gone in the interval since the killing. If I had killed the Venerable Dacán, I doubt whether I would remain here. But that would all depend on who I am and the motive for the killing."

Cass was cleaning his bowl with satisfaction.

"The killer might be confident that he will not be caught," he suggested.

"Or she," corrected Fidelma. "The curious thing about this investigation is that, in other inquiries that I have been involved with, there is always some discernible motive that comes immediately to the mind. This is not so in this case."

"How do you mean?"

"A person is found dead. Why? Sometimes there is a robbery. Or the person is intensely disliked. Or there is some other obvious reason as a likely motive for the killing. Knowing the motive we can then start inquiries as to who is most likely to benefit from the crime. Here we have a respectable and elderly scholar who comes to a violent end but no motive immediately springs to mind."

"Perhaps there was no motive? Perhaps he was killed by someone who was insane and…"

Fidelma reproved Cass gently.

"Insanity is in itself a motive."

Cass shook his head and turned back to the bowl of broth he had been devouring and gazed sadly at the empty dish.

"I enjoyed that," he commented almost in a tone of regret that there was no more. "Oatmeal, milk and leeks, I think. Is it delicious or is it my ravening hunger that adds zest to the food?"

Fidelma grimaced in amusement at his enthusiastic change of conversation.

"It is said that this broth was a favorite dish of the Blessed Colmcille," she observed. "And you are right about its ingredients, but I think anything would taste as magnificent when one has not eaten for a while."

Cass was already cutting a slice of cheese and Fidelma indicated that she would also like a piece. The young warrior placed the slice on her platter and cut another. Then he broke off a hunk of bread. He chewed thoughtfully, at the same time as pouring a cup of wine apiece.

"Seriously, sister, how can you hope to solve this mystery? It happened over a fortnight ago and I doubt whether the perpetrator of the deed has remained within miles of this place. Even if they have, then there appears to be no witness, no one who saw anything, nothing to lay a path to the culprit."

Fidelma calmly took a sip of her wine.

"So, Cass, if you were me, what would you do?"

Cass paused in the act of chewing and blinked. He gave the question some thought.

"Find out as many details as one can, I suppose, in order to report back to Cashel."

"Well," Fidelma replied with mock seriousness, "at least we appear to be agreed on that. Is there any further advice you would give me, Cass?"

The young warrior flushed.

Fidelma was a dalaigh. He knew that. And she was surely mocking him for presuming to tell her how to do her job.

"I did not mean…" he began.

She disarmed him with a grin.

"Do not worry, Cass. If I believed that you spoke with consideration then you would find my tongue sharp and bitter. Perhaps it is good you do not flatter me. Though, truly, I know my capabilities as I also know my weaknesses, for only fools take to themselves the respect that is given to their office."

Cass gazed uneasily into the ice-fire of those green eyes and swallowed.

"Let us agree, though," she continued, "that I shall not tell you how to wield your sword in combat if you do not advise me how to perform the art for which I was trained."

The young man grimaced, a little sulkily.

"I only meant to say that the problem seems an insurmountable one."

"In my experience, all problems start out from that viewpoint. But solving a problem means that you have to start out instead of staying still. Once your viewpoint changes then you change your view."

"How then do you propose to start out?" he asked quickly, trying to pacify the feeling of friction which still lay below Fidelma's bantering tone.

"We will start out by questioning Brother Conghus, who found the body, then the physician who examined the body and finally our flustered house-steward, Brother Rumann, who made the initial investigation. All or any of these might have pieces of the puzzle. Then, when we have gathered all the pieces, however small, we will examine them, carefully and assiduously. Perhaps we will be able to fit them together to form a picture, who knows?"

"You make it seem rather easy."

"Not easy," she promptly denied. "Remember that all information helps. Gather it and store it until you have a use for it. Now, I think I shall get some sleep before…"

As she began to rise a piercing shriek of terror shattered the silence of the guests' hostel.

Chapter Five

When the penetrating shriek echoed a second time, Fidelma was on her feet and moving down the corridor of the hostel with a rapidity which surprised the young warrior who followed closely on her heels. The cry had come from the first floor of the building. It had sounded high pitched, like the cry of a woman in pain.

At the foot of the stairs Fidelma almost collided with Brother Rumann. He, too, had been hurrying towards the sound of the cry and, without a word, Fidelma and Cass turned after the corpulent steward of the abbey as he made his way along the lower corridor, along which were a series of doors.

The three of them halted abruptly, astonished by the sound of a soft crooning issuing from the stillness.

Brother Rumann stood before a door and pushed it open. Fidelma and Cass peered questioningly over his shoulder.

Inside was the figure of Sister Eisten, seated on the edge of a cot with one of the black-haired lads from Rae na Serine in her arms. Fidelma recognized him as Cosrach, the younger of the two boys. Sister Eisten was holding him and crooning a soft lullaby. The young boy lay quietly sobbing in her embrace. The sobs were now soft, gulping breaths. Sister Eisten seemed oblivious to the three of them crowding at the door.

It was the elder brother, the other black-haired lad, who, standing behind Sister Eisten, glanced up, saw them and scowled. He moved across the small chamber floor and, without appearing to do so, forced them back through the doorway into the corridor, following them and swinging the door shut behind him. He thrust out his chin; his expression seemed defiant, scowling at their intrusion.

"We heard a scream, boy," Brother Rumann wheezed at him.

"It was my brother," replied the boy with a surly tone. "My brother was having a nightmare, that is all. He will be all right now. Sister Eisten heard him and came in to help."

Fidelma bent forward, smiling reassuringly, trying to recall his name.

"Then there is nothing to be worried about, is there… your name is Cétach, isn't it?"

"Yes." His tone was sullen, almost defensive.

"Very well, Cétach. Your brother and you have had a bad experience. But it is over now. There is no need to worry."

"I am not worried," the boy replied scornfully. "But my brother is younger than I. He cannot help his dreams."

Fidelma had the feeling that she was speaking to a man rather than a boy. The lad was wiser than his years.

"Of course not," she readily agreed. "You must persuade your brother that you are among friends now who will look after you."

The boy waited a moment and then said: "May I return to my brother now?"

Both boys would need time to get over the experience, thought Fidelma. She smiled again, this time a little falsely, and nodded assent.

As the door of the chamber closed behind the boy, Brother Rumann gave a distressed clucking sound before waddling back along the corridor.

Fidelma slowly retraced her steps to the stairway. Cass measured his pace to her shorter one.

"Poor little ones," observed Cass. "A bad thing has happened to them. I hope Salbach will find and punish Intat and his men soon."

Fidelma nodded absently.

"At least the boy's need seems to have stirred a response in Sister Eisten. I was more worried about her than the children. Children have a resilience. But Eisten took the death of the baby badly this morning."

"There was nothing she could have done for it," replied Cass logically, dismissing the emotional aspect of the event. "Even if we had not been forced to camp in the open last night, the child would surely have died. I saw it had the plague symptoms."

"Deus vult" Fidelma replied automatically with a fatalism which she did not really believe. God wills it.

The chiming of the bell for vespers, the sixth canonical hour, brought Fidelma reluctantly from a deep sleep. Listening to the chimes, she realized that it was too late to join the brethren in the abbey church and so she dragged herself out of bed and began to intone the prayer of the hour. Most of the rituals of the church in the five kingdoms were still conducted in Greek, the language of the Faith in which the holy scriptures had been written. Many, however, were now turning to the language of Rome—Latin. Latin was replacing Greek as the one indispensable language of the church. Fidelma had little trouble switching from one language to another for she knew Latin as well as Greek, had a knowledge of Hebrew in addition to her native tongue and something of the languages of the Britons and the Saxons, too.

Having discharged her religious responsibility, Fidelma went to the bowl of water which stood on a table in her chamber and washed quickly in the near icy liquid. She towelled herself vigorously before dressing. When she was ready she went into the corridor. The door to Cass's chamber was opened and it was empty, so she proceeded down the corridor which was lit, now that dusk had fallen, with a few flickering candles in sheltered holders attached to the stone walls.

"Ah, Sister Fidelma." It was the wheezy figure of Brother Rumann who had appeared in the gloom as she came down the stairs into the main hall! on the ground floor of the hostel. "Did you miss vespers?"

"I slept late and the bell awoke me. I made my invocations to Our Lord in my chamber."

She bit her lip as she said it. She had not meant it to sound so defensive but she felt that there had been a tone of censure in the steward's voice.

Brother Rumann's large face creased into what she presumed was a smile, yet of disparagement or sympathy she knew not.

"The young warrior, Cass, went to the abbey church and is probably on his way directly to the praintech, as we call our refectory, for the evening meal. Shall I conduct you there?"

"Thank you, brother," Fidelma solemnly replied. "I would be grateful for your guidance."

The pudgy religieux took a lighted lantern from its hook on the wall and proceeded to lead the way from the building along the now dark courtyard toward the adjoining building, a large construction into which many religious, both men and women, were filing in what seemed never-ending lines.

"Do not worry, sister," Brother Rumann said. "The abbot has given orders that you and the warrior Cass will be seated at his table at mealtimes during your stay with us."

"At what should I worry?" queried Fidelma, glancing curiously at him.

"We have so many people at the abbey that we have to make three sittings for our meals. Those that have to wait until the third sitting often eat their meals cold, which causes complaint. This is why many of the brothers are now working on constructing a new dining hall at the eastern end of the abbey buildings. The new praintech is going to accommodate all of us."

"A refectory which will contain several hundred souls under one roof?"

Fidelma could not keep the skepticism from her voice.

"Just so, sister. A great task and one which will be completed soon, le cunamh Dé." He added the "God willing" in a pious tone.

They paused in the hallway of the refectory and an attendant came forward to remove and stack their shoes or sandals, for it was the custom in most monastic communities that one sat down at the meal table in bare feet. Rumann then led the way into the crowded hall, along lines of tables packed with the religious of both sexes. The refectory hall was lit with numerous spluttering oil lamps whose pungent smell mingled with the heavy aroma of the smoky turf fire which smoldered in the great hearth at the head of the chamber. The odors were made even more piquant by the intermingling of the contents of incense burners placed at various points throughout the hall. Lamps and fire combined, however, to generate a poor heat against the cold of the autumnal evening. Only after a while, with the compactness of the two hundred bodies, did a warmth emerge.

The Abbot Brocc had already started the Gratias as Brother Rumann hurriedly conducted Fidelma to an empty place at the table, next to an amused-looking Cass who smiled a silent greeting at her.

"Benedic nobis, Domine Deus …"

Fidelma hastily genuflected as she took her place.

"Did you oversleep?" whispered Cass cheerfully as he leant towards her.

Fidelma sniffed and ignored the question to which the answer was so obvious.

The Gratias ended and the room was filled with the noise of benches being scraped on the stone flags of the floor.

In spite of the fact that they had eaten only four hours before, Fidelma and Cass ate heartily of the dish of baked fish cooked with wild garlic and served with duilesc, a sea plant gathered from the rocks of the shore. Barley bread was served with this. Jugs of ale stood on the table and the religious were allowed to help themselves to one pottery goblet each of the brew. The meal was finished with the serving of a dish of apples and some wheaten cakes kneaded with honey.

The meal was eaten without conversation, for this, as Fidelma realized, was the Rule of the Blessed Fachtna. However, during the course of the meal a lector intoned passages from the scriptures from a raised wooden lectern at the end of the room. Fidelma raised a tired smile as the lector chose to begin with a passage from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes: "Every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labor, it is the gift of God."

The meal ended at the single chime of a bell and the Abbot Brocc rose to intone another Gratias.

Only when they were leaving the refectory, reclaiming their footwear, did Brocc approach them. At his side came the puffing figure of Brother Rumann.

"Have you rested well, cousin?" greeted the abbot.

"Well enough," replied Fidelma. "Now I should like your permission and authority to commence my task."

"What can I do? You have only to ask."

"I will need someone to act as an assistant, to find those people that I need to question and bring them to me and to run errands on my behalf. Thus they must know the abbey and be able to conduct me where I want to go."

"Brother Rumann's assistant, Sister Necht, shall perform that task," smiled the abbot, turning to the portly steward, who jerked his head up and down in agreement at the abbot's words. "What else, cousin?"

"I shall need a chamber in which to conduct my inquiries. The room next to my chamber in the hostel would serve well."

"It is yours for so long as you require it."

"I will see this is so," added Rumann, eager to please his abbot.

"Then there is no need to delay further. We shall start at once."

"God's blessing on your work," intoned the abbot solemnly. "Keep me informed."

He left the refectory with Brother Rumann clucking after him.

Sister Necht, Brother Rumann's assistant, was the young, heavy-looking woman whom Fidelma had seen briefly on entering the abbey. She had been asked by Conghus to take charge of Sister Eisten and the children. She was fresh-faced, with reddish, almost copper-burnished, curly hair tumbling under her head-dress. Her shoulders were too broad and her chin too square for her to be called attractive. Fidelma found that she was quick to smile but easy to upset. However, she was eager to please and obviously excited at being given a task which was not usual in the rigid sequentially ordered work that was the daily round of community.

If anything, Sister Necht showed herself to be somewhat in awe of Sister Fidelma. It was obvious that she had been told that Fidelma was sister to the heirapparent of the kingdom, cousin to the abbot, and was, in her own right, a distinguished dálaigh of the law courts of the land who had stood to give judgment before the High King and even at the request of the Holy Father so far away in Rome. Young Sister Necht was clearly a hero-worshipper.

Fidelma immediately forgave her the nervousness and spaniel-like adoration. The age of innocence would soon pass. Fidelma felt that it was sad that children had so quickly to pass into adulthood. What was it that Publilius Syrus had written? If you would live innocently, do not lose the heart and mind you possessed in your childhood.

Having installed themselves in the chamber in which they had eaten their first meal at the abbey, Fidelma sent Necht to bring the aistreòir, Brother Conghus, to them.

"We will start at the beginning," she explained to Cass. "Conghus was the first person to discover the body of the Venerable Dacán."

Cass was unsure of his role now. He had no training in law and had never witnessed a dalaigh investigating a crime before. So he took up a seat in a corner of the chamber, in the background, and let Fidelma seat herself at the table on which a lantern had been placed to give light to the proceedings.

It was not long before a slightly breathless Sister Necht returned with the thickset doorkeeper. Brother Conghus, at her heels.

"I've brought him, sister," gasped the girl, in a deep, husky voice which seemed her normal tone. "Just as you said I should."

Fidelma tried to suppress a smile and waved the young novice to take a seat by Cass.

"You may wait there, Sister Necht. You will not speak until I speak to you nor will you ever reveal anything that you may hear in this room. I must have your solemn oath on this, if you are to remain to assist me."

The novice swore at once and assumed her place.

Fidelma then turned her sharp smile to Brother Conghus who had stood waiting in the doorway.

"Come in, shut the door and take a seat, brother," she instructed firmly.

The doorkeeper did as he was bid.

"How may I help, sister?" he asked once he was settled.

"I must ask you some questions. I have to ask you, officially, if you know the purpose of my visit?"

Conghus shrugged: "Who does not?"

"Very well. Let us go back to the day of the Venerable Dacán's death. I am told that you were the first to discover the body?"

Conghus grimaced as if in distaste at the memory.

"That is so."

"Describe the circumstances, if you please."

Conghus paused to gather his thoughts.

"Dacán was a man of regular habits. His day, so I had perceived, during the two months that he lodged at the abbey, was one of ritual observance. One could almost tell the time of day by his movements."

He paused again as if reflecting.

"My job as doorkeeper also includes bellringer. I ring the main hours and services. The bell for matins heralds the beginning of our day which is followed by the jentaculum, our first meal of the day. Because we are a large community and our refectory cannot accommodate everyone, we eat in three separate sittings. Dacán invariably ate at the middle sitting as did I. This timing allows me the opportunity to pursue my duties at the ringing of the hours. After the third sitting for the jentaculum I ring the hour of the tierce when the work of the community starts."

"I understand," Fidelma said, when the doorkeeper paused and glanced at her in silent question to see if she was following.

"Well, this particular morning, two weeks ago on the day of Luan, Dacán was not at his place for the breaking of the fast. I made inquiries, for it was so unusual that he would miss a meal. You see…"

"You have already explained how rigid his habits were," Fidelma interrupted quickly.

Conghus blinked and then nodded.

"Just so. Well, I ascertained that he had not been at the earlier sitting. So after I had eaten, curiosity took me to the hostel to look for him."

"Where was his chamber?"

"On the first floor." Conghus began to rise from his seat. "I can show you the chamber now…"

Fidelma waved him back to his seat.

"You may do so in a moment. Let us continue. So, you came to search for Dacán?"

"I did. There is little more to add. I went to his chamber and called to him. There was no answer. So I opened the door…"

"No answer?" Fidelma interrupted. "Surely if there was no answer, one might assume that the Venerable Dacán was not in his room? What made you decide to open the door?"

Conghus grimaced, frowning.

"Why… why, I saw a light flickering under the door. It is dark in the passage so any light shines out. The light attracted me. I reasoned that if Dacán had left a light burning, then I should extinguish it. Frugality is another Rule of the Blessed Fachtna," he added sanctimoniously.

"I see. So you saw a light and then… ?"

"I went in."

"What was the cause of the light?"

"There was an oil lamp lit, it was still burning."

"Go on," Fidelma urged, when Conghus continued to hesitate.

"Dacán was lying dead on his bed. That is all."

Fidelma suppressed a sigh of irritation.

"Let us try to establish a few more details, Brother Conghus," she said patiently. "Imagine yourself back at the threshold of the door. Describe what you saw."

Conghus frowned again and appeared to give some deep thought to the question.

"The chamber was lit by the oil lamp, which was on a small table at the side of the cot. Dacán was fully dressed. He was lying on his back. The first thing I noticed about him was that his feet and his hands were bound…"

"With rope?"

Conghus shook his head.

"With strips of cloth; linen cloth with parti-colors of blue and red. He also had a strip of the same cloth in his mouth. I presumed this was in the nature of a gag. Then I saw that there were bloodstains all over his chest. I realized that he had been killed."

"Very well. Now tell me, was there any sign of a knife—the knife that inflicted the wounds?"

"None that I could see."

"Was one found subsequently?"

"Not that I know of."

"How were Dacán's features?"

"I do not understand," frowned Conghus.

"Was the face calm and reposed? Were the eyes open or shut. How did he look?"

"Calm, I would say. There was no fear or pain engraved on the dead features, if that is what you mean."

"That is precisely what I mean," Fidelma replied grimly. "Good. We now progress. You realized that Dacán had been killed. Did you notice anything else about the room? Had it been ransacked? Was it in order? If Dacán was so rigid in his habits it would imply that he would be scrupulously tidy."

"The room was tidy so far as I can remember. You are right, of course, Dacán's fastidiousness was well known. But Sister Necht will tell you more about that."

Fidelma heard a rustle and turned to frown a warning at the young novice in case she felt the need to respond.

"So." Fidelma returned her gaze to Conghus. "We begin to build up a picture. Go on. Having realized that Dacán had been killed, what then?"

"I made directly to see the abbot. I told him what I had discovered. He sent for our assistant physician, Brother Tola, who examined the body and confirmed what I knew already. The abbot then placed matters in the hands of Brother Rumann. As steward of the abbey it was his job to conduct an inquiry."

"One question here: you said that the abbot sent for the assistant physician, Brother Tola? Why did he not send for the chief physician? After all, the Venerable Dacán was a man of some standing."

"That is true. But our chief physician, Brother Midach, was away from the abbey at that time."

"You said that Dacán had been staying here two months," observed Fidelma. "How well had you come to know him?"

Brother Conghus raised his eyebrows.

"How well?" He grimaced wryly. "The Venerable Dacán was not a man you came to know at all. He was reserved; austere, if you like. He came with a great reputation for piety and scholarship. But he was a man of brusque manner and testy demeanor. He was a man of regular habits… as I have said before… and never spent time merely gossiping. Whenever he went abroad from his chamber he went for a specific purpose and did not pause to exchange pleasantries or waste an hour or two in conversation."

"You paint a very clear picture, Brother Conghus," Fidelma said.

Conghus took it as a compliment and preened himself for a moment.

"As doorkeeper, it is my task to assess people and notice their behavior."

"Physically, what manner of man was he?"

"Elderly, well over three-score years. A tall man, in spite of his age. Thin, as if he were in need of a good meal. He had long white hair. Dark eyes and sallow skin. Perhaps the only real distinctive feature was a bulbous nose. His features were generally melancholy."

"I am told that he came here to study. Do you know much about that?"

Brother Conghus pushed out his lower lip.

"On that matter you would have to consult the abbey's librarian."

"And what is the name of this librarian?"

"Sister Grella."

"I am told that the Venerable Dacán also taught," Fidelma said, making a mental note. "Do you know what he taught?"

Conghus shrugged.

"He taught some history, so I believe. But, it would probably be best if you saw Brother Sègàn, our chief professor."

"There is something else that puzzles me, though," Fidelma said, after a moment's pause. "You say that Dacán was austere. That was the word you used, wasn't it?"

Conghus nodded agreement.

"It is an interesting word, very descriptive," she went on. "Yet why did he have the reputation of one beloved by the people? Usually a man who is ascetic, compassionless and stern, for this is what austere seems to imply, would hardly be a likable person."

"We must all speak as we find, sister," declared Conghus. "Perhaps the reputation, which doubtless was spread from Laigin, was unjustified?"

"That being so, why were you so worried when Dacán missed a single meal? If he were not that likable, surely human nature might react and say, why bother to go searching for such a man? Why did you go searching for the Venerable Dacán?"

Conghus looked uncomfortable.

"I am not sure that I follow your thoughts, sister," he said stiffly.

"They are simple enough," Fidelma pressed, her voice clear and slow. "You seem to have been overly concerned with the fact that a man, whom you deemed unlikable, had missed the breaking of his fast to the extent that you went looking for him. Can you explain that?"

The doorkeeper compressed his lips, stared at her for a moment and then shrugged.

"A week before Dacán's death, the abbot called me to him and told me to have a special care for Dacán. That was why I went to his chamber after he had missed his meal."

It was Fidelma's turn to be surprised.

"Did the abbot explain why you should have this special care for Dacán?" she demanded. "Was he afraid that something might happen to the Venerable Dacán?"

Conghus gestured with indifference.

"I am merely the aistreoir here, sister. I am doorkeeper and bellringer. When my abbot tells me to do something, I will do it, so long as it is not contrary to the laws of God and the Brehons. I will not question my abbot on his motives so long as those motives do not compass harm to his fellow men. It is my duty to obey and not to question."

Fidelma gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"That is an interesting philosophy, Conghus. It is one we might discuss at leisure. But let me get this clearly fixed in my mind. It was only a week before Dacán's murder that the abbot specifically asked you to keep a special watch over Dacán? He did not say why? He did not say whether he might have some reason to be fearful for Dacán's safety?"

"It is as I have already said, sister."

Fidelma stood up with an abruptness that surprised everyone.

"Very well. Let us go downstairs so that you may show me the chamber that Dacán occupied."

Conghus came to his feet, blinking a little at the rapid change.

He conducted them out of the room, along the corridor and down the stairs.

Cass and Sister Necht followed closely behind Fidelma. Necht's face still shone with enthusiastic excitement while Cass merely looked bewildered.

Conghus paused before a door on the ground floor of the hostel, at the far end of the corridor in which Sister Eisten and the children had their rooms.

"Does anyone currently occupy the chamber?" Fidelma asked as Conghus bent to the handle in order to open the door.

Conghus hesitated and straightened up again.

"No, sister. It has been left unoccupied since the death of Dacán. In fact, his possessions have also been left untouched in the room by the. order of the abbot. I believe that the representatives of Dacán's brother, Abbot Noè of Fearna, have demanded the return of these personal effects."

"So why have they been kept?" interposed Cass, speaking for the first time since the questioning of Conghus began.

Conghus glanced at him, somewhat startled at his unexpected interruption.

"I presume that the abbot decided that nothing should be touched until the arrival of the dálaigh and the conclusion of the investigation."

Conghus bent again, fumbled with the latch and then flung open the door. He was about to enter the dark room when Fidelma laid a hand on his arm and held him back.

"Get me a lantern."

"There is an oil lamp beside the bed which I can light."

"No," Fidelma insisted. "I want nothing touched or moved, if nothing has been moved so far. Sister Necht, hand me down that oil lamp behind you."

The young novice moved with alacrity to take down the lamp from its wall fixture.

Fidelma took the lamp, holding it high, and stood on the threshold peering round.

The chamber was almost as she had envisaged it would be.

There was a bed, a wooden cot with a straw palliasse and blankets in one corner. By it was a small table on which stood an oil lamp. On the floor, just below this, was a pair of worn sandals. From a row of pegs hung three large leather satchels. There was another table at the end of the bed on which were spread some wooden writing tablets covered with a wax surface and nearby a graib, a stylus of pointed metal, for writing. Next to this was a small pile of vellum sheets and a cow's horn which was obviously an adircin used for containing dubh or ink made from carbon. A selection of quills taken from crows was piled next to it and a small knife ready for their sharpening. Fidelma realized that Dacán, like most scribes, would make his notes on the wax tablets and then transcribe them for permanence onto his vellum sheets, which would then be bound.

She hesitated a moment more to ensure that she had missed nothing in her initial cursory examination. Then she stepped to the table and stared at the wax writing tablets. Her lips turned down in disappointment when she saw they were empty of characters. The surface had been smoothed clean.

She turned to Conghus.

"I do not imagine that you would have noticed whether these were clean or written on at the time Dacán's body was discovered?"

Conghus shook his head negatively.

Fidelma sighed and peered at the vellum sheets. They were equally devoid of content.

She turned round. There were dark stains on the blankets still piled untidily on the bed. It needed no great intelligence to realize that the stains were dried blood. She peered along the pegs on the wall and began to examine the contents of the leather satchels ranged there. They contained a change of underwear, a cloak, some shirts and other garments. There was also some shaving equipment and toiletry articles but little else. Carefully, Fidelma repacked the items into the satchels and hung them back on their pegs.

She stood for a moment, peering round the chamber before, to the surprise of those watching, lowering herself to her knees and carefully examining the floor still holding the lantern in one hand.

It was covered in a thin layer of dust. Brother Conghus was apparently correct when he said no one had been in the chamber since the murder. Fidelma suddenly reached forward under the bed and drew out what appeared to be a short stick. It was an eighteen-inch wand of aspen wood cut with notches. It was so inconspicuous that it might easily be overlooked.

She heard a faint gasp at the door and turned to see Sister Necht staring from the doorway.

"Do you recognize this?" she demanded quickly of the young novice, holding it up in the light.

Necht shook her head immediately.

"It was… no, I thought it was something else. No, I was wrong. I have not seen it before."

Still holding her find, Fidelma's eye fell on the small table by the cot. The only thing on it was the small pottery oil lamp. She transferred the wooden stick to the hand with the lantern and reached down to lift up the lamp with her free hand. It was heavy and obviously filled with oil. She replaced it and transferred the stick back again to her other hand.

She walked back to the threshold, where the others were crowding, waiting expectantly as if she were about to make some profound announcement. She was still absently clutching the aspen wand.

Fidelma turned back into the chamber and stood holding up the lamp high in order to let its light fall on the greater part of the room. Her eyes moved slowly and carefully over the chamber trying not to miss anything.

It was a dark cell of a room. There was only a small window, high up on the wall above the bed, which would give precious little light. Not only was the window small but it was north facing. The light, she reasoned, would be a cold, gray one. A room like this, for someone to function in, would have to be permanently illuminated. She turned and examined the door. There was nothing unusual here. No lock nor bolt, just a normal latch.

"Is there anything more that you require of me, sister?" Brother Conghus asked after they had all stood in silence a while. "The hour approaches for me to ring the bell for the completa."

The completa or compline was the seventh and last religious service of the day.

Fidelma dragged her gaze reluctantly from the room.

"Sister?" Conghus pressed when she appeared to be still lost deep in thought.

With a small breath of a sigh she blinked and focused on him.

"Oh? Oh yes, but one more thing, Conghus. The strips of colored linen with which you say Dacán was bound— what happened to them?"

Conghus shrugged.

"I really cannot say. I presume that the physician would have removed them. Is that all?"

"You may go now," she agreed. "But I may wish to speak with you again later."

Conghus turned and hurried away.

Fidelma glanced towards the young sister.

"Now, Sister Necht, can you find me the physician, was Brother Tola his name?"

"The assistant physician? Of course," the novice replied immediately, and was turning eagerly to the task before Fidelma had even told her the nature of the errand.

"Wait!" Fidelma chuckled at her enthusiasm. "When you find him, bring him here to see me immediately. I will be waiting."

The young sister scampered away quickly.

Fidelma began to examine the notches on the aspen wand.

"What is it?" asked Cass in curiosity. "Can you read those ancient letters?"

"Yes. Can you understand Ogham?"

Cass shook his head regretfully.

"I have never been taught the art of the old alphabet, sister."

"This is one from a bundle of rods of the poets, as they are called. It appears to be a will of sorts. Yet it does not make sense. This one says 'let my sweet cousin care for my sons on the rock of Michael as my honorable cousin shall dictate.' Curious."

"What does it signify?" he asked in confusion.

"Remember what I said about gathering information? It is like gathering the ingredients for a dish. You may gather something here and something there and, when all is complete, you start to construct the meal. Alas, we don't have all the ingredients yet. But at least we know more than before. We know, importantly, that this was a carefully conceived murder."

Cass just stared at her.

"Carefully conceived? The frenzy of the attack makes it appear that the killer fell into a violent rage. That surely means that it was an act of angry impulse and not premeditated."

"Perhaps. But it was not a violent rage that caused the old man to be bound hand and foot without a struggle. That speaks of premeditation. And what produced such a rage in the killer? A stranger, a man or woman who slew at random, could surely not create the fury which caused such violence?"

She broke off and was silent as if something had just occurred to her.

"What is the matter?" Cass pressed when he saw that her mind seemed to have wandered off somewhere else. She kept looking into the chamber with a frown. Finally, she moved back into the room and placed the lantern on the writing table so that it illuminated the room to the best advantage.

"I wish I knew," she confessed hesitantly. "I feel that there is something not quite right about this chamber; something that I should be noticing."

Chapter Six

Brother Tola, the abbey's assistant physician, was a man with silvery gray hair and soft and pleasant features, continually smiling as though laughing at life. Fidelma reflected that most of the physicians whom she had encountered had been men and women with a joy for life and who regarded all its tragedies with a wry humor. Perhaps, she reasoned, this was a defense against their continual relationship with death or perhaps the very experience of death and human tragedy had conditioned them to accepting that while one had life, had reasonable health, then that life should be enjoyed as much as possible.

"There are just a few questions that I would like to ask," Fidelma began, after the introductions were over. They were still standing outside the door of the chamber which had once been occupied by Dacán.

"Anything that I can do, sister." Tola smiled, his eyes twinkling with laughter as he spoke. "I fear it will not be much, but ask your questions."

"I am told that shortly after Brother Conghus found the dead body of the Venerable Dacán, the Abbot Brocc summoned you to examine the body?"

"This is so."

"You are the assistant physician of the abbey?"

"That is so. Brother Midach is our chief physician."

"Forgive me, but why did the abbot summon you and not Brother Midach?"

She had already heard the answer but Fidelma wanted to make sure.

"Brother Midach was not in the abbey. He had left the previous evening on a journey and did not return for six days. As physicians, our services are often in demand in many neighboring villages."

"Very well. Can you tell me the details of your findings?"

"Of course. It was just after tierce and Brother Martan, who is the apothecary, had remarked that the bell had not rung the hour…"

Fidelma was interested.

"The bell had not rung? How then did the apothecary know it was after tierce?"

Tola chuckled dryly.

"No mystery there. Martan is not only the apothecary but he is interested in the measurement of time. We have, within the community, a clepsydra, a plan for which one of our brethren brought back from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land many years ago. A clepsydra is…"

Fidelma held up her hand in interruption.

"I know what it is. So the apothecary had checked this water-clock…?"

"Actually, no. Martan frequently compares the clepsydra—or water-clock, as you call it—against a more ancient engine of measurement in his dispensary. It is old-fashioned but workable. He has a mechanism which discharges sand from one part to another, the sand is measured so that it falls in a precise time."

"An hour glass?" Cass smiled complacently. "I have seen them."

"The same basis," Brother Tola agreed easily. "But Martan's mechanism was constructed fifty years ago by an artisan of this abbey. The mechanism is of larger proportions than an hour glass and the sand does not complete its fall from one compartment to another for one full cadar."

Fidelma raised her eyebrows in astonishment. A cadar was the measure of one quarter of the day.

"I would like to see this wondrous machine sometime," she confessed. "However, we are straying from your story."

"Brother Martan had informed me that it was well after the time for tierce and, just then, Abbot Brocc summoned me. I went to his chambers and he told me that the Venerable Dacán had been found dead. He wanted me to examine the body."

"And had you known Dacán?"

Tola nodded thoughtfully.

"We are a large community here, sister, but not so large that a man of distinguished ability goes unnoticed in our midst."

"I mean, had you personal contact with him?"

"I shared his table during meals but, apart from a few words, had little to do with him. He was not a man who encouraged friendship, he was cold and… well, cold and…"

"Austere?" supplied Fidelma grimly.

"Just so," Tola agreed readily.

"So you came to the hostel?" prompted Fidelma again. "Can you describe what you found?"

"Surely. Dacán was lying on the bed. He was lying on his back. His hands were tied behind him and his feet were bound at the ankles. There was a gag in his mouth. There was blood on his chest and it was obvious, to me at least, that it was the result of several stab wounds."

"Ah? How many stab wounds?"

"Seven, though I could not tell at first."

"You say that he was lying on his back? Can you remember the position of the blanket? Had the blanket been thrown over him or was he lying on top of it?"

Tola shook his head, a little bewildered by the question.

"He lay fully clad on top of the blanket."

"Had the blood spurted from the body onto the blanket, staining it?"

"No; such wounds bleed profusely but because the man was on his back the blood had congealed mainly on his chest."

"The blanket, then, was not used to carry the body nor wipe the blood?"

"Not to my knowledge. Why are you concerned with this blanket?"

Fideuna ignored his question and motioned him to continue.

"When I had the body removed to the mortuary and had it washed, I was able to confirm my initial findings. There were seven stab wounds in the chest, around the heart and into the heart itself. Four of them were mortal blows."

"Does that speak to you of a frenzied attack?" mused Fidelma.

Tola looked at her appreciatively.

"It seems to indicate an attack in hot blood. In cold blood, the attacker had only need to strike one blow into the heart. After all, the old man's hands and feet were bound."

Fidelma pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded.

"Continue. Was there any indication when this deed was done?"

"I can only say that, when I examined the body, the attack had not been a recent one. The body was almost cold to the touch."

"There was no sign of the weapon?"

"None."

"Now, can you show me exactly how the body was lying on the cot? Would you mind?"

Tola cast a glance of curiosity at her and then shrugged. He entered the chamber while she stood at the door, holding the lamp high so that she could see everything. He placed himself in a reclining position on the cot. Fidelma noticed, with interest, that he did not lie fully on the cot but only from his waist; he hung the lower part of his body over the edge of the bed so that the feet were touching the floor. The upper part was therefore at an angle. He had placed his arms behind him to suggest them being bound. The head was well back and the eyes were shut. The position suggested that Dacán had been attacked while standing and had simply fallen back on the bed behind him.

"I am grateful, Tola," Fidelma said. "You are an excellent witness."

Tola raised himself from the bed and his voice was dry and expressionless.

"I have worked with a dálaigh before, sister."

"So, when you came in here, did you notice the state of the chamber?"

"Not specifically," he confessed. "My eyes were for the corpse of Dacán and what had caused his death."

"Try to remember, if you can. Was the room tidy or was it disturbed?"

Tola gazed around him, as if trying to recall.

"Tidy, I would say. The lamp on the table was still burning. Yes, tidy as you see the room now. I believe, from the gossip I have heard, that the venerable Dacán was an extremely fastidious man, tidy to the point of being obsessive."

"Who told you this?" queried Fidelma.

Tola shrugged. "Brother Rumann, I believe. He had charge of the investigation afterwards."

"There is now little else that I need trouble you with," Fidelma said. "You had the body removed and examined it. Did you touch the lamp at all? For example, did you refill it with oil?"

"The only time I touched the lamp was to extinguish it when we took Dacán's body from this chamber."

"Presumably, Dacán was buried here in the abbey?"

To her surprise, Tola shook his head.

"No, the body was transported to the abbey of Fearna at the request of Dacán's brother, Abbot Noé."

Fidelma took a moment or two to gather her thoughts.

"I thought that Abbot Brocc had refused to send any of the property of Dacán back to Laigin, knowing it would be the subject of investigation?" she said sharply. "This seems a contrary thing—that he kept the possessions of Dacán but sent the body to Laigin."

Tola shrugged diffidently.

"Perhaps the reason lies in the fact that one cannot preserve a corpse," he replied with a grim smile. "Anyway, by that time, Brother Midach, our chief physician, had arrived back at the abbey and took over the arrangements. He was the one who authorized the removal of the body."

"You said that was almost six days later?"

"That's right. A Laigin ship had arrived to demand the body. Of course, by that time, we had already placed the body in our own crypt, a cave in the hill behind us where the abbots of this monastery are interred. We had the corpse placed aboard the vessel from Laigin and presumably the Venerable Dacán's relics will now reside in Fearna."

Fidelma shook her head in bewilderment.

"Does it not seem curious that Laigin was so quick to learn about the death of Dacán and so quick to demand the return of his body? You say that the Laigin ship arrived here six days after the killing?"

Tola shrugged expressively.

"We are a coastal settlement here, sister. We are constantly in touch with many parts of the country and, indeed, our ships sail to Gaul with whom we regularly trade. The wine in this abbey, for example, is imported directly from Gaul. With a good tide and wind, one of the fast barca could leave here and be at the mouth of the River Breacàn within two days. Fearna is only a few hours' ride from the river's mouth. I have sailed there myself several times. I know the waters along this southern coast well."

Fidelma knew the capabilities of the barca, the lightly built coastal vessels which traded around the shores of the five kingdoms.

"That is, as you say, with ideal conditions, Tola," she agreed. "It still seems to me to show that Abbot Noé learnt very quickly of his brother's death. But, I'll grant you, it could be done. So Dacán's body was returned to Fearna?"

"It was."

"When did the warship of Laigin arrive here? The one that still is at anchor in the inlet."

"About three days after the other ship left for Fearna with the body of Dacán."

"Then obviously both ships were sent by Laigin within a few days after Dacán's murder. The Laigin king must have known what he was going to do almost as soon as he received word that Dacán had been murdered." She was speaking half to herself, as if clarifying a thought.

Tola did not feel that he was required to make any comment.

Fidelma gave a long sigh as she pondered the difficulties of the case. Finally, she said: "When you examined the body of Dacán, did any other matters strike your eye?"

"Such as?"

"I do not know," Fidelma confessed. "Was there anything unusual?"

Tola gestured negatively.

"There were just the stab wounds that caused his death, that is all."

"But there were no bruises, no signs of a struggle prior to his being bound? No marks of his being held down by force in order to bind him? No mark of his being knocked unconscious in order that he could be bound?"

Tola's expression changed as he saw what she was driving at.

"You mean, how could his enemy bind him without a struggle?"

Fidelma smiled tightly.

"That is exactly what I mean, Tola. Did he calmly let his attackers bind his hands and feet without a struggle?"

Tola looked serious for the first time during their conversation.

"There were no bruises that I saw. It did not occur to me…"

He paused and grimaced in annoyance.

"What?" demanded Fidelma.

"I am incompetent," sighed Tola.

"Why so?"

"I should have asked this very question at the time but I did not. I am sure, however, that there were no bruises on the body and, while the bonds on the wrists and ankles were tight, there was no bruising to show how they had been administered."

"What were the bonds made of?" Fidelma asked, wishing to check what she had learnt already.

"Torn pieces of cloth. As I recall they were pieces of linen and dyed."

"Can you recall the dyes?"

"Blue and red, I believe."

Fidelma nodded. The evidence concurred with that given by Brother Conghus.

"I suppose that they were thrown away?" Fidelma queried, presuming the worst.

She was surprised when Tola shook his head.

"As a matter of fact, no. Our enterprising apothecary, Brother Martan, has a morbid taste for relics and decided that the bonds of Dacán might one day become a much-sought-after and valuable relic, especially if the Faith recognizes him as a man of great sanctity."

"So this Brother…?"

"Martan," supplied Tola.

"So this Brother Martan has kept the material?"

"Exactly so."

"Well," Fidelma smiled in relief, "that is excellent. However, I will have to take temporary charge of them as being evidence pertinent to my inquiry. You may tell Brother Martan that he will get them returned as soon as I have done."

Tola nodded thoughtfully.

"But how did Dacán get himself bound by his enemies without a struggle?"

Fidelma pulled a face.

"Maybe he did not suspect that they were his enemies until later. Just one more point of clarification, though, and then I think we are done. You said that the body was cold and implied that it had been a long time dead. How long?"

"It is hard to judge. Several hours at least. I do not know when Dacán was last seen but he may well have been killed around midnight. Certainly the death occurred during the night and not later."

Fidelma found herself focusing on the oil lamp which stood on the table by the cot.

"Dacán was killed sometime about midnight," she said reflectively. "Yet when he was found the oil lamp was burning."

Cass, who had been more or less a silent spectator to Fidelma's questioning of Brother Tola, was watching her with interest.

"Why do you remark on that, sister?" he queried.

Fidelma went once more to the lamp and picked it up carefully so as not to spill any oil from it. Silently, she handed it to him with equal care. He took it, the bewilderment on his face increasing.

"I do not understand," he said.

"Do you notice anything odd about the lamp?"

He shook his head.

"It is still filled with oil. If this is the same lamp, then it could not have been burning more than an hour from the time Brother Conghus discovered the body."

Sister Fidelma sat on the cot in her chamber, hands linked together at the back of her head, staring upwards into the gloom. She had decided to call a halt to the investigation for that evening. She had thanked Brother Tola for his help and reminded him once more that, on the following morning, Brother Martan must hand over to her the strips of cloth that had bound Dacán. Then she had bade the young, enthusiastic Sister Necht a "good night's repose" and told her to report to her again with Brother Rumann the next morning.

She and Cass had retired to their respective rooms and now, instead of falling immediately to sleep, she sat, leaning back on her cot, with the lamp still burning wastefully while she considered the information she had gathered so far.

One thing she now realized was that her cousin, the Abbot Brocc, was being a little selective with the information he had given her. Why had he asked Brother Conghus to keep a watchful eye on Dacán only a week before Dacán was killed? Well, that was something which she would have to sort out with Brocc.

There was a soft tap on the door of her chamber.

Frowning, she swung off her cot and opened it.

Cass was standing outside.

"I saw your light still on. I hope I am not disturbing you, sister?"

Fidelma shook her head, bade him enter and take the only chair that there was in the chamber while she returned to her seat on the bed. For propriety's sake, she left the door open. In some communities, the new moral codes were changing the older foundations. Many leaders of the Faith, like Ultan of Armagh, were arguing against the continued existence of mixed communities and even putting forward the unpopular concept of celibacy among leading religions.

She was aware that an encyclical attributed to Patrick was being circulated giving thirty-five rules for the followers of the Faith. The ninth rule ordered that an unmarried monk and anchoress, each from a different place, should not stay in the same hostel or house, nor travel together in one chariot from house to house nor converse freely together. And according to the seventeenth rule, a woman who took a vow of chastity and then married was to be excommunicated unless she deserted her husband and did a penance. Fidelma had been enraged by the circulation of the document in the name of Patrick and his fellow bishops, Auxilius and Iserninus, because it was so contrary to the laws of the five kingdoms. Indeed, what had made her actually suspicious of the authenticity of the document was that the first rule decreed that any member of the religious who appealed to the secular laws merited excommunication. After all, two hundred years ago Patrick himself was one of the nine-man commission which had been established by the High King, Laoghaire, to put all the civil and criminal laws of the five kingdoms in the new writing.

To Fidelma, the circulation of the "rules of the first council of Patrick," as they were being called, was another piece of propaganda from the camp of the pro-Roman faction which wished the Faith in the five kingdoms of Eireann to be governed entirely from Rome.

She caught herself as she became aware that Cass had been saying something.

"I am sorry," she said awkwardly, "my mind was drifting miles away. What were you saying?"

The young warrior stretched his legs in the cramped chair.

"I was saying that I had an idea about the lamp."

"Oh?"

"It is obvious that someone refilled it when Dacán's body was discovered."

Fidelma examined his guileless eyes solemnly.

"It is certainly obvious that the lamp could not have been burning all through the night, if Dacán was killed at midnight or soon after… that is," she gave a mischievous grin, "unless we are witnesses to a miracle; the miracle of the self-refilling lamp."

Cass frowned, not sure how to take her levity.

"Then it is as I say," he insisted.

"Perhaps. Yet we are told that Brother Conghus discovered the body and found the lamp burning. He did not refill it. It was still burning when Brother Tola went to examine the body and he swears that he did not refill it. He further told us, when I raised that very point, that he had extinguished the light when he and his assistant, Brother Martan, carried the body to his mortuary for examination. Who then refilled it?"

Cass thought for a moment.

"Then it must have been refilled just before the body was discovered or after the body was carried away," he said triumphantly. "After all, you judged for yourself that the lamp could only have been burning no more than an hour by the amount of oil still left in it. So someone must have refilled it."

Fidelma regarded Cass with a sudden amusement.

"You know, Cass, you are beginning to display the mind of a dalaigh."

Cass returned her look with a frown, unsure whether Fidelma was mocking him or not.

"Well…" he began, starting to rise with a petulant expression.

She held up a hand and motioned for him to remain.

"I am not being flippant, Cass. Seriously, you have made a point which I have neglected to see. The lamp was certainly refilled just before Conghus discovered the body."

Cass sat back with a smile of satisfaction.

"There! I hope I have contributed to solving a minor mystery."

"Minor?" There was a sharp note of admonishment in Fidelma's voice.

"What matter whether a lamp is filled or unfilled?" Cass asked, spreading his hands in emphasis. "The main problem is to find who killed Dacán."

Fidelma shook her head sadly.

"There is no item too unimportant to be discarded when searching for a truth. What did I say about gathering the pieces of a puzzle? Gather each fragment, even if they do not seem to be connected. Gather and store them. This applies especially to those pieces which seem odd, which seem inexplicable."

"But what would a lamp matter in this affair?" demanded Cass.

"We will only know that when we find out. We cannot find out unless we start to ask questions."

"Your art seems a complicated one, sister."

Fidelma shook her head.

"Not really. I would think that your art is even more complicated than mine in terms of making judgments."

"My art?" Cass drew himself up. "I am a simple warrior in the service of my king. I adhere to the code of honor that each warrior has. What judgments do I have to make?"

"The judgment of when to kill, when to maim and when not. Above all, your task is to kill while our Faith forbids us to do so. Have you ever solved that conundrum?"

Cass flushed in annoyance.

"I am a warrior. I kill only the wicked—the enemies of my people."

Fidelma smiled thinly.

"It sounds as if you believe them to be one and the same. Yet the Faith says, do not kill. Surely if we kill, if only to stop the wicked and evil, then the very act makes us as guilty as those we kill?"

Cass sniffed disdainfully.

"You would rather that they killed you instead?" he asked cynically.

"If we believe in the teachings of our Faith, then we must believe this was the example Christ left us. As Matthew records the Saviour's words, 'those who live by the sword shall die by the sword.' "

"Well, you cannot believe in that example," scoffed Cass.

Fidelma was interested by his reaction, for she had long struggled with some of the theology of the Faith and had still not found a firm enough ground to argue many of its basic tenets. She often expressed her doubts in argument by taking the part of a devil's advocate and through that means she clarified her own attitudes.

"Why so?" she demanded.

"Because you are a dalaigh. You believe in the law. You specialize in seeking out killers and bringing them to justice. You believe in punishing those who kill, even to the point of raising the sword against them. You do not stand aside and say this is God's will. I have heard a man of the Faith denouncing the Brehons also in the words of Matthew. 'Judge not or you will be judged,' he said. You advocates of the law ignore Matthew's words on that so do I ignore Matthew's words against the profession of the sword."

Fidelma sighed contritely.

"You are right. It is hard to 'turn the other cheek' in all things. We are only human."

Somehow she had never felt comfortable with Luke's record of Jesus' teaching that if someone steals a person's cloak, then that person should give the thief his shirt also. Surely if one courted such oppression, such as turning the other cheek, it meant one was equally as guilty for it gave actual invitation to further theft and injury at the hands of the wrongdoer. Yet according to Matthew, Jesus said: 'Think not that I am come to send peace on earth; I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law, and a man's foes, they shall be of his own household.' It was confusing. And long had Fidelma troubled over it.

"Perhaps the Faith expects too much from us?" Cass interrupted her thoughts.

"Perhaps. But the expectation of humankind should always exceed their grasp otherwise there would be no progress in life."

Fidelma's features suddenly dissolved into an urchin grin.

"You must forgive me, Cass, for at times I do but try to test my attitudes against the Faith."

The young warrior was indifferent.

"I have no such need," he replied.

"Then your faith is great." Fidelma was unable to keep a note of sarcasm from her voice.

"Why should I doubt what the prelates preach?" inquired Cass. "I am a simple person. They have considered these matters for centuries and if they say this is so, then so it must be."

Fidelma shook her head, sorrowfully. It was at times like these that she missed the stormy arguments that she had experienced with Brother Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham.

"Christ is God's son," she said firmly. "Therefore He would approve of the homage of reason, for if there is no doubt there can be no faith."

"You are a philosopher, Fidelma of Kildare. But I did not expect a religieuse to question her Faith."

"I have lived too long not to be a skeptic, Cass of Cashel. One should go through life being skeptical of all things and particularly of oneself. But now, we have exhausted the subject and should retire. We have much to do in the morning."

She rose and Cass reluctantly followed her example.

After he had left her chamber, she lay back on her cot and this time she doused the lamp.

She tried hard to conjure what facts she had learnt about the Venerable Dacán's death to her mind. However, she found other thoughts now dominating her senses. They concerned Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham. As she thought of him, she had a curious feeling of loneliness again, as if of home-sickness.

She missed their debates. She missed the way she could tease Eadulf over their conflicting opinions and philosophies; the way he would always rise good-naturedly to the bait. Their arguments would rage but there was no enmity between them. They would learn together as they examined their interpretations and debated their ideas.

She missed Eadulf. She could not deny that.

Cass was a simple man. He was agreeable enough; congenial company; a man who held a good moral code. But, for her, he was without the sharp humor which she needed; without a broad perspective of knowledge with which her own knowledge could contest. Now that she considered it, Cass reminded her a little of someone responsible for an unpleasant episode in her early life. When she was seventeen she had fallen in love with a young warrior named Cian. He had been in the elite bodyguard of the High King, who was Cellach at that time. She had been young and carefree but in love. Cian had not cared for her intellectual pursuits and had eventually left her for another. His rejection of her had left her disillusioned. She felt bitter, although the years had tempered her attitude. But she had never forgotten her experience, nor really recovered from it. Perhaps she had never allowed herself to do so.

Eadulf of Seaxmund's Ham had been the only man of her own age in whose company she had felt really at ease and able to express herself.

Perhaps she had started the argument on Faith as a means of testing Cass.

Then, why should she want to test Cass? For what purpose? Because she wanted Eadulf's company and was looking for a surrogate?

She gave a hiss of breath in the darkness, scandalized by the idea. A ridiculous idea.

After all, she had spent several days in Cass's company on the journey here and there had been no problem.

Perhaps the key to the situation lay in the fact that she was, indeed, trying to recreate Eadulf and that recreation had been prompted by the fact that she was investigating a murder with Cass as her companion whereas, before, it was Eadulf who had been her comrade, the sounding board against which she could bounce her ideas.

But why should she want to recreate Eadulf?

She exhaled again sharply as if to expel the very thoughts from her mind. Then she turned over and buried her face angrily into the pillow.

Chapter Seven

The weather had changed again with the bewildering rapidity that was common to the islands and peninsulas of the south-west of Muman. While the sky remained a clear, almost translucent blue, the sun shone with a warmth which made the day more akin to the dying summer than to late autumn. The high winds had been dispelled although a sea breeze remained, blustery but not strong. Therefore, the sea was not totally calm, more choppy and brooding, causing the ships, anchored in the inlet before Ros Ailithir, to jerk now and then at their moorings. Above, in the gull-dominated sky, large, dark-colored cormorants also wheeled and dived, fighting for a place to fish among the plaintive, protesting shrieks of their companions. Here and there, sooty, white-rumped storm petrels, driven seaward by the previous stormy weather, were now returning to the coastline.

Fidelma had perched herself on the top of the thick stone wall of the monastery, where a walkway ran around it as if it were a battlement. She gazed thoughtfully down into the inlet. There were a few local fishing boats, a couple of coastal vessels or barca and an oceangoing vessel which traded with Britain or Gaul. She had been told that it was a Frankish merchantman. But it was the warship of the Laigin king, lying menacingly near the entrance to the harbor, with its sleek, malevolent lines, which took her interest.