The Seventh Trumpet

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘Put up your sword, Enda!’ came Fidelma’s quiet voice.

Eadulf heard an audible gasp and swung round. Enda was in the act of lowering his sword in embarrassment. He was apologetic as he sheathed his weapon. ‘I would have recognised you a second later, friend Eadulf. You were in no danger. Your tonsure is hard to miss.’

Eadulf sniffed indignantly. ‘That is of little comfort to me.’

Enda said to Fidelma: ‘I am sorry, lady …’

‘It looks as though your apologies should be directed to Gobán.’ She smiled at the poor blacksmith, who was just beginning to relax, leaning against the wall.

‘My apologies, smith — these are my friends.’ Enda turned to explain to Fidelma. ‘I was about to ride into Durlus Éile to see if there was any trace of you, as you told me to do, when I recognised Aonbharr and the other horses at the back of the smithy. When the smith here refused to acknowledge your existence, claiming the horses were his, I thought that something must have happened to you. I decided to lie in wait.’

‘Gobán was merely protecting us,’ Fidelma explained. ‘Are you all right, Gobán?’

‘Your friend did not hurt me, lady,’ the smith offered, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘While he was none too gentle, it is understandable if he was concerned for your safety.’

‘Which I was,’ asserted Enda. ‘I have heard some wild stories along the way here. There was one panicking merchant on the road with tales of ravening hordes of bandits, raiding and burning.’

Fidelma sighed. ‘We have heard those stories also.’ She addressed the smith. ‘Let us trespass further on your hospitality, Gobán, and use your cabin while we discuss our plans. Will you be our watchdog at the forge and make sure we are not disturbed?’

Gobán gave his assent and Fidelma led her companions into his cabin.

‘Now,’ she said, finding a seat, ‘tell us your news first, Enda. You left us and returned to Cashel. Did you tell my brother what had happened?’

‘I did, lady. He was very concerned.’

‘Tell us, in your own words.’

‘After you left me at the tavern of Fedach Glas, it was not long before he returned with a plough horse, as he promised. I saddled up and rode for Cashel. You can imagine the laughter it provoked among the men when I rode in …’

Fidelma waved aside Enda’s tale of his humiliation.

‘I spoke immediately to the King and told him what had happened. He provided me with a good horse and I set out for Imleach, but soon it was fairly dark so I found a place to sleep at Ara’s Well and then I travelled on to Imleach at first light.’

‘Of course,’ Fidelma encouraged him. ‘And then?’

‘Abbot Ségdae was surprised to see me. I gave him the items you sent and he was very grateful. I then told him the story.’

‘And could he provide you with any information?’

‘He knew of Brother Ailgesach’s problem with alcohol. Ailgesach was from Durlus and had served in the Abbey of Biorra. He was skilled in tending the sick but could not qualify as a physician. He had come to Imleach and expressed his desire to help in nursing the sick and afflicted. Abbot Ségdae appointed him to go to Gleann na nGeilt, the Valley of Lunatics.’

‘It is the same story that we have heard here in Durlus from Bishop Daig,’ commented Eadulf.

‘Continue, Enda,’ encouraged Fidelma. ‘When was it that Brother Ailgesach was sent into the Glen of Lunatics?’

‘The abbot said it was a few years ago. Brother Ailgesach remained there until some weeks ago when he arrived in Imleach wishing to resign from the task. The abbot told me it was clear that he had been deeply affected by his years attending to the insane. He was much troubled and given to drowning his troubles with strong liquor. Now and then he would hallucinate and utter profanities. He would accost the brethren and accuse them of being in league with the Whore of Babylon. I am not sure who she is, lady, but I recall that these were the same words that he hurled at you in Fedach Glas’s tavern.’

‘They were exactly his words.’ It was Eadulf who confirmed this. ‘It is from the sacred writings of the Faith. The Whore of Babylon is a symbol of evil. Presumably something troubled Brother Ailgesach and was set off by his drunken fits.’

‘Abbot Ségdae said that he would exhibit instances of terror and cry out something like “Beware of the seventh trumpet!” And: “Blood begets blood!”’ went on Enda. ‘Abbot Ségdae believed that he would be a disruptive influence if he remained within the Abbey at Imleach, so he had decided to send Brother Ailgesach to Fraigh Dubh because Brother Tressach had recently died. He felt it was a small, fairly isolated chapel and the work would not be onerous. With luck, the place might help him to adjust and cure his drinking.’

‘And did the abbot know anything of Brother Biasta?’

‘The abbot had never heard of the name, which he felt was a curious one for a religious to have.’

Fidelma sighed deeply. ‘It was, more or less, what we have learned here. Were you able to pick up any information about Dego and his attempts to find the raiders we hear so much of?’

‘Dego and his warriors had already left Abbot Ségdae at Imleach. There was no news of him but, as I say, there is much gossip abroad about these bandits. Some even tell stories of riders coming through their villages bearing a religious banner carried by a woman.’

Fidelma sucked in her breath sharply. She turned to Eadulf.

‘The Whore of Babylon,’ she rapped out. ‘Do you recall her description from the old Scriptures?’

‘I think I recall the passage,’ he said. ‘It is mentioned in the Book of Revelation. She is described as a woman arrayed in purple with a scarlet cloak decked with …’ His voice trailed off.

‘With gold and precious gems,’ finished Gormán. ‘That is exactly how the merchant described the woman leading the raiders.’

As Enda was looking puzzled, Gormán quickly explained.

‘What can it mean?’ wondered Eadulf.

Fidelma thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘It is Dego’s task to discover the meaning. We have more than enough tasks to concentrate on.’

‘So what is our next move, lady?’ asked Gormán.

‘We follow the same plan as we were about to embark on when Enda joined us. We try to trace Torna and his captors.’

‘Torna?’ Enda echoed.

‘I’ll tell you about him as we go,’ Gormán said. ‘We have half a day of daylight left. We should start out soon, otherwise we shall lose a day.’

‘If the man who observed the boat yesterday was correct, how are we to follow it?’ asked Eadulf. ‘They were seen on the far side of the river and going east along some tributary.’

‘It’s easy enough,’ Gormán assured him. ‘We ride back south across the bridge then ride east over rough ground, eventually reaching the tributary called the River Drise — that was where the boat was spotted. We can then proceed eastwards along it. We should be able to find out if they have left the river at any point.’

‘Very well.’ Fidelma was decisive. ‘Gormán, you and Enda get our horses saddled and ready.’

After the warriors left, Fidelma turned to Eadulf. He was looking thoughtful and she knew what was passing through his mind.

‘This is turning out to be more complicated than I expected, Eadulf. I must admit that I do not see any purpose to these seemingly unrelated matters — as yet. My instinct is that they are all connected.’

‘Would it help to run through the situation?’

‘Very well. We find a body near my brother’s palace. It seems to be that of an envoy from the Uí Máil Kings of Laigin. His killer has apparently ridden eastward in the direction of the Black Heath: there we lost his tracks. We start our search for clues, and are led to the chapel of Brother Ailgesach. He has had two visitors staying on the night of the murder, a man and a woman. The woman is said to be of noble appearance. They ride off early that morning.

‘We find Brother Ailgesach in a drunken stupor in the local tavern when we arrive. Then someone who claims to be his cousin Biasta arrives. He kills Brother Ailgesach and escapes northward. We try to follow and fall in with a poet named Torna. Abductors arriving from the river attack us. I am mistaken for the poet’s companion and am left for dead when the error is discovered. An innocent young boatman is killed. You are told that a religieux was waiting for them. Was it Brother Biasta? I now realise that it could not be, since I would have recognised his harsh whisper when I heard a voice tell the abductors that I was not the right woman. I am rescued by you, but Torna is taken into the Land of the Osraige. To get to Laigin from here you need to cross Osraige. Is there some connection with the killing of an envoy from Laigin? Have I missed anything?’

Eadulf grimaced. ‘Yes — what about the message that was found in Ailgesach’s cabin from an unknown person, saying that they would come to him there with evidence of some conspiracy? I am certain that Gelgéis recognised the name, Torna, when you spoke it. What is she hiding? Also, what about the fact that Brother Ailgesach was raving about the Whore of Babylon and these raiders from the west being led by someone who resembles the description in the Scriptures?’ Eadulf paused and asked: ‘Is that another thread?’

‘At the moment, it is a loose one,’ said Fidelma. ‘There are too many of these loose threads with no apparent connection that I can see at the moment.’

Gormán re-entered. ‘All is ready, lady. The horses have been watered and foddered. Shall I tell Gobán that we are going? He is at work in the forge.’

‘I will do so,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I want to make sure that he has not been put out by the hospitality that he has afforded us.’

Within the hour they were crossing the long wooden bridge that spanned the Suir south of Durlus Éile. Gormán rode in front, followed by Fidelma and Eadulf, with Enda bringing up the rear. They rode at a brisk pace, but not as fast as would quickly fatigue their horses, and soon encountered the smaller River Dríse where it flowed into the Suir.

Just beyond a slight bend after some thick woodland, the river narrowed a little and Gormán called on them to halt. He pointed. Someone was swimming in the waters and it seemed that the swimmer was making towards an empty boat that was caught in a log-jam about mid-stream. As they watched, the swimmer reached the boat and was apparently intent on loosening it.

‘Let’s give him assistance,’ Fidelma suggested, dismounting.

‘Careful,’ warned Eadulf. ‘He might be one of the abductors.’

‘There’s no one else about,’ replied Gormán, ‘so we stand in no danger.’

They walked their horses down to the bank and Gormán called to the swimmer, asking if he needed help. The man glanced back over his shoulder and waved acknowledgement. He was holding up the painter, the rope attached to the bow of the boat used for tying it, and was trying to ease the bow away from the logs which had held it fast. He began swimming back, and Gormán quickly stripped and entered the water to help him drag the vessel towards the bank. As they neared it the others lent a hand while Fidelma remained on the bank.

She averted her gaze until Gormán and the unknown swimmer had climbed out, secured the boat to a nearby tree stump and resumed some garments. The swimmer was a young man whose clothes placed him as a farmer.

‘Did you have an accident?’ she asked.

‘This is not my boat, lady,’ he replied, noting her dress and obvious rank. ‘I farm the land beyond this rise and when I came down just now in search of one of my sheep, I saw this boat caught in those logs. It looked a good boat and not damaged, so I thought I would swim out and try to free it.’

Gormán was rubbing his chin as he examined the boat. ‘It must have come adrift,’ he said. Then his eyes narrowed; a moment later he had climbed aboard and was extracting something from the stern planking.

‘What is it?’ asked Fidelma.

‘There are some blood splatters on the stern seat — and this.’ Gormán was holding up a tiny particle of material that he had spotted, caught on a splinter of wood.

Fidelma gasped and her hand went to her sleeve where there was the slight tear.

‘This must be the boat we are following,’ Eadulf said, stating the obvious.

It was not good news for Fidelma. ‘They have abandoned it — and they could have done so anywhere along the river, so that it drifted down and was caught in this log-jam.’

Eadulf smiled and shook his head. ‘Not so. They abandoned it here.’

‘What makes you say that?’ She felt irritated at his confidence.

Eadulf pointed to the river. ‘They were pulling upstream, against the current. If they abandoned it before this point, it would have been swept back downstream. So they came here, abandoned it and took to the land.’

She flushed slightly at having forgotten the flow of the river. However, she recovered her poise and said: ‘And why would they leave the boat at this point?’

‘Easy enough.’ Eadulf gestured at the log-jam in which the boat had been trapped. ‘That log-jam is so secure that even the current has not dislodged it. I think they came here but could not move beyond the logs. They might have been able to drag the boat out of the river and haul it around to the other side of the dam, but maybe that was too awkward for them with a prisoner to take care of and a man with a damaged hand.’

Fidelma smiled ruefully. There were times when she underestimated Eadulf’s capabilities at deduction.

‘I suppose you can’t tell us which bank they landed on and the direction that they went?’ she said in a sarcastic attempt to cover her own shortcomings.

Eadulf’s face was expressionless. ‘Yes, I can. They came ashore on this side of the river and started walking eastwards.’

Fidelma raised her eyebrows, wondering if he were exchanging sarcasm for sarcasm. But Enda, who had a reputation among the warriors of Cashel as an expert tracker, let out an exclamation of triumph.

‘Friend Eadulf is right, lady!’ he called. He indicated the ground. ‘Six men passed here, one dragging his feet reluctantly. They came ashore and began to move off across the land, taking that path eastwards.’

‘So now they are travelling on foot,’ Eadulf commented, ignoring Fidelma’s irritation. He neglected to say that he had spotted the footprints and made a guess, whereas Enda had provided the detail. ‘Is there anywhere near here where they can purchase horses?’

The question was addressed to the young farmer.

‘No, your friends will not find any horses around here. I have only one strong plough horse and there are no other farmsteads for quite a distance.’

‘Then we might be able to gain on them,’ Gormán said with satisfaction.

‘Catch them after a night and a day’s start?’ Eadulf was sceptical.

‘If they are heading east, their way will take them through bog land. One has to know the safe tracks. Although the countryside is flat, it is difficult terrain through which to maintain speed, especially on foot.’

‘Are there no marks on the boat to show to whom it originally belonged?’ asked Fidelma, turning back to the craft.

‘None that I saw,’ Gormán told her. ‘It is fairly typical of the boats along the Suir, having four oars and plenty of space.’

Fidelma addressed the young farmer: ‘You do realise that under the law the boat constitutes a fríthe.’ The term meant ‘that which has been found’ and implied a lost property.

‘I have no knowledge of the law, lady,’ muttered the young man.

‘Who is the chieftain of this territory?’ she asked. ‘Are we in the territory of the Osraige?’

The young farmer looked indignant. ‘This is still the land of the Éile, lady. Our land ends further on when you come to a fork in the river.’

‘Then you must travel to Durlus Éile and ask to see the steward of the Lady Gelgéis. Say that it is Fidelma of Cashel who has sent you.’

The farmer was staring at her with wide eyes, very nervous now that he had learned who she was.

‘Tell Spealáin the steward that you have found this boat. Say that you have come to proclaim the finding of the boat as it is stated in law, for the finding of all lost property must be proclaimed in this fashion. Do you understand?’

‘I understand, lady.’ The young man licked his dry lips.

‘But this trip will be your gain,’ continued Fidelma, smiling. ‘You see, you are entitled to part of the value of your find. The more remote the place in which the find is made, then the greater proportion of the value goes to you.’

The farmer was frowning. ‘But you came along and helped me bring it ashore.’

‘We are not interested in the financial value of your find,’ replied Fidelma. ‘And you may well have brought it to the riverbank yourself, even had we not been passing. The value will help towards your farmstead. In fact, tell the steward of the Lady Gelgéis that I suggest this river be considered a highway, in which case I recommend that you are to be compenstated with half to two-thirds of the value and, indeed, the payment of an austad, a storage fee, for as long as the boat remains on your land. If it is not disposed of, then you are entitled to the full value. Say that is my judgement, and when I return to Durlus Éile I shall hope to see that it has been carried out.’

Leaving the farmer stammering his thanks, they mounted their horses and began to move off, this time with Enda leading the way, bending slightly forward to follow the tracks on the ground. It was only a short time before they emerged from a small stretch of woodland to a more open grassy plain and saw that they had come to the fork in the river. One arm flowed directly from the north, continuing on towards the Suir while a smaller arm flowed from the south to feed the Dríse. Although this smaller river blocked their path, it was narrow and easily fordable.

‘If I recall, the northerly arm is still the River Dríse while the southerly one is called the Bréagagh, the Deceitful River,’ reflected Gormán. ‘Once we cross this river we are in Osraige territory — the Land of the People of the Deer. This whole area beyond is low-lying and very boggy.’

‘Which way then, Enda?’ asked Fidelma. ‘Do we try to turn north along the Dríse?’

Enda glanced down and his keen eyes followed some trail that they could not see on the ground.

‘Six men walking and one appears to be stumbling quite a bit,’ he told her. He walked his horse slowly to the confluence and then moved along the bank of the smaller southern river, where he halted. ‘They decided to ford the river here, lady. It’s quite shallow. They are continuing to move directly east.’

As if to prove the point, he rode across to the far bank, halted and then peered towards the ground. Then he turned and called them across.

‘They came to this point and set off eastward,’ he confirmed.

They swiftly joined him and Gormán pointed across the flat plains towards some distant, low-lying hills, saying, ‘This way lies the old Abbey of Liath Mór.’

‘Will they be able to pick up horses there?’ asked Eadulf.

‘Perhaps,’ replied Fidelma. ‘I have not visited the Abbey of Liath Mór before. The community was formed by the Blessed Chaemóc scarcely seventy years ago. He was a good man, by all accounts.’

‘So he might assist us?’

‘Alas, he died many years ago. I have no idea who his successor is.’

‘What are those hills to the south-east?’ asked Eadulf. ‘Could they be making for those?’

They relied on Gormán, who appeared to know something of the topography of the area, to supply the answer.

‘They are called the Sliabh Ardachaidh — the Hills of the High Field. It is not a tall range of hills but they are the highest hills that stand between the boggy plains of Osraige and the borders of Laigin further east. The men we follow would have to travel further east before they could turn on a safe road through the bogs towards them.’

They continued to ride in silence for a while, with Enda now and then checking the tracks left by the group they were pursuing. Even these tracks had come to an end now, for they had arrived at more boggy land over which, to their surprise, stretched a newly built causeway. There were many causeways of this nature throughout the Five Kingdoms on which to cross the bogs; they were constructed with quantities of timber, mainly birch for the base structure, its long, straight planks used for the supports for the upper timbers of alder, elm or hazels. There were even sections of it paved with stones that had been smashed and laid almost like flagging. Most of this was very new. Indeed, there were piles of materials lying on both sides of the road — clearly not abandoned but indicative of work in hand. It seemed as if the workers had merely left their toil for the day so that they could return home before nightfall.

‘I presume the community are trying to build a roadway from the Abbey to the river crossing into Durlus Éile,’ Fidelma said.

‘But through their efforts I have lost the tracks,’ Enda complained in exasperation, since any traces left by the walkers had now vanished.

‘Even so, I think they will stick to the easy path along the causeway and not go wandering off into the bog land,’ Fidelma replied.

Gormán had turned to her with a puzzled frown. ‘Nevertheless, the Osraige have obviously been doing a lot of new road-building here.’

She agreed that she too was surprised at the amount of new work. Eadulf knew that her people classified their roads in terms of size: the laws mentioned seven classes of roadway, starting with the five great slige or main highways that linked the Five Kingdoms to the High King’s seat at Tara. This new roadway was undoubtedly curious for, as Fidelma pointed out, it could only come from the old Abbey of Liath Mór. But as they rode along it, it became plain that it was no small by-road of the type that usually led to abbeys. It was what could be classed as a ramut, a wide highway with no fencing but open on either side so that war horses and chariots could travel from fortress to fortress. Such a road was usually the main highway from a King’s residence, to which all small by-roads led. She noted the structure with interest. This causeway, or tóchar, was laid first with branches of trees, earth and stones and bushes placed in layers and pressed down until they were firm enough to cover with the planks. There was room enough for two chariots, drawn by two horses apiece, to pass each other at the gallop without slowing. Four horses abreast and still space to spare … What manner of highway was this, and for what purpose?

‘It’s more like a military highway than a road leading to a religious community,’ observed Gormán, articulating her very thought.

‘New causeway or not, dusk will not be long in coming. We shall soon have to seek hospitality for tonight or sleep out on this road itself, for we have bog land on either side,’ Enda said practically.

The journey across the plain was fairly easy because of the causeway, but it provided no shelter from the wind that was rising as dusk began to show in the eastern sky. Fidelma kept her feelings of unease to herself. Osraige nominally accepted the Kings of Muman as their overlords and, as such, new roadworks of this dimension would have to have the King’s approval. However, she could not remember hearing about such new building-work among the gossip exchanged in Cashel. But Enda was right. They would have to find a bed for the night — and soon.

They had been travelling on firmer ground and over small, rocky hillocks, keeping to the newly built highway. This had led them through an unexpected, albeit small, stretch of woodland. It was an oasis in the bog land. As they emerged from the shelter of these trees, Enda, who was in the lead, gave a sharp gasp.

‘Look, lady, a fortress! That’s where the new highway leads.’

They halted on the edge of the woodland and surveyed a series of grey stone and wooden buildings that were surrounded by a high stone wall. The whole structure seemed newly built, with the roadway running towards its oppressive dark wood gates. There was what appeared to be a watchtower to one side of the gates. The whole structure was quite extensive.

Fidelma stared at the construction in surprise.

‘That is no fortress,’ Gormán said. ‘Or, at least, it should not be. This was where the Abbey of Chaemóc stood. The Abbey of Liath Mór. How has the community grown from the collection of wooden buildings into such an imposing structure? I last passed this way when I was a mere youth, and the abbey was nothing like this.’

‘My cousin, Abbot Laisrán of Darú, used to say that this abbey was hardly more than two huts and a little chapel,’ agreed Fidelma.

‘It certainly appears more like a fortress than the dwelling of a religious community,’ Eadulf said.

Gormán was examining the structure with the critical eye of a warrior. ‘Those walls are built for defence — a few bowmen there could stand off an entire army. Even the watchtower does not seem a place where the bell is chimed for prayers. If I were trying to plan an attack on the place, I would be hard-pressed to choose any weak point of entrance.’

‘My friends,’ Fidelma tried to overcome her unease, ‘you will observe the surrounding countryside. What is there to defend here? From this small woodland rise, all before you is bog land. Why build a fortress in this desolate place? Why fortify an abbey? What army could march against it? There is no main track through here …’ She paused when she suddenly recalled the new causeway.

‘Well, someone is trying to build one.’ The comment came from Gormán even before she could correct herself. ‘And surely this is the territory of Tuaim Snámha, the Prince of the Osraige? He has to seek approval from Colgú of Cashel before he can build new roads or improve buildings.’

‘Perhaps we are getting a little sensitive?’ Fidelma said. ‘Let us continue on. We need to find out if there is news of those whom we pursue and, in any event, as Enda says, we need hospitality for the night before it grows late.’

They left the cover of the wood and continued along the track towards the imposing new buildings. As they approached the stern edifice, the dark oak gates swung open. Their approach had been observed from the watchtower.

A group of men clad in grey religious robes had moved forward from the darkness of the entrance and stood watching them, their arms folded in the sleeves of their robes. All had their cowls covering their heads. As Fidelma and her companions halted a short space from them, one of the brethren stepped forward and held up his hand, palm outward.

‘Pax vobiscum,’ he greeted in the language of the Faith. Like his companions, he remained with his head obscured by his hood. Fidelma could just see his lower face and noted that he was a cleanshaven young man.

‘Pax tecum,’ replied Fidelma. ‘We come seeking shelter from the oncoming night.’

To her amazement the young man responded with a negative shake of his head.

‘Our sorrow, lady, that we cannot extend our hospitality to a woman nor to wandering warriors.’

Fidelma reached over to restrain Gormán as she saw his hand slide to the hilt of his sword.

‘Is this not the Abbey of Liath Mór?’ she asked coldly.

‘It was.’

‘Was? I am sorry that I have been badly informed. I believed this to be the Abbey of Liath Mór in the territory of the Osraige.’

The young man’s expression did not change. ‘It is now called Dún Muirne.’

‘Dún Muirne? The Fortress of Muirne? That’s a strange name for a religious community.’

‘I should explain that the Lady Muirne was the daughter of our patron and abbot, who was drowned crossing the Suir. He desires that this place commemorates her life.’

‘And who is your abbot?’ she enquired.

‘Our abbot is Cronán.’

‘Then announce us to this Abbot Cronán.’

‘I have explained that it is not possible.’

‘Not possible?’ There was a dangerous rise to her voice. ‘Who are you?’ The second question was snapped out in the tone of authority that Fidelma had developed as an advocate of the law courts.

‘I am Anfudán — Brother Anfudán, the steward of the abbey.’ The young man remained defiant in tone.

‘Then listen closely, Brother Anfudán. Night is now quickly approaching and inhospitable bog land stretches for long distances all around us. My companions and I wish for hospitality, which this Abbey of Liath Mór is bound to give under both law and custom.’

The young steward drew himself up, thrusting out his jaw aggressively.

‘I do not have to answer to you, lady. Who do you think you are, to believe that you have the right to give orders here … to a pious community of the Faith?’

‘I am Fidelma of Cashel, sister to the King, advocate and judge qualified to the level of anruth. Now bring forth your abbot to answer why you have refused hospitality to my companions and me, and are thus not compliant to law and custom and the rights of your King!’

The young man stood staring at her from under his cowl, and then an interesting thing happened. One of his companions hurried forward and whispered in the steward’s ear. The latter waited with head bowed for a moment and then nodded. The man who had whispered to him had turned and hastened back through the gates. Then the steward cleared his throat.

‘You and your companions may enter our courtyard and dismount while I seek clarification in this matter.’ He gestured for the brethren who were with him to stand well back so that Fidelma and the men with her could enter.

Beyond the gates they were in a fairly large courtyard, where some of the brethren were already lighting torches against the approaching night. Fidelma quickly registered the numerous outbuildings, storehouses, a smithy’s forge, and what looked like the ornate entrance to a chieftain’s hall rather than a chapel. The abbey was unlike any that she had ever seen before. She could now entirely agree with Gormán that it was more like a fortress than a community for the Faithful.

The young steward, Brother Anfudán, was curt. ‘You may dismount and wait here.’ He then marched away in the direction of the main building.

‘That sounded more like a military command than a request,’ Gormán murmured.

Behind them, the great oak gates were swinging shut and a bar was pushed into place to secure them. Eadulf shivered slightly. He felt like a prisoner being shut in.

Members of the brethren had not dispersed but stood nearby, almost as if on guard. The newcomers were aware of figures moving along the walkways on the high wall, like sentries patrolling the battlements. Fidelma did not like the situation. Had she been wrong in insisting on her rights and revealing her identity? It was too late now. She had let her irritation get the better of her. They should have ridden on and learned more about how Liath Mór had come into its new existence.

‘What now, lady?’ whispered Gormán, edging forward. He sensed what was going through Fidelma’s mind. ‘This is no abbey. Surely, it is the custom of most abbeys to bring water to wash the feet of travellers when they enter?’

‘This place has already revealed the fact that it does not share the customs of hospitality common in other abbeys,’ she sighed.

‘How do we proceed?’

‘We continue to behave as any normal traveller would, in their own land,’ she said quietly. ‘We will wait and see. After all, it is not we who have broken the laws of hospitality but the arrogant young steward, Anfudán. We will see if he really denied us on the instructions of his abbot and, if so, how this is justified by the abbot himself. We must have a care. This place does not inspire feelings of tranquillity.’

There seemed an inordinate passing of time before one of the brethren came back from the hall, without Brother Anfudán. Fidelma thought it was the same man who had given some instruction to the young steward at the gate.

‘Will you and your companions follow me, lady?’ He spoke in a gruff but respectful tone. ‘My men — my brethren — will attend to your horses.’ He turned to those nearby and, raising his voice, issued orders. Members of the brethren came forward and took their horses and led them away towards buildings that looked like stables.

Their guide then motioned them to follow him towards the main building. They went up some stone steps and found themselves in a massive hall that would have done justice to that of a petty-king. In the centre of this was a large hearth with a smouldering turf fire. In those areas of the Five Kingdoms where wood was scarce, particularly in the vast boggy plains like the surrounding one, people cut the turf or peat moss, where plants and matted roots combined to present a fuel called móin suitable for slow-burning fires. The intensity of the warmth was marked as they entered. Before this fire were several chairs and a table.

A man sat in one of the chairs. At his side and slightly behind his left shoulder stood the young steward, his head still covered by his cowl.

Their guide approached and bowed before the figure in the chair before turning and moving to one side.

It was clear that the man was tall, in spite of being seated. His head was uncovered, showing his bald pate, and his robes were tight upon him as if his entire frame was muscular. His facial features were full and tanned. Fidelma noticed a livid scar on one cheek. It was clearly an old wound. The man stared at them with pale, almost colourless eyes, which seemed to glint, like glass, against the light given by a nearby lamp. They were close-set, with bushy eyebrows, emphasising the long, thin nose that gave a curiously aggressive cast to his appearance. The thin red lips were tightly compressed. Overall, he had the unkempt appearance of a man more used to the countryside than existing within the shady confines of an abbey.

He made no effort to rise to greet them. When he spoke, it was in a sharp staccato tone.

‘I am told that you are Fidelma of Cashel, sister to Colgú. What do you want here?’

Eadulf heard Fidelma’s slow intake of breath. It was not a good sign.

‘Yes, I am Fidelma of Cashel. It grieves me to find you unwell, Abbot Cronán.’

Eadulf frowned, wondering what she meant. The abbot obviously shared the same thought; his gathered brows showed that he was puzzled.

‘I? Unwell?’

Fidelma smiled thinly. ‘Had you been well, I presume that you would have risen to greet me, as is protocol and custom. For even if I were not the sister of the King of Muman, of which this territory is part, I am also a dálaigh of the rank of anruth, and thus able to seat myself in the presence of the Kings of the Provinces without seeking permission.’

The abbot stared at her, a range of emotions struggling on his features. Then, reluctantly, the man pushed himself up out of his chair and inclined his head towards her.

‘Your forgiveness, lady.’ He almost muttered the words. ‘There is much on my mind at present. Please seat yourself and I will order refreshment for you and your companions.’

Fidelma turned to Eadulf and introduced him before seating herself and indicating that Eadulf should take the seat next to her. Gormán and Enda took their places, standing warily just behind them.

The abbot then lowered himself back into his chair and ordered their guide to arrange for refreshments to be brought. Brother Anfudán remained close at hand, his expression sullen, judging from the shape of his lips underneath his cowl.

‘And now, Fidelma of Cashel, how can we be of service to you?’ The abbot tried to sound polite but his tone was strained.

‘Has your steward not informed you of what service we require?’ Her voice was mild.

The young man shifted his weight awkwardly at the abbot’s side.

‘As you have seen for yourself, our abbey is but newly constructed and lacks facilities,’ the abbot replied, spreading his hands and trying to sound apologetic. ‘Perhaps my steward did not explain-’

‘No explanation was necessary,’ Fidelma replied easily. ‘The law and custom is firm on this point. Were this but a lowly shepherd’s hut, the law would still be the law. This abbey, I believe, was first constructed by Chaemóc seventy years ago. I see that much building has been done since then, but that does not mean all etiquette is lost nor the law ignored.’

‘The rebuilding is not yet complete,’ the abbot said with a frown. ‘We do not have facilities for a person of rank such as you, lady. My steward was merely thinking of your comf-’

Fidelma cut him short. ‘Anyone thinking of the comfort of myself and that of my companions would not have arbitrarily consigned our fate to find hospitality in the surrounding bogs at night-time.’

The abbot appeared to struggle with himself; and then he forced a weak smile.

‘Of course, you and your companions are welcome to our hospitality for this night. I regret that there has been any misunderstanding and apologise that my steward was not able to make himself better understood. He is new to the task.’

‘So I observe,’ Fidelma replied grimly. ‘And, as I observe, new to the religious.’

The abbot looked uneasy. ‘I do not understand, lady.’

‘Your steward is so new that he has not taken cognisance of the rules of a religious community,’ she replied. ‘That is why he covers his head at a time when the custom of all religious orders dictates that the cabhail should not be worn. Can it be that he is so new to the religious that he has not even acquired a tonsure?’

Brother Anfudán expelled his breath with an angry hiss and took a step forward. His head jerked back so that it succeeded in dislodging his hood. Her guess was correct. He had a shock of thick black hair and no sign of a tonsure. But it was the gesture of his right hand that caused a look of satisfaction to pass across Fidelma’s features. The hand went to his left side as if seeking a sword.