The anchorite who had accompanied them had disappeared, presumably into one of the stone buildings.
They had been spotted by the gardeners who had halted their work and were muttering uneasily among themselves.
‘I do not think that they are pleased to see you, Fidelma,’ Cass said, his hand staying on the hilt of his sword.
The anchorite reappeared with the same abruptness as he had vanished.
‘This way. Father Mel will speak with you.’
They found a wizened-faced old man seated cross-legged in one of the beehive-shaped huts. It was small so that they either had to follow the old man’s example and seat themselves on some sheepskins which covered the floor or stay standing, slightly stooped. Fidelma gave the lead by lowering herself into a cross-legged position in front of the old man.
He gazed at her thoughtfully with bright blue eyes. His faceseemed hewed out of the rock of his island. Stern and granitelike. The lines were many and were etched deeply into his weather-beaten brown face.
‘In hoc loco non ero, ubi enim ovis, ibi mulier … ubi mulier … ibi peccatum,’ intoned the old man dispassionately.
‘I am aware that you have no wish to associate with women,’ Fidelma replied. ‘I would not intrude on your rule unless there was a greater purpose.’
‘Greater purpose? The association of the sexes in the Faith is contrary to the discipline of the Faith,’ grunted Father Mel.
‘On the contrary, if both sexes forsook each other there would soon be no people, Faith or church,’ returned Fidelma cynically.
‘Abneganbant mulierum administrationem separantes eas a monasteriis,’ intoned Father Mel piously.
‘We can sit here and discourse in Latin, if you like,’ Fidelma sighed. ‘But I am come on more important matters. I do not wish to impose myself where I am unwelcome, though I find it hard to believe that there are places within the five kingdoms of Éireann where our laws and customs have been so sadly rejected. However, the sooner I can get answers to my questions then the sooner I can depart from this place.’
Father Mel allowed an eyebrow to twitch in irritation at her response.
‘What is it you wish?’ he demanded coldly. ‘My disciple told me you were a dálaigh with a commission from the temporal king of this land.’
‘That is so.’
‘Then what must I do to help you fulfil your commission and allow you to depart swiftly?’
‘Do you have anyone from the land of Osraige in this monastery?’
‘We welcome everyone into our brotherhood.’
Fidelma checked her irritation at the unspecific response.
‘That was not what I asked.’
‘Very well, I am from Osraige myself,’ replied Father Mel with diffidence. ‘What would you ask of me?’
‘I believe that some time ago someone from Osraige found sanctuary here. A descendant of the native kings. An heir of Illan. If that is so, then I wish to see him for I fear his life is in danger.’
Father Mel almost smiled.
‘Then perhaps you wish to talk to me? Illan, of whom you speak, was my cousin, though I would not consider myself heir to any temporal glory.’
‘Is this true?’ Dacan had said the heir of Illan was being looked after by his cousin but she was hardly expecting the cousin to be this aging Father Superior.
‘I am not in the habit of lying, woman,’ snapped the old man. ‘Now, do you believe me to be in danger of my life?’
Fidelma slowly shook her head. Father Mel himself was certainly no threat to the security of the current petty kings of Osraige nor a possible rallying point for any future insurrection.
‘No. There is no danger for you. But I am told that there is a young heir of Illan. That his cousin, obviously yourself, was taking care of him.’
Father Mel’s face was set like stone.
‘There is no young heir to Illan on this island,’ he said firmly, ‘You may take my holy oath of office on it.’
Could this long, arduous journey have really been for nothing? Had Dacán made that same mistake? Father Mel could not take such an oath unless it were true.
‘Is there anything else?’ came Father Mel’s curt tone.
Fidelma rose to her feet trying to hide her disappointment.
‘Nothing. I accept the truth of what you say. You shelter no young heir of Illan.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you been visited by a merchant named Assid of Laigin?’
Father Mel met her gaze evenly.
‘There are many merchants that land here. I do not recall all their names.’
‘Then does the name of the Venerable Dacán mean anything to you?’
‘As a scholar of the Faith,’ replied the Father Superior easily. ‘Everyone has surely heard of the man.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nothing else,’ affirmed the old man. ‘Now, if that is all …?’
Fidelma led the way from the building, bitterly disappointed. Cass followed with bewilderment on his features.
‘Is that all?’ he asked. ‘Surely, we did not come all this way for this?’
‘Father Mel would not have taken oath that there was no young heir of Illan in this monastery if there was,’ Fidelma pointed out.
‘Religious have been known to lie,’ countered Cass darkly.
They were suddenly aware of an anchorite, a flat-faced, lugubrious-looking man of middle age, blocking their path.
‘I …’ the man hesitated. ‘I overheard. You asked if there was anyone from Osraige here. Refugees.’
The monk’s face mirrored some deep conflict of emotions.
‘That’s right,’ she agreed. ‘What is your name?’
‘I am Brother Febal. I tend the gardens here.’
The monk abruptly took out of his robes a small object and handed it with all solemnity to Fidelma.
It was a corn doll. It was old, weather-worn, with the stuffing bursting out from broken joins where the weave had burst or torn.
‘What’s this?’ demanded Cass.
Fidelma stared at it and turned it over in her hands. ‘What can you tell us about this, brother?’
Brother Febal hesitated, throwing a look towards the hut of the Father Superior and he motioned them to follow a littleway down the path, out of sight of the main complex of buildings.
‘Father Mel has not told you the exact truth,’ he confessed. ‘The good Father is afraid, not for himself but for his charges.’
‘I was sure that he was being frugal with the truth,’ Fidelma replied gravely. ‘But I cannot believe he would lie so blatantly if there was a young heir to Illan of Osraige on this island.’
‘There is not, so he spoke the truth,’ Brother Febal replied. ‘However, six months ago he brought two boys to the island. He told us that their father, a cousin of his, had died and he was going to take care of them for a few months until a new home could be arranged for them. When the younger child became bored here, as young children would, the elder boy made him this corn doll to amuse him. When they left, I found that the boy had left it behind.’
Fidelma looked puzzled.
‘Two boys. How old?’
‘One about nine years old, the other only a few years older’
‘Then there was not an older boy with them? A boy reaching the age of choice?’
To her disappointment, Brother Febal shook his head.
‘There were only the two lads. They were from Osraige and cousins of Father Mel. That I know.’
‘Why do you tell us this?’ demanded Cass suspiciously. ‘Your Father Superior did not trust us with the truth.’
‘Because I recognise the emblem of the king of Cashel’s bodyguard and because I overheard that you, sister, are an advocate of the courts. I do not think that you seek to harm the boys. Above all, I tell you because I fear great danger may come to them and hope that you will help them.’
‘What makes you think that danger threatens?’ Fidelma asked.
‘Just over two weeks ago a s
hip arrived here with a religieux who took the two boys away with him. I heard Father Mel address the man as “honourable cousin”. Yet within daysanother ship arrived here on the same mission as yourself. There was a man who demanded the same information as yourself.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘A large, red-faced man, clad in a steel helmet and woollen cloak edged in fur. He claimed he was a chieftain and wore a gold chain of office.’
Fidelma swallowed in amazement.
‘Intat!’ cried Cass triumphantly.
Brother Febal blinked anxiously.
‘Do you know the man?’
‘We know that he is evil,’ affirmed Fidelma. ‘What did he learn about these boys?’
‘Father Mel told him the same story as he told you. But one of the brothers, just as this man was departing, unintentionally mentioned the two lads and the fact that they had been taken away a short time before by a religieux.’
‘And Intat went away?’
‘He did. Mel was outraged. He demanded that each of us forget the boys. But I have faith that you act in the children’s best interests. But not the man who came searching for them. If he finds the children …’ The monk ended with an expressive shrug.
‘We do seek to protect them, brother,’ Fidelma assured him. ‘It is true that they are in grave danger from that man, Intat. Do you know who the boys were, what their names were and where they have gone?’
‘Alas, even Father Mel would not pronounce their names but called them by the Latin forms of Primus and Victor. See on the doll, that piece of rag is marked with the words “Hic est meum. Victor”. It means, “this is mine, Victor” in Latin.’
‘Can you describe them?’ Fidelma did not point out that she knew well what the words meant.
‘Not really. They both had burnished copper-coloured hair.’
‘Copper-coloured?’ Fidelma felt frustrated, hoping to hear something which she might have recognised.
‘Did you learn where they were sent when they left here?’
‘Only that the religieux who took them was from an abbey somewhere in the south. The young one, Victor, was a nice child. Return this doll to him and I shall pray to Michael the Archangel, guardian of our little monastery, for their safety.’
‘Can you tell us about the religieux … what did he look like?’
‘That I cannot. He kept his robes wrapped around his body and head for the weather was inclement. I did not observe his features well. He was not young but neither was he old. That is all I can say.’
‘Thank you, brother. You have been most helpful.’
‘I will lead you down the path and signal your ship. My conscience is easy now that I have made confession to you of this burden.’
Cass laid a restraining hand on Fidelma’s arm.
‘Why don’t we go and confront that old goat again?’ he demanded. ‘Let’s tell him what we know and demand to know where this cousin has taken the two boys?’
Fidelma shook her head.
‘We will get nothing further from a man such as Father Mel,’ she replied. ‘Our path is back at Ros Ailithir.’
Once on board Ross’s barc again, the ship close-hauled along the thin, poking figures of the southern peninsulas of the kingdom, heading swiftly southward.
‘A long trip for so little,’ mused Cass, as he stood watching Fidelma turning the worn doll over and over in her hands.
‘Sometimes even a word or sentence might resolve the greatest puzzle and put it all into shape,’ countered Fidelma.
‘What did we learn from this arduous trip to Sceilig Mhichil that we did not suspect before? Had we questioned that old religieux further …’
‘Sometimes confirmation of knowledge is as important asthe knowledge itself,’ interrupted Fidelma. ‘And we have linked Intat into this mystery of Dacán’s killing. Dacán was looking for the son of Illan whom he thought was at the age of choice. Now we know there were two young sons, not at the age of choice at all. Intat arrives here looking for the offspring of Illan. Dacán was working for Laigin but Intat was a man of the Corco Loígde. There is a picture beginning to form here.’
‘Apart from Intat’s involvement in this conundrum, what else have we learnt?’ demanded Cass.
‘We have learnt that the monastery on Sceilig Mhichil has, as its patron, Michael the Archangel. That its very name means “rock of Michael”. And we have learnt that Mel called the man who collected the boys “honourable cousin”.’
Cass was not sure if Fidelma was joking.
‘But what practical information have we learnt?’ he demanded.
Fidelma smiled blandly.
‘We have learnt several other points. There are two heirs to Illan. They left Sceilig Mhichil two weeks ago about the same time that Dacán was murdered and they are now being hunted by Intat. I believe that Intat was looking for them when he burnt Rae na Scríne. I do not think he found them and I will lay a wager that they may be found at Ros Ailithir or nearby.’
‘If they are still alive.’ Cass suddenly became interested. ‘We don’t even know who they are. Two copper-haired lads. I have encountered no copper-haired boys. We don’t even know their true names. We know that Primus and Victor were not their real names. That presents no clue that we can follow.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Fidelma admitted thoughtfully. ‘Then, again …’ She shrugged abruptly and was silent.
Chapter Fourteen
Abbot Brocc’s thin features relaxed with relief when Fidelma entered his chamber.
‘I had just heard that you had landed. Was your trip fruitful, cousin?’ he asked eagerly, rising to greet her.
‘It has added to my knowledge,’ Fidelma replied evasively.
The abbot hesitated, apparently wondering whether to press his cousin further on the point but then decided against it.
‘I have news.’ He indicated that she should be seated. ‘However, I think it is bad news.’
Fidelma seated herself as Brocc held up a wax tablet.
‘Yesterday I received this message — the High King means to arrive here within the next few days.’
Fidelma’s surprise obviously gratified him. She sat up straight. Her eyes were wide.
‘Sechnassach, the High King? Is he coming here?’
Brocc nodded emphatically.
‘He has ruled that the court should hear Laigin’s claims against Muman, in the matter of the death of Dacán, in the abbey where Dacán was killed. His words are that it was …’ Brocc hesitated and squinted at the tablet, ‘ … appropriate that the hearing should be in this place.’
‘So?’ Fidelma lingered over the word, like a long sigh. ‘And the entire court is coming with him?’
‘Of course. The Chief Brehon Barrán will sit in judgment with the High King and Archbishop Ultan of Armagh iscoming to represent the ecclesiastical orders of the five kingdoms. Your brother Colgú and his advisors will also be arriving any day now.’
‘And I suppose young Fianamail, the king of Laigin, and his advocates will be here soon?’
‘Fianamail is bringing the Abbot Noé and his Brehon Forbassach.’
‘Forbassach! So Forbassach will plead the case for Laigin?’
As much as she disliked the hawk-faced advocate of Laigin, Fidelma knew that he was possessed of a quick wit and was a capable counsel, one who certainly should not be underestimated. He would undoubtedly be at his sharpest for he would want to repay Fidelma for having had him ejected from Cashel.
‘Exactly when are they all expected to arrive?’ she asked, feeling, as Brocc had forewarned, it was not good news.
‘Within a few days, by the end of the week at the latest.’ Brocc was clearly nervous at being host to such an assembly where he stood in place of the accused. ‘Tell me, cousin, are you any nearer to resolving this mystery?’
His voice was almost pleading but Fidelma could not allay his obvious fears.
She stood up and moved to the window, peering down into the inlet.
‘I saw, as we were coming into Ros Ailithir, that Mugrón’s warship still rides at anchor out there.’
Brocc’s shoulders sagged a little.
‘Laigin will not give up their plaint before the assembly meets.’
Fidelma turned back into the chamber towards the abbot.
‘I presume the High King and his entourage will come by ship around the coast?’
‘As will the king of Laigin and his retinue,’ confirmed Brocc. ‘I am expected to give hospitality to all of them. Brother Rumann and Brother Conghus are at their wits’ endto find extra accommodation and food. Oh, and that means that the extra chamber in which you have conducted your investigations can no longer be available to you. You may still use the same chamber in the hostel for personal use, as befits your rank, but the young warrior, what’s his name … Cass? He will have to use a bed in one of the dormitories.’
‘It cannot be helped. You have much to do to prepare for the assembly.’
Brocc examined her with a pessimistic eye.
‘And you also, cousin, for on you depends all our futures.’
Fidelma did not need Brocc to remind her. The words of the Gospel of Luke came suddenly into her mind: ‘Unto whomsoever much is given, of them shall much be required.’ Never, since she had received her qualification in law, had so much been required of her. She felt that responsibility was like a heavy weight. Despite her most strenuous efforts she was still looking into a smoked mirror where enticing shadows could be seen but nothing that was clear nor which made any sense.
Brocc saw the anxiety on her face and relented his own attitude.
‘It is just that I am truly beginning to worry now, cousin. I have never attended a High King’s assembly before,’ he added with some morbid fascination. ‘Were it not that I am charged as responsible in this matter it would have been an exhilarating experience.’
Fidelma raised a cynical eyebrow.
‘Exhilarating experience? It may also be a fatal one if I cannot present a case that will clear you and prevent the claim of Laigin leading to a war between the two kingdoms.’
There was an uncomfortable silence, then Fidelma said, without expectation of a positive answer: ‘You have not told me whether there is any news of Sister Grella. I presume she has not returned?’
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