‘True, it is still not popular. That is the reason for our discussion. Our scholars have considered the arguments made among the early founders of the Faith. A day in the month of Augustus in the Roman calendar, of Pachon in the Egyptian calendar … every month of every known calendar has its adherents,’ the steward said with a shrug.
‘But did not the Chronolography of Philocatus says that it was accepted that the twenty-fifth day of the tenth Roman month – as you say the feast of the Sol Invictus – was best regarded as a proper feast day for the Nativitas?’
The steward grimaced tiredly. ‘You should have attended the debate, Brother. But what were we saying? Has Sister Fidelma discussed with you the details of her mission here?’
There was something in the tone of the repeated question that made Eadulf frown uneasily. It was clear that the steward knew of Fidelma’s religious connections, even though she had introduced herself as Fidelma of Cashel and not as Sister Fidelma.
‘Fidelma has left the religious, Brother,’ he pointed out. ‘As a dálaigh, she is now simply a legal advisor to her brother, Colgú, King of Muman.’
Brother Ruissine nodded eagerly. ‘Just so, just so, Brother. But she has won fame and reputation as Sister Fidelma and she is known by that honourable title in many corners of the kingdom.’
‘And beyond,’ Eadulf agreed with a smile.
‘Exactly,’ rejoined the steward. ‘The name of Sister Fidelma …’ he hesitated and shot a quick smile at Eadulf, ‘and, of course, Brother Eadulf the Saxon, are known far and wide.’
‘I am an Angle not a Saxon,’ Eadulf corrected drily. ‘I am from the kingdom of the East Angles.’
‘Just so, just so,’ agreed the other, hurriedly. ‘But the nature of your coming here …? I am the steward of the abbey, you know, and should be informed.’
‘All I can tell you is that Fidelma has some business to discuss with your abbot,’ replied Eadulf sharply, realising the steward had touched on the raw spot that had made him bad tempered ever since leaving Cashel. Fidelma had discussed nothing with him.
The steward hid his disappointment but he also had a discerning eye. ‘She did not discuss the reason with you?’
Eadulf decided to counter-attack. ‘Why do you ask? Is there something that has happened in the abbey that would lead to an advocate coming to discuss some matters with your abbot? I hardly think the matter of the Nativity is a subject that would concern a lawyer of Fidelma’s reputation.’
It was now Brother Ruissine’s turn to disclaim any knowledge. ‘There is nothing that springs to mind. As I said, I was not even informed that she was visiting the abbey.’
‘Yet there is something that worries you about the arrival of a dálaigh. I can see that. What would that be?’
Brother Ruissine made a curiously dismissive grimace. ‘I am not privy to all the abbot’s business,’ he acknowledged. ‘Fidelma’s arrival was simply a surprise to me.’
‘Isn’t that unusual, since you are rechtaire of this abbey?’
There was a long pause before Brother Ruissine sniffed in annoyance. ‘It is unusual, but that is the way of it,’ he admitted reluctantly.
Eadulf watched as the previously talkative steward turned with a curt nod and hurried away, as if some urgent matter impelled him. For a moment, Eadulf felt his annoyance rise again. He had a suspicion that he had been accused of knowing the secret and refusing to share it. Then he shrugged and made his way back towards their hut.
‘If she wants to share things, then she will do so when the time is right,’ he muttered to himself as if to justify her silence. Yet he could not help but feel resentment at being left out of her confidence after the many years of their close relationship. He felt a curious anxiety as he remembered the early days when she had rejected his feelings for her, when he had also felt hurt and bewildered.
Fidelma was stirring as he entered the hut and his resolution to wait until she felt like sharing her knowledge vanished in a moment of anger.
‘So, is your business with the abbot soon to be concluded?’ he demanded gruffly.
‘It should not take long,’ she assured him, with an annoyed glance.
‘And you still cannot tell me what this is all about?’
Fidelma sighed in exasperation. ‘Enough questioning, Eadulf. I will tell you when the time comes.’
‘When will that be?’
‘You will know soon enough.’ Fidelma hesitated and gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Tempus et locus, Eadulf,’ she observed. ‘Time and place. I hope it will be soon but don’t press me again.’
‘So be it.’ Eadulf glowered in surly submission – which was not lost on her and served only to increase her own bad mood.
He tried to stifle his pain and confusion but he felt aggrieved that she was excluding him – for the first time since they had resolved their differences a few years ago, after he and Fidelma had split up following her decision to leave the religious and apply to the Council of Brehons to be Chief Brehon of her brother’s kingdom. She had failed in her bid, which was a huge blow to her confidence. It was her brother, Colgú, who had saved their relationship. When an eminent scholar had been murdered in his cell at the abbey of Lios Mór, behind a locked door and a single window unattainable from the outside, Colgú had forced them back together to solve the mystery. And as a result, they had realised that what they had together was more important than their differences. There had been no other secrets between them – until now.
A bell began ringing nearby. Eadulf was almost thankful for the interruption.
‘I think that must be the summons to the praintech, for the evening meal.’ He turned to the door of the hut. Outside, darkness had descended with what seemed unusual rapidity.
Fidelma paused indecisively. She knew Eadulf was hurt by her refusal to share her knowledge with him. It was not her way to maintain such secrecy, but it would be difficult to explain to him the reason. Suppressing a sigh, she followed Eadulf to the abbey refectory in silence.
Members of the community – men and women in ones and twos – were making their way to the communal dining hall. In many ways, the abbey apparently kept to the old customs. At the entrance were two silent attendants; one removed the shoes and sandals of each person passing into the hall and placed them to one side for the owners to retrieve when leaving the refectory. The second attendant sluiced their hands and feet from a jug of cold water and then dried them with a lámh brat, a hand cloth. As Fidelma and Eadulf were guests, a third attendant conducted them between the two main tables, where the male religieux sat on one side and the female religieuses sat on the other, to the table placed cross-wise at the top of the dining room. They were followed by the curious glances of the silent seated community members. Their guide showed them to seats at the end of the table. Brother Ruissine was already there with several others, who were obviously the senior members of the community. Eadulf was about to speak in greeting but received a sharp nudge from Fidelma. It was only then that it dawned upon him that the entire dining hall was totally silent. In fact, the silence was almost uncanny. He glanced at Fidelma, his eyes wide in silent query, but found her gaze lowered in concentration.
He surreptitiously examined the others in the hall. Most of the assembly were sitting with bowed heads, deep in contemplation of their own. One man caught Eadulf’s attention, as his gaze was focused on the two empty seats at the head of the abbot’s table. He was a tall man, judging from the way he sat higher than his companions, and although he was clad in homespun, his robe was black rather than grey or brown and the cowl covered most of his face. But he had drawn the cowl back slightly, as if to observe the members of the refectory more easily, and his profile was partially revealed. The man suddenly caught sight of Eadulf examining him and quickly drew the cowl over his face. Eadulf was puzzled for there had been something familiar about that brief glimpse of the man’s features.
The would-be diners seemed to be waiting. There was barely a sound when a nearby d
oor opened and an old man entered. Glancing at the tall religieux, Eadulf saw that his cowled head was turned to where the old man had appeared.
Eadulf turned back to observe the abbot. He was supported on one side by a thick blackthorn staff but on the other side he had the arm of an attractive young girl. She was modestly but richly dressed, and not in religious robes. The elderly abbot was clad in the brown robes of his office, with a silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck. His long hair was white, almost the brilliant colour of snow, and nearly matched the colour of the skin of his gaunt cheeks. His pale blue eyes, whose focus seemed fixed on the middle distance, reflected the light of the brand torches. The only splash of colour on his ancient face was the thin red slash of his lips. The young girl seemed to guide the man forward towards his seat, and the sound of his slow, shuffling steps was punctuated by the hollow rapping of his blackthorn against the stone floor.
Eadulf continued to watch as the girl helped the old man seat himself and placed his stick behind his chair. Then, to Eadulf’s surprise, she sat in the chair next to the abbot, thus inserting herself between him and the steward of the abbey. That was unusual and certainly against etiquette. All this had been done in silence for Eadulf now realised what Fidelma had tried to indicate to him: this community must be following the rule that all meals should be carried out without conversation of any sort. He had heard of such strange ascetic communities where this was done.
He was just wondering how the signal to commence the meal would be given when Brother Ruissine rose. His sharp baritone echoed: ‘Surgite!’ at which everyone else rose obediently. Then the steward began, ‘Benedictus benedicat …’ at the end of which the community responded, ‘Benedicatur Deo.’ Thus was said the Gratias, then everyone sat down again quietly and dishes of food were handed out by the silent attendants. Eadulf noticed that the main body of the religious helped themselves from platters that were passed along the rows. However, at the abbot’s table each person was served separately. The abbot himself was served first, a meal that was obviously prescribed by his age and constitution – a white fish cooked in milk, with a husk of wheaten bread and a beaker of milk. The young girl at his side assisted him with the food, for as Eadulf now saw the old man’s hand shook as if with an ague.
When the platters were placed before him, Eadulf could make no complaint about the standard of the cuisine for there were hot dishes of river trout, basted in honey and obviously cooked on a gridiron or spit. This was served on a bed of biror, watercress, cremcamh, wild garlic, and foltchep, leeks. And if that didn’t appeal, there were hard-boiled goose eggs with cress, or cold sausage with cornmeal loaves, still warm from the ovens. Evidently the asceticism of the abbey did not extend to frugality with the food, as it did for some communities. To drink there was the traditional miodh cuill, hazel mead, or nenadmin, a cider made from wild apples. At the end of the main courses, the attendants came round with a bowl of apples and dishes of hazelnuts.
Fidelma, for her part, was aware of Eadulf’s unconscious fidgeting throughout most of the meal. She shared his discomfort; they were unused to eating a meal in total silence, as if trying to ignore the fact that there were well over a hundred or more people in the refectory with them. Fidelma had long practised the art of meditation, but even she found it difficult to concentrate, especially with Eadulf so restless beside her. When the steward rose, she greeted with relief his call of ‘Resurgemus!’ The company rose and in a tone almost of joy declared: ‘Ain oculi eorum in te spirant et tu das eis escam suam in tempore suo. Deo Gratias.’ – ‘The eyes of all place hope in thee, O Lord; and thou gives the meat in due season. Thanks be to God.’
But after that, everyone reseated themselves and the young girl helped the abbot to rise, take his staff and in silence they moved slowly together to the door they had entered by. Only when they were through and the door had shut behind them did whispers begin to rise around the room and there was an unbecoming scurry towards the exit. Eadulf was inclined to join the throng but Fidelma hung back, choosing to wait until the crush of those trying to reclaim their shoes had thinned. Suddenly, Eadulf glimpsed the tall figure in the black cowl. He caught his wife’s arm.
‘Doesn’t that tall religieux seem familiar to you?’ he asked.
She glanced in the man’s direction. ‘He could be anyone,’ she replied dismissively. Then the man turned and stared over the heads of the fussing brethren, suddenly meeting Fidelma’s gaze. He seemed to start in recognition. It was only for a split second, then he turned and disappeared through the doors. Fidelma stood for a moment, thinking. By the time they had retrieved their shoes and found themselves outside the tall man had vanished.
Eadulf, a little red in the face from the jostling exit, turned to her. ‘Did you see him? I swear I have seen him before.’
‘I know what you mean,’ she replied, thoughtfully. ‘I cannot be sure, but I believe I saw him at the High King’s palace in Tara … remember the time we solved the murder of Sechnussach? But in what context was he there?’ She frowned as if trying to remember the details.
Brother Ruissine suddenly emerged into the light of the brand torches above the entrance of the praintech.
‘Brother Ruissine,’ Fidelma called, ‘you said that the abbot would have time to see me after the evening meal. Can you tell me whether he is able to receive me now?’
The steward halted, hesitated and then said, ‘I am on my way to the abbot’s chamber now. If you will wait here but a short while, I will see if the abbot is ready to receive you. I know when I mentioned your arrival just before the meal he was most anxious to see you.’
He made to turn but Eadulf interrupted. ‘Tell me, Brother Ruissine, who was that young girl who was in attendance to the abbot during the meal? Was it his nurse? She must have some status here to sit between the abbot and yourself.’
The steward turned back with a scowl, although it did not seem to be aimed specifically at Eadulf.
‘The abbot needs no nurse,’ he replied belligerently. Then he paused slightly. ‘The girl is not a member of our abbey. She arrived here yesterday; apparently she is a niece of the abbot. The abbot himself insisted that she be accorded special status.’
‘What is her name?’ asked Eadulf.
‘I believe it is Cairenn of the Eóganacht Raithlind. That is a branch of your family, lady, or so I believe,’ he said to Fidelma. ‘Now I shall see if the abbot is ready.’
After he had gone, Fidelma frowned at Eadulf. ‘You seem unduly interested in that young girl? Why do you ask questions about her?’
Eadulf shrugged. ‘It’s just that that girl, Cairenn, seems to be closer to the abbot than his steward. She is one of your family. Didn’t you know her?’
‘The Eóganacht are a large family, as you are well aware.’ Fidelma opened her mouth to make some further explanation, then she hesitated. ‘It might be explained by the fact that Abbot Nessán himself is of the Eóganacht Raithlind.’ Then a memory stirred. ‘I do have a feeling that I have seen her before, but not in a religious context,’ she reflected. ‘But where was it?’
‘So she is nothing to do with your mission here?’ Eadulf asked, almost slyly.
‘I can’t see how my business with the abbot would affect the young girl.’ Fidelma parried his question deftly.
‘What matter is so important that you have to come all the way here to see this old abbot?’ Eadulf suddenly gave vent to his frustration. ‘He looks as though he can hardly remember what day it is, let alone have anything of importance to discuss with you.’
‘Do not misinterpret what you see. His intellect is very bright, in spite of the frailty of his body,’ Fidelma replied without answering his questions.
Eadulf sighed. ‘Anyway, there are religious communities and there are religious communities. This one is oppressive, I must say. It would drive me mad to eat in total silence at every meal. Meals are supposed to be social occasions when one eats, drinks and exchanges news and gossip and debates th
e finer things of the world. What’s the point of a community which does not commune with itself?’
Fidelma smiled thinly, thankful to let the matter of her mission drop. ‘I hear that there are followers of Benedict of Nursia who are now seeking to set up communities who will live completely in silence. They will not speak to one another on any occasion. And Benedict is now such an influence in the Roman Church with his rules for religious houses that we may all be eating in silence soon.’
Eadulf was aghast. ‘They must be mad!’ he exclaimed with vehemence. ‘What were we given voices for but to talk, to sing and … and I would counter this silent rule with one of the Psalms. “Et audit clamorem meum …” “I was silent and still; I held my peace to no avail: my distress grew worse; my heart became hot within me. While I mused, the fire burned, and then I spoke …”’
Fidelma glanced round at the passing religious and lowered her voice: ‘It is perhaps better to speak softly. We would not wish to interfere with local rules.’
As if in contradiction to her words, there came a sudden sound of raised voices nearby; people were shouting. Several people were running, almost in panic, but there seemed no discernible cause.
Brother Ruissine had reappeared. Even in the wavering light of the brand torches, with the flickering light chasing shadows over his features, it was clear that they were distorted. Eadulf could barely make out his expression. But when he paused directly beneath the torch, they could see the shock on his face. His whole body displayed tension and horror. In the background, the sounds of disturbance were growing more intense.
Fidelma examined the steward curiously as the man stood motionless before her as if unable to speak.
‘What is it, Brother?’ she prompted. ‘Is something wrong? Is Abbot Nessán ready to receive me?’
‘The abbot will receive no one,’ Brother Ruissine finally blurted.
A frown crossed Fidelma’s features. ‘But it was arranged …’ she began to protest. ‘It is important, very important that I see him.’
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