‘His defence was why the Brehon imposed a heavy penalty on him,’ Gormán said. ‘He tried to throw all the blame on his assistant who had overseen the work when Glassán should have been doing it. He said that he had undertaken other commissions elsewhere in the kingdom and so had had to go and oversee them. He said he had trusted his assistant and the entire fault lay with him.’
‘Glassán had agreed the contract and therefore the responsibility was his own,’ Fidelma said. ‘I would have made him pay the honour prices of the dead to their families as well. The Brehon was lenient. I find it difficult to accept that Abbot Iarnla and Brother Lugna can feel confident employing such a man to be in charge of this great building work.’
‘When did this disaster happen?’ Eadulf asked Gormán. ‘Did the stableman say?’
‘About ten years ago.’
‘Ten years? That is a long time. And he started on this work two or three years ago, soon after Brother Lugna arrived here from Rome,’ mused Fidelma.
‘I wonder how Brother Lugna knew him,’ Eadulf said thoughtfully.
‘I can tell you that.’ Gormán smiled. ‘Or at least Brother Echen had the information. There was talk that Glassán went into exile in Connachta and was doing building commissions.’
‘And Brother Lugna comes from Connachta,’ Eadulf added.
‘Glassán was apparently specialising in making underground storage areas. He became a master of uamairecht – cellar-making.’
‘Cellar-making?’ Fidelma swung round and headed determinedly back to the chapel. ‘That is something I totally forgot,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Come on. We neglected to finish our search.’
Eadulf, with a wary glance at the high roof of the chapel, went after her. In some bewilderment, Gormán followed them into the chapel.
‘Is someone going to tell me what I said?’ he asked plaintively.
‘We need to find out if this building has a cellar or vault to it. If there is, the entrance is concealed,’ Fidelma told him.
It was some time before they re-emerged. The floor of the chapel was solid. There was no sign of any entrance leading to vaults beneath the building. Disappointment showed on Fidelma’s features. Once again she had to conclude that this was not the “mound of the dead” where Brother Gáeth might have hidden whatever it was Brother Donnchad had given him.
She look up at the sky and sighed.
‘We just have time to prepare before the bell sounds for the evening meal,’ she said. She walked rapidly to the guest hostel. Eadulf hurried after her while Gormán stood watching them, totally bewildered.
CHAPTER TEN
Eadulf knocked gently on Fidelma’s door to escort her to the evening meal. His eyes widened as she opened it.
Fidelma was not wearing her simple and practical robes; she had put on the clothing that was hers by right to wear as both daughter and sister of a king of Muman. Eadulf had not seen her wear such finery since she had made a plea before the Airechtais, the Great Assembly of the High King, at Tara a year before. He had, of course, seen her wearing such clothes several times before but never when a guest in an abbey.
Her gown was of deep blue satin with intricate gold thread patterns. It fitted snugly at the waist and then flowed out into a full skirt that came to her ankles. The sleeves were of a style called lamfhoss, tight on the upper arms but spilling out just before the elbow in an echo of the lower part of her dress. Over this was a sleeveless tunic, called an inar, which covered the top of the dress but ended at the waist. From her shoulder hung a short lummon, a cape of contrasting red-coloured satin edged with badger’s fur. The cape was fastened on the left shoulder by a round brooch of silver and semi-precious stones. On her feet were specially decorated sandals, sewn with pieces of multicoloured glass, called mael-assa.
She had put on bracelets of complementary coloured glass around her wrists and round her neck she wore her golden torc which proclaimed not only her royal position but that she was of the élite Nasc Niadh of Muman, the bodyguards of the Eóghanacht. In her fiery red hair was a band of silver with three semi-precious stones at the front – two emeralds from the country of the Corco Duibhne, in the west of the kingdom, and a glowing red stone which reflected the stones in the silver brooch that held her cape. The headband served to keep in place a piece of silk that covered her hair but left her face unobstructed. It was called a conniul and indicated her married status.
‘Are you being wise?’ Eadulf finally asked, having found some difficulty articulating his thoughts.
Fidelma had that mischievous look on her face. ‘Firstly, I need to prove something. Secondly, I need to assert something. Have no fear, Eadulf, I know what I am doing. And now, the support of your arm, please. I suspect that I may need the support of more than your arm before the evening is over.’
Eadulf sighed. He felt incongruous clad as he was in a simple religious robe. But he said nothing.
The bruigad, Brother Máel Eoin, was waiting for them outside the refectorium, with Gormán. The hosteller registered some surprise and then bowed his head in acknowledgement to her. The young warrior grinned broadly and straightened a little as if to salute her.
‘It is good to see an Eóghanacht reassert their presence,’ he said simply.
He preceded Fidelma and Eadulf into the refectorium and led them to the table they had been assigned. As they passed by the tables of the brethren, a silence fell throughout the hall and glances of astonishment were cast towards Fidelma. Then a muttering began to rise from the lines of seated brethren. Ignoring it, Fidelma and her companions reached the table where Glassán and Saor sat opened-mouthed at her change of appearance. Then a sharp voice cried from the table of the abbot, ‘This is an affront, a sacrilege!’
Fidelma, with Eadulf and Gormán at her side, turned slowly to face the abbot’s table. It was not Abbot Iarnla but his steward, Brother Lugna, who was on his feet. His face was red and almost quivering in his indignation.
‘Sacrilege, Brother Lugna?’ Fidelma’s voice cracked like a whip.
‘How dare you come into this refectorium in … in those shameless garments?’ cried the steward.
Fidelma drew herself up a little. ‘Do you insult the Eóghanacht? You have been too long in Rome, Brother Lugna. You are now in the kingdom of Muman and in the presence of an Eóghanacht princess.’
‘What … what did you say?’ demanded the steward, taken aback.
‘I am Fidelma of Cashel,’ she went on in the haughty manner that Eadulf knew she could assume at will. ‘I am sister to Colgú, King of Muman. Have I not been requested to come to this place as the guest of your abbot, the Abbot Iarnla, who presides over this abbey and this refectorium? Am I not an honoured guest in this abbey … an abbey that, I must remind you, is part of my brother’s kingdom? For his is the ultimate authority over all the chieftains, nobles, abbots and bishops of this land. Am I not here as sister to your King as well as a dálaigh, come to investigate a matter on behalf of my brother your King. If Abbot Iarnla wishes to withdraw his request for my presence, let him do so and I will return to Cashel and report this insult to the King and his advisers.’
The blood had drained from the face of Abbot Iarnla, sitting at the side of the risen figure of Lugna. He seemed mesmerised, as if he had no part in the scene being enacted before him.
‘There are rules in this abbey—’
‘There are rules everywhere. Usually, the rules are agreed upon by the community and not imposed on them,’ Fidelma cut across him.
‘We are talking about the rules of dress among the religious,’ spluttered Brother Lugna. ‘For you to enter our refectorium in those clothes … that dress …’ He seemed at a loss for words.
‘You object to my dress which distinguishes me as the sister of your King and a dálaigh?’ challenged Fidelma.
‘I object to it as you are a member of the religious and should obey the edicts of the Faith.’
‘Indeed I do. The edict on dress is very clear. The Holy
Father wrote to the bishops of Vienne and Narbonne that all the religious should be distinguished by their Faith and not by their clothing. We have it from the Holy Father himself that it does not matter what a person wears but how he lives his life and what his beliefs are.’
Brother Lugna frowned. ‘What Holy Father wrote such words?’ he sneered. ‘Name him!’
‘He was Celestine, the first of his name to sit on the throne of Saint Peter,’ replied Fidelma. Only Eadulf detected the barbed innocence in her voice.
‘Celestine?’ barked Brother Lugna as if she had uttered an obscenity ‘Celestine was but a …’ He struggled to find the words. ‘He was no credit to the throne of Saint Peter. Had it not been for that manipulative woman, the Empress Galla Placidia, he would never have been elected Bishop of Rome. He persecuted many of the True Faith because they held different ideas to himself.’
There was absolute quiet in the refectorium as the brethren tried to understand the meaning of the exchange.
‘I know who he regarded as heretics to the Faith,’ Fidelma replied. ‘And those he regarded as heretics are still regarded as heretics by the current Holy Father in Rome.’
Brother Lugna sat down suddenly in his seat. His mouth snapped shut and a series of emotions chased one another across his features; the predominant one was anger. A hum of voices began to rise across the hall. Fidelma had clearly made some point that had reduced Brother Lugna to silence but no one was sure what point had been made.
Abbot Iarnla took the opportunity to rise to his feet and bang his staff of office on the floor beside him.
‘Tacet!’ He commanded silence. ‘This is a prainntech.’ He flushed, glanced at his steward and corrected himself. ‘A refectorium where we gather to feed our bodies just as we gather in the chapel to feed our souls. It is no place for debates on the Faith.’
‘In view of the objections raised by your steward,’ Fidelma said, not letting the matter go, ‘does the request you sent to my brother, the King, remain your request, or do you wish me to return to Cashel?’
Abbot Iarnla glanced quickly at Brother Lugna before he replied. ‘Fidelma of Cashel, you and your companions are guests here at my invitation as abbot, by special request to your brother, the King, and his advisers. Be seated with your companions but I would urge you, for the future, to seek an accommodation of compliance with the rules of our community.’
Fidelma bowed gravely to the abbot. ‘I will do my best to do so. We will discuss the matter after the meal in your chamber in, of course, the presence of the steward.’
She turned before he could reply and seated herself. Her companions followed suit. Suddenly the silence erupted into loud conversation. Glassán, the builder, was still staring at her open-mouthed. At his side Saor watched her nervously.
‘Are you truly the sister of King Colgú?’ Glassán stammered after a moment or two. ‘Are you Fidelma of Cashel of whom we have heard so many stories?’
‘Yes, this is Fidelma of Cashel,’ Gormán announced proudly before she could answer. ‘And you have also doubtless heard of her companion, Eadulf.’
‘I did not know,’ confessed the builder. ‘I heard only that an advocate of the law was coming to investigate the death here.’
Fidelma was about to say that it was of no consequence, but of course she had made if of consequence in order to find out what she wanted to know. Her action had been overly dramatic but perhaps it would bear fruit in the long run; it had already provided an answer to her suspicion about Brother Lugna.
Glassán now seemed nervous. He glanced at his plate, pushed it away unfinished, then rose quickly and glanced at his assistant, Saor.
‘Forgive us,’ he mumbled, ‘there is something we must examine at the works before the light totally fades.’
He turned from the table. Saor, apparently unwillingly, followed, but not before he had grabbed a piece of bread and a lump of cheese.
Gormán watched them leaving with a broad smile. ‘What a pity we did not tell him who you were on the first evening, lady. We might have been spared the lecture on the joys of being a master builder. He obviously has an aversion to relatives of kings. Maybe his former association with the King of Laighin is to blame.’
Fidelma was looking thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you are right, Gormán. But remember this, there is much to be learned from a conversation with even the most boring of people.’
Eadulf cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of which, I am not sure I learnt anything from your exchange with Brother Lugna. That is, apart from what we had already realised, that poor Abbot Iarnla seems to be totally under his thumb.’
‘The abbot does occasionally show flashes of his old self,’ Fidelma replied. ‘We must hope that he has not abandoned himself entirely to Brother Lugna’s control.’
‘But what about this pantomime of your dress? You do not usually assert your rank and authority of birth so blatantly. In fact, you only do so when you feel that the person needs to be put in his place …’ Eadulf paused and smiled. ‘So you were attempting to put Brother Lugna in his place?’
‘Not entirely. But I have a suspicion about Brother Lugna that I wanted to put to the test,’ she replied, helping herself to a bowl of hot vegetable soup.
‘And did that exchange confirm it?’
‘I think it did,’ she said. ‘Between us, my exchange confirmed to me that he is of a heretical sect. But I will keep the detail to myself a while longer. The main thing to remember is that Brother Lugna is a fanatic and tolerates no dissension.’
‘I dislike the man anyway,’ muttered Eadulf. ‘I still think we should be treating him as a suspect.’
‘Dislike him or not, suspect or not, Brother Lugna is steward of the abbey. It is best that he knows where he stands with us.’
After the meal and the blessing from the abbot, Gormán leaned forward.
‘Shall I come with you to see the abbot, lady?’ he asked quietly. ‘You may need …’ He tapped a finger on his belt where his sword should have hung.
Fidelma pretended shock. ‘Heavens, no! I do not mean to start a war. This is simply an essay in diplomacy.’
‘Diplomacy?’ Gormán grunted in surprise. ‘I did not think so, the way you responded to the steward.’
‘Don’t worry, Gormán. If you are needed, I will call you. But Eadulf will be with me.’
Eadulf had no understanding what was in Fidelma’s mind. He felt it better to hold his peace and see what happened rather than show his ignorance by asking her what she intended.
The abbot and the steward had disappeared by the time Fidelma and Eadulf left the refectorium, so Fidelma led the way to the abbot’s chambers. Outside, lurking in the shadow of the building, they found Brother Máel Eoin. The hosteller came forward, until the light of the lantern hanging over the door illuminated his features. He placed a finger against his lips. With outstretched hand he drew Fidelma and Eadulf aside and spoke in a whisper.
‘I just wanted to warn you about Brother Lugna, lady,’ he said. ‘He is not a … nice person. You made an enemy of him tonight in the refectorium. You made him back down in front of the brethren, and he knows they do not like him.’
Fidelma smiled and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Take comfort, Brother Máel Eoin. We are aware of Brother Lugna’s temperament.’
‘Before he came to the abbey,’ the hosteller went on, ‘Abbot Iarnla was strong and independent. Then Brother Lugna came with his strange ideas. Whenever anyone questions them, he says this is done in Rome or that is the rule of Rome. We cannot argue when we are also told that Rome is the centre of the Faith and where the Holy Father dwells. Brother Lugna persuaded sufficient numbers of the brethren to support him in becoming the steward of the community. It was afterwards that things began to change.’
‘And these changes are not liked?’
‘The changes have upset many of us and, I have to be honest, lady, it has been sad to see how he is usurping Abbot Iarnla’s position. The abbot seems unable to stand against hi
m. We feel that it is Brother Lugna who is in control and not the abbot.’
‘Do you know why that should be?’ asked Eadulf.
‘It is as if Brother Lugna has some power over him,’ replied Brother Máel Eoin. ‘What it is, I do not know. But I felt I must warn you to be careful, lady. Be very careful.’ The hosteller turned and left them.
After a few moments, they rapped sharply on Abbot Iarnla’s door and entered.
Abbot Iarnla was seated in his usual chair, while Brother Lugna was standing to one side and a little behind him.
‘What was the meaning of your exchange in the refectorium, Fidelma?’ the abbot demanded at once. ‘I have no understanding of it.’
‘I think your rechtaire understands,’ replied Fidelma coolly.
Brother Lugna scowled, shifted his weight but said nothing.
Abbot Iarnla looked up at him with a trace of his old assertive self.
‘Well, Brother Lugna, will you explain?’
When the steward remained silent, Fidelma said, ‘Brother Lugna was kind enough to inform me, when we arrived here, that he did not favour my coming. He believed that this investigation should be an internal matter.’
‘I did not hide my view,’ Brother Lugna said sullenly.
‘You did not,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But when the abbot overruled your objections and insisted I came here, that should have been an end to the matter, should it not?’
Abbot Iarnla appeared troubled again. ‘Of course that was an end to it. You have complete authority to make your investigation.’
‘Yet I do not think Brother Lugna shares that view.’ Fidelma was looking straight at the steward.
‘Explain,’ demanded the abbot.
Brother Lugna’s mouth was a tight, thin line.
‘What Brother Lugna is going to explain,’ went on Fidelma, ‘is why he went round to those I wanted to question and told them not to cooperate with me. He told them to answer questions as sparsely laden with facts as possible.’
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