Brother Lugna’s jaw rose aggressively. ‘I suppose the simpleton has been telling you a story,’ he sneered.
‘If you refer to Brother Gáeth, it was certainly not he who revealed this to me. And we find that he is no simpleton. I shall not tell you who it was who told me but be assured it was not Brother Gáeth. I shall not be happy if I hear some punishment falls on him because of such a suspicion.’ There was no belligerence in her quiet voice. She made a statement of fact.
Abbot Iarnla looked scandalised. ‘Of course nothing will happen to Brother Gáeth.’ Then he paused, again uncertain and nervous. He turned to his steward. ‘Are you admitting that what Fidelma says is correct, Brother Lugna? Did you tell members of our brethren not to cooperate with her?’
When the steward hesitated, Fidelma went on, ‘I thought the manner in which the physician responded to my questioning was extraordinary. A physician trying to avoid questioning by a dálaigh of the courts is unprecedented in my experience. I soon found out that he had been told to behave in that manner.’
‘But why, Brother Lugna, why?’ demanded the abbot.
The steward shrugged. ‘My views have not altered since you rejected my advice, Abbot Iarnla,’ he said defiantly. ‘This abbey has no need of outsiders poking their noses into the affairs of the community.’
‘This abbey is not independent of the kingdom,’ Eadulf observed. ‘It has to conform to the laws of the kingdom.’
‘What would you know of this, Saxon?’ The steward’s voice was taunting.
‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham is my husband and stands foremost among those whose advice is sought by my brother, the King,’ snapped Fidelma. ‘And he advises correctly. This abbey is not above obedience to the law.’
‘Many abbeys adopt the Penitentials and claim a right to their own rules,’ replied Brother Lugna.
‘The Penitentials again?’ snapped Eadulf. ‘They do not run in this abbey.’
‘There should be no husbands and wives among the religious, ’ retorted the steward.
‘But there are. There is no rule of celibacy in the Faith, even in Rome.’
‘Not yet.’
‘And it is to be hoped there never will be, for that would be to reject our human condition created by God,’ Eadulf returned angrily. ‘And isn’t that an insult to God’s creation rather than a happy acceptance of it?’
Fidelma suddenly smiled and laid a hand on Eadulf’s arm. ‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘But we are not talking about how we interpret the Faith. We are talking of the law, of which I am a representative. There is a set list of fines for those who try to conceal evidence from a dálaigh in a case of murder, Brother Lugna.’ Fidelma turned to address the abbot. ‘Perhaps Brother Lugna did not realise that a person who conceals or gives false evidence, or persuades others to do so, according to the Din Techtugad text, loses their honour price. Of course, if Brother Lugna can convince a Brehon that he acted in ignorance, the fines will be halved and he may keep half his honour price.’
Brother Lugna’s mouth was a thin line again, his eyes staring maliciously at her. He said nothing.
Abbot Iarnla spread his hands helplessly. ‘I am sure that if Brother Lugna did do what you accuse him of, he must have acted without appreciating the law of the kingdom.’ The abbot’s voice was almost pleading.
‘I am sure he did,’ Fidelma replied solemnly. ‘No one would be so stupid as to put his honour price in jeopardy. The fact that he went against your ruling as abbot is a matter for your internal discipline. I will accept that it was his adherence to his belief that made him think he was above the law and your decisions as abbot. So we will leave it with a simple reminder of the law. But now we would be grateful to Brother Lugna if he would accompany Brother Eadulf and me across the quadrangle to the guesthouse.’
Brother Lugna moved forward unwillingly. Then frowned. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ Fidelma said softly, ‘a dálaigh has requested you to do so.’
They left the abbot gazing in dismay after them.
The waxing moon was now bright and they had no need of lanterns to cross the stone flags.
‘He is a sweet old man,’ Fidelma remarked as they reached the fountain in the centre of the quadrangle where she suddenly halted. ‘I do not want him to be troubled unduly over this matter of Brother Donnchad’s death. In order to spare him, I am sure you will cooperate with me now that my position here is clear.’
Brother Lugna breathed out slowly as if in resignation.
‘The sooner this matter is resolved, the better,’ he replied.
‘Then a few questions. How did you come to choose Glassán as your master builder?’
Whatever questions Brother Lugna was expecting, it did not appear to be that one. There was a momentary stiffening of his shoulders. He had his back to the moon and it cast too many shadows for them to make out his expression.
‘He was a master builder in my own land, in Connachta,’ he replied firmly.
‘Oh? I thought he was from the Kingdom of Laighin?’
There was an awkward silence.
‘What is it you want, Fidelma of Cashel?’ Brother Lugna asked sharply. It was the first time he had acknowledged her rank.
‘I?’ Fidelma sounded surprised. ‘I want nothing more than to fulfil the task that my brother, the King, asked me to fulfil.’
‘I will not stop you,’ replied Brother Lugna ungraciously.
‘But, hopefully, you will also help me and advise others to do so? Simply not stopping someone do something is not the same as helping them do it.’
‘As I have said,’ repeated the steward, ‘the sooner this is over, the better.’
‘Then I think we have an understanding.’ She paused. ‘There was once a learned man, centuries ago, in another country, who had convinced opinions and felt that no one should disagree with those opinions. When his superior disagreed, he tried to overthrow his superior and set himself up in his stead. But his superior spoke for the vast majority of people. The man himself was eventually overthrown instead of his superior. His opinions were denounced as not conforming to what everyone else agreed. They were considered heretical and punishments were drawn up for anyone who followed the man and tried to force his opinions on others.’
Brother Lugna seemed to be watching her in the semi-light like a hunter watching his prey.
Eadulf found he was barely able to repress a shudder, a cold feeling ran along his spine in the darkness as he sensed the malignancy in the man.
‘I acknowledge my mistake in opposing your investigation, Fidelma of Cashel,’ the steward said in a begrudging tone. ‘You will have my support.’ Then he added, ‘There can be many paths to the same belief and each are entitled to their own path.’
‘That is precisely my point,’ agreed Fidelma vigorously. ‘We should be tolerant of one another; conformity of opinion, by its very nature, cannot be enforced.’
‘Is there anything else?’ Brother Lugna’s voice was almost sullen.
‘Do we have an agreement?’
‘We do.’ With that the steward turned and left them standing in the middle of the quadrangle.
‘I don’t trust him,’ muttered Eadulf as they walked to the guesthouse. ‘When he says the sooner the investigation is over, he really means that the sooner we leave the abbey, the better for him.’
‘At least we have made a little progress today,’ Fidelma said. She turned at the door of her chamber and wished Eadulf a good night.
Eadulf could not sleep. His mind kept thinking about the last few weeks; of the arguments he had had with Fidelma and the cause of them. What was it that Aeneas said about leaving Dido, the Queen of Carthage? Varium et mutabile semper femina. Was that it? Woman is ever fickle and changeable. But Fidelma was not really capricious, it was just that she had a low tolerance of faults in others. She had a low tolerance of her own faults, too. He knew that, she had allowed him close enough to know it, still her sharp criticism frustrated and angered hi
m.
She had been right to demand to know what he wanted. It was true that he wanted to be with her and their son Alchú, but did he really want to force them to go into some religious community and settle down? Did he really think that this meant security, a means of avoiding the complexities of the world? Or was it merely a means of trying to exert his individuality? As a youth he had met the missionary called Fursa in his village of Seaxmund’s Ham, who had persuaded him to journey across the sea to the land of Éireann. He had studied in the great teaching abbey of Tuaim Brecain, a celebrated medical school of the religious, founded by Bricin. There were two other colleges in the abbey, one of poetry and one of law.
Eadulf had arrived there many years after its founder Bricin had died. Cennfaeladh ran the school. As a youthful warrior Cennfaeladh had fought in a battle at Magh Rath and received a dangerous wound in the head. He had been taken to Bricin’s medical school where his skull had to be trepanned. It was an ancient surgical procedure that had long been practised among the Gauls as well as the Britons and people of the Five Kingdoms. As soon as he recovered, Cennfaeladh had devoted himself to studies there and eventually became head of the school.
It was Cennfaeladh who had taught Eadulf the language of the country. Then he urged Eadulf to go and study in Rome. While he was in Rome, he had been chosen to attend the great Council in St Hilda’s abbey at Streonshalh in Northumbria. Had he not been at that Council he would not have met Fidelma. Since then, he had been back to Rome, travelled extensively among the Five Kingdoms of Éireann and been to the Kingdom of Dyfed, to Burgundia, Frankia, Gaul and Bro-Waroch.
Surely he could not be accused of hiding from the world and its complexities. Maybe it was just that he was tired. Tired of the rigours of travel. And now, here he was in another strange abbey. He had been here once before but only briefly. There had been no new buildings then. New buildings …
Eadulf suddenly sat upright. That was what was worrying him. The ladder and the young boy – what was his name? Gúasach. Fidelma had not pursued the idea of the ladder and boy being the means of gaining access to Brother Donnchad’s locked cell. Yet it seemed the obvious answer. The ladder had been easily accessible on the building site. Young boys had been known to kill people before. Didn’t Fidelma always say that the obvious answer, even if unpalatable, was often the right one?
Eadulf swung off his bed. He would take a look at that ladder lying by the new building. He would at least see if it was long enough to reach Brother Donnchad’s cell. He would do it now. He would not wait until morning, as he did not want Fidelma to know that he had not accepted her dismissal of the idea. If he could argue from knowledge then …
Impatiently he lit the candle at his bedside with his tenlach-teined, the tinderbox with its steel and flint. Eadulf had, over the years, become more adept at creating the tenlam, or hand-fire, as it was called, for he had taken instruction from Gormán. Warriors prided themselves on being able to create a fire by means of steel, flint and tinder faster than most people. It was part of their training. Eadulf pulled on his robes and sandals and, taking the lantern, made his way quickly and silently down to the abbey courtyard. The dark shadows of the abbey were shrouded in silence. Here and there he saw the flicker of lamps that were kept burning all night by the main gates and outside the doors of the main buildings.
Eadulf peered around, judging his bearings and checking to see if anyone was about, but all was quiet. The moon was now sheltering behind clouds. He was thankful for the light of the lantern. He made his way quickly across the quadrangle, wishing his leather sandals did not slap so noisily on the stone flags. The splashing fountain appeared to provide a muffle to his footsteps. It seemed that the entire abbey and its occupants were blissfully asleep. Not even the lonely cry of a distant wolf outside the abbey gates seemed to disturb their slumber. As he passed the library building and reached the building site, the clouds parted and a nearly full moon provided an ethereal light. The stone walls of the lower part of the building had been built to window level; the windows needed lintels to cap them before the walls could rise higher. But the main door seemed to have its lintel in place although it appeared to be at a curious angle.
Eadulf paused and listened. He thought he had heard a sound. But it was only an owl perched somewhere in the wooden framework above him.
Eadulf looked around, trying to locate the ladder. He could not see it and moved forward, towards the doorway. Then he heard a creaking noise, a rasp of moving stone. As lifted his lantern to identify the sound, he heard a loud gasp behind him and something slammed into his back. It was such a force that the lantern flew from his hand and he was flung forward. His head smashed against something solid and unyielding. There was a moment of bright light and then utter blackness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Eadulf swam reluctantly back to consciousness, his head was pounding with pain. He registered that it was daylight and realised that he was lying on a bed and someone was bending over him. A voice he could not identify said, ‘Ah, good. How do you feel?’
Eadulf’s mouth was dry and he tried to lick his lips. His voice was a rasping whisper.
‘Like a building has fallen on me.’
‘Do you know who you are?’
‘Eadulf.’ He had no hesitation. ‘Eadulf of Seaxmund’s Ham.’
‘Do you know who I am?’
He peered up at the man. The face swam into focus and he recognised it.
‘You are the physician … Brother Seachlann.’
‘Excellent. Now, there is something I want you to drink that will make you feel better.’
‘Where am I?’ he asked, easing himself up. He was not in the bed in the guesthouse. There was a pungent smell of herbs in this place.
‘This is the bróinbherg, our little hospital in the abbey.’ The word meant ‘house of sorrow’, the name often given to hospitals.
‘How did I get here?’
‘You ask too many questions. Come, drink this down, it will help ease your headache.’
‘What is it?’ asked Eadulf suspiciously, as a small cup was held beneath his nose. Its odour was pungent.
Brother Seachlann frowned for a moment. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘you were trained at Tuaim Brecain. This is deoch suain, a sleeping draught that is an infusion of valerian mixed with wild mint and rosemary.’
Eadulf allowed Brother Seachlann to hold the cup to his lips. He knew it was the sort of medication that was prescribed for a bad headache.
As he lay back, he realised his forehead was bandaged. He raised a hand uncertainly to it as the physician stood up from where he had been perched on the side of the bed.
‘What happened to me?’
‘I made a paste of comfrey root and spread it over the abrasion on your forehead. It should heal in a few days.’
‘I meant, how did it happen? How did I get here?’
‘I brought you here.’
At that moment, the door burst open and Fidelma came in, her face drawn and anxious. She hurried to Eadulf’s side.
‘I’ve just heard. Are you all right?’
Eadulf managed a lopsided grin. ‘Non omnis mortar,’ he joked. He could not remember where the line came from. It meant, ‘I shall not wholly die.’
Fidelma made an impatient sound and asked, ‘What happened?’
‘I was just asking Brother Seachlann the same question. I have no idea.’
She turned to the physician. Brother Seachlann placed the cup he was holding on a nearby table.
‘I cannot tell you much. I was passing by the new building, the incomplete one. It was late last night. I heard a moaning sound. I went towards the sound. I couldn’t see much even though I had a lantern. I almost tripped over Brother Eadulf, who was lying in the rubble. It looked as though he had tripped and struck his forehead, for there was blood on it. The fall had knocked the senses from him. Having checked that he had not broken any bones, I lifted him up and carried him here, dressed his wound and put him
to bed. As soon as it was light, I sent a message to Brother Máel Eoin to inform you.’
Fidelma looked at Eadulf. His eyes were closing but he was breathing regularly. Seeing her anxious look, the physician said, ‘That will be the effect of the infusion that I gave him. He will sleep and when he wakes again his headache should be gone.’
‘Why didn’t you send for me earlier? It was only a short time ago that the hosteller woke me with this news. You say Eadulf has been here all night?’
‘I could not leave him in case of complications,’ protested the physician. ‘It was best to stay with him. It was only moments ago that he recovered consciousness. It would have served no purpose to rouse you in the middle of the night. Better only one person should lose a night’s sleep than several.’
It made sense to Fidelma but it was frustrating that she could not question Eadulf immediately. She knew it was unlike him to go wandering about without informing her and he was certainly not one prone to accidents.
At that moment Gormán entered, looking anxious.
‘I heard …’ His eyes went to Eadulf lying on the bed. ‘Is he … ?’
Fidelma turned to the physician without answering the warrior. ‘Are you sure he is out of danger now?’
Brother Seachlann shrugged. ‘The physician who says he is sure of anything is a physician to be wary of. When Brother Eadulf wakes he should be fine apart from a bruise and a gash on the forehead which he needs to keep bound for a few days.’
‘Then if Gormán will stay with Eadulf, perhaps you will show me the spot where you found him.’
Brother Seachlann looked surprised. ‘For what purpose?’
‘For my own satisfaction,’ Fidelma replied firmly.
Brother Seachlann led the way across to the site. One or two men already at work regarded them with curiosity. The physician halted and pointed to a spot close to the supporting columns of a door. There was no lintel on it; the lintel stone was lying on the ground close by, ready to be hoisted into place.
‘I found him lying there, by that wooden post,’ the physician said.
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