"It would have been remiss of me to fail to attend, for there are many contentious matters that I want to debate with the Chief Brehon."
Since the reign of the High King Ollamh Fodhla, twelve hundred years before, the féis of Tara had met every three years to discuss the law of the land. Judges, lawyers, and administrators gathered to debate the workings of the law and whether, in the light of changing society, any amendments or changes needed to be made.
Abbot Colmán smiled happily and offered Fidelma a drink of mulled imported Gaulish wine. When she indicated her acceptance he took down a pottery amphora, emptying some of the red wine into a jug, then, taking a red-hot poker from the fire, he dipped it into the sizzling liquid. Then he poured a measure into a silver goblet.
The evening was chill and Fidelma appreciated the warm liquid.
"Is it really three years since you were last at Tara?" inquired the abbot, shaking his head in mock disbelief as he seated himself in a chair opposite her.
"It does seem a lifetime ago," agreed Fidelma.
"The king still speaks with wonder of how you solved the mystery of his stolen sword."
"How is Sechnassach, the king? Is he well? And his family, do they prosper?'
"They are all well, Deo gratias," the abbot said piously. "But I hear that much has happened to you since ..."
He was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.
The abbot made an apologetic glance towards Fidelma and bade the caller enter.
It needed no expertise to see that the warrior who stood there was in some state of shock. In spite of his sheepskin cloak, his body shook as if with intense cold and his face was white. The lips quivered almost uncontrollably. His dark eyes flickered from the abbot to the young rehgieuse and back again.
"Well, man," Colmán said sharply. "Out with it. What is it you seek?"
"Lord Abbot," the man hesitated. His voice was a mumble.
Colmán heaved an impatient sigh.
"Speak up, man!"
"I am Tressach of the palace guard. My captain, Irél, has sent me to fetch you. There has been an incident..."
Tressach's voice trailed nervously away.
"An incident?" queried Colmán. "What incident?"
"There has been an incident in the cemetery of the High Kings. Irél requests that you should attend immediately."
"Why? What incident?" Colmán obviously did not enjoy the prospect of having to leave the warmth of his hearth and wine. However, the abbot was both an officer of the royal court and an ecclesiastical advisor, and any incident affecting spiritual matters at Tara, in which the upkeep of the cemetery was included, came under his jurisdiction.
Sister Fidelma had been examining the nervous warrior under lowered brows as she sipped her wine. The man was clearly in a state of extreme unease. The abbot's abrupt manner was not helping him. She placed her goblet on the table and smiled reassuringly up at him.
"Tell us what has happened and then we may see how best we can help."
The warrior spread his arms helplessly as he turned to her.
"I was on guard. By the tombs, that is. This very evening, I was on guard. Abruptly there came a scream from the tomb of Tigern-mas ..."
"From the tomb?" queried Fidelma sharply.
"From inside the tomb, Sister." The warrior lent emphasis to the statement by genuflecting. "I heard a voice crying distinctly for God to help it. I was in mortal fear. I can fight with men but not with the wandering tormented souls of the dead."
Colmán was tut-tutting. His face showed scepticism.
"Is this some mischievous prank? I am well aware what night this is."
But Fidelma could see that humour was not in the fearful face of the warrior.
"Go on," invited Fidelma. "What did you do?'
"Do, Sister? I hastened away as fast as I could from that accursed place. I ran to report to my captain, Irél. At first, like the abbot, he did not believe me. He and another warrior took me back to the tomb. Oh, by my soul, Sister! The voice came again. It was fainter than before but still crying for help. Irél heard it and so did the other warrior who accompanied us."
It was plain Colmán still did not believe him.
"What is it Irél wants me to do?" he demanded cynically. "Go there and pray for the souls of the dead?"
"No. Irél is one not given to a belief in wandering spirits. My captain wants permission to open the tomb. He believes that someone is inside and hurt."
The abbot looked aghast.
"But that tomb has not been opened in fifteen hundred years," he protested. "How could anyone be inside?"
"That's what Garbh told him," agreed the warrior.
"Garbh?" queried Fidelma.
"The keeper of the cemetery. My captain, Irél, sent for him and requested that he open the doors of the tomb."
"And did Garbh do so?' asked the abbot, irritably.
"No. He refused unless Irél obtained higher authority. That is why Irél sent me to you, to seek your permission."
"Quite right. This is a matter of seriousness," Colmán muttered. "The decision to open tombs is not one a soldier—even the captain of the palace guard—can make. I'd better come along and see this Irél, your captain." Colmán rose to his feet and glanced at Fidelma. "If you will forgive me, Sister ..."
But Fidelma was rising also.
"I think I will come with you," she said quietly. "For if a voice comes from a sealed tomb, then someone must have been able to enter it... or else, God forbid, it is indeed a spirit calling to us."
They found Irél, the sombre-faced captain of the palace guard, standing outside the tomb with another warrior. There was a third man there, a stocky man with rippling muscles who was clad in a workman's leather jerkin and trousers. He had pugnacious features and was arguing with the captain. The man turned as they approached and, with relief on his face, greeted Abbot Colmán by name.
"I am glad that you have come, my lord Abbot. This captain is demanding that I break open this tomb. Such an act is sacrilege and I have refused unless ordered to do so by a churchman of authority."
Irél stepped forward and saluted the abbot.
"Has Tressach explained the matter to you?" His voice was curt.
The abbot glanced disdainfully at him.
"Can we hear this voice?" Colmán's tone was sarcastic and he cocked an ear as if to listen.
"We have not heard it since I sent for Garbh," replied Irél, keeping his irritation in check. "I have been trying to get Garbh to open the tomb, for every moment is urgent. Someone may be dying in there."
The man called Garbh laughed drily.
"Look at the doors. Not opened in fifteen hundred years. Whoever died in there, died over a millennium ago."
"Garbh, as keeper of the cemetery, is within his rights to refuse your request," Abbot Colmán explained. "I am not sure that even I can give such permission."
It was then that Sister Fidelma stepped forward.
"In that case, I shall give the order. I think we should open the tomb immediately."
Colmán swung round and frowned at Fidelma.
"Do you take this matter seriously?"
"That an experienced captain of the guard and a warrior take it so should be enough reason to accept that they heard something. Let us see if this is so."
Irél looked at the young religieuse in surprise while Garbh's features were forming into a sneer of derision.
Colmán, however, sighed and motioned to Garbh to start opening the doors of the tomb.
"Sister Fidelma is a dálaigh, an advocate of the law courts, and holds the degree of anruth," he explained to them in order to justify his action. "She has the authority."
Garbh's eyes flickered imperceptibly. It was the only indication that he made in recognition of the fact that the young religieuse held a degree which was only one below the highest legal qualification in the land. Irél's shoulders seemed to relax as if in relief that a decision had finally been made.